A collection of fics my wonderful friends have written for me for my birthday! I'll be attaching my reblogs as I post them. Please show these fics all the love in the world, they were written by my favourite people ever and the best writers I have ever known 🫶
f - fluff | a - angst | r - suggestive/smut | h- humour
main masterlist
wish you would by @wqnwoos | 7.5k | f, a
You and Kim Mingyu have always walked that thin line between professional respect and something dangerously close to flirtation, but neither of you have ever quite slipped. So covering his newest case should be routine — but suddenly, keeping things professional isn't as easy as it used to be.
⭐️ read my reblog here!
THREE AM by @sailorsoons | 2.5k | f, r
Unable to sleep after a dream, your boyfriend Mingyu helps you go back to bed.
⭐️ read my reblog here!
love, as a verb by @kkaetnipjeon | 1.8k | f, a, r
⭐️ reblog coming soon!
the worst barista in san diego by @seungkw1 | 4.5k | h, r
The new barista at your favorite local coffee shop is tall, handsome, funny, and definitely into you. Mingyu always gives you his employee discount, and he's even taken it upon himself to invent custom drinks, made special just for you. He really is the nicest guy around, and you genuinely might have a shot with him — which is why you don't have the heart to tell him that his made-up beverages taste utterly terrible.
⭐️ reblog coming soon!
eyes on you by @miniseokminnies | 1.8k | f, r
⭐️ reblog coming soon!
drive by @starlightkyeom | 2.9k | f, r
where a stranger hops in your car and tells you to drive
⭐️ reblog coming soon!
anchored by @joshujin | 4.8k | f, r
The extremely wealthy man you're newly dating thinks you deserve nothing but the best for your birthday. You struggle to accept that.
⭐️ reblog coming soon!
sweetness by @haologram | 42.1k | f, a, r
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!
⭐️ reblog coming soon!
ribs by @haologram | 11.8k | f, a, r
kim mingyu is a dear friend. a dear friend that spends nights in your arms, said nights set aflame with the tick tick tick of your gas stove when he makes you dinner, and searing kisses when he lays you down in your bed. yes, kim mingyu is a dear friend...and you wish he were more.
You and Kim Mingyu have always walked that thin line between professional respect and something dangerously close to flirtation, but neither of you have ever quite slipped. So covering his newest case should be routine — but suddenly, keeping things professional isn't as easy as it used to be.
⇢ pairing. lawyer!mingyu x journalist!reader
⇢ genre. fluff, angst, idiots/acquaintances? to lovers.
⇢ word count. approx. 7.5k
⇢ warnings. f!reader. miscommunication (sorry). lots of pining + tension. a few moral dilemmas but nothing crazy. almost definitely inaccurate depictions of courtroom and law stuff. ft. a few of the itzy girls bc why not!!!
⇢ a/n. happiest of birthdays to one of my favourite people on this planet!!!!! my beloved @gyuswhore this one is for you!! emberly i'm about to type an essay in ur dms anyway but just know that i love u enormous amounts. so so much. and i apologise for the banner its not my best work 😭
THE COURTHOUSE LOBBY is already humming with activity when you step through security: attorneys in suits speed-walking towards elevators, clerks juggling stacks of paper, the espresso machine in the café sputtering and filling the air with the smell of burnt coffee. You’re used to it all by now, and it doesn’t seem anywhere near as chaotic as you used to find it.
But the best part of your mornings tend to be six foot two and annoyingly well-dressed.
You spot Mingyu the moment you step through security: tall, sleek, and freshly pressed, balancing a stack of colour-coded folders against his hip while stirring what you know is an obscene amount of sugar into his coffee.
He doesn’t notice you at first. He’s too busy reading something on a sticky note, lips shaping the words. You hesitate a beat, just long enough to be annoyed at yourself for it, then head his way.
“Mr Kim,” you call out, voice just loud enough to cut through the lobby chatter.
His head snaps up. And there it is, that small flicker of recognition followed by the not-quite-smile he always tries to tamp down.
“Ah. My favourite journalist.” He shifts the folders to greet you properly, pretending he’s not already straightening his tie. He always straightens his tie around you. “Here to make my day harder?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You hold up your recorder, tilt your head to the side hopefully. “Pre-hearing comment? Thirty seconds. Forty if you’re feeling generous.”
He huffs a soft laugh and gestures toward the hallway with the tip of his coffee cup. “You ambush me the second you walk in the building and expect me to string something together? It’s barely nine.”
“And yet,” you counter, walking beside him, “you look like you got eight hours of sleep and ironed that suit with time to spare.”
“It’s an illusion. I slept three hours and ate some almonds on my way here.”
“Almonds,” you repeat, snorting. You rummage in your bag, pull out a cereal bar, and hold it up between two fingers. His eyes actually light up, but just before his hand can brush yours, you whisk it out of reach and instead tap your recorder against your palm.
He stops walking to give you a displeased look, nose scrunching. “Really?”
You shrug, entirely unbothered. “Needs must.”
“One might call that bribery, Miss ___.”
“One would then have to remember – it’s a cereal bar, Mr Kim.” You raise your eyebrows. “I’m starting to think you don’t want to give me a quote.”
You’ve interviewed dozens of prosecutors over the years, in this very building. But Mingyu is the only one who makes courthouse mornings feel a little lighter. Maybe it’s because he listens, doesn’t shrug you off immediately like some others do. Maybe it’s because he looks at you like the two of you are in on some private joke – and sometimes you are. Maybe it’s because every time you talk, there’s a hum under your ribs you keep telling yourself to ignore.
He pauses at the bulletin board, scanning the docket. “Just a fraud case today. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re covering it.”
“I can’t resist a good public official messing with paperwork,” you say. “It speaks to me.”
“Fraud speaks to you?”
“Don’t judge my hobbies. Besides, you know better than anyone it’s not just a fraud case when it’s Lee Junhyeon behind it all. Do I get a quote or not?”
It’s easy, this back-and-forth. Easier than it should be. Easier than it ever is with anyone else you interview. There’s comfort baked into the rhythm you two have built – teasing layered over familiarity layered over something neither of you names aloud.
He takes one last sip of his coffee, narrows his eyes at the cereal bar, straightens ever so slightly – and nods at your recorder. “Alright. Go ahead. But if I pass out mid-sentence, you’re liable.”
“I’ll include that as a quote.”
“Please don’t.”
You hit record, and he slips effortlessly into prosecutor mode, smooth, concise, measured. You watch the shift happen in real time: the warmth fades, replaced by sharp professionalism, like flipping a switch only he seems able to control.
He finishes. You stop the recorder.
“There,” he says with a tiny tilt of his head, shoulders slumping just the slightest bit. “Was that quick enough?”
“Almost disappointing how cooperative you are.”
“Just trying to stay on your good side.”
You open your mouth to reply, but someone calls his name from down the hall.
He sighs, and you give him a knowing look. “Duty calls.”
“I’ll see you inside?” he asks.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” You press the cereal bar on top of his folders, and he glances down at it in surprise. “Don’t inhale it in front of the judge.”
“No promises,” he grins. And he takes a few steps backward toward the courtroom doors, eyes lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. Then he turns away, and whatever was pressing down on your chest loosens.
The hallway outsidethe courtroom is louder after the lunch recess, the kind of restless noise that means every reporter is suddenly convinced they’re about to miss something. You weave through the clusters of them, not exactly late, but later than you meant to be, with your notebook tucked under your arm and your phone buzzing with your roommate’s texts about dinner plans.
The Lee Junhyeon case had drawn more media attention than expected for something technically labeled “administrative fraud.” But feeding money into a shell charity he chaired leads to a lot of public interest. Which is why you’re here.
Mingyu and his team arrive from the opposite end of the hall: three attorneys behind him, another two in step beside him, all mid-discussion about something pedantic. He’s flipping through a binder while listening to someone else’s briefing, brows drawn, tie slightly loosened from the morning’s work. He looks focused, a little wrinkle on his forehead, lower lip caught between his teeth. Not that you’re looking at his lips, you remind yourself firmly, clicking your pen.
Which, of course, is exactly when his eyes lift and land right on you.
It’s not a smile – that would be too much – just a brief softening of his features, a small acknowledgment, something only noticeable because you’re tuned to it. He returns his attention to his colleague almost immediately.
Still. Somehow, one look is enough to warm the little dent between your ribs and your stomach,
A handful of other reporters notice him too, and like sharks scenting blood, they move as a group, mics angled, questions already thrust forward. Someone elbows you lightly, not unkindly, but with just enough push that you step to the side to avoid being boxed in.
Mingyu’s team slows. His second chair, Ms. Han, glances over the crowd with unimpressed precision. You join the cluster, not leading it, not hiding either. When one reporter pushes ahead to ask a badly formed question, Mingyu stops walking just long enough to give them a neutral, measured response.
His gaze slips to you again.
You pretend you don’t notice. Or at least you pretend you’re good at pretending.
You ask your question, and he answers just as cleanly, just as concisely. But still, there’s something in how he talks to you. The subtlest, tiniest, warmest thing edging his words, and then he’s gone.
You claim a seat at the press bench again, open your laptop, and start shaping the morning’s notes into something publishable. Your article won’t run until the day after tomorrow, but drafts don’t write themselves – and you’ve learned the hard way that waiting until evening means Ryujin starts threatening to hide your laptop under the couch.
Most of the testimony is dry. A lot of financial analysts, paper trails, the mind-numbing march of spreadsheets projected onto the courtroom screen. The judge interrupts twice; Lee’s defense interrupts five times; the gallery sighs in unison at least twelve. None of this interests you much, but a job is a job, and you know that despite hating it, you’re good at it.
But when Mingyu rises for cross-examination, the room straightens. You do too.
His voice fills the space with that particular calm authority he has, the kind that makes people assume he’s older than he is. You know this version of him well, have reported on his cases more than enough times to be well-acquainted with the gestures he makes, the inflection of his questions. You respect this version of him – you write about it.
But when his eyes pass over the gallery and catch yours, completely by accident, fleeting – you feel something you can’t put in print.
Your stomach drops. You tear your eyes away, look back down at your laptop and type with unnecessary intensity.
You’re still typing later that same evening. Your living room is a battlefield of snack wrappers, loose leaf documents, and Ryujin’s abandoned crochet project. She’s sprawled across the couch like a cat, scrolling through her phone while you type cross-legged on the floor, laptop balanced on your lap.
“I just think there are very few pros to your job, and many, many cons,” Ryujin says, squinting at you over her screen. “You hate it.”
“I don’t hate it. I tolerate it.”
“You tolerate it the way I tolerate dental cleanings,” she mutters. “Which is to say: not at all.”
You glance up then. “Speaking of, you have spinach in your teeth.”
She doesn’t fall for your bait, rolling her eyes. “But there is one pretty big advantage, I guess,” she says, suddenly sing-song, and you already know what she’s going to say. “Because it keeps you seeing a certain prosecutor, right?”
You determinedly fix your eyes on your screen. “I see lots of prosecutors.”
“But only one who emails back at 10p.m.”
“It was nine-forty-seven, I’ll have you know,” you mutter darkly. And then you sigh, roll your shoulders, and take a sip of cold coffee. Grimace, put the mug down. “It’s a big case. It matters.”
“You know what else matters? The hot prosecutor. He matters.”
“There is no ‘he,’” you say, typing harder than necessary. “It’s work. He’s work.”
“Mhm. But work is six foot two, and looks like that.”
(You’d made the mistake of giving Ryujin his name, just once, and from there she’d found his LinkedIn and his Instagram – which was private, of course, but the profile picture alone was enough.)
You don’t dignify her with a response.
She groans. “I’m just saying, if you two ever – ”
“We won’t,” you interrupt quickly. Too quickly. She grins at you wickedly, and you exhale again. “It wouldn’t be right, anyway. I’m covering his case – I always end up covering his cases. There’s gotta be some kind of – conflict of interest, some kind of rule I would be breaking.”
“But you would?” She presses, her phone long forgotten. “If it wasn’t for your job and your rules, you would?”
You close your laptop a little too fast. “I’m going to get more coffee.”
“That’s a yes!”
You lean back against the wall, groan and bury your face into your hands. You know just as well as Ryujin claims she does, that yes, you would. Absolutely, you would. And the rational part of you knows that Mingyu – well, you’re not blind. You see how he looks at you. But you also see how he rearranges his features every time you catch him looking.
You know you can’t want something like Mingyu.
“Yes,” you say finally, “Yes, Ryujin, I would, but I can’t, and he can’t, so what’s the point?”
“You’re letting the possible love of your life go because of a job you hate,” she says. “You tell me, what’s the point?”
You don’t have an answer.
The case settles into the city, but the buzz doesn’t quite die down, only fades a little. By the second week of hearings, you’re pretty sure you can recite all of Lee Junhyeon’s shell companies by name.
You arrive earlier than usual, the lobby quieter. You expect to beat him for once (it’s become a private scoreboard in your head, who gets here first) but when you step through security, Mingyu’s already there.
He’s leaning over the front desk, signing something with a clerk, tie slightly crooked like he got dressed in a hurry for the first time in his life. You catch yourself pausing again. That’s becoming a habit you don’t appreciate.
The clerk spots you approaching before he does.
“Oh,” she says, brightening. “He said you’d probably be here right about – ”
Mingyu straightens too fast, almost drops his pen, and clears his throat. “I said she’s usually here around now. That’s not – I didn’t mean – ”
The clerk giggles into her sleeve. You fight down a smile.
“Ignore him,” Yeji says to you in a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s jumpy today.”
“I can tell,” you say, eyes flicking to his crooked tie. “Good morning, Mr Kim.”
He notices. Of course he does. “I was running late,” he mutters, and then he glances at your empty hands. “No coffee?”
“What,” you say lightly, “did you want me to get you one?”
He stiffens so hard you nearly laugh. “No. No. I just thought – never mind.”
You should leave it at that. You should walk to the elevators, get your seat in the press row, start preparing the notes you need. But something makes you linger; maybe the way he’s still holding his pen mid-air like he forgot what to do with it, maybe the faint pink rising at his collar.
“Rough morning?” you ask, tone neutral enough that you hope it passes for professional curiosity.
“Not rough,” he says quickly. “Just early. And I had to prep some stuff, and fix…” His hand twitches uselessly toward his tie. “This.”
He looks so mildly defeated you almost feel bad.
“Come here,” you sigh, stepping closer before you can talk yourself out of it.
His eyes widen. “What are you—”
“Relax,” you say. He goes still – like he thinks if he moves you’ll vanish – and you straighten the knot with the same brisk efficiency you use on your own clothes before interviews. He blinks down at you, and it’s a mistake to look up at him because suddenly the distance between you feels a little too charged.
“There,” you blurt, a little too loud, stepping back quickly.
“Thank you,” he says, too soft for the lobby. Then he tries to recover, clearing his throat, straightening his spine. “I could have done it myself.”
“No,” you say, heading for the elevators before either of you gets stupid. “You really couldn’t have.”
He follows automatically, matching your pace without thinking. You wish he wouldn’t do that – not because you mind, but because your cheeks are still burning, and you can still feel the ghost of his warmth under your fingertips.
“You’re early,” he says, voice settling back into something steadier. “I thought you hated mornings.”
“I do,” you admit. “But I needed time to re-read the testimony from the other day.”
“Ah.” He exhales. “Good luck. It put half my team to sleep last night.”
“Tell them to eat more almonds.”
The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Was that a joke?”
“Don’t get used to it.”
It keeps happening.
You don’t plan to run into him every morning. You tell yourself that constantly. But you leave home at the same time, and catch the same bus,and the courthouse security line always moves faster than you expect, and Mingyu always, always seems to step into the lobby within thirty seconds of you.
Today, he approaches from behind while you’re staring at the display on a broken vending machine.
“Miss ___,” he greets, with a faint smile. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
You don’t jump; you refuse to give him that satisfaction. “Do I? I guess I’m too obvious.”
He snorts. “You hate it that much?”
“No,” you say, in a bland tone that obviously means yes. “I’m just waiting for my editor to text me back.”
“Do you need a second opinion?” he asks, already sipping his coffee.
“On my editor’s competence or my writing?”
“Both.”
You let out a laugh. It’s bright, rings through the lobby a little louder than you mean it to. And when you look over at him –
God.
He’s looking at you like he wasn’t prepared for the sound. Like it hit him somewhere unexpected. His expression softens, just slightly, before he pulls it back. You watch it happen, the warmth fading just a little, smile turning down the tiniest bit.
You look away first.
You always do.
An intern or something rushes over with a folder, interrupting the moment as quickly as it appeared. Mingyu takes it, thanks her, and turns back to you.
“I should go.”
“Of course.” You hesitate. “See you in court, Mr Kim.”
He lingers a second, like he wants to say something else.
He doesn’t. He leaves instead, shoulders straighter than before.
You exhale only after he’s out of sight.
It’s one week later, you’re on your way back from the bathroom, typing notes on your phone, when you nearly collide with him as he’s rounding the corner.
Mingyu steadies you before you stumble, one hand hovering near your elbow without actually touching.
You freeze. So does he.
“You alright?” he asks.
“Fine.” Too fast. Too clipped. You clear your throat, try again. “Fine. Thank you.”
He withdraws his hand immediately, stepping back as if he’s not sure how close he’s allowed to be. You can see the calculation behind his eyes; professional boundaries, reporters everywhere.
Except there aren’t reporters everywhere – not right now, at least. Not in this narrow hallway behind the stairwell, empty except for the two of you and the quiet hum of the fluorescent hallway lights.
He seems to realize that at the exact same moment you do.
You clear your throat again, tucking your phone into your bag. “Sorry. I wasn’t looking.”
“No,” he says. “No, it’s fine. I wasn’t, either.”
The air feels different – heavier, somehow. Neither of you moves.
He looks unusually… unsure. Mingyu rarely looks unsure. You’re used to seeing the confident version of him: the prosecutor, the man who can dismantle a witness with three clean questions. Occasionally, you see the slightly clumsy version of him, a little more light-hearted.
But right now, his voice is lower, softer, more hesitant than ever.
“Long day?” he asks.
“Same as any other.”
“Right,” he says, but it’s not really agreement, it’s more like he’s buying time, trying to settle himself.
You shift your weight. He looks down when you move, then up again, slowly, as if tracking you is involuntary.
God, why does the hallway suddenly feel so small?
“Your tie is crooked again,” you blurt.
You want to smack yourself.
He blinks, glancing down with widened eyes. “Is it?”
You should say it’s fine and move on. You should turn, keep walking, go anywhere else except closer to him.
But you don’t. A beat slips between you, long enough you could step away, long enough he could laugh, long enough for both of you to choose sense over impulse.
Neither of you chooses it.
“May I?” The question leaves your mouth before your brain approves it.
He inhales, sharply, quietly, and the only reason you hear it is because of the silence between you - and then he nods once.
You step closer. Close enough to smell the faint starch of his shirt, the ghost of coffee on his breath. Your fingers brush the fabric of his tie, and it feels different to last week. Feels even more tense, with nobody around, no clerk laughing at his clumsiness.
His breath hitches.
When you look up – the same mistake – he’s already looking down at you. There’s something in his expression he never lets slip in court, very rarely lets slip outside. It’s quiet and warm and unguarded, pooling in his brown eyes.
Your hand is still on his tie. You straighten it slowly, but don’t quite pull back. His hand raises, hovering near your hip. Like he wants to close the distance but knows he shouldn’t.
“Miss ___,” he says, but it comes out like your first name. Like he forgets halfway through that he isn’t supposed to say it so gently.
“Mhm?” Your voice barely works.
“We’re…” His jaw tightens. He swallows, and you follow the movement down his throat unconsciously. “We shouldn’t be this close.”
“I know.”
Neither of you moves.
He searches your face like he’s trying to memorise it – that, or he’s trying to convince himself to step back. His eyes drop to your mouth for one split second.
It’s enough.
Heat rushes to your face. Your heart kicks so hard you swear he can hear it, feel it in the air between you, and then you’re leaning in, and he is, too. Noses are inches apart, breaths mingling.
And then – he stops. You stop. Or you stop, and then he stops, you’re not quite sure. It feels simultaneous; if someone had done it first, it’d only be by a millisecond.
Either way, the moment cracks like thin ice.
You pull back first, hand dropping from his tie as if burned. Mingyu steps away so quickly he nearly hits the wall. His breath leaves him in one unsteady exhale he tries and fails to disguise.
“I shouldn’t – ” he starts, voice rough. He clears his throat, tries again. “We can’t.”
“I know,” you whisper.
He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling hard, composure unraveling in a way you’ve never seen. It makes something twist painfully, sharply, inside your chest.
“If I could…” he begins.
You look up.
“If I could,” he says again, lower now, some kind of urgency pushing his words into the space between you. “I would.”
You can’t breathe.
“But I can’t,” he adds quickly, too quickly, like if he doesn’t say it immediately he’ll lose the ability to say it at all. “Not while you’re covering this case. Not while I’m –” He gestures vaguely to the courtroom, to the entire world you both have to answer to, at least for now. “You know why.”
You nod. Because you do know, you’ve always known. “I get it,” you say softly.
He steps back another inch, like distance is the only thing keeping him sane. “I should go,” he says, then, and you don’t stop him. Just watch him leave, noting through your daze how tight his shoulders are, how rigid his steps are.
When he disappears around the corner, you finally let yourself exhale.
By the time you make it home that night, your legs feel like someone else’s. The walk from the bus stop is only seven minutes, but it stretches out, heavy, your thoughts just racing further with every step.
Ryujin is sprawled on the couch when you walk in, laptop open, hair perched in a precarious bun at the top of her head. She peeks over the screen the moment she hears the door.
“You’re home late,” she says. “What’d the justice system do to you this time? Suck the remaining life out of you?”
You drop your bag by the coat rack. “Basically.”
Ryujin narrows her eyes in exaggerated suspicion. “You didn’t answer my text earlier.”
“I was busy.”
“With court stuff,” she says, as if warming up to a theory she’s been itching to present all day. “Or with your favourite lawyer?”
She says it with a deep, smug, knowing tone.
You glare at her. “He’s not my favourite lawyer.”
“Uh-huh.” She closes her laptop halfway, leaning her chin on her palm. “You’re lying poorly again. Want to try that sentence one more time with dignity?”
You toe off your shoes and join her on the couch, sinking into the cushion like it’s been years since you last sat down. “There’s nothing going on.”
Ryujin doesn’t blink. “Yet.”
You grab a throw pillow and smack her with it. “Not yet, not ever,” you correct. “At least, not until I get rid of this stupid job.”
“And is that in the cards any time soon?”
You stare at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the faint hum of the fridge. You knew this conversation would happen eventually. You just thought you’d have more time to figure out what you want.
“I’ve been applying for new jobs since before this case started,” you admit.
Ryujin sits up straighter. “Wait. Really?”
“Yes.” You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I like writing. You know I do. I just don’t think this lane is where I want to stay. The court stuff, it’s interesting, but it’s not what I got into journalism for. You know that.”
Ryujin blinks, processing. “So this isn’t about him.”
“No,” you say. “It’s not. I’d do this whether I’d met him or not.”
She watches you carefully, long enough that you start to feel exposed under it, then she nods. “Okay. Good. Because quitting a whole career path for a guy would be stupid.”
“You’re very supportive,” you deadpan. “Weren’t you the one going on about oh, the love of your life or a job you hate?”
“I wasn’t serious, you know that. I’m realistic,” she counters, kicking your shin gently. “But if you’ve been unhappy, then yeah! Leave. Apply to every job. Apply to the ones you don’t even want. Chaos is free.”
You laugh, weak but genuine.
“And…” Ryujin raises her brows, voice shifting softer. “It does make it easier for you to go ahead, and, you know. Ask out the man of your dreams.”
You cover your face with your hands. “It’s – he is not – ”
“He absolutely is,” she says. “But that’s fine. We’re not judging. We’re just stating things accurately.”
“Just because I quit doesn’t mean we’re going to magically live happily ever after. He might not even like me like that.” You know that’s not true, especially after today. Still, you hate how much you sound like you’re back in high school.
“You sound like you’re back in high school.”
You groan, sliding down the couch until your head rests against the armrest. “I hate you.”
Ryujin pats your knee affectionately. “No you don’t. You love me. I’m wise.”
“You’re annoying.”
“I am large. I contain multitudes.”
You stare at the ceiling again, but this time, it feels a little lighter. Less like the world is closing in, more like it’s shifting forward.
Ryujin nudges you with her foot. “So. New jobs. What are we looking for?”
You hesitate, but only for a second, because you’ve thought about it so much. “Something with more features. Maybe like, one of those, you know, fancy arts magazines. Or the literature stuff.”
Her grin spreads slow and pleased. “Then we’ll find it. Easy.”
You know it’s not easy – it’s been weeks of sending applications into the void – but the conviction in her voice warms something inside you.
“And hey,” she adds, sitting back with her laptop. “If your tall hot lawyer happens to read your award-winning future articles and regret the day he ever let you walk away, that’s his problem.”
You throw another pillow at her face, and she catches it, triumphant.
You’re not expecting to see anyone from the courthouse on a Saturday morning, least of all Mingyu. The café is a good twenty minutes away from the district building, far enough away that you don’t get any familiar faces whenever you come here to work, except when you drag Ryujin with you.
Today, though, it’s just you, your laptop, a croissant, and yet another job application form. You’re halfway through uploading some of your writing samples when the bell over the café door jingles.
You don’t look up, not until you hear a familiar voice say, “You have got to be kidding me.”
Your fingers freeze over your keyboard.
You raise your eyes slowly. Mingyu stands in the doorway, holding an iced Americano and wearing glasses you’ve never seen before, round, thin-framed, unfairly flattering. His hair is slightly messy, like he didn’t bother styling it for once, and for once, he’s not wearing a suit.
“You’re following me,” you say, because it’s the first thing your mouth decides to go with.
He huffs. “Do you really think I have time for that?”
You close your laptop halfway. “Compelling argument, Mr Kim.”
He winces. “Please don’t call me that here. It’s Saturday.”
You can’t help laughing, and the sound makes him stop mid-step, just for a beat, barely noticeable. His expression softens as he moves toward your table.
“You working?” he asks, nodding at your laptop.
“Trying to,” you reply. “Not court stuff, so don’t worry.”
He hesitates, standing there with his coffee, shifting his weight. “Mind if I…?” He gestures vaguely to the empty seat across from you.
And this – this is where you should say no. Because it’s weird. Because you spend too much time in hallways and lobbies together already, because you almost kissed the last time you were alone together.
But he’s looking at you with hopeful eyebrows, and it’s Saturday, and you’re tired of replaying the same loops in your head.
“Sure,” you say lightly, but as he sits, you angle your laptop away from him without thinking. He notices.
“I’m not trying to peek,” he says, hands raised in surrender.
You smile. “I didn’t think you were.”
There’s a brief lull as he unwraps his straw, stirs his drink, takes a sip. Something about the normalcy of it, the absence of suits, no fluorescent lighting hanging above you – it feels absurdly intimate.
“So am I allowed to ask what you’re working on that’s not court stuff?” he asks. “Creative writing? Exposé about the corruption of local cafés?”
Your eyes widen, feeling caught.
He blinks at your silence, and you see him withdraw just the tiniest bit, a smile plastered on his face. “You don’t have to tell me, you know.”
“Job applications,” you say before you can soften it.
His eyebrows shoot up, surprise breaking across his features. “You’re leaving City News?”
You sigh, pushing a hand through your hair. “Trying to.”
He sits up abruptly. “Why?”
You lean back a little, startled by his sudden change in tone, almost harsh. “What?”
“Listen,” he says, urgently, quickly. “If this is about – last week.”
“What,” you say slowly, raising an eyebrow. If he won’t say it, you will. “When we almost kissed?”
His cheeks redden, but he pushes forward. “Yes, that. If this is about that, then don’t – I mean, it shouldn’t have happened.”
It feels like something cold is dousing your chest, trickling down into the pit of your stomach. “I know that.”
“Because we’re in the middle of an active case.” He insists on continuing, like he hasn't heard you. “It wouldn’t be right, you know that. And besides, it was just – it was bad timing. A mistake. We were, you know, exhausted, and we’ve always been friendly, but you don’t have to le–”
You cut him off. “A mistake?”
“I’m trying to say, you don’t have to quit just because of that. It wouldn’t be right. We can just forget it ever happened!”
You’re still hung up on that word. A mistake. “I’m sorry,” you say, letting out a derisive snort. “If I could, I would – isn’t that what you said? And now it’s suddenly just a mistake?”
Mingyu’s eyes widen, like he’s just realising he’s done something wrong. Like he’s just realising he’s misunderstood this whole entire thing.
“For your information, Mr Kim, I’ve been applying for new jobs for over a month,” you bite out, shoving your stuff into your bag. “It has nothing to do with you, or whatever mistake we made last week.”
“Wait – wait, ___,” he starts, but you don’t let him finish.
“Listen, if you want to forget about it, feel free. Consider it done. I’ll never bring it up again, and once I get my new job, you never have to see my face again.” You’re tired, embarrassed, angry, and all of it knots together inside your chest. “I’ll see you in court, Mr Kim.”
He doesn’t come after you.
You don’t expect the silence to be this absolute.
A part of you thinks that once you step back into the courtroom, once you’re surrounded by clerks and attorneys and the usual shuffle of papers, things will fall back into their familiar rhythm, that he’ll make some quiet comment as he passes your table, or nod in that way that’s half-greeting, half-habit.
Instead, Mingyu barely looks at you.
The first time you see him after the argument, he’s already leafing through a binder. His expression is the same one he wears for every session in court: composed, serious, utterly focused. But he doesn’t lift his gaze when you walk in – not when you take your seat, not even when you have to shift your chair because one of your colleagues squeezes past, the scrape of the metal legs loud against the tile.
You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You tell yourself it’s for the best.
You tell yourself that yesterday’s email, beginning with Congratulations! means you won’t have to do this for much longer. Except then, outside the courtroom, you ask a follow-up question to something your co-worker asks, and when he replies, your stomach twists because you can hear the difference.
He talks to you the way he talks to every other reporter in the room.
When court breaks, you linger by the aisle to avoid crossing paths. It works for exactly two minutes, until a clerk tries to hand you a set of documents and they slip, scattering across the floor. You kneel to gather them at the same moment someone else does.
Long fingers. A watch you’ve teased him about before.
You stop.
Mingyu hovers for half a second, clearly debating whether to continue. Then, very slowly, painfully slowly, he puts the pile he’s gathered down, retracts his hand and stands.
“I’ll let you take those,” he says, softly.
“Thank you,” you answer, eyes fixed on the papers, pulse loud in your ears.
You don’t look up. You can’t.
He steps away, shoes quiet against the polished floor.
The ink on the papers blur for a second, and you blink hard, blaming the courtroom’s dry air. You breathe again only when the door closes behind him.
Time passes, and the distance settles into a horrible routine.
He holds doors open for everyone, including you, without pausing or meeting your eye. When he makes an objection that gets sustained, you don’t let yourself smile. When he wins a point you predicted he would, you don’t feel the same sense of satisfaction. When he glances up mid-argument, you keep your gaze locked on your laptop.
On one of the later days, he falters, just for a moment – mid-sentence, his breath catches on a word. No one else notices, but you do, and you reflexively look up, his eyes are on you. There’s a beat, and then he continues speaking, steady and smooth as ever, but that single slip echoes inside you.
By the last day of trial, the courthouse feels different.
Not quieter – if anything, it’s louder, people sliding through hallways with more purpose than usual – but the air around you feels muted. As if you’re wrapped in thick cotton, watching everything from a half-step removed.
And maybe that’s because you spend the entire morning doing what you’ve perfected over the past week: not looking at Kim Mingyu. Not unless you absolutely, professionally must.
He doesn’t look at you either. Not unless he absolutely, professionally must.
When you enter the courtroom, he’s already sitting, files arranged in his impossibly neat stack, suit crisp, expression unreadably calm. You don’t let your gaze linger. You don’t give yourself that indulgence. Instead you slide into the press row, notebook out, pen ready.
The judge enters. Everyone rises. Everyone sits.
You take notes mechanically, fingers moving on their own. Working without really thinking, just trying your best to keep your focus away from him, as you have been over the past few weeks. You focus on the defendant instead, on the closing arguments, anything but him.
But Mingyu, of course, makes that impossible.
He stands to deliver the prosecution’s final statement, and even though you stare fixedly at the edge of your notebook, you hear every word, clear, steady, composed. He’s good. More than good. Same as he always is.
Your pen slips once, leaving a long ink drag across the margin.
When he returns to his seat, you don’t look up, you keep writing.
You try not to hear your pulse.
The afternoon stretches. The jury is out deliberating, leaving everyone suspended in that suffocating pre-verdict limbo. Some reporters mingle in the hallway. Others type up summaries. You sit on a bench outside the courtroom, laptop open, pretending to fine-tune your article when really you’re trying not to look down the hall.
Because he’s there, talking to someone on his team, looking completely collected – except for the way he keeps rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to ease out the tension.
You shouldn’t notice that, and you shouldn’t know that gesture as well as you do.
Ryujin messages you once – still going ok? want me to bring u a coffee?? – and you send back a short, all good, last day anyway. She doesn’t push.
You sigh, keep your head down, but eventually, your eyes pull upward on their own. Just for a second. Just to confirm that he’s still there, that he’s –
He’s looking at you.
Only for a moment, but it’s enough that you jolt, like you’ve been caught doing something wrong. You drop your gaze so fast your whole body jerks with the movement, your laptop screen wobbling.
The distance between you feels like a physical thing, thick, uncomfortable, heavy with everything unsaid. And after so much of it, you’re beginning to realize something awful:
You miss him.
You miss teasing him in the lobby. You miss his quick quips, you miss the way he’d accidentally catch your eye in court. The way he’d nod at you in greeting whenever he passed by, the faintest of smiles on his lips.
You press your fingers to your temple. You brought this on yourself, you know that. For some reason, it doesn’t make it easier.
It’s late afternoon when the jury returns.
Everyone shuffles back inside, and the verdict is delivered, a mixture of charges upheld, others dismissed. You type each one out dutifully to draft up later, but you don’t have much interest in your screen. You already know this is your last case to cover, possibly your last time in this courtroom.
When court adjourns, the room splits into a hum of conversation. Attorneys shake hands, reporters drift forward, and you close your laptop slowly. You’re not in a rush, but you don’t have good reason to linger either.
You pack your bag, slip past a cluster of colleagues, and make for the aisle. You almost make it out without a word to anyone, which is quite a feat, but then Mingyu steps, ever so carefully, into your path. His expression is careful,gentle around the edges, but careful. Walking on eggshells.
“Hey,” he says, quietly. He opens his mouth, closes it, wets his lips with his tongue, and finally settles on – “Good work.”
You swallow, throat tight. “You too.”
He nods once, like he expected that. Like he doesn’t expect anything else from you anymore. And then someone’s calling his name from across the room, another attorney, and your phone starts buzzing, and the moment breaks.
Mingyu steps back. Offers you a polite, nearly formal incline of his head, and then he’s gone.
Good work.
Two weeks pass before you set foot in the courthouse again.
You tell yourself it won’t feel strange. You’re here to pick up a few documents, one last errand for City News, nothing more. Nothing to do with prosecutors or defence attorneys or even Lee Junhyeon. Nothing to do with Mingyu, either.
The courthouse looks the same when you approach it, though: winter sun catching on its windows, the wide stone steps as familiar as always. Inside, the lobby buzzes with the usual noise, heels, echoing voices.
You focus on the desk you need to get to. You focus on not looking around. You almost pull it off, chatting to the clerk, Yeji, about your new job with a smile. Chaeryeong comes up behind you both. “___!” she says. “What are you doing here?”
“She’s quitting,” Yeji answers for you, beaming. Even she knew how much you wanted to leave.”She’s going to work at one of those fancy arts and culture magazines.”
“No shit,” Chaeryeong says, admiringly. “You got a new job?”
And then you hear Mingyu, somewhere to your side.
Of course you hear Mingyu. His voice stands out even when you don’t want it to.
“Really?” he asks, soft in a way that hits you low in the stomach. “Where?”
Your throat tightens, half nerves, half guilt. You hadn’t planned to tell him. You hadn’t planned to avoid telling him, either. It was just so much easier this way.
Yeji opens her mouth, probably to answer, but she must see your face, and closes it, suddenly standing up and grabbing Chaeryeong’s hand. “We’re going to, uh. Go do our job. Somewhere else.” And they disappear down the hallway before you can even say anything.
You turn, and for one awful, suspended second, you and Mingyu stare at each other across the lobby. There’s surprise on his face first, then relief, then something unreadable that he very quickly pushes away. He steps toward you, and you force your spine straighter.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
Silence stretches, thin and taut.
You exhale through your nose. “I didn’t know you were here today.”
“I could say the same,” he replies. “I thought – ” He stops, shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
You nod. Another silence. It’s not the comfortable kind you used to share, this one is awkward and delicate.
“Congrats,” he says finally. “On the new job.”
“Thank you,” you reply. “I’m excited.”
“You should be.” He means it; you can tell. “It’s a good move for you.”
You swallow. “Listen, Mr –” you start, and then change your mind. “Mingyu. About the other day, in the café. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I’m sorry.”
“No,” he says, quickly, eagerly. “I’m sorry. I messed up my words, you had every right to be upset.”
“I still shouldn’t have said it like I did,” you say. “You didn’t deserve that.”
His mouth curves. “Maybe a little.”
You huff out a breath that’s an excuse for a laugh, hands tightening around the strap of your bag. You want to say more, but the words won’t come. And even if they did, this isn’t the place. Not with clerks walking by and the elevator dinging open and shut, not with the ghosts of the last few weeks crowding the air between you.
“I should get going,” you say instead.
“Right. Of course.”
You turn first. You always turn first. You walk toward the exit, and you don’t look back, even though you want to, even though everything in you pulls tight at the thought of leaving things like this again.
The courthouse doors swing open. Morning light spills across the steps. You’re halfway down when you hear your name, called after you.
You stop.
Mingyu’s footsteps are quick, uneven, like he didn’t think before he moved. When you pivot, he’s there, eyes wide, tie, as always, crooked.
“Wait,” Mingyu says, slightly breathless. And he’s looking at you with that expression he never lets slip in court: unguarded, earnest, a little scared and a lot certain. “___,” he says softly, stepping closer. “I know the timing is awful,” he says, voice low but steady.
“The timing is always awful,” you agree, but you’re smiling.
His lips twitch slightly in response, but then he’s serious again. “I don’t want to leave things like this.”
Your pulse stutters.
“And I know we said we needed boundaries before,” he continues quickly, pushing on like he’s afraid you’re going to take flight. “We were right. But you’re not covering my cases anymore. And I’m not your source. And – ” He stops, exhales hard. “Can I take you to dinner?”
The world hangs still.
Not the courthouse behind you or the street below or the people passing, just the two of you and the question he finally asks.
You blink at him.
Then:
“Yeah,” you say, the word soft but sure. “You can.”
Relief unfurls across his features, warm and bright and so unmistakably Mingyu that your chest aches.
“Okay,” he says, almost laughing under his breath. “Okay. Great.”
“Great,” you echo, failing to control the smile that spread across your face.
He stands there a moment longer, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind. You meet his eyes, really meet them, and something settles between you both, warmer and sweeter than ever.
a/n: i was struggling w/ ideas initially but i remembered a convo em and i had like Forever ago about how smart mingyu is and i was like. let me do something with that. and this is what came out. anyway. happy birthday to em. i love u.
The popularity of the "incompetent stupid piece of shit husband and competent wife who loves him anyways" trope in media is a psyop to make women believe its normal to settle for an incompetent stupid piece of shit husband
٠࣪⭑ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem reader
٠࣪⭑ summary: it's 2006 - you and wonwoo are better off as lovers
٠࣪⭑ genre: childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, college au
٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with me, i'll block you.
٠࣪⭑ warnings: swearing, drinking, undefined relationships, mutual pining. idiots in love. my babies are flawed and that's okay because so are real people. reader and wonwoo are just stupid regular people who say and do stupid regular things, it is intentional, please love them anyway. they are both down bad. occasional use of pet names (baby & pretty), no use of y/n or other variations, plot and smut, mention of historical bullying, but nothing graphic or extreme.
٠࣪⭑ smut contents: gendered terms, kisses (lots), fingering (pussy + mouths), oral (f & m receiving), no condoms but reader is on BC, sloppy, soooo much hand holding, sex!!!!!, hickeys, neediness <333333, all in all they are quite soft and disgustingly into each other. if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post!
٠࣪⭑ wc: 17.7k - complete
٠࣪⭑ a/n: this work is the main instalment from my series sorry every song's about you. it’s complete on its own and can be read without the others. there’s a prequel already posted, it’ll be linked at the end and can be found on the series masterlist linked above. you choose the order you want to read them in. future fics for this couple will be non-linear and feature different stages of their lives.
the title comes from Fall Out Boy’s I slept with someone in Fall Out Boy and all I got was this stupid song written about me. I have a playlist linked on the series masterlist if you happen to be into that.
٠࣪⭑ thank yous: to my loves, @100vern and @starlightkyeom– thank you for reading this in fragments, over and over again until i got it right. jewel again, thank you for the banner. i appreciate and love you both beyond belief. to @c-oupsie thank you for catching my errors and shouting at me about these two idiots in my dms, i love yelling, i appreciate you. to @daechwitatamic thank you for encouraging me, i appreciate you and your shouting too! to everyone who reads, thank you for coming to my little corner, i hope you enjoy this one.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
January 2006
Wonwoo got the last choice for film night. He’d put on some period drama to make up for the torture he put you through earlier (another horror movie), one that’ll make you cry very soon probably, and sets the re-filled popcorn bowl between your legs. You pass him a bottle that he opens with his teeth, because for some reason you always forget to bring an opener from the kitchen, and once you’re tucked up in the blanket, with his thigh pressed against the side of yours, it feels too wrong to move.
It’s routine. It’s good. It’s been this way since school. Every Tuesday is reserved for taking up each other's space. Tuesday– because who else makes plans on Tuesdays? Watching movie after movie in his apartment until it gets too late to go home, and you sleep here. Can’t get interrupted on a Tuesday. (The only time you press pause is when either of you are dating someone, the last was Siyeon several months ago. You liked her, but Wonwoo never really talked about why he ended it.) You have a half hearted fight over who takes the sofa, but you always win out in the end. Wonwoo brings you pillows and pyjamas that smell like his laundry powder. It’s fine. It’s nice.
The problem is that lately your feelings have been running away with themselves again. You’re not sure how it started anew, or if they ever even fully went away, but the affection you have for him swirls, neglected and nameless, in your stomach. All Wonwoo has to do is smile in your direction and you melt. Made worse tenfold every time he holds your hand. It’s not often. Just when a particularly horrible scene comes on, and your spine goes rigid and you hold your breath, he’ll reach over, wrap his fingers around yours and use his thumb to work the tension out of your knuckles. He’s so good like this. You’ll take all the horror movies he wants for these soft moments, even though they make everything worse. He’s your best friend, and you’ve tried this two too many times. You never properly talked about the last time, the second time, four years ago.
(It’s like these feelings come in cycles.)
The end began with a sickness bug that stretched several days, and ended with a clipped voicemail, Wonwoo’s quiet contemplation obvious through the tinny sound of the recording, saying he wants to just be friends, saying he didn’t want to ruin what you have. That he cares about you so deeply that your friendship needs preserving over everything else. Yes, it hurt. God– it hurts. But you’d rather have him in your life in these half measures, than not at all.
His hand is on his leg now. You could touch but you won’t. What’s happening on screen isn’t the right kind of scary for holding Wonwoo’s hand. Just Laurie telling Jo he loves her, and Jo telling him she doesn’t. Not in that way. You sink onto your side, hardly watching the screen through fuzzy eyes. Wonwoo chuckles softly as he looks over.
“Are you crying?”
“No–” you say, voice thick.
“Oh you are,” he says, leaning over to stroke your hair.
“Don’t touch me right now, Wonwoo,” you warn. “I’ll bite you.”
“Freak.” He laughs and pulls his hand back. “Shit–”
“What?”
It’s obvious what. Wonwoo has knocked over the mostly-full bottle that was tucked between you, and it’s soaking into the seat.
You jump up to grab some paper towels from the kitchen, and when you come back Wonwoo is stripping the covers from the cushions. “Fuck, it’s soaked. I’m so sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” you ask, patting the excess liquid from the cushions. ‘It’s your sofa.”
“Yeah but it’s your bed.”
“Who says I was even gonna stay?” you joke.
“Ha ha,” he deadpans.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll call a taxi.”
Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “It’s one AM, you’re not going home now.”
You laugh. “And where, pray tell, am I going to sleep?”
“My room,” he says, without any idea how the thought of that has been floating through your mind for weeks. You haven’t slept in there since– since– “Hansol’s on the night shift, I’ll take his.”
You chew on the fat of your cheek. “Okay, sure. That works.”
There’s a knock at the half open door an hour later. “I’m so sorry,” Wonwoo whispers. “I can’t sleep.”
“Does it smell again?”
“It’s like something died in there. And there’s crumbs in the bed.”
Okay. Okay. It’s fine.
Wonwoo slips into the bed next to you, pulls the sheets right up to his shoulders even though he must be boiling in those pyjamas. Maybe he’s feeling strange about this, too. You turn on your side to find him watching your face already, cautious eyes and words unsaid on his lips.
“Is this okay?” you ask. “Is this too weird?”
“Not weird,” he says. A pause. “A little weird. It’s been a while.” He reaches for your hand and you let him take it. Dummy.
“Do you think Jo and Laurie should’ve ended up together?” Wonwoo asks, after a minute.
“She didn’t love him.”
“Wouldn’t it have been a better story if she had?”
“Maybe, but it wouldn’t have been them then, right? Jo and Laurie in love would’ve been different people entirely.”
Here he is, fingers entwined with yours and much too close. Here you are, four years older and not at all wiser. You are Laurie, pathetic and yearning, and Wonwoo doesn’t seem to get that he’s Jo, and that sometimes his tenderness makes you ache.
“Goodnight, best friend,” he says.
Some things shouldn’t change even when they do.
“Goodnight, best friend,” you say.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Hansol opens the bedroom door at just past six AM. He clocks the bed, the lump under the sheets, the just visible hair, face hidden by Wonwoo’s shoulder. He locks eyes with Wonwoo, who has been laid wide awake for the better part of an hour, trying not to move lest he wakes you too, and mouths Who’s that?
Wonwoo mouths back your name, and Hansol’s jaw hangs open. He makes a crude gesture with his hands, and raises curious eyebrows. Wonwoo gives him the finger.
A little later, while you’re attempting to rush out the door for a seminar, Hansol is shovelling cereal in his mouth, and Wonwoo is sitting at the table with a coffee. Hansol asks around a mouthful of Frosties– “so, are you two fucking again?”
“What? No.”
Hansol swallows loudly, frowning confused. “What’s the wet patch on the couch?”
“Ew– it’s beer, you weirdo.” You’re staring at Hansol in disbelief. “Even if we were hooking up I don’t fuck on shared furniture.”
Wonwoo suppresses a choke on his coffee. You throw him a pointed look, lips twisting with the effort of trying not to laugh.
(You and he did, once, on the aforementioned sofa.)
“Why did you sleep in his–” Hansol gestures with an accusing spoon at Wonwoo. “–bed, then?”
“Because it smells like a skunk shat in your room, Hansol, maybe you should wash your arsehole once in a while.”
“I’m squeaky clean, buddy.”
“I doubt that, pal.”
Hansol laughs. He’s loving this. “You need to get laid so badly, shall I help find someone big and strong to pull that gigantic stick out your a–”
“Oh my God, please shut up,” Wonwoo interrupts. “It’s so weird you two are related, who talks with their cousins like this?”
“Second cousins,” you and Hansol correct in unison.
“Just to clarify– you’re not together again?”
You roll your eyes so hard all Wonwoo can see is white. “We weren’t ever together,” you say, exasperated. “We’ve been over this before.”
Wonwoo rubs his eyes under his glasses. “You’re going to be late,” he says to you.
You look at your watch. “Shit– bye best friend, call me tomorrow. Smell you later, Hansol.”
You’re already halfway out the door, and Hansol is calling after you, “Gonna find you a boyfriend! That’s a warning!”
When the door clicks closed, Hansol turns on Wonwoo. “You’re donezo, I guess?”
Wonwoo sips his coffee. “Never started-zo.”
That sounded less stupid in his head.
Grinning wide, Hansol says, “You won’t mind if I introduce her to Minghao, then?”
Wonwoo presses his forehead against the table and tries to consider how much Hansol’s parents would miss him if he were to flush their son down the toilet.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
February 2006
Wonwoo hovers his cursor over the Submit button. He hesitates. Could remove one of the options, the long shot, and replace it with something more achievable. He’s not going to get it, and if he did he’s under no obligation to take it. It’s more for his ego than anything else, he tells himself. But Professor Lee had insisted he throw his hat in the ring, so he does, and tries not to panic over having made a horrible error of judgement once he clicks submit, because now it’s too late– it’s in the ether.
You turn over in your sleep, uncomfy in the ball you’d tucked yourself into before drifting off, and your leg unfurls over him, seeking warmth and closeness. Wonwoo sets his laptop on the nightstand, and shifts down carefully next to you. It’s nights like these that Wonwoo is convinced that his life isn’t really real. Because isn’t it some funny joke that you’re here next to him like this, and you’re both still worlds apart. Touches are considered and well-mannered, despite how they used to be. But here you are in your ridiculous Pompompurin pyjamas and he wonders if you ever think about the last time you wore these with him. Probably not. It wouldn’t be considered memorable to anyone else, he thinks. Just a late breakfast in bed, that turned into non-stop talking, that turned silly, peppered kisses into lazy, deepened ones, forgoing lunch in favour of laying together, just close, in ways not completely unlike you are now. In some parallel universe, in some other life, this could still be happening in the way it was meant to.
Wonwoo considers how well he really knows you now, if it’s less than before, if your favourite colour is still the same as it was when you were children together. There are some questions you don’t think to ask your best friend of twenty years, because it’s expected you’ll already know. Unfortunately, Wonwoo knows nothing of the things inside your head, and someday you’ll find out. Tomorrow he’s going to ask what your favourite colour is, and hopefully that someday won’t be anytime soon.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Wonwoo surprises you when he picks up the phone on a Friday evening.
“Oh– hello. I was preparing to leave you a message. Aren’t you playing WoW?”
“Runescape,” he says. “Just getting snacks. What’s up?”
“Mum called, said I’ve got a letter there about our class reunion next month, the eighteenth.”
“Ah yeah, Jihoon mentioned that it was coming up.”
“You wanna go? I could rent a car.”
“Oh so you’re volunteering me as the driver?” You can hear Wonwoo’s smile through the phone. “When are you planning on getting your licence?”
You pout, even though he can’t see you. “Come onnn, won’t it be fun? I promise I’ll be good company.”
Wonwoo laughs. “How good?”
“I’ll bring the snacks.”
“Uh huh–”
“And I’ll burn three new CDs.”
“Four.”
“And I’ll burn four new CDs.”
“Okay, getting closer.”
“And, uh– honestly that's all I had.” You wrack your brain and come up with nothing of substance. “I’ll uh– I’ll hype you up in front of that girl you had a crush on. Whatsername? The cheerleader. God, it’s on the tip of my tongue–”
“Who are you talking about?”
“The girl– that girl you liked once. The one with the hair–”
“I genuinely have no idea who you mean.” He does sound confused, actually.
“Damn,” you say. “That’s all my bargaining chips.”
“Damn,” he echoes, with a click of his tongue. “Guess you’ll have to take me to dinner if you can’t remember who my mystery girl is.”
“So you’ll drive us?”
“Rent the car.”
“Thanks dear, you’re a real friend,” you sing-song. “Love you, see y–”
“Wait,” he says. “Wanna come over and play Mario Kart?
“Right now?”
“Yeah, you can stay the weekend. If you want.”
There was a phrase Wonwoo’s dad always used to use for the pair of you. Birds of a feather flock together. You’re flocking so often you hardly have to think about it. Just comes naturally. Nothing else is going on, and a weekend playing games and eating out of Wonwoo’s fridge instead of your own is a decent offering. Maybe he’ll have rented that film he talked about last week. The Descent? You’ll tolerate it, if he’ll squeeze your hand through the awful parts.
“Sure, okay. I’ll pack a bag.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
March 2006
The last weeks of winter feel too long, but today there is a breath of warmth in the air and it feels good good good. March is always the best time of year for dreaming, you think. Feels especially good when you’re watching 28 Days Later, and Wonwoo holds your hand through the whole thing. It’s not even as scary as the others he’s had you sit through, but holding his hand feels nice. Every Tuesday since Little Women has ended in his bed. Feels like old times, without any of the touching and all of the one sided angst.
When it’s your turn, Wonwoo groans at the sight of the Sense and Sensibility box, but it’s gently done.
“You cannot complain when we’ve been watching horror every week lately,” you admonish, pointing at him with one of your fries. He bites at it and you throw the remaining half at his face. “You know I hate them.”
Wonwoo grins. “You should complain more, then.”
You hum your agreement. “Well it’s because I’m so selfless that I don’t, you see.”
“Sure, sure,” Wonwoo laughs. His laugh is so lovely. “That’s why you’re taking up my entire bed every Tuesday night.”
You scoff. “I sleep very mindfully, actually. I even curl into a little ball so your giraffe legs have enough space.”
“Is that so?” Wonwoo tugs at the material of your (his) pyjama bottoms. “Then explain why I’ve woken up with your legs draped over me every time?”
You blink. Can feel the heat on your ears. Thank God it’s dark. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t realise.”
A pause.
“I don’t mind,” he says. Quiet. Suddenly too serious. You can’t look at him. “You’ve always slept like that.”
“Movie’s starting,” you say. And that’s that.
Later, Wonwoo squeezes in beside you in his tiny bathroom to brush his teeth. He bumps his hip into your side, smiles at you in the mirror, and it feels so horribly domestic you might actually throw up. It doesn’t make sense what you’re doing.
When you finish brushing your teeth you look down the hallway to the sofa, think briefly about taking it, but Wonwoo steps out behind you, tugs on your sleeve and asks if you’re coming to bed. There’s toothpaste on the corner of his lip. This time four years ago you would’ve wiped it away. Now you just tap at the corner of your own, say got something there and let Wonwoo sort himself out.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
It’s a rare Tuesday that Hansol is home. He takes Wonwoo’s usual spot next to you, showing you pictures of some guy on his laptop while Wonwoo is fetching drinks and snacks from the kitchen, and when he comes back in the room he blinks, surprised that he’s been relegated to the armchair. He leans over the arm of the sofa to peer at the Myspace profile loaded on Hansol’s screen.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Hansol here is trying to get me a date.”
“Am not,” Hansol rebuts. “Though if I were, is he the sort of guy you’d be interested in?”
“Uh–”
Wonwoo’s sharp laugh sounds like a bark. “No, Soonyoung is not her type.”
You swat at him. “What would you know about my type? None of my exes have been remotely similar. He’s hot.”
“Sure, but he’s not for you,” Wonwoo insists. “He’s not serious about anything–”
Hansol sighs, dejected. “We’re never gonna get him laid–“
You stare at the screen. “And apparently he’s a virgin–”
“Don’t shame him,” Hansol says flatly.
“I’m not! It’s just surprising, that’s all!”
“Okay, fine, what about this guy–” He’s already closing off his profile and loading another. It’s all grunge and dark compared to the neon green garishness of the previous. He’s tall, long dark hair, painted nails. That’s all you get to see before Wonwoo is snapping the laptop closed.
“I’m putting on the movie now, guests choice first.”
“Who pissed in your cereal?” asks Hansol.
Wonwoo doesn’t answer. Just flops into the chair opposite, jaw tight, eyes burning holes into the title screen on the TV.
Pride and Prejudice begins, and no less than five minutes in, Hansol sags against the back of the sofa. “Borrrrring. Can we watch Shrek instead?”
Wonwoo glances at you, and you shrug. Hansol takes that as a yes, and disappears off to his room to dig out the DVD from underneath the mess.
“We can watch it another time,” Wonwoo offers. But you don’t care about that. You’re wondering if Wonwoo is keeping his secrets again. If Hansol knew much about your past, more than the hooking up, more to do with the depth of the feelings you once had for each other, would he be trying to set you up with his and Wonwoo’s friends, right in front of him?
Later, you lay in Wonwoo’s bed and ask why he isn’t dating anyone. He’s on the verge of sleep, can hear it with how low his voice is, how soft.
“Don’t wanna,” he hums, eyes closed. “M’happy as I am.”
Ah.
“Why aren’t you?”
“Aren’t I what?”
“Dating someone.”
“Well I’ve got terribly high standards, you see.”
Wonwoo laughs, grins lazy and sweet. “Not high enough. All your partners have been awful.”
“Not all of them,” you argue.
“Name one.” His big brown eyes open just enough for him to level you with them.
You could say anything. Anything. You could say what you really mean, and it could be okay. It could not, too.
“Remember Park Sungkyu? He was pretty great.”
Wonwoo tickles your middle, and you yelp, swatting at him and suppressing a giggle. “Boys from when we were six don’t count.”
“He gave me a crown for my birthdayyy!” you sing-song. “He called me his Princess.” Wonwoo tickles you again and you jolt.
“Okay, okay, you’re right! I have terrible taste! Now stop torturing me, you freak.”
“Whatever Her Majesty desires.”
You kick him in the shin in exaggerated outrage but all Wonwoo does is smile wide, grossly pleased with himself. He’s beautiful like this.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
It’s the weekend and you’re watching Pride and Prejudice from Wonwoo’s bed. Hansol has taken over the living room with a group of friends, and their yelling is so loud it feels like they’re right outside the door. It’s the final game for something or other, you didn’t really listen. It’s unseasonably warm, and though the window is thrust open the air hangs still and heavy in this room. You’re laid shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, sheets pushed down to your feet. Occasionally, his thigh brushes yours and it’s nice. His hand twists, palm up, and his thumb strokes your wrist. You like how it feels deliberate.
It gets to the part where Elizabeth turns down Mr Darcy’s proposal and Wonwoo sniffs. You near snap your neck to look at him. “Are you crying?”
“No.”
“You are. Your eyes are all watery.”
He gestures at the screen. “This is fucked up. They could just talk to each other.”
You shrug, turning back to the screen. Elizabeth finishes up her speech, Mr Darcy looks at her lips, they lean in and hold back. The desperation in his voice, his breathy please, has your chest knotted tight and uncomfortable. “Without a little miscommunication there wouldn’t be any story at all,” you say.
“Love doesn’t need to be a story,” says Wonwoo, flat. “It could just be.”
“But then we wouldn’t have films, my dearest friend. And all this yearning makes me feel alive.”
Wonwoo knocks his foot against yours, and you nudge him back. More cheers from down the hall.
“I hate yearning. Makes me feel sick.”
You laugh then, rolling onto your side and looking over at him. Your heart is thumping so loud he can surely hear it. Don’t say it. Don’t push. “What have you ever yearned for?”
Fuck. What a stupid thing to say.
He doesn’t look at you. Rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and clams up. “Nothing. Nevermind.” And there it is. He’ll touch on his terms and won’t give the feeling a name. He pushes up from the bed. “Want ice cream?”
“No,” you grumble, slipping down flat on the bed and stretching out your arms, eyes fluttering shut to tuck up the feeling in them. “Wanna sleep. This weather makes me tired.”
“Let's sleep then,” he says. “We can finish the rest in the morning.” He shuts off his laptop and makes to take off his t-shirt, but stops, clearly thinking better of it.
You poke his arm. “I don’t mind if you want to sleep without it. It’s boiling.”
“You sure?” he asks.
“Yeah. Nothing I haven’t seen before anyway.”
His shoulders go all stiff for a second. Stupid.
“Aren’t you warm too?”
Yes. The sweat is starting to make your shirt stick to your skin. “No, I’m okay.”
Wonwoo shrugs off his clothes, tosses them to the chair (keeps his underwear on even though he usually wouldn’t, as some attempt at consideration for the blockades between you ever since– since before) and lays down. Your eyes meet in the half-dark for a moment, and there is something unwritten in his expression. The backs of your hands brush, and it’s still not the right kind of scary to make this touch okay. You can feel the warmth beaming out of him, and you almost tell him how lovely he looks with his skin all flushed and shiny like this. But then he turns his back on you, whispers goodnight, best friend to the wall, and you hold your breath for a moment, while you sink into the depths of your wanting.
You can’t be the one to bring up the possibility of you, together, again. It’s too humiliating. You should let this go.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Thanks to traffic the drive takes longer than expected. It doesn’t matter. Despite burning six CDs, and stealing four from Hansol’s collection, Wonwoo has you play From Under the Cork Tree twice in the first half of the drive. For the first two hours you talk non-stop, the next is taken up speculating on and placing bets on the lives of the classmates you haven’t already reconnected with on Facebook. You spend the fourth half-snoozing, while Wonwoo hums along to Snow Patrol. He’s gently singing the wrong lyrics to Set Fire to the Third Bar, when Jihoon calls your mobile.
“Hi Jihoon,” you murmur, and then holding up the phone to Wonwoo’s ear– “Say hi.”
“Hi Jihoon,” says Wonwoo obediently. “We’re still two hours away– shitty traffic.”
You take the phone back, and say, “Are we meeting you there tonight or do you guys wanna come pregame with us and Wonwoo’s parents?”
Jihoon laughs. “How much pregaming are we talking?”
“I need at least two drinks before I set foot in the same room as Choi Hwangyu.”
“Haven’t you let that whole mortal enemies thing go yet?”
“Never,” you assert, crossing your heart. Wonwoo laughs. “It’s a mutual hatred that will last for all eternity.”
“You know– ‘all eternity’ is a redundant phr–”
“Oh my Godddd.”
You settle on the plan for the evening quickly. You and Wonwoo will have dinner with his parents, change into something that smells less like rental car and chilli Doritos, and Jihoon and Iseul will meet you at the pub before heading to the venue near your old school.
You flip the phone to end the call, and Wonwoo reaches over to squeeze your knee.
“You gonna be okay? Seeing him?”
It started off as just a bunch of guys being dickheads, nothing too worthy of note. Hwangyu took it further. Snapping your bra strap in the middle of class, spilling drinks over your shirt in front of the entire lunch hall, spreading baseless rumours about boys you’d supposedly hooked up with. Once he started telling people you blew him in the chemistry lab during lunch break, Wonwoo and Jihoon stopped taking notice of your asking them to not intervene and “had words” after school. Wonwoo didn’t walk you home that day– had his friend from the year below, Mingyu, walk you instead. Jihoon told you not to ask so you never did, but just like that Hwangyu stopped giving you grief. Even back then you hated the fact that it took other guys to get him to leave you alone. Patriarchy rules even at the turn of the twenty-first century. How gross.
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I looked him up a few days ago. Guess what?”
“He’s divorced?”
“Divorced thrice.”
Wonwoo laughs. “We’re twenty-six, how does someone find the time to get married to and divorced from three different people?”
“We could’ve been married already had we not spent eight years fucking around at university.” You’re laughing until you notice Wonwoo’s eyebrows pinch in the middle, a weird lopsided smile on his face, and you realise what you just said. You cough. “Not we. You know what I mean. My question was more how did he find three separate people who want to fuck him?”
“Urgh, I’d rather not have that visual, thanks.”
Snow Patrol wraps up, and you dig out the CD case from under your feet. “Okay, what next? Arctic Monkeys or My Chemical Romance?”
“Can we have Fall Out Boy again?”
“Oh my G–”
“I really liked that fifth one.”
You fiddle taking Snow Patrol out the player and popping Fall Out Boy back in, trying not to scratch their bottoms.
“Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner? Yeah, it’s my second favourite.”
“What’s your first?” asks Wonwoo.
“XO, the last one.” You tip your head back against the headrest, close your eyes, listen to Wonwoo sing, and wonder if it’s him or the music that makes your heart beat faster.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
It’s fun, really. Catching up with all these people you haven’t seen in eight years, and Jihoon and Iseul, who you last saw seven months ago, and Wonwoo, who you see all the time. After your first rounds, the four of you huddle at the table on the furthest edge of the room, Iseul tells you about how her job is having her relocate to your city, and could you show her around (you will—of course you will. The idea of your old friend being there in your home makes you giddy, and Wonwoo laughs when you clap your hands in excitement.), Jihoon tells you all about his latest projects, and you and Wonwoo catch them both up on your studies. Eventually the group breaks off, Wonwoo to the bathroom, Jihoon to the bar, and Iseul spots another friend across the room, and darts off with a promise to be right back.
You take the moment of quiet to check your texts. Mingyu and Seokmin have heard you’re in town, they want to hang out tomorrow. Your mother wants to know if you’re staying the night with her or your father (neither, you’re staying with Wonwoo’s parents, who were far more glad to see you than your own parents would be), and Wonwoo, who has messaged from the bathroom.
Wonwoo: You’re taking me for dinner after this btw.
You: Wash your hands before texting me, you pig!
There’s a clearing of a throat behind you, and you turn, half expecting Wonwoo there saying something smart in reply, but it’s not.
“Oh. Hello.”
Your voice is anything but friendly. It seems Hwangyu still has the same unwarranted self-assuredness that pissed you off back then, because once addressed, he settles himself into the chair just vacated by Iseul and leans into your space.
You lean back. “Can I help you?”
“Did you come with Jihoon?’
You blink stupidly. He must not recognise you.
“No.”
He smirks, lazy, out the side of his mouth.
“Good,” he says, slow. “Can’t stand that guy.” Your eyebrows raise in surprise. “You’ve grown into your looks, haven’t you? Nice dress.”
There goes that hopeful theory of him not recognising you, but what in the God awful fuck is happening? Is he trying to pick you up? No apology, not even a pleasantry to speak of, just headfirst into some backhanded compliment and a sleazy smile. These men should only exist as fictional villains, not out in the real world.
You’re trying to gather your words. The planned retorts in your head don’t work in a situation where this is the angle he’s taking. Shit.
“I looked you up,” he says, not looking at you. Eyes darting, nervous almost, across the room. You spot his usual friend group, they’re all looking over like hyenas. “A few weeks ago.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Wanted to see if you were single. I always liked you, you know.”
The sound of your laugh takes you by surprise. Comes out more like a bark. “You had a funny way of showing it.”
He doesn’t have the good grace to look contrite. Instead he drums his chewed up fingers on his knee, and says, “Got your attention, though.”
There is stale air around him, hair already peppered at the sides. He looks older than his years, and affected. The hate isn’t eternal, because you just feel something like pity for him. Not so much that you’d forgive the way he treated you, but enough to let it go. Enough to be able to sit here and think that at least you remained kind, and three separate women divorced him before he got within touching distance of thirty. What a sad little life.
“Are you still Jeon Wonwoo’s girl?”
You roll your eyes. About to say no, the truth, because not wanting him has absolutely nothing to do with Wonwoo, and he should know that– but a hand on your shoulder stills you. “Yeah, she is,” says Jihoon, from behind you. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah. I am,” you echo, because you’re not going to let Hwangyu call your friend a liar.
Much too slowly, Hwangyu makes his exit. Exchanges stiff pleasantries with Jihoon, and tries with Iseul who doesn’t return them (she’s a wonderful friend), and slips away to his old friends across the hall. You watch– they clap him on the shoulder, jeer at him, make faces like a twelve year old would. Some friends.
Jihoon and Iseul sit back down in their respective seats. Exchange a look, and you heave a frustrated sigh, just before Wonwoo returns from the bathroom. His eyes flick between you, catching the smell of the tension, and sinks slowly into his seat next to yours.
“What did I miss?”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Mingyu and Seokmin are playing pool, badly. You can hear their yelling from all the way over here. Someone has started playing Boyz II Men on the jukebox. Jihoon is drunk, sings along to the words. His voice has always been pretty. Iseul joins in, and hers is less so, but it’s so fun to watch them together.
‘I know the colour of love
And it lives inside of you
I know the colour of truth
It's in the image of you’
They’re another set of friends who could have been, but didn’t. It’s a shame they could never figure it out. You and Wonwoo clink your bottles together, take a sip, and Wonwoo lets you lean against him. His arm rests on the bench behind your back, his hand on your shoulder. He’s a little drunk, as are you, and it’s nice to be home and in all your old haunts.
You rest the back of your head in the crook of his neck, and ask him what he thinks the colour of love is.
Wonwoo hums in thought, runs his thumb along the length of your shoulder blade. “I don’t know, I’ll need to think about it. What do you think it is?”
“It’s pink.”
“Why?”
Blush pink, soft, and subtle, and sweet. The colour of his cheeks when he’s shy. The colour of the soft sweater he wore one time, while you were walking along the river and he was happy and goofy and lovely, swinging your clasped hands high in the sky. The colour of the flowers he buys for your birthday, the same kind (your favourite) every year without fail. His corsage on prom night. The fuzzy feeling you get in your stomach when he laughs is pink. Painted clouds at sunset, lovehearts, strawberries, the Milky Way, cherry blossoms. Pink is the colour of hopeless romantics, and the colour of the Wonwoo shaped hole in your heart.
He taps you, gentle. “Get distracted?” he asks. You nod. “Drunk?”
“Getting there.”
“Why pink?”
It’s too much to say. “Valentines Day. Duh.”
Britney Spears comes on the jukebox. Iseul squeals loud and drags you up to dance. Wonwoo watches you, his smile beaming, and you can hardly look at him.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Later, when Wonwoo lays in bed (the air mattress on the floor of his childhood bedroom), he’s still mulling over your question. Your arm is hanging over the edge of his old bed, fingers close enough to touch. He doesn’t. You’d fallen fast asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.
Wonwoo thinks about when you were children. Digging in the grass, plucking leaves from trees (Biggest one wins! Wins what? I dunno, a promise?), the first shoots of the tulips you and he planted in your grandfather's garden. He’s had so many shared firsts with you. There was no obligation, no forced time spent, just two kids who chose the comfort of one another over everyone else. It’s really something that you’ve still stuck like glue, all these years, as you’ve grown and reincarnated into several different people. Every time, you’ve chosen each other, even when it didn’t work.
The colour of love is green. It’s in all those moments he felt most free. Like anything could happen. Like everything is fresh and new and an adventure to be had. It’s in the wig you wore for Halloween one year, and you made him laugh so hard he cried. It’s in the way you ground him when his heart is racing, when you drag him outside to stand in the park, make him kick off his shoes and socks and stand on the grass to feel the earth beneath his body. He always feels silly until it works. It’s in the bauble you painted for his parents when you were eight, tucked away for safekeeping in the attic, brought out every December to hang on the tree. It’s the colour of the blanket his mother knitted you years ago, that you still keep, spread out on top of your bed. His colour is in the dress you wore the very first time, and in another one, more sensible and grown, that you wore last night. His colour is all his moments with you.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
April 2006
“If I have to move to Busan you’ll come visit me, right?”
You purse your lips and hum loud for dramatic effect. Wonwoo throws a cushion at your face, and you laugh, swatting at him and missing by a mile.
You’re laying down with your bare feet in his lap, while Wonwoo balances his laptop precariously on the arm of the sofa to check on his applications. The news trickles slowly, only a few people have heard back, so far. You’re almost done with your program, and Wonwoo is just about to start. People have called him a late bloomer before, but he just takes a little while to come around. Needs it to be a sure thing before he gets his head out of the sand. He’s starting to realise that in the grand scheme of things, it hardly matters.
“Say yes.”
“I’ll have to get my drivers licence,” you say, thinking possibilities out loud. “But sure, I’ll get the train in the meantime.”
You push up and lean over him to peer at his screen, place your hand on his bicep for balance. Wonwoo tries not to think too much about it.
“Where else did you apply?” you ask, scanning the page.
Wonwoo lists off. “SNU, KNUH, PNU–”
“Cambridge?” Your voice is small, and he hates it. “I didn’t know you still wanted to go.”
Wonwoo shrugs. He does. Cambridge had been a fantasy for a while, all his adult life and then some, and the research fellow for the Keros Project couldn’t be a better opportunity. Six months in Greece, five in England. But also he doesn’t. Both because you’re his constant, and this is new ground. What if he leaves? Even if it’s just Busan– if he leaves this city, would you still be birds?
He won’t get in.
“I won’t get in.”
“But you applied?”
“Professor Lee insisted,” Wonwoo laughs, embarrassed and already sick of hearing himself talk about it. “He said he’d kill me if I didn’t try. Seriously though, they only take a few applicants. It’s not going to be me. It’ll be Busan for me, most likely.”
You’re quiet for a moment, hand still on him like you’ve forgotten all about it.
“Cambridge would be stupid if they didn’t take you,” you say, smiling tiny and false. “Not sure how often I could visit though.”
Wonwoo’s skin feels all hot. Would crawl out of it, if he could.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Hansol’s friend, Minghao (the one from Myspace) is in the arts. It suits him. He talks at length about his various projects– painting, interpretive dance, a four man performance he’s directed that will soon be playing at some hole in the wall venue (that he asks if you’d like to see. You would.) and it’s nice to be around someone that shows their interest in you so clearly. He asks about your studies and seems genuinely interested when you talk about the impact candlelight vigils have on policy making. How the government consistently underestimates its people. It’s a rare occurrence that a date takes interest in your work. Wonwoo talks with you about it all the time, of co– but that’s not– he’s not–
It’s just different when it’s a date.
He’s perfectly polite. Buys your coffee and holds the door. Walks on the road side of the footpath, even. Minghao would be easy for you to like. He’s funny, and thoughtful, and takes notice. He’s bold. He’s a welcome distraction.
But Wonwoo is still there.
He’s pressed into every crevice of your mind. He’s your past and present and only God knows if he’s in your future. Later, you call, but of course you get the answerphone– he did say yesterday that he’d be in the library all weekend.
“Hey, Wonwoo, it’s me. Listen– will you come over when you hear this? Doesn’t matter what time. Use your key. Okay. Okay. Bye.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
It’s late when Wonwoo lets himself in. Heard your message just after two and walked straight out the door, rode his bike all the way here.
The apartment looks like it always does. He’s hardly spent much time here in recent years, save for the occasional lingering in the living room before heading out somewhere neutral. Doesn’t feel right being in your space anymore, not after how it all ended last time, with water brash in his mouth. He still thinks about that. It’s why movie night is only ever at his place. So when you called and asked him to be here, to use his key, he knew something was awry.
Seoyoung, your new-ish roommate, is in the living room, sitting on the ledge and blowing smoke out the window. She moved in about four months ago and you’ve quickly become good friends. She looks up at Wonwoo and waves, mouths she’s asleep and Wonwoo acknowledges with whispered “ah– thanks.”
Wonwoo knocks on your half open door, but you don’t stir, in too deep a sleep. You don’t notice the door clunk closed louder than Wonwoo intends. The mattress dips under his weight and still you don’t move. It’s only when he squeezes your hand that you blink the sleep from your eyes, puffy cheeks and always lovely. You stretch out like a cat, willing the fatigue away with a sigh that turns to a yawn, and Wonwoo feels immense guilt for having kept you waiting. More still for waking you up, but you wouldn’t have asked him to come if you didn’t want to talk right away.
You pat the space next to you in silent invitation and Wonwoo hesitates.
“I’m in my outdoor clothes.”
“One of your t-shirts is in the bottom drawer,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes and pushing yourself up to rest your back against the headboard.
Wonwoo changes in the bathroom. Washes his face and thinks about the last time he used your sink. The feelings haven’t changed, just bottled. Matured. He has a similar unease in every fibre of his body. Feels like static energy on his fingertips and he needs to rub it away.
The silence stretches when he sinks down into the empty space of the bed. You draw patterns onto the sheets with a fingertip and stare down at the dimples you make. He wants to still your hand, to turn it over in his and ask why you called him over. Doesn’t, because you’re working up to it, can tell you’ve got tightness in your chest just by the sound of your breathing. You lean into him, sagging against his side and head tipped to rest on his shoulder. He has to stop himself pressing his lips to your crown.
“I’m sorry I kept this,” you murmur, tugging at the hem of his t-shirt. “Wear it to sleep, sometimes.”
He remembers it wasn’t in the bag of things you’d handed him, a couple of weeks after he left you that message on your answerphone. He figured it’d just been mislaid, didn’t occur to him that you’d tucked it away for yourself.
“I don’t mind.” Always looked better on you anyway.
You loop your arm around his.
“I went on a date today.”
Oh.
“Minghao?”
“Yeah.”
Wonwoo nods. He could see that working. You’ve always wanted something romantic. Someone who could have nineteenth century novels written about them. Minghao seems like that type.
“He’s asked me out again.”
“Okay.”
Wonwoo doesn’t know what to say, feels like he knows where this is headed because you’ve both dated people since last time. It’s never had to be a conversation though. Movie nights become strictly group activities, any day of the week is fine. It’s okay. It’s out of respect, or whatever.
“Should I go?”
“It’s your room,” Wonwoo deadpans.
“On the date, idiot.”
He swallows. “I don’t know. Do you like him?”
You shrug. “I could.”
“Then why are you asking me?”
“Wonwoo–”
“We don’t talk about stuff like this.”
“We need to,” you insist. “What are we doing?”
There it is. The question he’s been dreading. The question he hoped you wouldn’t ask because he doesn’t know how to explain it. Doesn’t know how to take the feelings in his chest and wrap them neatly into words. All he wanted to do was just let it happen, if it were to happen at all, on your terms. Except now you’re asking him to give it a name, and his throat goes dry. He’s doing it again. Despite how he’s tried letting you go, despite keeping a respectable distance, he’s still managing to slip his way back in like this. Lately, Wonwoo has been wondering if he’s a narcissist, since he doesn’t even realise he’s manipulating the situation until it’s too late, and you’re saying what he can’t. You’re so much braver than he is. It wasn’t until week five (six?) of holding your hand that he realised he was choosing horror movies deliberately so he’d have a reason to touch you. It got to the point when the background music would feature its first minor key of many, and your palm would turn outwards, just waiting for him to clasp it in his and hold you through the scene. He’s given you a Pavlovian response. Isn’t that completely fucked?
“Wonwoo,” you plead. His heart jolts. “I won’t wait for you forever.”
He tips his head back against the headboard, eyes closed because he can’t bear to look at you while he admits it.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he asks. “What I’ve been doing?”
“Nothing you do makes sense to me.”
The silence feels all thick and pliable.
Quietly, he confesses. “I don’t want you to date him. Anyone, really.”
Feels as though he’s sinking into syrup. Hard to move, hard to breathe. Hears your jagged inhale and steels himself for the ripping of the plaster.
“What do you want, Wonwoo?”
Wonwoo is a poorly knitted scarf. All slipped stitches and fast forming holes. One tug on a loose thread and he comes apart.
“I want to be yours.”
He doesn’t expect your touch, let alone your kiss, gentle and loving on his shoulder. When he looks at you, your eyes are big and sad.
“I don’t want to be your secret,” you whisper, in a tiny voice, against his t-shirt.
This is his undoing. Wraps his fingers around your wrist and insists you’re not. You’ve never been that. It’s just– he wants to keep this private, not that he loves you, but how he shows it. Feels like it should be something sacred. You blink, startled, completely taken aback.
“You love me?”
“God. Yes,” he breathes. “Didn’t you know?”
“I thought you might– I didn’t know.” You’re crying. Silent tears spilling over, fingers plucking at a hangnail on your thumb and this is the worst. His heart aches. “You’re so quiet, how could I know anything for sure? How long?”
“I–” He fucked up. Oh, he fucked up so badly. He rags his hands over his face, pushes his hair back while he searches for the right way to say it. “Too long.”
“After Siyeon?”
Wonwoo sighs. His thing with Siyeon wasn’t anything real. It started as a one time thing that stretched into semi-regular hook ups. She was in love with someone else, and he was pretending he wasn’t. The whole getting over someone by getting under someone else thing doesn’t work on a heartache as sour as his, and fuck anyone who said it would, actually.
“Before?”
“Before.”
You suck in a breath. “Oh.”
“Since we were kids, really,” he says. “Since before we ever–”
“Oh. That’s surprising.”
Wonwoo laughs ruefully. “Is it? I feel like I was plain as day. The guys at school used to tease me for it.”
“I hate this,” you say after a moment, voice thick and sad. You rub at your face. Push away the still falling tears. “It should feel nice, shouldn’t it? You saying you love me and I just feel sad about all the wasted years. And now it feels like I forced it out of you, before you were ready. I love you too, you know. Have all this time.”
Wonwoo feels too big for his body. Like he’s full of hot air and could float right out of the window high high higher until he burns up in the atmosphere. Even still, there is that small voice in the back of Wonwoo’s mind, telling him he’s self-centered for getting what he needs, that he’s cruel for making you feel like this, selfish for wanting you just for himself. Stupid, for having wasted time. The alarm goes off– he doesn’t deserve it, your kindness, your patience, your love. When it comes to you he is, and always has been, a coward. But you’re still here grounding him, head resting against him, arms still linked, and you’re making no moves to push him out the door.
“How can I make it better?”
You sniff. “You can tell me again when I’ve stopped crying. You can stay.”
“Can I hold you?” Like you’re his, he doesn’t say.
You chew on your bottom lip. “Yeah. Yes. I’d like that a lot.”
Wonwoo shifts down, turns on his side and lifts the duvet for you to move into the space in front of him. You take his glasses, fold them carefully and place them on your nightstand. You slot in next to him, back to his front, his body curls around yours and you press into him. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and he starts to let himself hope it could be okay.
“Have you stopped crying yet,” he asks softly, after a while. His hand is splayed across your cotton clad stomach, one finger toying with the hem. Yours is tracing figures of eight on his forearm.
“Yes.”
“I love you.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
For a long time, you’ve imagined it would feel like fanfare. A marching band size confession if there were to ever be one. But that’s not who he is, and it’s not what you really want. It’s better like this. Whispered sweet things. His breath warming your skin. His fingers on the soft skin of your stomach, lips on your neck.
It feels honest.
It feels real.
Wonwoo turns you on your back, leans over to kiss the skin beneath your eyes. One– two– Wonwoo has always had so much love in him. It’s just quiet. You place your palm over his cheek and he leans into it. Turns to press a kiss to the centre, to your fingertips, one by one. Everything feels soft and pink and fragile.
“Wonwoo?”
He makes a soft, curious noise. Lips still pressed to the tip of your ring finger.
“Kiss me?”
Every time holds meaning, but now it’s morphed, reincarnated into something new. Wonwoo loves you properly, and this time he’s said it out loud. The way he kisses makes everything go hazy and light and it feels like sunset. Slow and deliberate and feathered across your skin. You thread your fingers into his hair, pulling him deeper, kissing him open mouthed, and his body goes molten against you. The weight of him is exquisite.
Wonwoo loves like moonlight. Comes in cycles, and yes, this time it’s clearer than others, but it turns out he’s always just there even when he’s not, even when it goes dark and things turn ugly, he’s still there holding your hand. There is moonlight in his eyes, now, shining and shimmering. With tenderness, Wonwoo runs his thumb over the apple of your cheek, your bottom lip, the pulse point on your neck. You slip a hand beneath his t-shirt, touch the skin there and sigh over the way he presses against you. Your hand moves down and he stills you.
“This is embarrassing,” he murmurs. “I didn’t bring any–”
“I don’t need one if you don’t,” you whisper. “I’m on the pill now.”
“Okay,” he says, more to himself than to you. “Okay.”
“Don’t you want to?”
Wonwoo buries his face in your neck, you can feel his eyelashes tickling your skin. “I always want to.”
“Then touch me.”
He does. Works deft fingers over your middle, watches the way the goosebumps raise as he takes your warm body from your clothes. Soothes his big hands over your skin to warm you. You don’t tell him you’re already burning. He mouths over the swell of your breast, pebbles the nipple between his fingers, asks if it’s okay, like this. It’s okay. Anything he wants is okay. You tell him that– that he can do anything he wants to you, that you’re his to do as he pleases with, and he groans, a small disbelieving sound.
“Don’t say things like that.”
You don’t ask why. Wonwoo has always been possessive, but it’s not something he likes about himself. Hates to share but doesn’t like to take either, feels some kind of shame about it. Wears the word selfish like a chain around his neck. And so he doesn’t take at all, tries to stay content with nothing. You tried to tell him once, it’s not selfish to want things. It’s not self-centred to have your needs met. You deserve good things, too, Wonwoo. And he looked at you, both forlorn and skeptical, said something about how caged birds can forget how to fly. He never seemed to get that he’d only ever imprisoned himself. Tonight you’ll give him your body, push his shame away with your hands and your mouth, and let him have this.
You fist your hands in his hair, drag him up by it just to crush your lips against his to kiss him messy. He groans again, a little louder, and it’s this you’ve missed the most. The way he forgets himself when he’s touching you. The way he lets go. You wiggle underneath him, let his body shift so he’s caught between your legs and you can feel how he presses against your core. You nip at his lip, toy with the waistband of his underwear. “Off,” you say, and Wonwoo complies. The t-shirt follows straight after, and his body is back on you, looking at you like you hung the moon.
He brings a hand between your bodies, taps you almost where you want him, asks if he can touch you. Please. A finger dips inside, an open mouthed kiss, his length, hard, pressed into your thigh. Wonwoo likes things wet, and sloppy. You like whatever he likes. He gathers up the wetness inside you, smears it over your clit, brings his fingers to his mouth, closes his eyes as he tastes you on his tongue. God, what the fuck.
“Missed you,” you say, and he kisses you deep. Licks into your mouth, pushes two long fingers back inside your slick heat, and curls them over the sweetest spot. You pull off his lips to gasp.
“Can we keep doing this?” Wonwoo whispers against the corner of your mouth. “Will you kiss me anytime you want? Baby, say yes.”
You nod, head hazy, swimming in the moment. Baby. The ache in your chest, once dulled but never gone, is pounding.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Wonwoo holds you like you’re about to disappear, grips your waist tight with his free hand, fucks into you slow and messy with the other. You whimper as he plays with your clit, spread your legs wider so he can see, if he wants, but he’s watching your face, watching your mouth form a silent o. You’re so pretty, he tells you. So pretty always but prettiest like this, when it’s just the two of you. Watches your eyes go glassy, watches you come apart for him, feels your pussy clench around his fingers and commits the way your body shudders to memory. He doesn’t wait for it to pass before he kisses you again, takes your whines in his mouth and eats them. They taste saccharine sweet.
He slots between your legs, rests his cock against your core, pressing languid kisses to anywhere he can reach without moving from this spot. Nips at your collarbone, laves his tongue over the sensitive spot on your neck. Will leave a mark there, one day, when you’re his. A small part of him says that you’re his now, always have been, but it’s not really true, is it? Wonwoo needs the conversation, needs the lines drawn and the expectations laid out. Needs you to be sure that it’s him you want. Needs to know he’ll be able to give you what you need. He hasn’t, always, and that was part of the trouble. Wants it to be different, this time, because being with you is one of the few things that makes him feel whole in his own skin.
Right now he wants to feel you like this, chasing friction and needing more. He’ll give it to you, would give you anything in this moment, just wants you needy first. It starts with you wrapping your arms around his back, running your fingertips down his spine, lighting little fires in their wake. You press a gentle kiss to his forehead, the tip of his nose, his jaw, and tell him you need him inside. That you want him to fill you up. Fuck, if he could do this forever–
He wraps long fingers around your ankle, bends your knee to press your thigh to your chest, gives him better access like this, and it’s then he rolls against you, his cock dragging along your clit. He’s always loved the way you sound. Loves the way you get wet for him. Wonwoo loves you. So much.
“Love you, too, Wonwoo.”
He groans as he slots a hand between your bodies, fists his cock and slides into your slick, tight heat. It’s agonising, he thinks, the way you tighten around him. Wants to go to sleep this way, wrapped up in each other like this. He knows if he asks you’ll let him, but he wants you to want it too. Maybe another time. This time there’s going to be more. He knows it.
“Need you to move,” you sigh. “Move for me.”
He does. Fucks into you slow, shit, baby, you feel so good. He gets in deep, feels the tension burning in his guts, gasps into your kiss when your cunt goes impossibly tight and wet around his cock, loves when your nails dig into his skin, when your moan comes out muffled and broken.
He pulls out to look down at his cock slipping inside you, pushes in as deep as he can again and you arch your hips to meet him. He rolls the pad of his thumb over your clit. His body is alight, the perfect amount of heat and pressure and you.
“Fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice rasps. Your lips are pink and swollen. He wants them back on him. “So wet for me.”
The pressure of his hands on you– it wavers. Digs in hard in one moment and become the ghost of a touch the next. It’s like he loses himself and then remembers that you’re a flower, soft, and delicate. You won't break, because you’ve never been the least bit fragile, but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to hurt. More so he doesn’t want to let himself claim you. Can’t let anyone know he knows you like he does.
“Leave marks on me, Wonwoo,” you say, reading his mind. You run your fingers over the top of his, where they rest upon your middle. “I like it.”
He did once, at the end of the first time. Sucked a deep, purple bruise beneath your neck for everyone to see. And he loved it, loved knowing he put it there in the dark, and loved how it deepened into your skin a day later, knowing that every time you looked in the mirror you’d be reminded. Loved it– until the brakes were slammed on, and he had to watch it deepen still. Watched your friends tease, asking ‘who’s loverboy?’ just for you to say oh my god, no one, shut up. The next day you’d covered your mottled skin with make-up, so like you he pretended nothing happened. And all too soon it faded, much faster than all the rest of it. He wouldn’t have done it at all, had he known he was no one.
But now you’re telling him to. Wanting clouds his judgement. It’s a dream, maybe, but dreams have never felt like this, you were always just out of reach. He’s all shallow thrusts and quickened breaths, and you take his hands to show him where you want his mouth.
“Here,” you say, pressing his palm over your breast. Here is good, he thinks, as he mottles the flesh with his lips. Private, just something for the two of you. He’ll ask for a picture in a few days, jerk himself off over it, probably. You thread a hand through his hair, pull on it (his cock twitches inside you, embarrassing) to angle his head up your body. You look so happy, smiling soft, and watching him through your eyelashes. God, why didn’t he get his shit together before?
“Here, too” you say, directing him to your collarbone. Wastes no time leaving a small mark. He likes it, looks a little like a love heart. There’s still a chill in the air this April, you could easily cover it if you need to, he wouldn’t mind this time. But then you say here, and this time you’re tipping up your jaw to give him access, pressing his fingers to the column of your lovely neck. He stills inside you, and you make a small noise of discontent, and angle your hips to draw him in deeper.
“Please, Wonwoo,” you beg, eyes big and shining. You touch his bottom lip, wet with spit. “Need it on me. Wanna be yours too.”
He uses teeth, this time. Sinks into your body and groans against your neck, you press kisses into his hair as he fucks you. Hard breaths, sloppy thrusts, the sound of wet skin and your broken noises. Wonwoo whimpers into your neck as you pulse around him, sucking the deepest bruise, fuck fuck fuck. “Gonna come,” you breathe. “Are you close?” He nods, laves a soothing tongue over the ache, makes it shine.
“Harder,” you plead, pulling at his hips to drag him against you. “Make me sore.” And it’s fucked up that he wants to. Has this morbid, fascinating thought of you feeling him for days afterward as you go about your life, a heavy, aching reminder that he did this to your body– but maybe it’s okay, if you want it too? He feels the pressure on his skin, in his bones, of your need for him. He thrusts deep and fast without warning, even the breath he takes is sharp, and the noise– fuck, the noise is obscene. You come with a gasp, eyes fluttering like you want to keep them open but can’t, too lost in the feeling. He whispers sweet praise in your ear as he comes too, and you kiss, lazy and open mouthed, at his cheek. His sticky release seeps out of you around his cock, and he fucks it back in, head clouding and body taught with overstimulation.
After a moment, when he’s caught his breath and your body goes molten, he shifts his weight and starts to pull out, but you drag your listless limbs over him to hold him there. “Stay,” you ask quietly, all gentle and loving and shy. “Just for a little while.”
Words are inefficient, here. Can’t tell you all the ways in which he loves you. Just places those feelings on his lips and presses them to your temple. Hopes you know what you mean to him and hopes he means the same to you. Wonwoo welcomes this arrow through his heart.
When it’s quiet, and the air in the room is all still and heavy, you murmur against his sweat-sheened skin, “It’s never like this with anyone else.”
No. Nothing could ever be like this.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
May 2006
You’re home for the weekend, and today you're taking a day trip to Dadaepo beach, the south side of Busan. Wonwoo is driving and the windows are down and you’re listening to music and you’re in love. For real, this time. No second guessing, no wondering if he loves you back, because it’s out in the open and it’s tangible. He holds your hand all the time, and it’s so nice not to have adrenaline coursing through your veins before he knots his fingers with yours. He’s driving like this, hands clasped together in your lap.
Iseul and Seoyoung got close so fast, and they’re singing old songs together in the backseat. Mingyu’s too long body is squished between them, looking utterly perplexed at how he ended up in this car with these strange, loud women.
Later, you lay out the picnic you’d packed. The others are in the water, in the distance you can almost hear Iseul and Seoyoung shouting happily at Mingyu, and him yelling back. Wonwoo lays stretched out on the blanket like a cat, half dozing in the sun, face covered by the book he was reading earlier. He’s stroking your knee absentmindedly.
“Talked to my dad earlier– he asked after your applications,” you say.
“Should find out the rest soon,” he replies. He’s already been accepted at KNUH, but that’s his back up.
A couple of seabirds soar high overhead, can hear them calling to each other, flying so close their wings almost touch. They go like that together, far out above the ocean, and you watch them go until they’re just specks in the hazy blue.
“It’d be nice to live here,” you muse, looking at the way the sunlight dances on the water. “Wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah.” Wonwoo smiles soft, half-hidden under the book. “Yeah it would.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
“Happy birthday,” Wonwoo whispers into your skin. He’s half-asleep still. Breath warming your neck and fingers slotted into the waistband of your pyjamas. Not to go further, just to touch.
You press a kiss to the tip of his nose, more alert, having been awake a little longer and waiting for him to stir. “Thank you,” you whisper back, smiling wide. “When do I get my flowers?”
“Patience is a virtue,” he mumbles.
“One I don’t have,” you say into his cheek.
“Liar.”
“Did you hide them in the bathroom?” You shift, ready to go get them yourself, but Wonwoo holds you tighter, dragging you back in.
“You’re not getting your own flowers.” Wonwoo pushes up from the bed. Hair messy and face all scrunched up. God, he’s lovely in the mornings. “Stay there.”
You suppress a giggle, touching his bare thigh just to touch.
“I like when you’re bossy.”
He kisses your forehead. You put his glasses on for him, wonky because he just looks so cute like that. He grumbles.
He pulls on his grey sweatpants from the night before, doesn’t bother with a shirt, to fumble his way out of his room in the barely-there morning light. He comes back in about five minutes later, singing the birthday song, voice soft and slow with sleep, tray in hands, two coffees, a bowl of fruit to share, a funfetti cupcake with one pastel green candle, blush pink tulips pretty in a vase.
He makes you blow out the candle, sets the tray on the nightstand on your side of his bed, and flops back in beside you. He curls into your side, arm over your middle and drawing you close, eyes already shutting. You smile, touching the petals and making birthday wishes that all of this carries on, even as you get old.
“They’re pretty, thank you, Wonwoo.”
“Pretty flowers for my pretty girl,” he says simply, like it doesn’t make your heart sing. “Your real present is later.”
“You already got me my present,” you protest.
“S’different now,” he says through a yawn.
You grin. Things are different. There still hasn’t been a conversation, nothing defined– you should do that, soon– but it feels like you belong to each other, more so than any other time before. The two of you are swimming into open sun-dappled waters, and it feels warm.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
June 2006
Wonwoo sits on the edge of his bed, the envelope thick with papers lying forgotten on the floor. He drags his free hand over his mouth, reads the letter again in disbelief, because it can’t be real. It shouldn’t be.
“I shouldn’t have applied.” His voice is strained. Hurts to hear.
Of course he should have.
“You couldn’t have known.”
“I’m not going.” He meets your eyes, stricken, and you know he’d mean it if you even gave him an inch.
“Oh, Wonwoo,” you sigh. “You’ve got to. It was made for you.”
The letter is crumpling in Wonwoo’s fist. He’ll want to save it, probably. A memento of the start of his new chapter. He should save it. You take it from him, smooth out the creases, pull a heavy book from your shelf and press it over the paper. You won’t cry, not here in front of him, but your eyes feel too wet. He’d only feel some awful boundless guilt and it’d just make everything worse. You rub at them.
Wonwoo moves close. Tugs at your belt loop to bring you between his legs, presses his forehead into your sternum, and you cradle his head in your arms.
“It’s okay,” you insist, soothing a hand over his hair, reassuring yourself as well as him. “What was it your dad used to call us? Do you remember?”
He nods. You tug him by the chin to look up at you. “Tell me,” you say as you touch his neck, feel his pulse quicken, and his eyes flutter closed.
“Birds of a feather,” he breathes.
Wonwoo pushes up your top, presses open wet kisses up your middle, bunches the material under your arms and drags the cup of your bra down rough.
Takes your nipple in his mouth, makes it wet with his tongue, pulls off just to watch it pebble in the cold, slick with spit.
“You need to go,” you say. Your throat is dry. Deep in your mind, the cruelest part of you, says it was purposeful, him applying for something that’ll take him away from you, right on the precipice of it all. Before lines can be drawn, while the boundaries are still blurred. He’s not like that, really. It’s just your projection, you remind yourself. Doesn’t stop it from hurting because two short months isn’t enough, but you’ll never be the one to hold him back. Not when he’s been working so hard, not when he holds himself back more than anyone. You fist your hands at the nape of his neck. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.”
He pulls at your hips, fingers digging so tight they hurt. It’s good. It’s awful.
“I can’t do a distance like this,” you admit, carding your hands through his hair. “A year is too long. Might be more.” His clumsy, desperate hands fumble with the button of your jeans, pushing them down your legs so you can kick them off. You slide into his lap, wrap your legs around his waist. His mouth moves up your body, clawing and aching and needy, teeth nipping at your collarbone, sucking purple into your spit-sheened skin. Slips a hand between you and hums pleasantly at the wetness on your underwear. Circles his fingers over your cotton-covered clit. “How long have we got left?”
“Three weeks,” he says, between bites. His eyelashes are wet.
You nod. Okay. “It’ll be okay. We’ve got three weeks, and then we’ll be friends again. We can do this.”
Wonwoo pulls your underwear to the side, slips a finger over your wet, wanting cunt. “Friends don’t do this,” he rasps, sinking his finger in, curling just enough to make you keen. He’s so hard, you can feel the denim-clad bulge against your body. “Friends don’t touch each other like this.”
“We can,” you sigh. “If we want.” He wrenches at your clothes and kicks them to the floor, leaves you bare and he’s still wearing too much.
You push him back on the bed, drag his hands from your body to pin them at his sides. He looks at you, wounded and desperately turned on. You turn your back on him, spread your legs over his body to let him see you, wet and needy, pull on his belt and shove his jeans and underwear away just enough to free his hard cock.
“You know I want more than that,” he admits, breath warm against your clit. He hisses as you take him in your mouth, whines desperately as you pull back and swipe your tongue over the head. Let the spit bubble between your lips and work it over him, because this is how he likes you, sloppy and messy and wet. He licks into you, all tongue and teeth and soft lips against your core, pressed deep, getting his face wet with you, drags your body down tight against his mouth, arms wrapped around your hips and fingers digging into your flesh. You moan, pornographic, around his cock. Wonwoo arches his hips, fucks rough into your mouth, chasing the heat.
Wonwoo is greedy, sometimes. You love this part of him, when he lets it out. Wants your release fast, it seems. He moves between sharp bites at your thighs, marks pressed into the juncture of them, secret and lovely, heavy sucks over your clit, all while working you open with long, thick fingers. Makes you come unexpectedly fast, shuddering over him and pulling off his achingly hard cock with a broken moan. “You’re so wet, baby. Wanna be inside you.”
You nod, dumb and lovestruck and hazy. He grabs at your wrist and tugs, pulls you back over him and tight against his body, kisses you deep and lets you taste yourself on his tongue. You tug at his shirt, drag it awkwardly over his head and his glasses get pulled off with them, they clatter to the floor, but he’s pulling your breast to his mouth again and nothing matters but this, right now.
Right now, you sink over him slow slow slow, let him feel all your tight, wet heat before he gets needy, before he fucks up into you hard, like he wants to become part of you. Like he wants to crawl inside and make a home there. You watch his chest rise and fall, touch his skin as best you can between the lack of space between your bodies, lay your palm over his heart and feel it beat for you. He calls you beautiful, and you say it back. Says he likes the way your eyes roll back, that he loves how wet you get when he kisses your neck, when he calls you his pretty girl. Baby, fuck– you take me so well. He reaches behind your body, fingers splayed over where you join, feels the way your cunt hugs him. Groans as you grip his length with your pussy, hisses when you dig your nails into his chest as you come– everywhere, everything tight tight tight.
Wonwoo runs soothing hands down your back as you sag against him, tells you he loves you, asks delicate and concerned if you want to stop because you’re crying, and when you hold him closer, tell him no, you need this– he puts you on your back and fucks you hard enough to make you forget about it. Presses your body into the mattress and lays his entire weight on you. Wonwoo buries his face in the crook of your neck, whispers that you mean everything to him, and you nod, hold his body and let the fever set in. He comes with the deepest, most languid stroke, holds his cock tight inside and fills you up. Asks desperately if you can feel it. You can. Yeah, yeah I can feel you. Feels so good.
Much later, you lay facing each other in the quiet, tears already shed and conversation put on pause. It’s too hard to talk about being friends, just now. He kisses your eyelids, your cheeks, your lips, and you let him. Too sad to move, too in love. Friends don’t mean I love you the way you do.
I got here from Athens a few days ago. I stupidly left my laptop in one of the lecture halls (I think) and no one has handed it in to the office, so I didn’t see your emails until now. Sorry about that. I feel like I’ve been living in a daze since I left home. Can’t keep my head on straight.
I don’t know how to describe this place. It’s beautiful. It’s hot. My room doesn’t have air conditioning and the sweat makes the sheets stick to my skin even in the middle of the night. The air hangs still and it’s thick in my throat. I think you’d hate it. And even then I’m sure you’d want to be held to sleep while complaining about the heat. I’m in the internet cafe now, and it’s so nice and cool I might pay for an extra hour just to sit here and feel like a person again.
Tomorrow we’re visiting Keros for the first time, and I don’t know how to feel. Whenever I imagine stepping off the boat the roof of my mouth goes dry. Is that excitement? I don’t know. I do know that I’m not sure I fit in here with the others. They’re quite similar to you, in the coming from a well off family regard, but they’re completely unaware of how they sound. I don’t think they realise how they flaunt it. When I first got here they talked about taking ‘the boat’ down to Santorini and asked if I wanted to join them. I said I’d need to check how much the ferry costs, and they looked at me like I’d sprouted another head right in front of them. Turns out they took someone’s dads yacht for the weekend. I didn’t go. I think you’d know how to talk with them. You’d know how to relate to them in some way that wouldn’t come across awkward or fake. I mean that as a compliment.
You asked me what I’m thinking about and right now it’s that time you and I dug out those old coins in your grandparents garden. Do you think your Grandfather buried them there for us to find? I’ve often thought that that small thing brought me to where I am, to what I’m doing, and I wonder if it was real? I miss that garden a lot. I miss us in it.
Am I complaining too much? I am, aren’t I? I think it’s the heat.
I’m sure you’ll be in Keros by now, so I hope it’s everything you hoped it would be. It looks lovely in the photographs on Google but I hope you’re taking some of your own for me anyway. I want some photos just for me, please, Wonwoo. I hope you’re looking at the sea and thinking that I’d like the colour of it.
I don’t know how much I’d enjoy the company of your colleagues though. They sound stuffy and out of touch. Is there anyone you actually like yet? Tell me about them.
I’m in the garden right now. I’m quite positive Grandpa buried the coins for us because there was mud all over his knees, don’t you remember? Granny scolded him for washing his dirty hands in the kitchen sink but she said the smile on your face made her forget about it. Just because it was engineered doesn’t mean it wasn’t real, you know? That your joy wasn’t real. Don’t you feel joy now, being exactly where you’ve wanted to be for the longest time?
It’s been almost two months since you left and you haven’t sent one single photo of a cat, and I know for a fact that Greece has many. Have you spent all your time off holed up inside? Go out for a drink. Make some friends. Stand on the grass with your feet bare. It’ll do you some good.
Summer at home is as it always is. I saw Mingyu and Seokmin at a bar a few days after you left, Mingyu said to say hi but I told him to do it himself and gave him your new email address, I knew you wouldn’t mind. Mother has been down, I think Dongho cheated on her again but she won’t say anything. I haven’t done much else besides sleeping and shopping and playing games. Don’t tell anyone I said so but it’s boring without you here.
I don’t think I’ll stay for the whole summer, actually. Iseul and Seoyoung are saying they want to visit the States. I’ll probably go with them. Iseul’s parents have a little place in California. I’ll take my laptop though, email me every time you think of me.
Tell your parents I’ll visit in the next few days, I’ve been craving your mum’s kimchi jjigae.
Keros was definitely something. I worry I built it up in my head too much, you know? Thought I’d feel more moved than I did. One of the leads, Edward, from a village in Wales I can’t pronounce the name of, is walking us through the project for the next few weeks. If I could learn half as much as he knows for the time I’m here, I’m sure I’ll get by for the rest of my career. I stood in the ruins of what was a home built over 2300 years ago and wondered what the people who lived there must’ve felt about it. Were they happy? Did they think the island too small? Were they jealous their neighbour had a better view of the ocean? Did they start sleeping with their best friend (again) just before moving to a Mediterranean island hahaha?
Should we talk about us yet? I worry if we leave it any longer we’ll just start pretending it didn’t happen again.
I did take some pictures on the island. Shall I post them on Facebook? There’s this small cove you would’ve liked that had these tiny iridescent fish that swam up so close to my feet that I thought they’d bite them. There was one cat outside my window but it was dark and the one photo I got of it is so blurry it’s not worth showing. I’ll find more to take photos of.
Thanks for giving Mingyu my details, he’s already emailed me. He said you were looking well. I’m sorry about your mother.
I won’t go for that drink you suggest because all the would-be drinkers seem more interested in snorting lines off each other's chests, and I don’t have the spare cash for all that. I have met some people - Matteo and Emma. Matteo is from Naples and Emma is from London. Emma reads, and she said she’ll lend me her copy of The Little Prince when she’s done with it. I haven’t told her I’ve already read it.
California sounds like it’ll be fun for you. Knowing Iseul her parent’s “little place” has eight bedrooms, a tennis court, an olympic swimming pool, and a live-in chef haha. How long will you go for?
PS - on second thought I don’t know how you would’ve felt about the fish and the feet.
PPS - if I emailed you every time I thought of you then I’d hardly ever leave the cafe.
Sorry for the slow reply, it’s been a bit of a whirlwind.
Wonwoo, I don’t know what there is to say about it all. Do you?
I’m trying very hard not to be pathetic but the fact is that despite whatever state our on and off hook up thing is in, I still want us to be in each other’s lives. I don’t think you’re going to be in love with me forever, are you? You’re my safe space and I like hearing your thoughts and I feel like being your friend makes me a better person. We have good sex, great sex, but we’ve never managed anything solid. I mean, I know that you left because of the fellowship and because I encouraged you to take it, but things between us always seem to end just as soon as it gets real.
Don’t worry, Wonwoo. We’re always going to be friends. You’re going to marry the girl next door type that doesn’t ask too many questions. She is sweet and knits you scarves for Christmas and prefers doggy style so you don’t see her face when she comes. She isn’t me– the selfish, obnoxious girl from three streets across, who beat you in the spelling bee when we were seven. You’re probably going to have three children, and definitely become very accomplished in whatever archeologists are accomplished in. And I am going to have at least four husbands, one child who’ll grow up rolling their eyes at me, and I’ll become infamous for whistleblowing the government for…. something gross and scandalous. Like listening in to everyone’s phone calls. We’ll holiday together and our children will grow up like cousins and when we get drunk and our spouses go to bed I’ll go “remember our last night before you left for Greece? Remember that night? You put your wet fingers in my mouth and told me ‘bite down when you come.’ I think about that all the time.” You’ll be so mortified your ears will go red. You’ll probably spill your drink.
I’m laughing my ass off just imagining it. Isn’t it funny that you’re only bold enough to say things like that when we’re in bed? It’s like you need to be cocooned up with someone in order to let your inside voice out. God, you’re so impolite when you fuck me.
But don’t worry. You were my best friend long before you ever touched me like that. Every time we do this you tell me you just want to be friends, right? So let’s be friends. I can do platonic if that makes it easier for you.
Anyway. The update is I visited your parents (they probably already told you) and your mum made the BEST japchae for me. They love me sooooo much, I’ve got no idea why. I’m sure you’re very jealous and that sustains me. Now I’m in LA for the rest of the month. Iseul’s place is only six bedrooms, actually! No tennis court or live-in chef but the pool is admittedly gigantic. Please see attached photo. I look great, right? I’m sure you’re nodding. Maybe while I’m here I’ll find husband numero uno. If I'm going to have four I should start working on that ASAP.
We’re okay, Wonwoo.
PS - don’t you dare upload those photos to Facebook, send them to me and me alone. Also send me one of you because you’ve been gone so long I’ve forgotten what you look like.
Is that really what you think? That I fall out of it so quickly? That we started sleeping together again, and you think I didn’t feel fucked up over leaving? I’m starting to wonder if it was worth leaving at all. I’m glad we’re friends but do friends kiss the way we do? Are friends allowed to do that with each other? Does it make me a bad friend if I looked at the photo you sent and thought how pretty you are and let my mind run away wondering how you’d look if you were in my room here. I almost thought about printing your photo off but is that perverted? You’re fully clothed but I feel like a pervert. You do look great. I love that colour on you.
I can’t imagine this life you’re dreaming up. I can’t imagine marrying some faceless person. Can’t imagine anything for me beyond what’s happening today. I can see you with four husbands though. I don’t mean that in any type of way, just that you find it easy to find people who love you even if they don’t exactly fit.
If you’re going to uncover some government spy operation let’s get started on the theories right now. If they’ve been listening to phone calls then it stands to reason they’re probably reading emails and texts too. Do you think they’re reading ours? Do we have our very own spy?
What is your first husband going to be like? The antithesis of me? Or maybe someone so strangely similar that all of our friends whisper about how weird it is? Don’t you think it’s messed up that we’re talking about this?
Please see attached a couple of photos of the island, one of me in my room, for your eyes only. Don’t go showing them to Iseul and Seoyoung. They’re not as good as the ones on my film camera but you’ll have to wait until I’m home for those.
PS - can you download Skype? Efraim, the guy who owns the cafe, is installing it on all the computers, he says we’ll be able to video call. I’m free on Sunday after 7PM, that’s 9AM for you. Are you free?
It was worth leaving because this is what you’ve been working for your whole life. And it doesn’t matter that we started again because as long as we’re both single it can pick up whenever we want. I know you care for me in your quiet way. I know you’d never hurt me with intent. It’s fun, and we’re young, and we know it’s easy with each other. It doesn’t have to be more than that. Maybe we shouldn’t have said the L word, though, don’t you think? I try not to think about it. It would have been more sensible not to. Hindsight blah blah blah.
We can be whatever kind of friends you want. I don’t mind that you think about fucking me. You did, right? When you saw my photo? I’d quite like it if you did. I like thinking about your cheeks getting hot and having to adjust your jeans in the middle of the cafe. Did you feel the need to hide your screen?
You’re probably right about the spies reading our emails too, I’ll note that down somewhere offline. Have you considered that our spy may be Efraim? After all, he has easy access to the computers you use every evening. Maybe you should consider getting a laptop of your own. It must be costing you a small fortune going to the cafe to email little old me every day. Dad is getting a new one soon, shall I ask him to post you his old one? Don’t be weird about accepting it, it’s just a laptop.
My first husband is so so so handsome. Grossly rich because of generational wealth, he doesn’t have to deal with the stress of being self made. I need to start strong, you see. A little shorter than you, so you’re not entirely emasculated haha. He probably knows how to sail. I bet he drapes sweaters across his shoulders like those guys in Ralph Lauren ads. I bet he’s played Wonderwall on an acoustic guitar and doesn’t realise how cliche it is. He’s probably doing it right now. I hope he’s not conceited. That’d be unbearable. Though I suppose we’d need a good reason to divorce.
How are Matteo and Emma? What are they like? Did you tell them anything about me?
Seoyoung says hello. Iseul said she thinks you need a haircut (sorry, she peeked over my shoulder when I read your email) but I don’t. I think you look hot with long hair. Send me more photos of you? Take a shower first and think about me. Leave your clothes off. Shut your eyes and imagine I’m with you. I’ll open them in private.
We’re going to a party in Malibu on Saturday. Iseul’s cousins (Joshua and Kevin– they’re cool, you’d like them) are family friends with some big shot Hollywood producer so maybe I’ll meet some celebrities! Maybe I’ll meet my husband! If you send me a photo before then just know I won’t look at it, I need my head in the game. I’ll call on Sunday morning and tell you all about it.
PS - don’t open the attached photos in front of Efraim. It’s okay if you print them.
God. You’re right about getting another laptop while I’m here (I’m not taking your dad’s one, I’ll save up for one by myself) because I had to wait until Efraim went to the bathroom before printing your photos. I nearly broke a sweat wondering if he’d come back too quickly and see me holding them like some kind of sick freak. You’re so beautiful, do you know that? Your husbands won’t know what to do with themselves.
Yes, I’ve been thinking about fucking you. Do you think about it too? I’m guessing by your photos that you do. Did you think of me eating you out when you touched yourself? You probably won’t read this email for another twelve hours but just know that I failed miserably not getting hard in the back of the cafe. I had to spend ten minutes catching up on the news back home just to stop remembering being inside you, how wet you get when I kiss your neck. What am I, a teenager?
You should’ve come here for your summer trip, rather than LA. Why are you going out tonight looking for someone else when you could have been here. I’m jealous. I miss you.
I’ll send you your demands before we call tomorrow. I want to see your face when you open it.
Matteo and Emma are great. They’re funny, and well read, and they know more mythology than I do, if you can believe it. Matteo is a good cook. He made lasagne for dinner the night I last emailed you and it was the best thing I’ve ever eaten. I wish you could try it. If he ever wanted to open a restaurant he absolutely could. If you wanted to take him as one of your husbands I wouldn’t be opposed. It’d give me more reason to have dinner at your house. Emma has the most infectious laugh I’ve ever heard.
They both know about you. We work together here a few nights a week, so they’ve seen me writing you. I told them we’re best friends, that you’re a little bit insane despite being one of the most level headed people I know. I never know what’s going to come out of your mouth. I told them that you’re smarter than I am, and that you’ll probably take down several governments one day. I told them that you miss me terribly. And that you understand me better than I understand myself, and that I can hardly understand you at all.
Emma asked if we were ever together, and I didn’t know how to answer. I almost said not really, but I don’t know if that’s true. Is it true? Matteo changed the subject before I could answer anyway. He wanted to know who bowser80 was. On that note I’m begging you to choose a more sensible email address, if only so Efraim doesn’t think I’m sending vaguely horny emails to a Super Mario character. He probably has the wrong impression of you.
I’m really looking forward to speaking to you properly. Your photos are- well they’re obscenely hot. But I want to see your smile.
Talk soon. Don’t fuck your husband-to-be on the first night, he doesn’t deserve you.
PS - I’m not sure if Efraim is our spy, actually. I just watched him pick his nose and wipe it under the desk. I would hope someone trained in espionage would have better decorum.
I can’t stop thinking about you. I’ve been looking at your photos again since I woke up and I fear I’m never going to leave my bed.
Wonwoo, I’m being very serious when I say you need to get a laptop again as soon as possible because Efraim absolutely cannot read or hear the things I want to say to you. God, Wonwoo, I need to suck your dick inside out. I need you inside me.
How long have you got left in Europe? Is it forever?
I can’t stop thinking about you either. I forgot the sound of your laugh for a while and now after hearing it I’m worried I’ll lose it again. Let's keep calling, so we stay real for each other. For the sake of my sanity please say less about sucking my dick. It’s only Monday and it’s a personal goal of mine to make it through the week without rocking a semi in this cafe.
On the topic of buying a laptop, I’m picking up a part time job. The stipend doesn’t stretch as far as I’d hoped. Efraim is hiring, and I asked if working here means I can read everyone's emails and he looked so confused I was almost convinced. Perhaps he’s a better spy than we thought. Of course working here means more opportunity for talking to you, which sweetens the deal somewhat.
It does feel like it’ll be forever, doesn’t it? I won’t be able to come home to visit until March. I wouldn’t be opposed to you visiting me here during your winter break. Would you like to?
My palms are sweating but I don’t know why I’m nervous. It’s just us, isn’t it? I haven’t been this nervous to see you since before school the day after we slept together. The first time, I mean. We were idiots, I know that much.
I’m borrowing Matteo’s car to come pick you up, I’m nearly ready. Please excuse the mess in it, he lives like a pig but he’s so endearing Emma and I forgive him anything. You’ll see what I mean when you meet him tonight. Emma can’t make it until New Years, she sends her apologies- I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’ll say it to your face.
By the time you read this, it’ll be tomorrow morning and we’ll have already had one whole day together. You’ll ask to use my laptop to check your emails, and I’ll still be half asleep in the bed next to you.
Have I kissed you yet?
I’ve been working up the courage to kiss you as soon as you get through customs. I’ve been playing out how it’ll go. I’m going to set your bags down on the floor and take your face in my hands and kiss you right there in the middle of the arrivals lounge. Even as I’m typing all of this out, I know it won’t happen like that. I’m going to wave awkwardly when I see you coming through the doorway. I’m going to be hit with a rush of nostalgia when I catch the smell of your shampoo when we hug hello. I’m going to look at your lips and think about the taste of you, but then I’ll feel the eyes of other people on us, and they’ll be wondering if we’re together, and then I’ll start thinking too much and accidentally leave it too late, and you’ll be handing me your bags to carry. I’ll feel foolish and thoughtless for not taking them from you in the first place.
I’ll kiss you without an audience. I hope you don’t mind.
I like when you call me baby outside of the bedroom. Are you trying it on for size?
Don’t worry, you were a real gentleman at the airport yesterday. Took my bag and opened doors and everything. Five stars. It’s sweet knowing you were nervous. You didn’t look it at all. I thought how confident and self assured you seemed, like you knew all the answers to every question ever asked. I’m kind of in awe of you. The way we talk online has me forgetting what you’re like in person. How quiet you go, how the comfortable silences have me wondering what you’re thinking, how deliberate you are with your words. You say sometimes that I understand you better than anyone but I don’t think I do. You must think that your expressions give away your every emotion but they don’t, Wonwoo. You have this huge inner world I know nothing about and your emails give me a peek at what’s inside. You’re a mystery to me, the same way everyone is a mystery.
Even now, you’re fast asleep (I’m sorry I didn’t wake you to ask to use your laptop, but you don’t mind, do you? I wanted you to rest.) and I have no idea what you’re dreaming about. Is it me? I hope it is. I like how you sleep next to me, did I ever tell you that? You’re like a koala. I like how you reach for my hand when I think you’re already sleeping and draw lazy figures of eight across my palm, with your chest against my back. I like the way your hair is even longer now. Messy and soft. Wonwoo, you’re so so so handsome. You look like an artist. You look like someone Jane Austen would write about.
I liked that you kissed me in private. I liked that you kissed me at all. I liked that you held my hand when you introduced me to your friends, even though you were quiet as ever. Were you feeling shy?
I’m looking in the mirror now and I like the marks you left on my neck. They’re so dark! I’m going to need a vat of concealer to cover these up if we leave your room today. I’m going to steal your scarf. I should complain about the mess you made of me, but I like that you’re secretly possessive. Don’t tell anyone I told you that haha.
I like the way you touched me last night. The way you pressed my hips into the mattress and licked over my clit. The way you twined our hands together and rolled into me. If I close my eyes I can still feel it. Your teeth on my jaw. You, thick and hard, so deep inside me. Your skin felt good against mine. Were we always that good together? Is it better now because we haven’t seen each other for so long? I was so wet I’d be embarrassed if it were with anyone but you. Fuck, I want you again.
You don’t know that I’m wearing your t-shirt right now. Would you be bothered? Would you like it?
Wonwoo, would you mind if I woke you up? I want you to fuck me in your t-shirt. I want you to open your tired eyes and be glad I’m in something that smells like you. Reach under the hem and find me without underwear, already wet and wanting. I want you to fuck me harder than last night. I want you to fuck me so deep I can feel you in my throat. I want to feel the vibrations of your groan against my chest. I want it to hurt so much that I still feel you there when I leave.
I’m going to send this email and wake you up. Sorry it’s so early, baby.
You’re in the shower. I’m laying on my bed wondering how I’m going to survive this week. We’ve always been good together, I think. But I’ve never, ever seen you like that before. In a good way. The best way.
Baby, you know I still love you, don’t you? I’m going to say that to your face any second now, so you will already know by the time you read this. Do you love me too?
Keep wearing my t-shirts. Take that one home with you so you can wear it when we Skype, and I can remember the morning you ruined my life. That one looks better on you anyway. God. We’ve got five days left and I’m already hating the thought of you going home. Is it insane to ask you to stay longer? Probably. You’ve got work. Tonight I'm going to kiss you at midnight and make a wish.
I love you.
I hope you say it back.
PS - it won’t be too long before I’m home. Please wait for me. We can be birds again.
thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed this fic, please consider telling me what you liked via a reblog so my fic can get seen outside my own little space <3 i love seeing your feedback. if you have any questions, please ask!! it gives me life to talk about these babies. ily, goodnight!
٠࣪⭑ pairing: jeon wonwoo x afab reader
٠࣪⭑ summary: it's 2002 and you ask wonwoo to take you home. later, he wonders why you haven't been doing this the whole time.
٠࣪⭑ genre: childhood friends to lovers, smut, fluff, angst, college au
٠࣪⭑ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with me, i'll block you.
٠࣪⭑ warnings: swearing, drinking, undefined relationships. not really a situationship tho, it’s very much mutual pining. reader and wonwoo are just stupid regular people who say and do stupid things, it is intentional, please love them anyway. wonwoo is down bad i'm so sorry friends, he is just!!!!!! occasional use of pet names (baby & angel from wonwoo. darling/sweetheart from others), no use of y/n or other variations, porn with plot mostly, ambiguous ending (sorry my beloveds). wonwoo could do with some more confidence ig. a bitter ex (oc) is mentioned and important for the plot! mentions of previous hook ups between wonwoo and reader. toxicity from the ex, but i don’t particularly think reader and wonu are! they just :(((((( feel free to correct me tho.
٠࣪⭑ smut contents: gendered terms, kisses, fingering (pussy + mouths), oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (it's 2002 college students were stupid then ok), dry humping lmao, cum eating, wonwoo on top, cum in pants, sloppy kinda, wet patches <3, soooo much hand holding, morning sex, neediness <333333, all in all they are quite soft and disgustingly into each other. if you think i've forgotten anything please let me know so i can fix my post!
٠࣪⭑ wc: 5.4k - complete
٠࣪⭑ a/n: i listened to fob's from under the cork tree on repeat for like 2 weeks straight and needed to do something with the feelings in my chest. this universe started in a different work that i'll post another time, this is the before. it is complete on its own, can be read without the others, but please note that future fics for this couple will be non-linear and feature different stages of their lives. the title comes from Fall Out Boys I've Got A Dark Alley–.
Please consider listening to Air - Yeji, it's the feeling this couple gives me.
٠࣪⭑ thank yous: to my loves, @100vern and @starlightkyeom– thank you for putting up with my screaming over wonwoo, thank u for reading this over and telling me it wasn't gross. to jewel again, thank you for the banner. i appreciate u both so much. to everyone else, thank you for coming to my little corner, i hope you enjoy this one.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
2002
Wonwoo didn’t apply for the fellowship program, despite all your insistence that if you got in he’d be sure to, that he’s smarter than you’ll ever be. At the time he said it felt like too much work, but later he realised he couldn’t take the fear of rejection. This would’ve just been another failed start. Deep down he wondered if he’d even deserve it.
The celebratory dinner for new scholars is supposedly an elitist, snobby, and frankly, horrid affair so naturally you’re going. If only to foster those connections you’re making for your future career. Wonwoo turns his nose up but he agrees to be your date nonetheless. You don’t have to beg, just ask the question and say he wouldn’t embarrass you like the man you’ve been dating for four months, and that fills him with some strange sense of achievement.
Of course, once that guy hears you’re taking Wonwoo instead of him, he dumps you without ceremony. And now Wonwoo sits on your bed in a rented suit far too expensive for him to feel entirely comfortable in, watching your reflection choose which earrings to wear, and he wonders if you’re even bothered. He doesn’t know how to talk to you about this. Partners are off limits, usually, but since he had some involvement in the break up, in some roundabout way, he thinks maybe he should at least check. He wets his lips.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Since Hongseok?”
You meet his eyes in the mirror. “Fine,” you say. “I don’t think it was going anywhere. He wanted something more traditional. I started to get the impression he was setting up to cheat on me, actually.”
Wonwoo is unsurprised, sounds like you are too. “You’re better off without him,” he says, picking at bits of fluff from your blanket clinging to his trousers. It’s one his mother knitted for your sixteenth birthday. “You’ll meet someone new in no time.”
“Yeah, I don’t know,” you start. “I think I’ll stay single for a while.”
Wonwoo lifts his eyebrows in surprise and you catch him in the mirror. With a laugh you say, “Don’t look at me like that.”
“You’ve been a serial dater since we moved to this city and you’re stopping now?” Wonwoo’s lips twist into a grin. Teasing is easier than edging too close to real. “Just when you’ve hit your prime?”
You scoff. “Rude. I’ll hit my prime in my thirties. Just watch.”
Wonwoo watches as you apply your usual lipstick and thinks about the time you didn’t wear any. You were just kids but it didn’t seem so long ago. You’re almost the same. Eighteen years of your starkly different lives intertwined and somehow still as close as you ever were. Still the sharpest person he’s ever known, still the sweetest if only in private. Still his parents' favourite person, still his. (His stomach twists).
You’re giving yourself a final appraisal in the mirror before turning to Wonwoo and asking how you look.
“Good,” he says, with a nod. Breathtaking, really. “Pretty.”
“Thanks,” you say, smiling relieved, moving to sit next to him on the bed and linking his arm. “We scrub up well, don’t we?”
“Mm,” he agrees, following your gaze into the mirror, pinpricks creeping over his skin. You look like you’re together, he thinks, as he notices you’ve chosen earrings that go with his tie. Anyone could make that assumption.
“You look sad, Wonwoo,” you say, quiet and soft. “Are you sad?”
“No,” he says, throat tight and feeling like his back is pressed against the wall. “What would I have to be sad about?” He lets you slip your hand into his, lets you lean your head on his shoulder for a moment, because this is how you make him feel better. Because you know that he can’t be pushed to talk about things he hardly understands. Barely a minute goes by before he sucks in a breath and says, “Shall I call us a taxi?”
“Sure, number’s in the book next to the telephone,” you say. “Want a drink? I need one for this.”
“Water for me, someone’s got to get you home.”
“Aw, come on. Don’t make me drink alone.” You laugh when Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “I’ll be on my best behaviour, I promise. My reputation’s on the line.”
“One beer,” he offers. You pout and he can’t stop his smile.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
It went like this:
Both of you had no less than three drinks before the taxi showed up.
Your peers kept thinking that he was your “elusive boyfriend” and upon correction that he was ‘just Wonwoo’ their eyes lit up and exclaimed “oh we’ve heard so much about you!”
The way he blushed made you want to kiss him silly (you had another drink instead).
Drink five? Four? Everyone here is obliterated, no one notices you and Wonwoo readying to leave.
He looks so pretty like this, tie undone, glasses slipping down his nose, pulling off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders, watching your lips as you talk.
The taxi you pre booked won’t be here for another ten minutes but the room was so stuffy (in both the literal and figurative sense) that as soon as you tell Wonwoo you need to get out of there, he’s nodding and pulling you out into the street. It’s so busy– of course, it’s OT week– that you struggle to find a spot where you won’t be bumped into for a while, eventually settling against the wall of the building opposite, in good view of the road. The noise around you is hectic, and you’re desperate for something less bothersome. Wonwoo looks drunk, looks fucked out. Cheeks flushed and lips parted. Eyes closed, he tips his head back against the brick and exposes the column of his throat. Pretty.
“Hey,” you say, slipping your arms around his waist. “Thanks for coming with me.”
Wonwoo hums. “Yeah, ‘course.” A pause– he wraps his arms around your shoulders. He’s so heavy but you like how it feels. “Anything for you.”
There’s a saccharine sweetness stirring in your stomach. You ask him to tell you the story of Baucis and Philemon again, press your body against his and hope he can still read you like he used to. It’s been years. Maybe he won’t want to.
“Why do you like that one so much?” he asks. You take in the smell of his soap. You know you shouldn’t want to go down this road again. “It’s hardly even a love story.”
“They’re the ultimate love story,” you insist, looking up at your friend to find him already watching you. “They’re precious to each other. I want that kind of love.”
It’s more than that. Baucis and Philemon have a timeless love. Their lightness oozes out of them, their love is both infectious and tender. So devoted they choose to die together. Never without the other even after they’re gone– turned to trees, and their branches and roots weave together so tightly that you can’t tell where either one of them starts and they stay like that, as relics of a lost ancient world.
There is something ancient about Wonwoo, too. For as long as you can remember he has been older than his years, telling stories of places long buried, of deities forgotten about. You think maybe he was meant for then and not now, the cusp of the twenty-first century. He keeps echoes within him. Carries heavy stones to turn over in his hands and spend time memorising the marks. He is deliberate in the way he moves, no ill-perceived rush, and Wonwoo’s silence carries more weight than his words.
So when his eyes flicker to your lips again, and he still doesn’t move, you know it’s on you. You know you’re going to have to be the one to shift the sands, change the direction of the tide. You’ve been lovers before. Neither of you have ever said never.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
He’d been thinking about it all night but you were the one to press your lips against the corner of his mouth, eyes on his and holding the proximity. Are you thinking about it like he is? Is your heart thrumming in your chest like his?
“I can feel you thinking.”
“Uh huh.” His mouth goes dry. He can’t kiss you with a sandpaper tongue.
You run a finger between two buttons on his shirt, eyes up, watching his reaction. “Can I stay at your place tonight? Hansol’s at his parents' house this weekend, right?”
Wonwoo’s mind goes blank and he can feel the pink creep over his cheeks. “Did you squeeze your Pompompurin pyjamas in that little bag?”
Your lips twitch in an almost smile, lean in to ghost a kiss against his bottom lip. Wait to see if he pulls back– he doesn’t. His hands just slip down your back, touching the skin under the strap of your dress. Didn’t imagine when he helped you zip up earlier that he’d be the one invited to pull it off you. Has he hidden his desire so poorly? “Do you wanna fuck me in those pyjamas, Wonwoo?”
The street noise is drowned out when you kiss him properly, and it’s embarrassing the way he’s breathless, gripping at your waist and pulling your body closer. Humiliating that this is in full view of strangers, doesn’t want them to see how you lick into his mouth, doesn’t want them to hear your sharp gasp as his teeth drag over your bottom lip. He spins you on the spot, crowds you against the brick and blocks out the world with his shoulders. You pull on a button and slip your hand through the gap. The touch burns. Your kisses are suffocating, loves the way you smile into it, the way you make him chase your lips, run your fingers along the waistband of his trousers an– fuck– he’s gonna get hard in the middle of the street.
Desperate, he pulls off you and whips his head around to look for the taxi, you’re already complaining. “Not here–,” he says, words rasped, catching in his throat. He can see the taxi rounding the corner, and in a beat he’s pushing off the wall and dragging you toward it by the hand.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
He doesn’t touch you in the taxi. Hopes you know it’s not because he didn’t want to, he just doesn’t want to lose himself. His fingers flex eager on the leather seats, wanting something he won’t take. As the driver fiddles with the radio, you lean over to lay your hand across his, to whisper in his ear, “do you still lick your fingers after you’ve made someone come on them?” Wonwoo doesn’t answer, but he can feel the way you watch him swallow– thick– and stare hard out the window at the passing lights. He never did that with anyone but you.
Now you’re paying for it. He’s more confident in the privacy of his bedroom, in the dark. Cages you in his bed, doesn’t bother to turn on the lights before smothering you with his body. Your mouth on his– wet, and eager, and bruising. His hands move to your face, in your hair, angling your head to give his lips access to the tender spot behind your ear. He’s got your dress bunched up around your waist. Takes up all the space between your legs, still too much fabric separating you. One of Wonwoo’s hands cast over the swell of your breast, his thumb tracing circles over your nipple through the thin fabric. You melt into the touch, rolling your hips against him, he sighs into your skin. “Can feel how hard you are,” you gasp, hands pulling at his hair. Makes his skin electric.
He moves faster, desperate, and you trap his body between your legs, angle your hips so his cock can rub against your clothed cunt just right. “Gonna ruin your trousers,” you whisper. Yeah yeah yeah, fuck it, he’ll pay for dry cleaning for once. The warmth, the wet, seeping through makes him insane. Needs it more than ever, needs you just like this, breath ragged and pupils blown. Needs you needing him so bad you can’t even get out of your clothes before you come. Needs you whining, needs you telling him how badly you want it. Won’t ask for anything, but you know what he likes. It’s always been easy with you.
“Feels good,” you say. Wonwoo nods into your neck, the pressure building so fast it’s blinding. Hips thrusting rough, rutting like an animal against your clit, desperate for you to get off before he falls apart but he’s so cl–”Missed you so much, Wonwoo.”
“Ah, fu- fuck–” You’re sucking a mark into his neck and Wonwoo can’t stop. Comes hard, breath catching and his rhythm is all fucked up, so fucking embarrased that he couldn’t draw this out. You’re talking him through it– sounds like heaven whispering how good he is, how good this feels, how you love how he sounds when he forgets himself. Didn’t realise he was groaning. A mess of a person reflected in the cum staining through the fabric of this horribly expensive rental.
Shit.
Needs to get out of this fucking suit. Needs to press his face into your cunt. Wants to ruin you for everyone else. Four years– you wasted four years with other people when you could’ve been doing this. Pushes away thoughts of you being someone else's not even a week ago. Some sick, possessive slice of him wants to reclaim you, mark you up and present you as his to the world. Wants to take the cum in his underwear and push it into your body. Look, see, she’s mine mine mine. Wonwoo’s chest aches.
Your clothes shed in silence. You lay him back against the pillows, kneeling next to him with spread legs, he loves when you let him see. You take one of his hands in yours and work circles into his palm as you pull two of his fingers into your mouth. Get them slick with spit, work your tongue over the tips of his fingers. He can hardly breathe watching you manoeuvre his hand down your body against your cunt, using him like a toy, until his remaining brain cells start to work and he takes over the movement. He’s half hard again already.
“Shit, you’re so wet,” he rasps. Crooks his fingers and you whine. Wants to eat the sounds spilling from your lips. Needs to do something with his mouth so he doesn’t say something stupid. “Sit on my face?” he asks, obvious urgency in his voice.
“N-no, like this first,” you say, almost like you’re begging. “Missed your hands so much.”
You look at him through hazy eyes as he works you quickly to the edge, pulling whimpers from your throat every time he plays with your clit. Feels you get impossibly wet when he slips his fingers in deep and moans unashamed along with you. You buck into his palm, head tipping forward to watch his soaked long fingers fucking into you agonisingly slow. Your breath stutters in your throat as he uses his other hand to tease your skin, trailing gently over the meat of your thigh, your ribs, cupping your breast and then dragging you over him to take a nipple in his mouth. Flicks his wet tongue over until it pebbles between his teeth, and you gasp.
“M’close already,” you whisper. “Gonna come, Wonwoo.” He ruts his hard cock into the air, chasing heat that isn’t there. Fucking loser. You don’t even notice with the way he’s got your breaths coming in fragments. You come undone like lightning, cunt soaking and pulsing around his fingers, your body collapses on top of him, your forehead pressed into his chest. Wonwoo wants a taste but wants to work you through the aftershocks first. He teases slow circles over your clit until you fall apart with a sob, and have to drag his hand out from between your legs.
He waits until you sag to your side– catches sight of your cheeks, flushed and sweat sticking to your skin, your pupils blown out and breathing shallow, more beautiful than he’s ever seen you– before he brings his fingers to his mouth to taste you on them.
“You’re indecent,” you laugh in disbelief. He almost feels gross until you’re babbling about how hot he is. How he makes you insane. You laugh again when he rolls you onto your back and settles between your legs. It’s been so long he needs to do this right. Starts by pressing a gentle kiss to your clit, ghosts more over your centre, waits for the sound of your gentle sigh before laving a thick stripe over you. Knows just the way to make you molten. He laps at your core until you’re almost sobbing. You jolt whenever his nose slips over your clit, and you’re begging for him to stop the tease. He’ll never deny you what you want. His tongue flicks fast over your clit, his face wet with you now. His moans sound muffled against your cunt when his name falls from your lips in staccato breaths.
Things have hardly changed. Four years and now, it’s just the fucking same. Your fingers still find purchase in his hair the same way. Mouths at your inner thighs to give your cunt a break. Shit, you’re so hot. You’re clenching around fucking nothing. Pulls the skin between his teeth and you’re writhing, trying to get his tongue back where you need it. Love when you get desperate like this.
Your nails drag over the nape of his neck and he’s close to losing control– fucks his cock against the mattress and almost cries at the pressure. You grind against his face, Wonwoo knows you’re close. Blacks out as he eats you like he’s been starving, his face so slick with spit and you it drips down his chin to the sheets. Doesn’t dare stop to breathe as he feels your legs begin to shudder over his shoulders. He watches the way you look down at him, brows pinched pleasure, waits for your lips to fall apart with a broken sob before licking into you so deep. He can’t tell who comes first, can’t tell who the enormous wet patch on the mattress belongs to, doesn’t fucking care, just wants to keep you.
He moves over you when you’re done, pressing chaste kisses to the corner of your mouth, to your cheeks, to your temple, before you’re giggling and pulling his body next to yours.
“Shift over,” he says, tapping at your hip. “Don’t wanna sleep in the wet patch.”
“Did you come again?” you ask, moving to the side to give him space.
Wonwoo nods, cheeks instantly flushing with heat. But there’s no need for embarrassment because you’re sucking in a breath. Seriously, you say “You have no idea how much I like that.”
He doesn’t reply, just fits his body against yours and presses a kiss to your shoulder. Lets your words wash over him. Sleep comes for him quicker than he wants it, but not before he slides his hand into yours, not before telling you he missed you too.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Mascara stains Wonwoo’s pillowcase but right now he doesn’t care. It’s still too early, still dark outside, but this room is hot, his breath is hot, your leg thrown over his waist is hot, and he’s considering just how monumental this is. It’s been almost four years since you touched him like this. In school it started with a ‘one kiss won’t ruin us’ and ended just before university with a ‘are we still friends?’ Way back then you both swore blind that you could just go back to your regular scheduled programming and nothing had to change. An agreement that those brief months you had (not quite) together in high school were just two best friends helping each other out. A mutual understanding that the love you share is completely and utterly platonic, and platonic friends can totally kiss/touch/fuck for a few months without it ruining something more special than sex. Except he didn’t really mean it. The trouble was that Wonwoo knew even then that he wanted something all consuming. Felt it with you. Wasn’t sure if you wanted the same.
Wonwoo is absolutely not spiralling.
You’re still sound asleep (always are after nights like the last), and his arm is trapped. Back then he’d use this time to bask in you. With you wrapped up in him it was easy to feel like you were completely his. He used to feel like he could do anything to you, and you’d let him. You’d want it, even. Didn’t actually want to take you over but knowing that he could– the intensity of that scared him. Now that feeling doesn’t come, maybe because you’ve had the separation of time and different lovers, he doesn’t know really. He still doesn’t understand what happened before university. Doesn’t get why you stopped coming over when he was so close to unbottling the feelings in his chest. Just knows that the conversation took him by surprise even after a week of distance. Just knows how his chest ached even as he agreed that it’d be sensible to put it all to bed before leaving your sleepy town for the big city. Knows how his gut twisted sharp when you said that just because you were going together didn’t mean you should go together. Maybe he should’ve protested then, showed you how much he needed you. Impossibilities stretch out before him– if it went that way, last night wouldn’t have happened, he wouldn’t be tracing tiny figures of eight on the small of your back right now. If you’d been together then, young and stupid, would you have stood the test of time?
You stir, half roused, and Wonwoo swallows the lump in his throat, choosing to be grateful for the now. He pulls your waist closer, runs his hand under your thigh to gently adjust the weight. Your eyes are still closed but you make a soft sound of surprise.
“What time is it?” you ask, voice thick with sleep.
“Too early,” he whispers back. “Go back to sleep.”
“I was dreaming,” you murmur.
“What about?”
Your smile is lazy against his skin. “Can’t tell you,” you say. “You’d run away.”
Wonwoo thinks hard about this. “I don’t run away,” he says, quiet and serious.
You blink open soft eyes to look at him, and Wonwoo feels too much. “Your face is all frozen, Wonwoo,” you say, gentle. “Are you okay?”
“Kiss me. Wish me good morning.” Wonwoo’s voice comes out with more edge than he intends. Doesn’t sound like his own. Feels cheap, something sleazy. Feels tragically guilty about it until he sees the look on your face. Like you want to eat him.
Your gaze is dark when you lock eyes with him. Push up with your hands, straddling his hips, his cock against your rear. You take his hands, larger than yours, place them on your ribcage, push them down down down, making goosebumps pebble along in his wake, until he’s using his thumbs to spread you apart. A little wet already, leaves a slick mark on his skin. He sighs at the sight of it. Your breath comes harder when he plays with your clit. You lean over, say– “Good morning, Wonwoo.” Press a delicate kiss to his top lip. “You’re gonna come inside me this time, okay?”
Wonwoo isn’t religious, but he feels like angels made you for him. Tells you so, and you gasp against his mouth. The way you kiss him this time is anything but angelic. Wet. Messy. Sharp teeth leaving imprints on his lips. It hurts. Nice in a way it shouldn’t be. A relief– the way the hurt makes his mind stop. You roll your hips against him and he makes a desperate sort of noise. Keeps his eyes focused on his fingers drawing circles on your clit. Your hands reach behind you to stroke his hardening cock and he arches into your touch. “Needy,” you chastise. Wonwoo nods.
Doesn’t want it like this. Wants you under him, wants to fuck you slow. Tells you so, the words come anguished, almost– and you nod dumbly. You don’t drag out the build up. Lay on your back, open your legs for him, spread them wide and line his cock up with your wet heat so quick he doesn’t have time to overthink. He makes a strangled sound when he pushes inside. The slide is agonisingly slow. He’s being so careful, as if you’d crack like china - fragile beneath him. You clench around his cock, thick and scalding- God, it’s sweet torture. Wants more of it.
You pull, desperate, at his waist, rolling your hips against him but he’s pulling out. This time he just slides the head in, hisses, teases, and back out. He does it again, and again, doesn’t know who this teasing is for. He’s licking into your mouth, pressing hungry kisses on your open lips, eating up all your noises, your whines, your soft moans. Things are still the same. He likes going so so deep into you, bottoming out and grinding his skin against your clit, likes when your moan comes muffled in his open wet mouth. It’s the same. Likes when your hands find purchase in the sheets, fist them in desperation, likes when you feel it’s not enough so you grab at his, intertwine your fingers and let him fuck you like this. Like you’re in love. It’s still the same.
“How do you feel, angel?”
“Uh–” A pause to suck in a fractured breath.
“Tell me how you feel,” he says. Almost begging. Would be mortifying if he whispered that against anyone else’s cheek. Can feel the wetness there too.
“Homesick,” you gasp. “I feel homesick.”
He fucks you harder then, driving into you so deep he could be part of you. Melt in, blend together, blur the lines, weave the fucking branches. You’re full of spells, he thinks. Made of magic. Doesn’t realise until after that he’s said it aloud. Wet starshine eyes on his as you come apart, pussy pulsing around his cock, impossibly wet, telling him come with me baby, babbling nonsense about how you want it inside, how you need it so bad, how he makes you feel so good.
Wonwoo really looks at you before he comes. Takes a moment to commit your face to memory. Any time could be the last and he needs this– needs you– to stay with him. Doesn’t know if he’ll ever be the same.
“Like that, Wonwoo” you’re saying, all breathy and high-pitched as he spills into you with a choked whine. “Like when you–” Cum slips out around his cock and he gathers it up on his fingers. Pushes them into your mouth to stop you talking. Can’t bear it. Can’t bear the way your pupils blow out and you lick the cum from his fingers. Can’t stand how his name sounds in your mouth, sweeter, more precious, because there’s something like love coating it. God, he wants to be yours.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Wonwoo likes your apartment better. Likes the way your sheets start to smell like him too. You’ve always carved out space for him but this time it’s deeper. Likes showering with you here, not to fuck, just to wash away the mess you make of each other. Likes holding you in his arms under the stream, running the lather across your skin, loving kisses pressed against your forehead. Lately he stays here more often than he goes home.
You haven’t said the words yet, neither has he. Doesn’t want to push too much too soon.
It’s just after nine on Sunday morning, and you’re out of– well, pretty much everything. He offers to go but you insist he stays in bed, hair messed up, sheets pooling in his bare lap, glasses slipping down his nose while he rereads Kafka on the Shore. “Stay just like that,” you say it like a demand, but you’re smiling, pulling a scarf around your neck to run down the street to the shop, maybe stop at the deli for breakfast. “Back in a bit, don’t move an inch.”
A few minutes go by when the shrill of the telephone in the living room punctuates the silence. Wonwoo doesn’t get up to answer, it’d be improper, what if it was your mother? So he lets it ring through to answerphone, and when it clicks on it takes him a moment to recognise the voice calling your name.
“Are you there? Pick up, darling, pick up.” Wonwoo knows Hongseok has been trying to get back together with you. You’d mentioned it a few weeks ago, how he’d sent flowers. You don’t even like roses.
“I saw you by the river yesterday,” he says. Wonwoo looks up, stares at the wall. You’d insisted on getting out of the apartment, pulled your bodies from soft sheets and into soft sweaters, and Wonwoo only complained a little bit. In truth he loved walking with you. That he can hold your hand in public and no one bats an eye. Loves that you can be his here, that you claim him too. “You’re with him now? How long, darling? Does he fuck you like I do? ”
Wonwoo scoffs. Hongseok is just jealous. Wonwoo gets it. He does. Even if he’d never dream of saying it.
Hongseok’s voice turns nasty now. “Do you think he’ll stay this time? Does he know you’ve been in love with him this whole time? Everyone else knows. He won’t love you properly, you know. He’s just using you like last time, is he still keeping you a secret? You don’t deserve that, darling. You don’t deserve to be hidden–”
Is that what you thought? That he hid you? Bile swirls in Wonwoo’s stomach. Does he do that? Did he hurt you?
“–he’s just gonna fuck you up again and you’re gonna be miserable. But he won’t let you be happy with anyone, will he? Selfish fucking prick, he’s so cruel to you. You don’t see it, do you? It’s pathetic how fucking dumb you are for him–”
Wonwoo didn’t think he was cruel. There is spit pooling in his mouth, his stomach churns. Is he cruel to you?
The line clicks off as Hongseok spits out every name under the sun, but Wonwoo doesn’t hear the rest as he retches into your bathroom sink.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Forty minutes later, you’re calling out to Wonwoo that you’re home as you kick off your shoes. “I got us bagels, do you want the salmon cream cheese or the egg and ba- oh! You’re up.”
Wonwoo sits on your sofa in soft sweats and a baggy white t-shirt. His skin and hair are damp from the shower. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot. “You okay?” you ask, tentatively.
“Hmm,” he says. “Didn’t feel too good earlier.”
“Poor you,” you say. “Will breakfast make you feel better?”
“No, sorry,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically stiff. “I think I should head home. Don’t wanna give you a bug.”
You laugh softly, unpacking the groceries from the bags. “You spat in my mouth last night, if you’ve got something then I’ll have it in no time,” you say. “C’mon, stay. I’ll look after you. I’ll make soup.”
But Wonwoo is already standing, pulls a little money from his wallet and leaves it on the table. “What’s that for?”
“Breakfast,” he says. “Feel bad you bought all this and I need to go.”
You frown. “Stop being strange, I don’t care about the food, just get the next one.”
Wonwoo sighs. He’s annoyed, you realise. This is weird.
In the end you let him leave without drama, but not without a kiss to his cheek. He leans into it a little longer than usual. Closes his eyes as he hugs you goodbye.
You eat breakfast alone. TV on, sound off, wondering what the fuck even happened before you notice the light of your answerphone flickering.
New message, left 09:21:
Hi Sweetheart! It’s your aunt’s birthday next week, just calling to remind you to send a card. Call me back, okay, love you, bye!
End of messages.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
sorry about the ending there :( if it helps, it does better for them.
thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging so my fic can get seen outside my own little space <3 i love seeing your feedback. if you'd prefer to scream at me directly, feel free to send me a message <3
ily, goodnight!
❥ Series Tags: Series, Exes to Lovers!AU, Fluff, Mild Angst, Mutual Pining, Humor, Romance, Smut.
❥ Chapter Warnings: [3.5k] language, flirting, drinking wine, wonu wanting to beat up mingyu, seungkwan being seungkwan.
❥ Check out the Series Master List here! (banners made by @beaniegyu)
❥ Summary: Your first love hit hard & fast but it was all swept away in the blink of an eye when your boyfriend is sent away to a Korean University after your high school graduation. Seven years later, work lands you in the heart of Seoul and never in your wildest dreams did you imagine running into the one person who’d left with your heart years ago.
“I think what you have on now is perfect,” you scoff aloud, recalling Kim Mingyu’s parting words the moment you arrive at his restaurant.
Parking is by complimentary valet only and you fumble around whilst the young man waits patiently for you to gather your purse, and your wits, before taking your keys and bowing politely, gesturing toward the front door with a charming smile. It seems silly to have your car valeted for a to-go meal but something tells you there is no pick up counter here.
Another young man waits by the door and as if timed perfectly with your steps he pulls the door open for you with yet another polite bow and equally charming grin. Both the doorman and the valet were pristine but in a welcoming way. That didn’t stop you from making weary double-takes at the both of them.
Whoever does the hiring here must have golden set standards for every employee to meet before they’re even considered for an interview. For some reason, you felt like Mingyu was not that person.
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➝ in which he helps you drive again (💧💓)
➝ in which he tore his acl (💧💓)
➝ in which he forgets a date (💧)
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❁ Way Back Home ➝ one shot (💧💓✅ )
word count: 6.3k
summary: after twelve years apart, you finally meet wonwoo again
↳ read here
❁ Asellus Australis ➝ collab (💧💓🫧)
word count: 6.3k
summary: Wonwoo couldn’t possibly be the only person living in Sydney who didn’t know how to swim, so he reluctantly says yes to the lessons his friends signed him up for. When he learns that you are his instructor, he figures learning how to swim as an adult isn’t all that embarrassing after all
↳ part one
❁ Drabbles ❁
➝ in which he is late (💧💓)
❁ Elevator ➝ soulmate!au (💧 🌟 ✅)
word count: 27k
summary: in a world where soulmates exists, Jihoon is faced with difficult decisions
↳ one, two
❁ One More Day ➝ parent!jihoon (💧 ✅)
word count: 10k
summary: every day jihoon has to make you fall for him again
↳ part one, part two
❁ Slow Motion ➝ oneshot (⚡💓✅)
word count: 3.4k
summary: when you offer to cut jihoon's hair, he has a hard time holding himself back from touching you
↳ read here
❁ Midnight ➝ oneshot (💧✅)
word count: 2.1k
summary: a sudden text leads you to the place you wished you never left
↳ read here
❁ Drabbles ❁
➝ in which you visit him at the studio (💓)
➝ to the start of forever (💓)
❁ Strange Love ➝ oneshot feat. seungcheol (💧💓✅ )
word count: 3.1k
summary: years after your divorce, you meet your ex and he wants to pick up where you left off
↳ read here
❁ Crossing The Line ➝ oneshot (⚡💧💓✅)
word count: 5.4k
summary: Mingyu had always been your best friend and that line had never been crossed before, then, one day, you woke up naked ion his bed with a vivid memory of the previous night.
↳ one, two
❁ High For This ➝ oneshot feat. seungcheol (⚡✅)
word count: 4.3k
summary: seungcheol is willing to make your fantasies come true.
↳ read here
❁ So High School ➝ hockey player mingyu (💧💓🫧)
word count: 8.8k
summary: when you’re suddenly thrown in Mingyu’s direction, you have no choice but to stay by his side, and maybe it’s not as bad as you think
↳ read here
❁ Drabbles ❁
➝ in which mingyu wants to sleep on the couch after a fight (💓)
➝ in which you tell mingyu about a movie you watched as kid (💓)
➝ in which he he cuts his hair (💓)
❁ Memories of Us ➝ soulmate!au (💧 💓🌟 ✅)
word count: 11.9k
summary: every night seokmin dreams of his past lifes, when he met and fell for his soulmate countless times.
↳ read here
❁ Midnight Rain ➝ one shot (💧 💓⚡ ✅)
word count: 17k
summary: after seven years away, you finally return home. meeting seokmin again wasn't in your plans, but life wasn't willing to let you have it your way.
↳ read here
❁ Drabbles ❁
➝ constellations of him (💓)
❁ Raindrops ➝ oneshot (💓✅)
word count: 2.5k
summary: you and minghao walk home after a party, when you are surprised by the rain.
↳ read here
❁ Drabbles ❁
➝ midnight regrets (💓💧)
❁ The Road That Leads To You ➝ oneshot (💓✅ )
word count: 3.6k
summary: double dates are bound to go wrong
↳ read here
pairing: seokmin x f!reader
genre: angst, smut, a little bit of fluff
word count: 17k
summary: after seven years away, you finally return home. meeting seokmin again wasn't in your plans, but life wasn't willing to let you have it your way.
warnings: minors do not interact, kissing, oral, swearing, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this)
a/n: this is part of 1k event, it was requested the dearest @ressonancee. but also, it's part of svt ans songs from midnights. i just wrote two in one and something that was supposed to be short became this monster. i hope i wrote seokmin in a way you'll like it.
prompt: “I don’t want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do."
Seokmin ➝ Midnight Rain
He was sunshine, I was midnight rain
↳ it was the oldest story in the world, the bright boy fell for the grumpy girl.
Letter #1
Seokmin,
You know, I've always been very proud of not being a very attached person. I've always been proud that I can put myself first and second, because I know I need to do it, because I know that no one else will do it for me. So, when I came here and dropped everything I had, I thought it would be a lot easier than it actually is.
When I turn around in bed at night, after days of trying to get used to the time zone and weeks to the weather and the people here — which are both bad and for completely different reasons, nothing is like in the movies — I always hope to find you there by my side and being able to snuggle up to you like I always did. I wake up in the morning and make enough coffee for two people and take two mugs out of the cupboard, and only then do I realize I'm alone here. I don't need two mugs and I made too much coffee. Sometimes, in the middle of the day, I find myself typing your number, which I have memorized despite the fact that no one remembers phone numbers, because phones exist for a reason.
You have no idea how much I miss you and what I would do to be able to hear your voice again. I would do anything, I swear I could. But I know I no longer have that right. I know that what I did is unforgivable and although I want your forgiveness, I hope you never forget what I did to you.
You were still good to me on the last day. You took me to the airport, you said goodbye to me, you hugged me tight like you know I like it and you did your best not to shed a tear in front of me.
Every now and then I catch myself thinking that I messed up. I could have done my master's where we graduated, I didn't need to move to the other side of the world and leave the life I knew behind. But at the same time, I accept it. Coming here was my dream, it was always what I dreamed of even when you were by my side as well. And maybe that's why I never told you about the application, about being approved. Maybe I waited until the end, until the very last second to tell you because I knew you were the only one capable of changing my mind.
When I was by your side, I started to dream of a different life, a life that had you at all times and in all aspects. But, as you may have already noticed, I chose my first dream.
I know I won't regret it. I can't afford to regret it. You’ll become who you always wanted to be and I’ll be there to give you a standing ovation. Not there, next to you, but from afar.
yn
“That was Sunday Morning, by Hong Joshua. Ah, whenever I hear this song I remember my college days. I've said this here a few times, and I think I sound like a broken record by this point, but Joshua and I went to the same college and he was always singing this song in the hallways. Any small gathering between friends he would pull out the guitar and sing. So I'm sorry, but you're going to have to listen to this song at least once a week for the next year. Or until he releases the next one.”
Seokmin looked at the monitor to his right as a pre-recorded commercial for the next show started. The comments were going up too quickly, which made reading them an almost impossible mission.
On the other side of the glass, Chan made a sign indicating that the commercial was over. Seokmin looked at his friend as he lowered one finger after another and finally pointed at him. Chan placed a sheet of paper, which was always used, against the glass, which said “last, chat”. Indicating that he still had one more question to answer.
“We have time for one more question” Seokmin said, opening the internal chat he used with the other radio employees and read the question that Chan had sent “I ended a relationship of almost four years a few months ago, but I still can't understand what happened. I haven't even returned his things yet. How do I get in touch saying I want to return it?”
Seokmin swallowed. He knew that Chan hadn't done it on purpose, that he had no way of knowing everything that had happened between him and you, but he hated how much the question resonated in his head. It was a feeling he shared and for him it had been a little worse because you lived together during your last year of college. So when he entered the house and saw all the furniture, the decorations, your clothes still in the closet, it was like entering a time machine. In that 30 square meter space, for a few minutes, you still hadn't left.
He took a deep breath, away from the microphone so the sound wouldn't be picked, and leaned forward.
“It's a difficult question, really. If it's been a few months and he still hasn't picked his things up, it's because he doesn't need them, so I don't think you should bother contacting him. Hmmm”
He bit his lip and rested his elbows on the table, thinking if he should continue talking or if it would be better to stop there. Seokmin always thought it was better not to let personal feelings show on the radio, but he had moments when he couldn't follow his own rules.
“I can tell you from experience that sometimes silence is better. Because if you know the truth, it could hurt you even more. When I was in a similar situation, after a while I simply discarded the person's belongings. At first, it will be difficult, because you’ll see that shirt you gave as a gift, that letter you wrote and remember what it meant, the moment you gave those things to him. But little by little you will achieve it. Don't feel obligated to just move on when you're not ready. People will always tell you that it's about time, that it's been so many weeks or months. You’re the one who knows about your feelings.”
Chan knocked on the glass again, almost desperate because Seokmin's answer had been too long. It wasn't the first time he had gotten lost in what he was saying and maybe had been talking in circles. It always happened that he remembered you when he answered a question.
And in that specific question he was being a hypocrite because he knew that if he opened his closet, deep inside it, he would find at least two boxes full of your things hidden. He rarely went near those boxes, he liked to pretend they didn't exist and most days he managed to achieve that thought. But there were other days…
“So we come to the end of another Cupid's Corner with Minnie. See you again next week. Cupid’s Corner with Minnie: Unveiling Love’s Melody, One Relationship at a Time!”
Seokmin removed his headphones, stood up, and waved at the cameras he knew were pointed at him. He grabbed his phone and the bottle of water he always carried with him. The red light above the door finally went out and Seokmin left the studio.
Immediately, Chan appeared beside him. He had just gone blond, and it strangely suited him.
He knew the youngest was desperate, not that he was doing a good job of hiding it. The disheveled hair, pointing in all directions, also helped a lot.
“You’re going to have a heart attack if you continue like this” Seokmin said laughing.
Chan was the newest employee, handpicked by Seokmin a few months before. Seokmin needed someone to help him organize the broadcasts after his previous assistant quit because she had gotten a job in the field she had studied. Seokmin even talked to her and offered a higher salary that would come out of his own pocket, but nothing seemed to help. Not that he blamed her, in her place he would have done the same thing. But in the position he was in, changes made him uncomfortable so he did what he could to make sure everything stayed the same.
Maybe it was trauma.
“It’s because they yell at me, not you.”
One of the reasons Seokmin chose Chan as his new assistant was his sincerity. In the middle of the interview he “I think there are things in your program that need to change” and started listing things that he thought were dated or ideas that had been used too much and therefore didn't have the same effect on listeners. The others had found him presumptuous as if he wanted to know more than those who worked at the radio. Seokmin disagreed and that's how Chan got the job.
“They yell at you because you’re the new guy, no one yelled at Jiah”
Chan made a sound in the back of his throat, like a scoff.
“That's because everyone was afraid of her” Seokmin rolled his eyes and reached for the folder Chan was carrying “Oh, right. Tomorrow is your lecture for the communication classes, but they said it is possible that students from other courses will also be there, because it’llll be in the auditorium”
Seokmin nodded, reading the guidelines Chan had made. He needed to admit that he was organized and had absolute control over everything he did. He was sure that if he asked about Wonwoo's program, Chan would know how to answer as if he worked directly with him.
“You know how it is, I have fans” Chan pretended to vomit “If you go tomorrow, we’ll go out to dinner later, I’ll pay”
"Deal"
Seokmin always found it strange to be called to give lectures at the college where he studied. He wasn't a teacher and he didn't think he had done enough to be someone who could give advice to someone. In fact, Seokmin was sure he hadn't done anything big. His life, to put it very simply, was flat. At least, almost all of his life.
Seokmin has always been the type of guy who makes plans and follows through on those plans. When he was sixteen he got it into his head that he wanted to work in radio. It wasn't without reasons, of course. He joined the school radio and despite doing very little, because the school director had to know everything that would be done, even the nouns he would use in the sentence, he fell in love with the idea. That's why he decided he should study journalism in college, that way even if his radio career didn't work out, he would still have a profession.
But his dream was to work on a radio, to have his own program. So that's what he did.
He entered college as planned, sunk into student debt, and graduated exactly as he had planned. In his last semester, he got an internship at the biggest radio station in the country. He was on cloud nine. It was as if he had received the green light in life and everything was on the right track.
At least that's what he thought. At least that was what he had forced himself to believe. The internship became a permanent position and one day he just happened to be in the right place at the right time. That's why he never felt prepared to give anyone advice. Despite having decided on the career he wanted to pursue, he knew that he also needed to count on a little luck and help. The only words he could offer were “you work hard, study, make contacts, and throw the rest into luck’s hands”. It wasn't the kind of thing he wanted to hear when he was a student looking forward to the future, so he certainly wouldn't say it to anyone.
However, Chan convinced him that it would be a good idea to give the talk.
“You’re going to tell me how you got here, that’s all. An unknown face who quickly went on air to cover someone for one of the most beloved radio broadcasters in the country. I'm sure if you say that shit fell on your head, they'll like it” Chan had said laughing.
Overall the lecture went very well. Better than expected. He answered the questions as honestly as possible and used his best smile to get rid of the more awkward questions.
Despite the good day, he knew he didn't want to repeat the dose anytime soon.
“They want to know if you would be willing to do one of these a semester” Chan whispered because he knew the answer Seokmin would give, so it was better for the students not to hear.
“No” was all Seokmin said “But I’ll still buy you dinner”
Chan punched the air in celebration, catching the eyes of those around him, but he seemed to care very little.
"I just…"
What Seokmin was about to say, an announcement that he needed to go to the bathroom, died in his throat as he looked straight ahead.
Letter #2
Seokmin,
I thought I would be able to adapt faster here. It was very hard in the beginning with transport, getting around in general was very difficult. So I chose a weekend and went walking around the neighborhood where I live. I don't know how long I'll stay here, but I thought I should check it out. Besides, I can wake up in the middle of the night and decide that I want to eat something that I don't have at home, so it's good to know if there are any stores or markets that open in the middle of the night (in this neighborhood there aren't any, maybe that's why I won’t stay here).
I discovered that going out there, although productive, wasn't such a good idea. Nothing wrong happened, I didn't get hit on or someone was rude to me. Quite the contrary, most people pretended they weren't even seeing me. The problem was that everything made me think about you.
I walked by the store that sold a lot of random old things and decided to go in. You know I love filling the house with trinkets. I didn't find anything there that I liked, but I saw that they were selling camera films. For a moment I forgot everything that had happened and all I could think was, I think Seokmin is running out of film, I need to buy more because he will only realize when he doesn't have any left.
I bought it and brought it to the apartment. I opened the door and called your name. It was only later, when I noticed where I was, that it wasn't our apartment, that I realized what I had done.
Even without meaning to, even when I try not to, I find myself looking for you. Everywhere. I go to a restaurant and think about what you would like to eat, I see a dog on the street and I imagine you bending down to pet it. It's not on purpose, I just can't help it. I try, but it's in vain.
I wonder if it will pass. Will this feeling that I succeeded in my career but ruined my personal life disappear or will I feel like this forever — or at least for a good few years?
yn.
It was as if all the air had been ripped from your lungs and there was no way in the world to get you to breathe.
Somehow, some way, Seokmin was standing in front of you, in the middle of the college hallway.
For a moment it was as if you had been transported back in time, to when you were still 22 years old. In another moment you would have simply run up to him and thrown yourself into his arms as if you hadn't spent the whole night clinging to him, as if you hadn't seen each other before classes, as if you hadn't shared the smallest space in the world on the subway for 20 minutes. And your body seemed to remember all of this, like some kind of muscle memory, because you felt like you were being projected forward. Towards him.
You thought Seokmin would talk to you, you were sure he would. But you saw the way his gaze changed, the way it went from complete surprise to a hard look, completely different from anything you had ever seen from him.
In your memory, Seokmin was always brilliant and was always willing to welcome everyone with open arms, even when he felt more shy. You didn’t understand, that look he gave you was completely different from what you imagined could happen.
When you made the decision to return, you knew that there was a possibility of meeting Seokmin, no matter how small it was. You didn't know if he was still friends with the same people, if he still kept in touch with them. You certainly hadn't kept in touch with anyone - except for the two times you talked to Joshua. The possibility existed, but being realistic you knew it was as big as winning the lottery.
Of all the places you thought you could find Seokmin, college was the last one and maybe that was even why you accepted the job. When you were taking the last tests, the ones that would say whether you would graduate at the end of the semester or not, Seokmin was categorical in saying that he would never set foot inside college again. So you thought it was a place he would never go, but there he was. And in your first week, when you needed everything to go well. Not to show that you were ready and that you could do the job, but to reassure yourself that you had made the right choice in accepting the job.
You didn't have time to decide whether to talk to him or not. Seokmin made the decision for both of you. He continued walking as if you weren't there, talking to the boy next to him, laughing. The only indication that he knew who you were was silent once and one that only you could distinguish.
He turned around and left as if nothing had happened.
Was it possible that only you had felt that way? That just your heart had decided it didn't know how to beat, as if a storm was raging inside your body?
You didn't have time to analyze what had just happened. You just forced yourself to take a deep breath and also keep walking as if those brief seconds weren't enough to make your entire world turn completely upside down.
Seokmin dragged his feet into the room, tripping over the rug at the foot of the bed. A curse came out of his mouth, followed by a burp. When he invited Chan to dinner he had no intention of ending the night drunk, being carried home like someone who had just had his first drink.
It had been years since he had gotten that bad and it was comical that the previous occasion was also connected to you.
The memory of leaving you at the airport, on a flight in the middle of the night, was still vivid in Seokmin's mind. Worse than that memory, was the one of you telling him that you had gotten a place in a master's degree on the other side of the world, 18 hours before leaving the country.
“I need to tell you something” you said as he pulled his coat over his head and patted his pockets, making sure he had grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone. He needed to leave as quickly as possible, he was already late.
Seokmin had plans to ask you to marry him. He had rented a house where you could spend the weekend, where it would be possible to see the stars. He had prepared himself, but he needed to leave right that second so he would have enough time to go to the house, get everything ready and come back to get you. The owner of the house would help him, since Seokmin decided that he wouldn't tell any of his friends because they might just ruin the surprise.
“I'm already late” he said, quickly looking at his watch. "Did something happen?"
He asked, noticing your already somewhat desperate look. He knew that whatever had happened couldn't be good.
To be honest, he had noticed that something was wrong a few weeks before, and for a while, he decided it would be better not to get into it too much. He knew you well enough to know that you would offer the information when you felt ready to do so. But thinking back on everything, he wished he had asked before, he wished he hadn't given you space, he wished he had forced you to talk to him sooner.
“I passed my master’s degree abroad”
Seokmin’s first reaction was to be happy for you. He knew how much you wanted that, that it was your dream. So he did what any boyfriend would do, he hugged you and congratulated you, told you that you had tried so hard and that they would be idiots not to accept you. The feeling was true and his smile was genuine. He was happy for you.
Knowing what he knew, every now and then Seokmin wondered if he would have done anything differently if he knew what the next words would be out of your mouth. He could have made a fuss, he could have begged you to stay, he could have offered to go with you. But at the time he didn't do any of that.
“I’m leaving today, I need to be at the airport at 11 pm”
Seokmin's ears rang deafeningly. It was as if he had been punched and needed to brace himself against something. The sofa was the closest piece of furniture.
He thought he heard it wrong, he wished he was dreaming, but all he had to do was look at you. It was true. It was as if a puzzle was being completed in Seokmin's mind. The way you had suddenly become distant, how every time he entered the room you hurried to change or close whatever you were looking at on the computer. He didn't even know you signed up. He imagined that you must have done some kind of test, some interview and he didn't even know anything about it.
He had no idea.
Had he been a bad boyfriend, someone who was so focused on making the long-awaited proposal that he had ignored everything else? Or had you hidden it so well that he hadn't noticed?
"What? You’re leaving today?"
It was like the world was spinning too fast and he was trying to keep up with what was happening. It was like being on a roller coaster that kept on falling. He remembered well how the little box with the ring he had carefully chosen weighed in his pocket.
“I didn’t even know you had applied for a position” he whispered, almost just to himself “You didn’t tell me”
And it was at that exact moment, when he looked at you, that Seokmin realized that your relationship was over. You avoided looking at him, your hands were buried deep in the pockets of your coat, which was his. He saw your eyes fill with tears, you swallow hard, and remain silent.
It was unlike you, to stay quiet when you had too many things going through your head. He desperately wanted you to talk to him, to tell him what had been going through your head. He just wanted to understand. Did you believe he would somehow stop you from going? If there was one thing he knew about you, it was the fact that you always put your education first. It wasn't a secret and you didn't want it to be. He just didn't expect things to happen that way.
Seokmin sat in front of the closet, on the floor, and with difficulty opened the doors. Deep in the back, behind several shoe boxes, were two old boxes that he hadn't moved in years. Part of him wished the things inside the boxes were ruined, that they had mold and anything else that could ruin its content. But he had been careful, kept everything in order, taken all necessary precautions, and cleaned the closet periodically.
He ignored the first box and pulled the smaller one towards him, placing it on his bent legs. Seokmin wasn't one to revisit those memories, he liked to keep them as far away from him as possible, but on nights like those, it was impossible.
Seokmin knew what he would find and was sure how he would feel, but he still took the lid off the box, but he didn't dare take out any of the items inside it.
He knew he had reached his lowest point when he was holding on to memories he had of you and not focusing on what was actually happening in his life.
Letter #3
Seokmin,
I talked to Joshua today. Talk is a bit too strong of a word. We exchanged a few words on Instagram. He posted a photo and I liked it, he sent me a DM asking if I was ok and how things were going. I lied, of course. He said everything was fine and he was happy. He didn't talk about you and I didn't ask.
It was very hard to contain myself. I want to know how you are. The more selfish part of my brain wants you to be just as bad as I feel. You know that little demon that sits on our shoulder? He assures me you're even worse. And I hate to think that's the case, but at the same time, I'm sure you're not okay. I know you, we dated for four years, we lived together for almost two years
You were always the more emotional one of the two of us. You were never afraid to show your feelings, not for me or anyone else. You always loved so openly, without any fear. I admit that at first, it scared me a little.
I was an 18-year-old girl who came from a family that had no idea how to show affection, so I was always more reserved in that aspect. And there you were with your beautiful, bright smile, with open arms, affectionate with anyone who came along. I thought you were a crazy person who didn't have the slightest notion of the world. It took a while for me to realize that your world was brighter than mine in ways I couldn't understand.
You were always so untethered, free, showing yourself to anyone who had eyes. When I was closed and more reclusive, you were open and expansive. When I was very shy or reserved, you were more charming and brighter than usual. Not even my worst mood, which seemed endless at times, was a problem for you.
One day you just showed up and decided that you would stay by my side, no matter what. Believe me when I say, I tried to push you away. But with each passing day you were further under my skin.
A kiss at a random party turned into a date at every party, parties became meetings at the college library, which led to coffee dates. One day you decided at the end of each date you had to take me back to the dorms and you kissed me for a long time on the side of the building where no one could see — or at least I made myself believe no one did. Then that alone wasn't enough and you were always with your fingers intertwined with mine, or your arm around my waist. And kisses were no longer reserved for empty streets, of course not. You kissed me anywhere, anytime, no matter who was watching.
You were sneaky, Seokmin.
When I realized it, I was in love with you. Your arms were my refuge. You were my safe space. My home.
yn.
You hated that Seokmin’s reaction, or lack thereof, had gotten to you so much. It was like being punched, and then one more, soon the punch became a beating and to finish with a flourish, it was as if a truck had run over you.
You had plans to go out at the weekend, though alone. Everything was so different, the places you knew no longer existed and friends from the past no longer spoke to you. You would have to rediscover the city without anyone's help. Despite your plans, you couldn't bring yourself to leave the house.
When you decided to return, you knew there would be no way to escape Seokmin. He had become successful not only in his career as a broadcaster but also as a celebrity of sorts. You never imagined you would see his face in magazines or on billboards selling fried chicken. You didn't expect that when you turned on the TV you would see his face in different programs.
In fact, you knew all of that was happening, but somehow you managed to convince yourself that you wouldn't have to see any of it. You managed to make yourself believe that you would not be haunted by his images and voice.
When you were away, you always listened to his programs, more than once each one, but it was almost like a relationship between fan and celebrity. You could separate very well what was him and what was you. But being there, in the same country, in the same city, it was much more difficult to make that separation.
Because once you were back, Seokmin was no longer just the radio host with a show about relationships. Far from it. Seokmin was your college sweetheart, the guy whose heart you broke but who, even after seven years, was still in love with.
That was the reality. you were still in love with him. There was no relationship in the world, no man in the world, that would have made you forget about Seokmin. Sometimes it worked, sometimes you managed to forget about him for a few months and that feeling of loss, of emptiness, that had settled deep inside your heart became smaller and smaller. And then it would come back full on as if it had never left.
Maybe that was your curse, your punishment for leaving behind someone you could have spent the rest of your life with. And somehow you knew you would have been happy. Or at least a different kind of happiness.
After spending the weekend holed up inside your apartment, after convincing yourself that you needed to prepare for teaching classes and unpacking the move, she decided that on Tuesday night she would explore the city.
Exploring wasn't the right word. You had discovered that one of your favorite restaurants still existed, it had just changed location. And, despite being on the other side of the city and being completely aware that you would have to pay a fortune for a taxi or risk taking the subway alone almost at closing time, you decided to go anyway.
You needed to feel like one thing hadn't changed, or at least still be recognizable.
You heard your name being called a few minutes after sitting down. You raised your head, recognizing the voice, but couldn't tell who it belonged to. Directly in front of you was a woman, with short hair, in her fifties.
“It’s really you!”
You stood up and a second later you were being hugged. Maybe you had gone there for that reason, knowing that there would be someone there who would recognize you. Or at least you hoped there was. And when you were welcomed with open arms by her owner, Niah, you wanted to cry for the first time in a long time.
“Hi” was all you could offer, your voice weak.
You quickly turned your face away, trying to be discreet as you wiped away your tears. The last thing you wanted was to cry in front of someone else. Tears were reserved for dark moments in the silence of your apartment, they weren't meant to be seen by people you didn't even know in a crowded restaurant.
“Look how beautiful you look. You haven't been around for so long. Seokmin told us that you had gone abroad to study, but I thought you would come back sooner.”
You just managed to smile, even though it was embarrassing. It was strange to hear his name coming out of someone else's mouth so easily. For years, his name was just an echo in your own mind, almost as if it were a fantasy of yours.
There were days when you managed to convince yourself of this, that Seokmin was nothing more than a dream.
“Are you just visiting or are you back to stay?”
“I'm staying” you said after a second, when you managed to find your voice again “I got a job here, I have nowhere to run”
Niah laughed and hugged you once again, tighter this time.
"Great, that makes me happy. We always miss you” Niah smiled and ran her fingers down your cheeks, brushing away some tears that were stubborn to fall “What do you want to eat? Today it's on the house. Consider it a welcome gift.”
You took a deep breath, swallowing the lump in your throat and the remaining tears.
"What do you recommend?"
The amazing thing about meeting Niah again was that she still acted exactly the same way. She didn't see you as someone who had simply packed a suitcase of clothes and left the country overnight. To Niah you were still that same person from 7 years ago who ate whatever she put in front of. You and Seokmin were always guinea pigs for all the new recipes.
The food was still wonderful, if anything it had just gotten better.
You had a fork halfway to your mouth when you heard the door open, the sound of the bell indicating the entry of a new customer. You almost instinctively turned to look. You choked on your own saliva when your eyes met Seokmin's.
It was as if you were back in the hallway that day. Your heart simply stopped, and the world fell into suspension. For a moment, it was as if you had been transported to the past. You were almost certain that if you looked at the table you would see books open next to the cutlery; you knew that if you looked at Seokmin for another second or two his face would break into the most beautiful smile, he would wave and call your name.
But your illusion shattered into small pieces as his neutral expression contorted into a frown. With the same foot he entered he turned to leave.
“Seokmin!” you called him, getting up from your chair.
Part of you thought he was going to continue out the door, but he stopped. Half of his body was outside the restaurant, the other inside.
“Hurry up and close that door!” Niah said leaving the kitchen “You’re letting out all the heat”
Even with Niah's voice calling him, Seokmin remained standing at the door. You sat back down, but without taking your eyes off him. He didn't know what he expected of him, but he felt an indescribable relief when Niah pulled him by the sleeve of his coat and forced him to sit in front of you.
“The restaurant is packed, so you will have to share a table” she said as she turned her back.
Seokmin shook his head, clearly against sitting there, staying in the restaurant, but he still took off his coat and hung it on the chair before leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.
It was clear he was working out, his shoulders had gotten broader and his arms bigger since you last saw each other. You almost laughed at the pose, remembering all the times you had seen him in a similar situation. But this wasn't the time to laugh when everything else was screaming that he was uncomfortable with the situation, that he didn't want to be there.
It didn't take a genius to know that Seokmin wanted nothing to do with you. His reaction to seeing you in the hallway the week before and the way he was looking at you in that moment were enough answers.
You felt like the walls were closing in around you and there wasn't enough air in the room.
What were you thinking when you called his name? What were you thinking when you silently watched Niah pull him inside? Why were you still sitting there?
A waiter who worked with Niah passed by your table and you called him discreetly, not wanting to attract the attention of the restaurant owner.
“Can you wrap everything to go, please?” you turned to Seokmin “You can have the table. I was already leaving”
It was a lie, but he didn't need to know that.
Seokmin laughed lowly, scornfully, his sideways smile making the hair on your arms stand on end. In general, Seokmin has always been the type of guy who didn’t lose his cool easily, who would always rather let things go than have any kind of confrontation. But when he really got stressed out or nervous, it took a while for him to calm down again.
You had seen that storm in his eyes very few times in the years you spent together. The last one was when he went to the airport to say goodbye to you. That day the storm was just confusion and pain, you knew you had done that to him. But he sat there in the restaurant, in front of you, in silence while the people around him chatted animatedly, completely oblivious to what was happening between the two of you.
"What it was?" you rolled your eyes.
“Ah, nothing” he said, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture “It’s just like you to do that”
You narrowed your eyes at the same time you felt your cheeks get hot.
"Do what?"
"Runaway"
Letter #4
Seokmin,
It took me almost a year to convince myself that it was okay for me to look at social media. I convinced myself that every woman does this, that every now and then we look at our ex-boyfriend's Instagram, just to find out if his new girlfriend is ugly. I've told you this several times, but every female experience is universal.
I wish you were one of those low profile people, who post a picture every 6 months and it's a cut mango on a pretty plate. I wish you hadn't posted so many pictures. But more than anything, I wish I hadn't spent hours and hours looking at the photos. I wish I hadn't been analyzing every photo of you, I wish I hadn't thought “that's a new mole” and wondered which others had appeared since the last time we saw each other.
I had memorized every mole of yours. On your face, on your arms, on your back. On the worst days, when I missed you in a way that almost made me give up everything and go home, I kept remembering each one of them. I tried to remember the sound of your laugh, your voice, how you stroked my hair until I fell asleep when it wasn't a good day.
I keep wondering if one day this feeling will just go away.
It's been a year since I left. I went out with other guys, and I almost dated one of them, but you're always there in the back of my mind, almost comically because even against my will I can't help but compare them to you. I can't help but think that only you know how I like my coffee, how only you know that if I'm in my worst mood, there's no joke in the world that can make me laugh.
I know it's not fair to them. I gave you the chance to get to know me, I allowed you to get closer. I wanted you to come closer to me. Now I wonder if you're doing this for someone other than me.
I like to imagine that you also compare other women to me, that even now that you're dating I stay there, in the back of your mind, making fun of you.
Unfortunately, she's not ugly, but your smile was brighter when I was next to you.
yn.
To say that Seokmin had spent the rest of the week in an envious mood was an understatement. He was stressed and everyone around him soon noticed the change. He really tried not to let his personal life get in the way of his work. It was something he never struggled with. Work was work, what happened when the lights went out and he left the radio should never cross paths with each other. That week, however, it was impossible.
Meeting you at the restaurant caught him off guard. That day in the college hallway had been difficult, but he managed to just keep walking as if nothing had happened. He liked to pretend like he hadn't gone out with Chan right after and drank like there was no tomorrow, like he hadn't opened the boxes he had kept for years and cried while looking at the photos of the two of you together.
He had gone to the restaurant that day because he needed some form of comfort and didn't want to call any of his friends because he knew he would end up telling them everything that happened and would receive advice and words he would rather not hear. The restaurant was the best idea he had. Or maybe the worst possible one.
Maybe he had done it consciously, because he wanted to see you one more time, and wanted to make sure he hadn't imagined you. It wouldn't have been the first time.
In the first few months after you left, Seokmin got into the habit of visiting places he went with you, or places you liked to go alone. It was probably a form of torture, but he liked to imagine it was a way to forget and overcome the breakup. On several of those days, he believed he saw you. He realistically knew it wasn't you, he clearly remembered seeing you get on the plane and waited until it took off to leave the airport.
The worst thing that could have happened to him was you calling for him. Seokmin couldn't help but wonder if he had always reacted that way to you, if your presence was always so great that before he even saw you he knew you were nearby. That day, as soon as he opened the door, before he even saw you sitting there with your eyes wide open, he knew. He knew you were there.
The last thing he expected from you was you saying his name, as if asking him to sit with you, that Niah, knowing how the relationship had ended, would have made him sit in front of you.
Seokmin noticed your discomfort, the way your spine had become a little straighter, the way your eyes were hard and cautious at the same time. Your reaction made him angry. What right did you have to behave that way, as if you were hurt when all the decisions regarding a relationship both of you were in had been made by you?
You were the one who signed up for a master's degree abroad. It was you who never told him about your decision. It was you who kept everything secret, making him believe that the two of you were on the same page and that despite your different goals, you would be able to pursue them together.
Turns out he was wrong, those dreams were just his and didn't include him.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Chan asked for the thousandth time.
For the first time in a long time, Seokmin was having a hard time hiding how he really felt. That polished, carefully carved mask had fallen. It was a completely atypical day and everyone was able to notice his sudden change in mood. Even Chan, who normally did a great job of ignoring all the problems around him and focusing solely on his work, seemed to be walking on eggshells around him.
“It’s really obvious, isn’t it?” Seokmin asked in a low voice and Chan just nodded "And if I pretend it's because of the new segment, will anyone believe it?"
Again, Chan nodded. Since he had started the program, 3 years before, Seokmin would receive calls and speak directly to listeners. Although there were always interactions, those were always done through live chat and email when he received questions or stories from people who were not listening to the program when it was airing.
Seokmin wasn't nervous about the idea, he was actually excited. Chan knew this and knew that whatever the problem was, it was still the same as the day of the lecture. He didn't want to ask, and he didn't want to seem invasive, but he still wanted to make sure Seokmin was okay — or at least, well enough to do the program.
“I think everyone is already thinking that” was a lie and even Seokmin knew it, but he was grateful.
“You may already know this, but today we will start a new segment. We'll call it the heart to heart helpline, at least until we find a better name at least” Seokmin's voice and laugh resonated through the taxi “We'll take your calls and some of you will be able to talk to me and ask your questions live, instead of by chat. Each person will have a maximum of 2 minutes and we will answer 6 calls today”
You had left the house completely willing to avoid anything related to Seokmin. Realistically, you knew you couldn't do anything about the billboards and his face at bus stops, but you could very well avoid his radio show. And for a few weeks you had managed to do just that.
That day at the restaurant had almost been a cathartic moment. Somehow, it was as if something had clicked and fallen into place. The Seokmin you left behind no longer existed. It had been a naive thought to think so. You didn't expect that he would still be exactly the same person, of course not. Seven years had passed and Seokmin, like you, was approaching his thirties. Obviously, many things had changed, but you still expected to see traces of that 22-year-old boy you had known and loved.
You didn't spend more than five minutes with him at that table. And it was much more than enough. He had accused you of running away, of continuing to do this for years. Of course, that could be his view on everything, but it was never your intention. The only problem was that you hadn't been able to tell him those things. You had been so lost and so completely helpless in front of him that you had forgotten that you knew how to speak and form sentences.
You had spent years of your life writing letters to him, letters that he would never read, but that was beside the point. You wrote letters as a way to appease the emptiness you felt in your heart. You never, not for a second, thought you were running away. You never wanted to run away, but Seokmin seemed to believe you did.
In a sudden burst of anger, you took your phone out of your bag and dialed the number Seokmin spoke on the radio. You didn't expect your call to go through. In fact, you didn't even know what you expected.
“Please wait a minute, we will connect your call” a non-robotic voice said as you paid for the taxi.
Seokmin was still chatting animatedly with a listener who didn't have a real question, but who “just wanted to say that I really liked your show and that I’m a fan.” It was impossible not to roll your eyes. If she, and everyone else, knew how much of a complete asshole he could be just because he had the opportunity, they would never want to see his face again.
Or maybe they would team up against you in favor of the immaculate Seokmin. God knew how easily a man could turn public opinion in his favor with a beautiful smile. And God was also a witness that Seokmin's smile was simply wonderful, one that took your breath away, one that made you smile along because it was contagious.
“Welcome to the heart to heart helpline” Seokmin’s voice sounded in your ear “What’s your question?”
You didn't really think that your call would get through to Seokmin, you didn't think the signal would be good enough inside the elevator, but none of that seemed to be a problem.
“Hello, can you hear me?” he asked.
You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. You knew you were going really crazy, but you decided to throw caution out the window and be the crazy person everyone used to believe you were.
“Yes, I’m here” you could have sworn, that even over the phone, you felt Seokmin tense up “It’s a question about an old relationship, we broke up years ago, if that’s okay”
You struggled with your keys, trying to unlock the door as quickly as possible. You needed to get to your computer or tablet, whichever was closer. It was almost a physical necessity to see Seokmin's reaction to your voice, your question.
You always knew how to tell if he was truly calm or if he was masking what he was feeling. You wanted to know if you still had any other sort of effect on him. Whatever it was, it was better than angry disdain.
“Old relationships should stay in the past, don’t you think?” he finally said.
You nodded as you ran into your room. You knew you would find the tablet under your pillow — you were sure that if your mother saw it she would say that your brain would explode due to the radiation from the device. With a few taps, you opened the stream of Seokmin's program.
“I think so. But the problem is that we keep seeing each other. I don’t think it’s something either of us want, but it seems inevitable.”
You turned the sound off, you just wanted to focus on his reactions. Seokmin swallowed hard, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes fixed on the microphone in front of him. To anyone, it just seemed like he was concentrating on the call, on what the person on the other end of the line had to say, but you knew very well that it was to hide his reactions.
"Your question?"
“Well, he called me selfish and said I ran away when we broke up, but that's not exactly what happened. I wanted to talk to him, but I don’t think he wants to listen to me.”
Seokmin took a deep breath and seemed to think about what to say next, his eyes no longer on the microphone, but on the ceiling.
“And why does he think that about you? You probably gave him reasons, don't you think? I don’t think anyone would think that about someone without anything having happened.”
“I always dreamed of studying abroad, so when the opportunity came, I went. I…"
“Did you tell him you were going?” Seokmin clenched his fists on the desk, his fingers gripped the pen in his hand tightly until his knuckles were white. “Did you give him a chance to say something or did you just walk away?”
You were speechless, eyes focused only on Seokmin. The way his hair perfectly framed his face, his sculpted thin nose. He was still exactly like he was seven years ago, just somehow different. He was the same, but he also wasn't.
You hadn't given him the chance to say anything, you had just walked away, but because you believed it was the best thing to do. You would have stayed if he had asked, I would have aborted all of your plans for him,
“Long distance relationships don’t work” you said finally, your voice lower “especially when there’s an ocean separating people”
“I'm going to guess and say that you were together for a while because I don't think anyone would care that much about a quick relationship” his voice became more sober, completely in control of his emotions, the opposite of what you felt, like you were enclosed every second that passed “I agree with you, long-distance relationships don’t work. Different cities are already complicated, I can't imagine what it would be like to be with someone who lives in another country. You didn't give many details, but I believe he had reasons to feel that way, just as you had your reasons for leaving without warning. I think the best thing for both of you is to let it fall into oblivion. It makes no sense for either of you to dwell on these feelings. Maybe your desire to talk exists because you think you've left things open with him, but he may think that what's in the past shouldn't be remembered. Maybe you're just a bad relationship he wants to forget.”
Letter #5
Seokmin
I found out by chance that you now have your own radio show. One day it was an empty slot in the schedule and the next it was your voice. To my joy and delight, it was one of those programs that also had video streaming. I say joy and delight in a very ironic way.
But I'm not lying when I say I'm happy for you. You always said it was your dream and in a way, here we are, achieving our dreams. It would have been better if we could have lived through this together, I think. Maybe if that were the case I wouldn't have this empty feeling inside my chest.
But I discovered a long time ago that I can't keep crying over spilled milk. I left and you moved on with your life. They were conscious choices, I knew what I was doing. I knew that making this choice would have hurt both of us, but I also knew that we could overcome it. It's just taking longer than expected. I honestly thought that by this point, so many years later, we would have been able to live as if the past were just that, the past.
But it's not like that for me or for you.
I may be completely crazy, but your show is about love advice and how to deal with heartbreak. Sometimes, when I hear you talk, I'm sure you've already dealt with all your feelings, after all, you've had other girlfriends. But there are other moments, when you answer a question or when you read one of the pre-written texts when I'm sure that what you said applies directly to what we both had.
I'm going crazy, aren't I?
It's been four years since I left. I already finished my master's degree and started my PhD, exactly as planned. I have a date tonight with a guy who seems genuinely nice, but here I am, writing yet another letter that will never be sent to the guy I was in love with.
What am I still doing?
yn
Seokmin had always believed that for a relationship to truly end there must be no trace of it anywhere. When he told his listeners that they should get rid of items, it was not a lie. He was just terrible at following his own advice. The old story of do as I say, not as I do.
Finally, he decided it was time to take his own advice. With a little pain and resentment added to the mix, of course. At this point, he wondered if he could already be considered a masochist or if he still had a few boxes to tick to get the title.
Getting your address had been easier than expected. All he had to do was ask Niah, who offered the information without any resistance.
“Being thirty didn't make either of you any smarter,” she said as she leaned across the table and wrote the address on the napkin.
“Almost thirty” he felt the need to correct her, but decided he would ignore the hidden message in her words.
Seokmin never stopped going to Niah's restaurant. It was there that he had cried his sorrows over the cheapest drinks possible, he didn't have the money to pay for the good ones, while Joshua tried to console him. He had never seen Niah so stressed and angry. She hadn't said anything, but you could clearly hear the sound of her cutting the vegetables more aggressively than necessary.
Little by little she became calmer about the situation and started talking about you with the same affection as before. Seokmin always thought she had somehow kept in touch with you, or at least found a way to get your number or a way to contact you. At first, he had been angry, but somehow he believed he didn't have that right. It was only after a year that Seokmin decided to ask and the answer he received was “if I still had contact with her, I would have already screamed at her about disappearing without telling anyone”.
Asking Niah for your address was the only option he had. He refused to go to college, where you worked. He didn't know what would happen, whether you would be friendly with each other or the conversation would end in a shouting match just because. Because after years of no contact and considering the way things ended, it was pretty obvious that resentment could resurface — at least Seokmin had resentment up to his neck and knew that not releasing them all at once required almost inhuman self-control.
He looked at the building one more time before getting out of the car. It was one of those without a doorman. Seokmin knew that if he rang and asked to be let in, the probability of being sent to hell was very high. So he pulled up his cap down and covered as much of his face as he could while he balanced the boxes on his arms.
He stood there like a madman for almost twenty minutes until someone finally left the building. Seokmin felt like he was committing a crime when he slipped through the door before it closed. Even though the feeling was strange he made himself believe it was the only option he had and he really didn't have any bad intentions. He just wanted to return your things and, hopefully, arrange that if you ever met again, you’d simply pretend you don't know each other, instead of talking nonsense to each other.
Seokmin took a deep breath once before knocking on the door. He heard footsteps and a second later the door opened.
When you imagined what your Wednesday night would be like, the only option that crossed your mind was to order a pizza and watch a movie — the random option of Netflix seemed like your best friend and the only possible option because you weren't even able to choose what to watch by yourself.
Not even in your wildest daydreams could you have imagined that Seokmin would show up at your door with two boxes in his hand.
You were partially tempted to close the door on his face, but you knew that doing so would only make the whole situation worse. If Seokmin, who clearly didn't have any good feelings about you, was standing there at your door it was because he had something to say. Or more precisely to hand it over to you, considering the boxes in his arms.
Silently you stepped aside so he had enough room to enter. You wanted to slap yourself for the complete war zone that your living room was in. You were still unpacking the moving boxes, not that you had taken much with you. It was too expensive to send things from one country to another, especially furniture. You had only focused on your clothes and books and a few things you wanted to keep, and that alone was more than you were willing to spend. In addition to the boxes, you had all the things you still had to buy, but you still didn't have the mind to do it.
You had so much going through your head that cleaning the apartment was just another task you wanted to avoid. But it was one that could be left for later. In the few minutes that Seokmin spent there, you wished you had tidied it up, that he hadn't seen how that room represented your life at that moment: a complete mess.
"What are you doing here?" you finally asked when you managed to get your vocal cords to work properly.
Seokmin didn't seem to care about the mess but paid attention to everything else around him.
He placed the boxes on the counter and took off his cap, pressing the brims with his fingertips looking for what to say next. He had rehearsed an almost poetic speech in the car, something about being adults and how your relationship had ended a long time ago, so neither of you should have any regrets left. But the moment you opened the door and looked at him it was as if all the words had simply evaporated from his mind, as if he had never learned to speak in the first place.
It had always been that way with you. Sometimes when he looked at you, even when you were still together, he got lost. He was like a man adrift who had finally found solid land. It was as if he heard a click and the world started to move once again.
One of his favorite things, when you were dating and living together, was being able to come home after an exhausting day and see you sitting on the sofa in the living room, your computer on your lap, while you studied, occasionally shouting profanities at the computer. On those days, Seokmin would simply push the computer away and lay his head on your lap.
“Just five minutes” he used to say with his eyes closed.
You’d laugh, fingers immediately running through his hair, as if it was the most natural movement in the world.
“Who do you want me to insult today? You know my vocabulary is very colorful.”
How many times had he slept in that position, without meaning to, and you had to drag him to bed because “it's comfortable for you, but my legs are numb and you have to take a shower, you won't sleep dirty next to me, sir”.
It was impossible not to wonder where it all went wrong.
“I came to return your things” he pointed at the boxes.
You suppressed the urge to bend down and rummage through the boxes. You wanted to know what he had kept, what he considered important enough to keep for so many years. You knew he no longer lived in the apartment you shared. When you were looking for apartments you saw that that one was up for rent. It was necessary to restrain yourself from choosing it. It wasn't a good apartment, at least not at the time — the photos on the website said the property had undergone renovations two years earlier and had no tenants since. It wasn't big, it barely fit one person, but it was what your extremely limited budget could afford at the time. Somehow you and Seokmin turned that small space into a home full of life. Of love.
In the places where you lived, you bought all kinds of trinkets to fill the space, furniture you didn't need and never used, hoping to imitate, for even a second, the feeling you had in that little 35 square meter apartment.
You never quite managed to do that.
“Thank you” you said sincerely “I thought all my things had gone in the trash”
You laughed and Seokmin squeezed the back of his head and pointed at the boxes.
“I sold what I could, I didn't want to put it in storage because I really thought we would never see each other again. The money is in an envelope”
“Why did you keep all this?” the words came out of your mouth before you could stop yourself “You should have thrown it away or, since you sold it, you should have spent the money”
Seokmin had asked himself that question several times before, sober or not, and he never had an answer. After a while, he simply stopped questioning and accepted it as something he had to do, to have some kind of sanity. It didn’t. Knowing that those boxes were inside his wardrobe, having to go through them the two times he moved, only brought back memories that he would like to forget.
Ever since you had seen each other again for the first time, memories that Seokmin had struggled to bury came to the surface as if they had just happened. He started to dream about you, dreams that range from memories to things that never actually happened, he started to wonder if it would be okay to talk with someone. His brain always screamed NO, so he was stuck just dreaming.
“I don’t have a good enough reason. It is what it is, I guess,” he said.
The last time Seokmin felt so embarrassed around you was right when you met and even then it only lasted a few minutes. The 18 year old Seokmin was much braver than the 29 year old man in front of him.
That boy, without any guilt or remorse, would have asked every question that could cross his mind. You’d say “your mind is beautiful, it even echoes sometimes”. Seokmin wanted to still have some of that boy's strength. Maybe that was the only way to know what he wanted. He wouldn't ask and he knew you wouldn't offer the information to him without being pressured.
“I think in the end, we both got what we wanted.”
You realized you said the wrong thing when you looked at Seokmin’s hands. A second before he was clutching his cap until his knuckles turned white, the next his long fingers were still. You didn't want to see the expression on his face. You knew what you’d find. You messed up, but couldn’t take back what you said.
“You got what you wanted” Seokmin corrected you, his voice firm, his tone hard.
“You always wanted to have a radio show”
“No, I wanted you. I could adapt to everything else if it meant I would have you.”
You shook your head. You knew it wasn't true. Hell, even Seokmin knew it wasn’t true. The first time you talked, Seokmin mentioned how much he wanted to be a radio host and have his own show, of any kind. I don't have a preference, I know I can give anything my own colors. You felt envious of his certainty, of the way he knew he could do it.
“The show has always been your dream” you tried again, despite knowing it was in vain to argue with him.
“My dream was to have a life by your side. You never, not once, told me that you signed up to study abroad, you never even mentioned it. When it was time to go you just got on a plane and disappeared. You never even gave me the chance to follow you. I could have been a journalist anywhere in the world”
Seokmin hated the direction of that conversation, hated being so exposed in front of you after so many years. In the past, it wasn't a problem. Before he wanted to be exposed in front of you, he wanted to share everything he was, every aspect of himself with you. No more. The problem was that he couldn't just stop. A gate was opened and there was no way to close it.
“So, what? Would we both be living based on our dreams? Because this is a dream, and you know it very well.”
You clung to the top rail of the chair, your head lolling forward in an almost futile attempt to stop him from seeing the tears forming in your eyes. You knew you couldn't hold them.
You weren't the type of person who cried often, you did what you could to avoid it, but when the tears came it was impossible to simply stop them from falling.
“Yeah, maybe I was really dreaming, because I believed that you loved me in the same proportion, but it’s quite obvious that you didn’t”
Seven years of pent-up frustration couldn't just disappear, he should have known. He should have imagined that going there would be a problem, that being in the same space as you without any kind of interference was a mistake. But he was still there and there was no way to escape. It was better to end everything quickly than to keep those feelings for another seven years in the hopes of one day being able to say something.
Seokmin watched as you went to one of the boxes in the corner of the room and opened it forcefully, tearing the cardboard, and causing some of the contents to slide across the floor. He felt his body freeze as a roll of film stopped at his feet.
“So explain to me, why do I buy a roll of film every time I pass by a store?” you put both hands inside the box and took out several rolls of film, of different brands and models. “Explain to me, why have I followed your career all this time and never missed a damn show in the last 3 years? Why would I wake up in the middle of the night to watch the broadcast and then listen to the show again while going to work because I just wanted to hear your voice?”
You walked to another box, but you opened this one a little more carefully as if wanting to protect the contents.
“Why did I spend 7 years writing letters that would never be read to a guy I never loved?”
You threw several envelopes at Seokmin’s chest. Your face and body shook out of anger or another feeling he couldn't quite tell.
Seokmin bent down to pick up one of the envelopes from the floor. His name was written in your careful handwriting. He didn't need to look at all the other ones to know that they were also addressed to him. He didn't know how many letters were scattered on the floor, or if there were any left in the box. The only thing he was sure of was that he had no idea how to proceed.
“If that doesn’t say I loved you, if that doesn’t say I still love you, I don’t know what the fuck does.”
Seokmin saw the first tear run down your face and fell silent. He knew he should turn his back, he knew he should walk away, just like you did seven years before. Instead, he took four steps in your direction, his eyes never left your heaving chest and the tears that ran freely over your cheeks.
At that moment he knew that he only had two options: he could turn around and leave, he gave you back your things that alone made his plan a success; or he could kiss you like he had been wanting to since the moment he saw you again.
To hell with his plan.
Seokmin held your face in his hands and pulled you to him, crashing his lips on yours. It was an all too new feeling but also familiar, almost like coming to a remodeled home. It was him and it was you, if only it was just that simple.
You sighed into him, your arms wrapping around his slim waist while your hand balled a fist full of his shirt. There were so many moments where you wished you could be right in that spot, again in his arms. Dreams and daydreams, wishful thinking, whatever you could call it. Thoughts of Seokmin had always been a constant in your mind. It was impossible not to compare other people you went out with to him.
Your longest relationship had been one of almost a full year. Although the beginning had been good and easy, with you somehow managing to avoid any and all Seokmin related dreams and thoughts, it turned sour the second he crossed your mind.
“Seokmin, I…”
He shook his head and pressed his forehead to yours, eyes so intense that it was difficult to keep looking at him.
“Let’s not overthink it, okay?” was all he said.
You held his face for a couple, searching for something in his features, anything at all, that could indicate that the moment wasn’t for that. But all you saw in him was the same emotions you felt, the same need and desire.
You pulled Seokmin to you again, this time hungrier, your chest pressed to his. Your mind was loud telling you all the reasons why you shouldn’t be doing that, why having him so close to you was truly the most dangerous situation you could possibly put yourself in. But all of those voices, all of those words and thoughts were silenced the moment he kissed you again.
His lips were hungry, demanding all of you. And it was so easy to just give in to him, to his hands roaming on your body, down your back until he reached your ass. He gave it a light squeeze and ran his hand back up again, this time under your shirt. You moaned softly at the contact of his skin on yours, as he kissed your neck, bitting on the exact same spot he found years before.
He smiled over your skin.
“At least this hasn’t changed”
It was all too much but not nearly enough. Just having him that close to you was dizzying enough but him touching you and enjoying the fact that you were just as weak for him at twenty nine made you never want to let go of him again.
“Where’s your room?”
You took Seokmin by the hand, guiding him through the narrow corridor.
Your room was barely a room to begin with. You had no furniture except for the mattress lying on the floor, your clothes were either on the suitcase or on the chair on the side.
“This is unlike you” Seokmin said, his chest pressed to your back while he nibbled on the skin of your neck.
“I… hm… I” you sturred a little when he bit into a particularly sensitive spot, making him chuckle “I’m waiting on delivery”
Seokmin turned you around in his arms while lightly pushing you down on the mattress. His eyes never left yours as he ran his hand under your shirt, moving the fabric up until your chest was exposed.
It had been so long since you had been with anyone, it was almost like a reflex to want to pull your shirt back down. Since him, it had been hard to just let yourself be exposed to someone like that. You had become awfully aware of your body and things you never cared for or paid attention to before suddenly became worries. You didn't like that insecure version of yourself but when Seokmin cupped your breast in his hand his touch was almost solemn.
It was probably the worst timing in the world when you felt tears burn on the back of your eyes. You pulled his face to yours again, trying to hide your tears from him once again.
Suddenly, his touch was tender when he pushed a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers careful.
Seokmin moved down on your body. When you saw his fingers on the waistband of shorts you lifted your hips off of the mattress to help him move the fabric down quicker.
He kissed your hips and inner thigh. You moaned in anticipation, your hand taking a fist full of his soft hair. When his lips finally found your clit it was like fireworks erupted behind your closed eyelids.
Seokmin was impossibly hard in his pants, embarrassingly so like he was a teenager having his first time.
He never thought that he would have you in his arms again and yet there you were in front of him, no reservations. Just for him. And for a moment it was like his brain was in short circuit, the small electric waves running all over his body, down to his toes.
He licked a path from your cunt to your clit. He went down on you almost in desperation, his nose brushing on your clit every now and then.
"Seokmin..." his name was barely a whisper in your lips, but it was also a chant.
Your orgasm hits you quickly, leaving you short of air and with shaky legs. You were spiraling in the most enticing way possible. It didn't stop Seokmin though as he kept sucking you frantically.
You tugged on his hair, pulling him up and to you again.
I love you, the words almost fell out of your lips. It would have been so easy to just say them, to be open about your feelings just this once.
Deep down you knew that that moment would be a one time kind of thing. It was just the kind of moment people sometimes needed to just completely let go of everything. Or in this case, nothing. It was to let go of seven years of complete nothingness and silence.
You opened the button of his jeans and pushed it down, his boxers following along. You wrapped your hand around his cock, pumping him a couple of times. Realization suddenly came over you. You never expected Seokmin to show up to your place, much less that it would lead to that moment, and there wasn't anyone else in your life, so you weren't ready for it.
"I don't have a condom" you said breathlessly.
Seokmin looked lost for a second, his brain going to his wallet, questioning whether or not he had one in him.
"I can pull out," he said "if that's okay"
All you did was nod and Seokmin aligned himself with your hole. He pushed in slowly, savoring each moment when your pussy pulled him in until there was no space between the two of you.
Seokmin kissed you again to give himself time to adjust to you squeezing him. You held his face close to yours, in your eyes a mix of emotions he didn't want to understand. Not in that moment at least.
"I don't want anyone else," you said looking into his eyes, your thumb running over his bottom lip "No one else can make me feel the way you do"
To hell with care and self-preservation. You let go of those the moment you opened the door for him, the moment you let him into your home, the moment you didn't push him away when he kissed you.
Seokmin fucks you slowly, his pace torturous as you beg and beg for more. He intertwined his fingers with yours and held one of your hands above your head while the other one held your hips in place.
"Seokmin... harder"
And it's like a switch has gone off inside his brain. His once slow pace becomes shallow. The sound of your breaths and his skin slapping against yours were the only ones heard, echoing through the empty room.
Your orgasm sneaks up on you, catching you so off guard you scream because it's too much.
You pushed Seokmin away and watched in ecstasy as he wrapped his hand around his cock, his hand working fast as your name left his lips when his release fell on the sheet by your side.
Seokmin dropped his body over yours again, his forehead on your shoulder. You closed your eyes and ran your hand over his hair.
"I love you" you allowed yourself to say, even if it meant nothing to him.
Letter #6
Seokmin,
I never thought I'd say this, but I'm coming home. Or the closest thing I still have to a home. Needless to say, my mother is happy with the news. She's been tormenting me for years, asking me to come back, but since I set foot here I decided I wasn't going back.
I wanted to, but I wouldn't go back.
Every time I thought about going back, the first thing that came into my head was the last image I had of you. Your teary eyes wishing me a safe flight, saying I love you and hope you accomplish everything you want. I regretted it the moment I gave my things away and handed my passport into the hand of the airline girl. I should have come back, I should have given up, but I couldn't. That old story of putting myself first and second, you know how it goes. In this case, my entire top 10 was just different versions of me.
I think I actually felt scared because as time went by, little by little without me realizing it right away, you became a very big part of my life. A part that could change everything. I felt like I depended on you too much. It wasn't fair to you or me.
We were only 22, Seokmin. When we were so young, we thought that life was conquered and today I know that is not the case. Far from it. At 22 I had a degree and worked part-time at a cafe to pay the bills, just like you.
You might think I'm selfish, I'm sure you do based on the things you say on your show. I was selfish and on some level, I don't regret it. I did what I always planned to do, what I always wanted to do. And now I'm coming home.
Part of me wants to run and find you, explain why I made the decisions I did, why I never told you. But I know you won't want to listen to me. I wouldn't want to listen to me either. Why would I listen to someone who left just like that? It really wouldn't make sense.
But another part, this one a little more rational, says that I shouldn't throw salt into the wound after so many years have gone by. I have the scar here, hidden enough for no one to see, but prominent enough for me to remember what I did every single day.
I think that's what I'm going to do. I think that's what I have to do. It wouldn't be fair to just show up in front of you and say “hi, I'm back” after seven years.
You have become a big “what if” for me. What if I had stayed? Would we have stayed together or would our relationship have ended years ago? What if I had told you what I was doing while I was doing it? Would you have asked me to stay? What if I had given the possibility of a long-distance relationship? Would we have worked out or would you start to resent me for leaving and end up hurting each other anyway?
The most absurd thing is that I still like you, I'm still in love with you. I've always heard that distance makes love end or something like that. I haven't seen you in seven years, I don't know what's going on in your life — you're really good at hiding everything being a celebrity now — so it doesn't make any sense that my feelings haven't changed even after all this time. This guy I see online might not be the Seokmin I fell in love with, just like I'm not the same person you remember.
Every time I hear your voice I still feel butterflies in my stomach. I sleep and dream about you. When I wake up I think about you and I wonder if you think about me too. It is not normal. It's not healthy. Life went on and I think it is our obligation to move forward together. We are not a museum to only feed on the past.
Let's continue as we are now, what do you think? We will once again be in the same country, in the same city, but I think it's best for both of us to pretend that nothing will change. It's a huge city, what are the chances of us meeting?
yn
Before you even opened your eyes, you already knew what you would find. Or who you wouldn't find. You knew the space next to you on the mattress would be empty. You had noticed the exact moment Seokmin had gotten up, but you forced yourself to believe that he had just gone to the bathroom. You had kept your eyes closed and had somehow gone back to sleep.
You had been naive to think that the night had changed something, that the way everything seemed like it would be fine was an indication that things had finally gotten back on track. If any, the train simply ended up derailing.
When Seokmin kissed you it was magical, no matter how cliché and teenage it may sound. It was as if the world had fallen into place again, as if you had finally returned home after being away for so long. You couldn't help but wonder if that was why you'd taken the job, in the foolish, unconscious hope that there might be a chance, however slight, of being with him again.
You forced yourself to sit up and pulled the sheet up to cover your naked body. The shirt and shorts you wore the night before were next to you on the floor, but you refused to wear those clothes, opting to rummage through the boxes in the corner of the room looking for clean ones.
You didn't want to go to the living room, didn't want to be mocked by the two boxes that Seokmin had left on the counter, but you couldn't help it. It was as if your feet had a life of their own. When you realized it, you were already sitting on the living room floor with the two boxes in front of you.
You momentarily decided to ignore the smaller black box and pulled the large one closer. The first thing you saw was the envelope Seokmin mentioned the night before. Money, especially the one in the envelope, wasn't something you were going to worry about. You didn't care about it, you didn't lie when you told him that he should have spent it. That money would remain untouched.
There were also a few books you read and made annotations on, two stuffed animals, and all the picture frames you had left behind.
One of the things you regretted the most was not taking with you when you left were photos of you and Seokmin. You had only taken one, which was folded inside your wallet. It was already so old and worn out that it had almost turned to dust, but you would never get it out. It was you and Seokmin at Niah's old restaurant, he was smiling at the camera while you looked at him. It was your favorite picture.
At the bottom of the box was the camera you had given Seokmin as a birthday present a few months before you left. You had saved whatever money you could for months to buy him the camera he wanted, one that he always talked about and whenever you passed by a store you stood outside looking at it, almost as if it would magically appear in his hands.
You understood his reasons for leaving the camera there — or, at least, the reasons you could imagine—but you wished he had kept using it. Not because it was a gift from you, but because it was something he wanted. His smile was so big when you gave it to him, the tip of his nose slightly pointed down because of it.
Carefully you put everything back inside and put it aside.
The smaller box, for some reason, was scary. It was light and black, and you could hear its contents moving as you held it in your hands. You took one last deep breath and removed the lid.
Inside were photos you had never seen before. Photos of you alone, Seokmin wasn't in any of them. In none of them were you posing or smiling directly at the camera.
Most of them had been taken from a distance, without you noticing. In some you were inside the cafe where you worked, smiling at customers and serving tables, in others you were simply walking down the street, looking through window shops and pointing at something. Seokmin had taken countless photos of you without you even realizing it.
It was strange to see yourself through his eyes, even if it was a version of you that no longer existed. A much younger and more optimistic version. Did I smile that much? you couldn't help but ask. You never saw yourself as particularly optimistic or constantly smiling. You were happy, that's undeniable, but you didn't know that's how people saw you.
There were so many photos, from completely different moments, both from the beginning of your relationship with Seokmin, and from all the phases you went through together.
Behind the pictures were the post-its that you left around the apartment, reminding Seokmin of somewhere you had together or simply saying that you loved him. So many had a simple “I love you” written on them, others said “have a good day today!”.
You had no idea he had kept them. You always thought that once read, they were discarded, but there they were, intact as if you had just written them.
The very first one you had ever written, when you had just started dating, was also there. At the time, unlike Seokmin who never had a hard time expressing how he felt, it was almost impossible for you to be openly honest. So you wrote it on a post-it and stuck it inside one of his notebooks. He had shown up at the dorm a few hours after you left the library.
“Say it again, but this time looking at me”
You frowned, pretending you didn't understand.
“Your nose is beautiful”
You laughed when Seokmin wrapped his arms around you, squeezing a little, trapping your arms close to your body. His face was very close to yours.
“What you wrote in the note” he said softly, his cheek pressed against yours “Say it again, please”
The truth was that you had loved Seokmin, in a way you didn't believe was possible and maybe that was why you spent the last seven years writing letters to him.
Seokmin never left your mind, not truly. There was always a desire, even if veiled, to return home, to find out how he was, to just say “I know I messed up, I’m sorry”.
It was that desire that made your entire body go cold as you took one last item out of the box. A smaller box that fit in the palm of your hand. You knew what it was before you even opened it and opening it was the worst choice at that moment. Your heart, which was already broken, somehow managed to break even more, into a billion, shiny, new pieces.
Seokmin would have proposed if you hadn't left.
When the first sob echoed through the living room, you didn't try to hold it back, you just accepted the feeling of being absolutely lost and heartbroken.
The weather outside the building seemed to mimic the way you had felt in the last few weeks, torrential rain that had no end in sight. You watched the news hoping for an improvement, hoping that the rain would stop for at least a few hours, but it seemed like a distant dream.
All your students were already gone and there was nothing left for you to do. The handed in assignments were graded and the tests were ready to be applied the following week. You had never hated yourself so much for simply doing your job. You wanted to be, at least for that day, like other teachers who left corrections until the last possible second and left students desperate for their grades.
The hallway was in complete silence, a clear sign that everyone had left already. And you had already waited hours for the rain to stop, until the sky was completely dark, and if anything the rain had only gotten worse.
You sighed and picked up your bag from the chair. You wouldn't risk taking any books, papers, or documents home, the possibility of everything getting ruined was too big. Besides, you needed a rest, at that point it was well deserved.
Ever since you had opened the boxes Seokmin left behind, you had immersed yourself in work in every way possible. You had accepted all of the dean's requests and even offered to teach extra classes whenever there was a missing professor.
And even so, even though you had more work than you wanted, you still found time to look at all of his social media. You still listened to all his programs, even listened to the old ones before going to sleep.
It was almost like a form of elaborate torture done solely and exclusively with you in mind. And worst of all, it was self-inflicted. It was as if your brain liked it, begged for it.
The box with the engagement ring was next to your pseudo bed. It was the last thing you saw before going to sleep and the first thing you saw when you woke up. Instead of spending hours on your phone, you sat there, staring at the small box.
You hadn't dared to open it again. You had never felt so lost as you did that day, looking at that ring.
You wouldn't be a hypocrite to say that you had never imagined your life if you had married Seokmin, but before it was nothing more than a daydream. The ring made that dream an attainable reality. It had been in your hands and you just walked away.
A curse left your lips when you noticed that the umbrella you had used that morning was missing from the umbrella holder next to the door.
“Great, that’s exactly what I needed” you muttered, slamming the door shut behind you.
You were tired, exhausted to tell the truth. All you wanted was to get home, take a shower, and watch some relationship reality show, to escape the tragedy that was your own love life.
You closed your eyes and sighed as you reached the entrance. The next bus stop or subway station was at least a 15 minute walk away. That was a problem that existed when you went to school there, everything was far away. One would think that they would do something to improve that, but one would be wrong.
You thought about taking shelter in the nearest coffee shop, but you knew it was almost closing time. You wouldn't be the person who forces employees to stay late, not when you had worked at that exact coffee shop years ago.
Even with your heavy coat covering most of your body, the rain was cold on your back and it was hard to see anything ahead, even if it was just a few steps away. Even the sound of cars was muffled by the rain.
“yn?” a car was on your left, and it was moving at the same speed as you. The face of whoever was behind the wheel was blurred by the rain, but you would have recognized that voice anywhere in the world.
“Let me give you a ride”
You shook your head. The last thing you should do was get in the car with him. It was too dangerous, you were sure that if you looked at him for more than a second you’d start crying. Just by hearing his voice your eyes were burning and a lump was forming in your throat.
“It’s fine, the bus stop is right there”
“There was an accident back there, the bus won’t be here anytime soon”
You grumbled. Of course, there was an accident, of course, there wouldn't be a bus and with your luck, the subway would probably be closed too.
"If your car went through the accident, a taxi will too”
You quickened your pace, not because of the rain, but because you wanted to get away from him. You needed to get away from him.
“Jesus, yn, just get in the car. You’re going to get sick”
You pretended you didn't hear what he said and kept walking, face down – trying to escape both the rain and him. The first tear fell from your eyes. For the first time in days, you were grateful for the rain, because you could pretend it was just water and not a visual representation of your broken heart on your cheeks.
Seokmin stopped the car right there, in the middle of the street. He didn't care if someone was standing behind him honking like crazy — something that was bound to happen.
When he left your apartment that day he felt like he was 22 again, but this time he was the one leaving.
Hearing that you loved him was everything he had wanted, but the timing was strangely right and wrong, both at the same time.
Both of you screamed, shouted, and said what you wanted to say — or at least part of what you wanted to say. A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, at the same time a new one was placed on it.
After you fell asleep in his arms, the only thing Seokmin could think about were the letters scattered across the living room floor. There were so many. He couldn't believe you had spent all those years writing letters to him.
He needed to read them all. He would have done it in the living room, but he didn't know what awaited him, so he collected them all from the floor and a few more that had been left in the box and left.
He read the first one in the car, he couldn't wait until he got home.
Seokmin cried right there, the same way he cried when you left. Inconsolable. His heart broke and healed in equal measure with every word of yours he read.
Seokmin always believed that you left like that, without a single word, because you didn't like him that much, because you didn’t want to be with him anymore. Not that he thought the entire relationship had been a lie, but he thought that somehow the love had ended. It happened to everyone, the probability of it happening to him was also high.
The truth could not be different. There wasn't a letter in which you didn't say you loved him, not always in those words, but he knew you well enough to know that was what you said.
After reading all the letters, Seokmin called Joshua. He cried on the phone with his friend and then once again when he showed up at his place with bad beer and takeout food. “Since we’re going to talk about our college days, I think we should do the same thing we did back then” was all he said.
Seokmin was on his way to you when he saw you walking without an umbrella. He wanted to talk to you, to know if even after so long you still wanted to try with him one more time. It was better to try than to always wonder what could have been.
“I read your letters!” he shouted louder than the rain.
His words were enough to make you stop walking, but you still didn't turn to face him. It was too hard to breathe. Your chest rose and fell irregularly each time you tried to pull the air in.
You knew Seokmin had taken the letters. Part of you knew he would read them, but the last thing you expected was for him to want to talk about them.
“I know” you said when he approached “I saw they were gone, and you were the only person who came by”
“Do you know why I accepted to host a love advice show? Besides it being something I've always wanted, of course” he didn't give you time to answer “Because a part of me wanted you to listen, to know that I was okay, even if it was a lie. I thought that if I talked about it on a show that had used the nickname you gave me, you’d regret it. I thought that I should make you regret it because it was the only way I could still think about you without looking like a fool after so long. I thought you didn’t care, that you had left because you didn’t like me anymore, so making you regret your decision was the only option I had”
You shook your head. It wasn't true, not by a long shot.
“I'm sorry” you said softly “I should have told you what I was doing, that I had applied for the and got in. I thought it was my only option. It was so stupid. I was so stupid”
Seokmin laughed a little, fingers running under your eyes. A second later he pressed his lips over yours.
“I know, I read your letters”
Seokmin,
It's been a good few years since I wrote you a letter. After a while, I didn't think I needed it anymore because I started saying everything I wanted, everything I felt, looking at you. Of course, this new arrangement has its demerits, as the paper and pen don't look at me like a lost puppy. But paper and pen don't kiss me either, so it has its bonus.
I thought when I came home four years ago, I would never see you again. I thought you would just be the guy who has a radio show that I would listen to every now and then. I didn't expect to see you my first week back and again and, well, again.
As you probably know, I've never been a big fan of rainy days. I always preferred sunny days because those were the days I woke up ready to face the world. I felt better overall. But also because they reminded me of you. You know, when the sun appears after gray days? For me, you were always like that. Grand and brilliant.
But after that day, I started to like rainy days too because they started to be full of the two of us. Rain was no longer synonymous of an unproductive day, but rather of the memory of our fresh start.
You know this, we've talked about it a few times, but I spent a few months waiting for it to sink in. Sort of expecting that one day I would wake up and it would all be a dream. It was hard for both of us, I know. It was seven years of hurt and resentment and we had to navigate this uncertain sea without a map. Nobody teaches you how to do this, believe me, I looked. I found countless books on how to start dating, how to save a relationship, and how to get over a relationship. The problem is that none of them teach you how to rekindle a relationship after seven years apart, but during those seven years one of the parties wrote letters and the other had a program just to mourn the sorrows of the relationship.
I've read several, so you can trust what I say on this.
It really wasn't easy, but I think we came out better, stronger, in some way.
I love you and I’ll tell you that every day for the rest of our lives. Our forever begins today, in a little while. So stop crying, put ice on your eyes to help the swelling go down, and go to the aisle because I miss you already.
key: f — fluff, a — angst, c — hurt/comfort | all works are sfw. all works are gender neutral unless specified otherwise. archive m.list linked at the bottom.
choi seungcheol.
➞ drabbles
birthday boy (f)
deceit, divorce & dishes (f)
cruel summer (f, a, situationship2lovers)
espresso shots (f, meetcute, cafe!au)
i love you (i know) (f, bffs2lovers)
koala tendencies (f)
to be loved is to be changed (f)
aftermath (f, vague a)
spotify history (f)
yoon jeonghan.
➞ drabbles
questions of the flying fish variety (f)
restless (f, a?, bffs2lovers)
ur so pretty (f, c)
ikea complications (f)
snooze (f)
i know (f, bffs2lovers)
cookie crush (f, roommates!au)
hot potato (f, roommates2lovers)
lover duties (f)
viruses, hermits and unwelcome guests (f, kinda c?)
hong jisoo.
➞ drabbles
early mornings (f)
pillow forts (f)
➞ fics
heartbreak x3.5 [ a, f, childhood bffs2strangers2lovers, ]
joshua hong breaks your heart three and a half times before you can even reach nineteen, and yet you can’t stop loving him with the pieces that remain.
wen junhui.
➞ drabbles
“i’ll hold you.” (f, c)
i wanna be a rock! (f)
forever is hiding in the laundry basket (f)
kwon soonyoung.
➞ drabbles
persuasion (f, meetcute, college!au)
forever is a long time (and still not long enough) (f)
➞ fics
elevatory [a, f exes!au, 5.6k]
You were once deeply and irrevocably in love with Kwon Soonyoung, and it’s incredibly hard to avoid that fact when you’re stuck in a broken elevator with him for hours, and he seems determined to dissect everything that went wrong three years ago.
jeon wonwoo.
➞ drabbles
daisy (f, cafe!au, meetcute)
whale conversations (f)
fate (f)
the inevitable insufficiency of the word love (f)
head over heels (f)
dance, baby! (f)
a world of your own (blanketed in white) (f)
know it’s for the better (a, exes!au)
miscommunications and the ongoing motif of balconies (f, minor a, bffs2lovers)
lee jihoon.
➞ drabbles
you are in love (so in love) (f)
home (f)
heartbeat (f)
lee seokmin.
➞ drabbles
betelgeuse & dinner (f, c)
twenty five, twenty one (a)
make a wish! (f, bffs2lovers)
kim mingyu.
➞ drabbles
i want to hold your hand (f)
call it what you want (f, college!au)
on idiocy, bugs and the prospect of forever (f, bffs2lovers)
impulsive decisions of the feline variety (f, h)
i miss you, i’m sorry (a, f)
the space between (f, f2l/situationship)
golden (f)
renaissance eyes (f)
to taste the same thing in the same moment (f)
00:02am (f, voicemail)
philosophical inquisitions of the lovering kind (f, bffs2l)
consequences of exorbitant third-wheeling (f, bffs2l)
introversions (f)
lee chan.
➞ drabbles
dramaticisms (f)
mistletoe (f, secret santa ‘24)
➞ fics
rates of change [f, a, idiots2lovers, college!au, 10.2k]
In return for your mathematical assistance, Lee Chan decides he’s going to set you up with the guy you’ve been persistently pining over for a year and a half. It’s a simple equation: you teach him calculus, and he’ll teach you how to flirt.
warnings: math. (1) dirty joke. thats it i think (lmk if there's more)
synopsis: Walking into the first class of the semester shouldn't have been as eventful as it was (not that you can complain for long)
masterlist
(A/N): I haven't posted a fic in a while so i hope i redeem myself with this one hehe. a million thank yous to @toruro for beta-ing for me (even at the dentists lol) you can thank her for this too shes the reason i finished so quickly kjvkdfjg
It takes a lot to surprise you.
It’s not that you enjoy it, but your friends simply make it easy to read them. It took Soonyoung seven human years to learn the art of surprise birthday parties. You know, the ones where you aren’t supposed to know he’s throwing a party just for you. Or Minghao, before he learned the art of deceit, and held his disdain like a badge on his face.
You seem to have honed the skill of psychics better than most, confident in your ability as a higher-risk party trick.
Skipping into the new semester at uni, you enter your lecture hall at the reasonable hour of 8 in the morning, expecting nothing but the usual. No surprises were to come your way today, just another first day back, fueling for the coming months.
You push the doors of your lecture hall open, ready to greet your professor for Pure Mathematics 171, pushing your spirits high to commence your per semester buttering. What you find though, is the front desk crowded with students wanting to do the exact same, all for the professor that would be teaching the most dreaded unit of the course. Of course.
You spot Soonyoung among the crowd as he spots you at the door as well. You note how gleeful he looks at this hour. This can’t be good. Hao too presses his mouth together in an attempt to conceal his budding smile, hand to mouth when he miserably fails.
What on Earth was so funny?
Attempting to crane your neck, over and under, to catch a glimpse of the ever popular professor, you find yourself blocked by the sea of math nerds and ass-kissers just like yourself. Curiosity was becoming a little too much for you to bear, not that your friends sniggering and whispering while looking directly at you was helping at all. You were just about to march up to the two and demand to be put on their shoulders to see what the fuss was about. Until—
“Alright! It’s almost 8, let’s save the chatter for after class, how about?” you hear a voice boom in the centre of the anthill.
You knew that voice.
You watch in slow motion as the hoard of bodies disperse, not missing the pointed glances of both your friends directed at the teacher’s table.
And then you see it. Standing there, looking down at his folder sheets, dry-erase marker in hand.
Choi Seungcheol.
Choi Seungcheol was your professor.
Your boyfriend was your professor.
How did this happen? Did he know about this? Was he keeping it from you? Were you blind when you read the clear ‘Dr. Kim’ next to your unit code?
Seungcheol doesn’t notice you standing there slack mouthed and frozen in his classroom. Until he does.
Instead of mimicking your shocked expression, you watch as his mouth goes to pull what you recognise as a smirk.
Oh, he thinks this is hilarious.
His eyebrows are raised as he questions you, “Will you be taking a seat, miss?”
It’s then that you realise you're in the middle of a lecture hall with about a hundred eyes watching you as you gape at your collective professor. Could they be mistaking your imminent horror as you checking him out?
If this was another situation maybe you would have, but this was starting to sound like a sick joke.
But alas, you could not confront your professor like that, at least not in front of an audience. So you find it within yourself to slowly slug towards the staircase to plant yourself next to your friends. Both of whom were having the absolute time of their lives watching your dazed expression.
You might have committed murder that day.
You’re forced to snap out of it as you hear Seungcheol - professor Choi - begin to speak at the front of the class.
“Good morning everybody,” he starts, hands on his desk, a pleasant expression on his face as he awaits a response from his borderline comatose students. A chorus of good mornings greet him back, excluding your own.
“Hope you guys had a good break, welcome to Pure Math 171, my name is Professor Choi” he moves to scribble his name on the whiteboard, “And I would like to be referred as such.”
His gaze finds you in your seat as he utters those words. He is quick to shift.
“We’re gonna be starting light today, I’ll be going through our unit guide and grading system…”
Seungcheol talks. And talks. And talks. And you don’t listen. You watch instead.
You’re mad at him. Really mad at him. But you can’t help but wonder as he walks around looking like that. He’s in the simplest dress shirt and slacks of a neutral colour, but he wears it oh so well.
You’ve watched him every morning as he gets dressed for work, knowing his attire has always suited him. Your friends who have been in his classes have expressed their disappointment when told he wasn’t single, and promptly draw open in shock when they realize it's you that’s snagged him before the world could.
Seungcheol, for lack of a better word, hits different when he’s in his element. His hair is pushed back and out of his face, noting how his glasses look so much sexier when he’s pacing the room with hands dipped in his pockets. He’s speaking tongues of numbers and symbols, and it’s suddenly the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
But you're mad at him. It shouldn’t be that hard to remind yourself.
“You know, you’re being real ungrateful for a person who just got a free pass on the hardest class this fucking insitution can cook up,” Soonyoung whisper-shouts next to you.
Minghao quips beside him, “Look alive, sister, you’ve hit the jackpot.”
“Were you two in on it?” you finally snap, irritated at their apparent glee.
Soonyoung snorts, “Fuck, no, we saw him when we walked in this morning”
“So did he know?”
“Oh, I think Professor Choi would be glad to tell you himself after hours,” Minghao sleazes while Soonyoung throws you the greasiest wink known to man.
Disgusted and disturbed, you turn your attention back to the front of the room. You’re still disgusted and disturbed. Seungcheol is still there, looking like he does, scribbling some example equation on the board.
“Hmm. I think professor Choi ought to know his favourite student’s having trouble paying attention? We can’t have that, you should move up front.”
You do move. Away from your friends to the seats higher up.
It’s a mind-numbing two hours in which you think you experience every emotion possible.
You think of your friends who have sat in his classes all semester, that have ogled him and admitted his apparent attractiveness. There were people in this room that were thinking the very same thing in this very moment, and it was making your skin crawl. You wanted to get up and scream: This is your boyfriend.
But alas, you are but a tired, tired college student. He wouldn’t fail you, would he? Then again, he has a ruthless streak of keeping you from the lights of life when you’re slacking in dire times. You might be the love of his life, but he remains a man of discipline.
It’s an annoying trait, but only ever in the moment. He might be the sole reason you haven’t completely lost yourself in the sea of academics.
“I think we can wrap up with that, it’s basic stuff but it won’t hurt to revise on your own before next week when we really get into it,” Seungcheol’s voice booms.
There’s a churn in your stomach for some reason, and you have to neutralize your breathing as you watch the lecture hall slowly empty out. A few students remain lingering at the front desk for yet another round of buttering. Seungcheol entertains them, pleasant smile on his face, nodding along to something. You remain seated, arms and legs crossed as you stare daggers into the top of Seungcheol’s head as he speaks with his students.
The remaining students file out as well, and you notice how Soonyoung and Minghao are long gone, leaving just you and Seungcheol alone in this big, big room.
It’s only then that he looks up searching, to check if you had left yet.
He remembered quick.
His eyes finally land on your, disgruntled, tight form, refusing to make eye contact for more than three seconds before huffing audibly, moving to put away your things. Seungcheol moves around his front desk, hands in pockets, hiking his way up the lecture steps to where you were at the top row.
You’re shoving your laptop in your bag by the time he’s done with his trek, planting himself on the chair next to you loudly. You ignore him.
“Do you think we’d get in trouble if they caught us like this?” he muses after a few silent moments.
“Caught us like what?” You snap. There goes your pledge to remain silent.
“You can’t possibly think a teacher and his student caught in a classroom by themselves is necessarily a point in our favor”
“I’ll do the honors then” with that you’re swinging your bag over your shoulder to trudge behind him to the steps leading down, wanting to be out of his presence for the time being.
You’re barely past him when there’s a grip on your wrist, firm and purposeful, that tugs you backwards in a harsh manner. The bag on your shoulder is sent to the floor while you, in your entirety, are sent straight into Seungcheol’s lap.
Bastard.
The smirk on his face is enough to send you into a pot of livid fumes, right after you’re done balancing yourself on his shoulders. You try not to grip on too tight.
“What makes you think you can leave without being dismissed?”
“What the fuck.”
“Language, miss. I don’t tolerate obscenities in my classroom.” It might’ve been a menacing threat, but with what lay behind the glint in his eyes you knew he was being a little shit.
It takes you every fibre in your body to refrain from thinking too much about him. Him and his hands that rest on your thighs, him and his hands that are placed near your waist, stroking and pressing into your shirt.
No, you're mad at him.
“Did you know?” you ask finally, tired of the back and forth.
“Nope,” he replies, “Found out when you walked in.”
“Do you not read your attendance sheet? Isn’t that your job? You had the entirety of summer to give me a heads up, this is your fault!”
“Dr. Kim got into an accident last night, she’s out of service for the rest of the semester. I didn’t know until I came in for my other class I was being switched over—”
“How does that happen?!” you almost yell.
He’s silent for a moment before beginning again, “Do you want me to ask for another class?”
Wait, what.
“I didn’t say that—” You can’t finish because your being pushed off your seat on his lap to stand while he gets up as well.
“I’ll go talk to the co-ordinator then, class isn’t working out for me.” With that he’s trudging back down the steps, making a beeline for the door.
You’re left stunned at the top of the stairs, not knowing if he was being serious or not. Were you about to let his presence bother you that bad? To the point he had to switch classes? What were you even that upset about?
Twirling around in place trying to look for the bag that was strewn about earlier, you grab the straps and race down the steps. If Seungcheol can hear your bounding footsetps, he doesn’t show it. Instead you crash into his back just as he’s about to leave the room, to which he turns around.
The smirk seems glued to his face and you realize right then you may have been lured. With the 180° that had become of your perception, you couldn’t be mad at him anymore, cooling off the simmer that had been brewing for the past couple hours.
“Maybe…Maybe I can live with seeing your face for a couple hours a week,” you mumble, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact.
He lets out an incredulous laugh, “Couple hours a week?! Do you realise we sleep in the same bed at night, pretty sure that’s more than a couple hours.”
“You know what I meant!” you huff, arms crossed and turning your head away. You cringe slightly at how you voice echoes across the large lecture hall.
Feeling his hands enclose yours, pulling your body slowly towards him, you bring yourself to look back up at him. His hands come up behind you when you’re close enough, snaking up your back and waist. You try not to shudder, but it’s hard when you know he’s doing it on purpose. There’s warmth that radiates off of him, a stark contrast from the chill classroom, your fingers finding purchase around his own waist.
There’s more of that same warmth when he kisses you, short pecks, yet ones that have you smiling against his lips. The curve remaining as he rests his forehead on yours.
“Let’s go home, just need to grab my stuff,” he says, but makes no effort to move from his position.
“Are you already done for the day?” you frown.
“No,” he muses, “But it’s only the first day. Besides, I wanna sit in bed with my girl while I map her out for the first assignment of the semester.”
“Does your girl get premium access?”
“Hm, maybe.”
Before you can refute, the door of the room bursts open with a bang that reaches straight into your soul. With the way Seungcheol’s eyes widen, you don’t doubt the same was happening in his own chest.
There isn’t enough time for you to pull away before hearing gasps alluding from the threshold.
Soonyoung and Minghao stand at the door, scandalized looks complete with hands over their faces. Hao shakes his head in mock disappointment, eyes pointed. Soonyoung pulls out his hands, framing them like he was taking a picture of the both of you gripping each other.
“Now what would the bulletin look like with these two on the front cover? You’re friends with Seok, right? D’you think you could put a word in?” Soonyoung yaps, the most insufferable look on his face.
Seungcheol laughs, to your surprise, and looks over to you, “What d’you think the bulletin would look like with his F on the front cover?”
“D’you think you could put a word in?” you raise your eyebrows.
His smile widens but he’s being pulled away as both your friends move forward to surround him. You vaguely register Soonyoung cupping your boyfriend’s face delicately, singsonging about their years of friendship, or how Hao has his arms wrapped around him in a back hug, head on his shoulder.
You vaguely register any of it, because you’re smiling too hard at the scene. Smiling too hard when Seungcheol catches your eye, before bursting out laughing, attempting to wrestle the two off of him.
You bring your phone up to the chaos instead of your hands, wanting to frame the scene for real this time.
summary: mingyu, president of the photography club, and you, leader of the art club, are forced to collaborate when your organisations are granted a shared—and pitifully small—budget for the semester. every meeting turns into a battle: over ideas, over funding, over who cares more about their craft. until you start noticing the way mingyu’s eyes light up when he captures the perfect picture, and his presence in your life leaves you feeling more inspired than irritated.
⇢ pairing: photography student!kim mingyu x art student!fem!reader
⇢ contains: fluff, mild angst, enemies/rivals to lovers au, college au, debatable attempts at comedy, profanity, inaccurate depictions of both art & photography since i am good at neither, raccoons
⇢ word count: 4.8k
⇢ playlist: stardust by zayn; blue by yung kai
⇢ note: for the person who requested this; i hope you enjoy!
There’s a miserable amount of zeroes next to the number printed on the budget distribution sheet that Mingyu hands you. You stare at it, incredulous, then back at him, the paper crumpling slightly under your grip.
“This can’t be right,” you say, voice tight with disbelief and mounting anger. “This is… This is a joke. It has to be.”
Mingyu shifts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Yeah, well, it’s not. This is all we’ve got for the semester.”
“You’re saying that like it’s okay!” Your eyes snap up to his face. “Like this is something we can work with.”
“I’m not saying it’s okay! But I don’t see what yelling at me is going to solve.”
You scoff, holding up the paper between you both like it’s the evidence of a crime. “This amount isn’t even enough for one club to function, let alone two. And yet you expect us to split it? How is that fair?”
Mingyu clenches his jaw and crosses his arms. He looks bigger, now—more intimidating, sort of. You cross your arms as well, eyebrows knit into a frown. “It’s not fair,” he says. “None of this is. But unless you’re ready to, I don’t know, rob a bank or something, this is what we’ve got to work with.”
“And what?” you snap. “Your solution is just to divide it down the middle and call it a day? You can’t honestly believe that’s fair. Your expenses aren’t nearly as high as ours—”
“Excuse me?” Mingyu cuts in, his voice rising, sharp enough to make you pause. “Do you even know what we need? Do you have any idea how much equipment costs? Or printing? Or—”
“You don’t have an entire exhibition to put together,” you interrupt, your frustration boiling over. “We’ve got installations, workshops, materials—”
“And you think we’re just screwing around, taking selfies? You think what we’re doing doesn’t matter?”
“That’s not what I’m saying!”
“It sure as Hell sounds like it is,” he bites out, glaring at you.
The hallway is silent except for the sound of your breathing. You’re standing close to him, you realise belatedly—too close. Mingyu’s face is flushed, dark brown eyes locked on yours, and for the first time, you notice just how tired he looks. There are faint shadows beneath his eyes, and the line of his shoulders is stiff with what you suddenly recognise as exhaustion, not just irritation. It’s easy enough to spot these signs because you mirror them, too.
It’s always been like this between the art club and the photography club. The rivalry was created during the clubs’ inception, long before you joined your university. You remember the former head—and your senior—telling you about how the former photography club head charmed Dean Park, the head of the art department, into giving them a higher budget, resulting in the art club being unable to hold their annual art exhibition. The year before that, the art club managed to win him over by listing out all the pros and cons of “art in the cultivation of a cultural mindset in students” using a PowerPoint presentation complete with sparkly animations.
It’s always, always about money.
This semester, however, the budget is infinitely worse—chiefly because you have to share it with the photography club. As the current presidents, you and Mingyu must shoulder the burden together, and that’s a lot easier said than done, really. Maybe it’s because you’ve spent all your college years feuding on opposing sides of the art scene, but you and Kim Mingyu haven’t been able to get along.
The fact that the amount Dean Park allotted for you both is abysmally small doesn’t make this entire situation any easier.
You look away, gaze dropping to the crumpled paper in your hands. “I’m not saying your work doesn’t matter,” you say quietly, the fight dissipating from your tone. “I’m just… This whole thing sucks, okay? I’m frustrated, too.”
Mingyu lets out a slow breath, scratching his cheek tiredly. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I know.”
It catches you off-guard, the way his voice lowers—not softening, exactly, but losing some of its earlier bite. When you glance back at him, his shoulders are still tense, his forehead pinched, though not with resignation. It’s more like simmering irritation, held at bay simply because he can’t get angry in the middle of the administrative building’s hallway.
“Look,” he continues when you don’t say anything, “this is what we’ve got. Yelling at each other about it isn’t going to magically double the budget, no matter how much we want it to.”
“I’m not yelling—I’m trying to get you to see reason. If you’d just acknowledge that the art club actually needs—”
“Maybe if you’d stop acting like your club is the only one that matters—”
You hold up a hand, cutting him off before he can get going again. “We’re going in circles,” you say, sighing. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”
“Right,” Mingyu mutters, stepping back to lean against the wall. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest again, and for a moment, the two of you stand in tense silence, glaring at each other like it’ll somehow fix the problem.
The corridor feels oppressively small, the fluorescent lights casting shadows over his face. You take a slow breath, trying to tamp down the irritation clawing at your chest and push it down to your stomach instead where you can, at least, work around it. “Fine,” you grit out. “We’ll figure something out, but don’t think for a second that I’m going to let the art club get shortchanged because of your supposed equipment costs.”
Mingyu’s lips twitch into something that’s almost a smile but too bitter to qualify. “Of course. Don’t expect me to give up the gallery showcase just so you can buy more paint.”
You press your lips together and bite back your retort. You’re too tired to keep this up, and it’s clear that he’s just as stubborn as you are.
Instead, you turn on your heel, the budget sheet still clutched tightly in your hand. “Next meeting,” you call over your shoulder, “come with actual numbers. Maybe then we’ll actually get somewhere.”
“Sure,” Mingyu says flatly, though when you glance back, he’s still watching you, expression unreadable.
“Just combine both your events,” Jiyeon—Dean Park’s student representative—says curtly, like she’s trying to wrap up a tedious chore. She taps her manicured nails on the desk impatiently. “That was the reason why we announced the budget earlier this semester compared to last time.”
You blink at her. Combine? As in merge the art club’s carefully curated exhibition with Mingyu’s glossy photography showcase?
“That’s not happening,” you say, sharper than you intended. “These are completely different events. We’d lose the point of both if we mashed them together.”
Mingyu, seated across from you, leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “For once, we agree on something.”
Jiyeon exhales, clearly unimpressed with your united front. “Neither of you have the budget to do these separately. You’re either combining or presenting Dean Park with a shared cancellation notice. Your choice.”
Her words sink into your brain, leaving no room for argument. The table between you and Mingyu feels like a battlefield, and you’re not sure if you want to continue glaring daggers at him or redirect your frustration towards Jiyeon.
“This is ridiculous,” Mingyu says, dragging a hand through his hair. “You can’t just lump two completely different creative visions together. A photography showcase is about cohesion. You don’t just slap a bunch of things together and call it cohesive.”
You bristle. “And what, you think an art exhibition is just some chaotic mess of colour and whimsy? There’s intention behind every piece. We’re not staging this in a dorm hallway; it’s a professional-level gallery. My members have been working on this for months.”
“And so have mine,” he snaps back. “This showcase isn’t just about displaying photos. It’s about showing people what photography is capable of. Combining that with whatever you’re doing? It’s going to dilute both.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have spent your entire summer hyping up an event you clearly couldn’t afford,” you say, unable to help yourself.
His eyes narrow. “It’s not like I knew—”
“Enough,” Jiyeon cuts in, her voice slicing clean through your argument. She stands, gathering her papers and closing her laptop briskly. It’s clear she’s done with the conversation. “You two have until next week to draft a combined proposal. If I don’t have something workable on my desk by then, I’ll assume you’re forfeiting your budget entirely. Good luck.”
With that, she walks out, the door shutting behind her with a firm click that echoes in the suddenly quiet room.
“This is such bullshit,” Mingyu mutters after a pause.
You glance at him, agreement on the tip of your tongue, but the irritation on his face sparks something petty in you instead. “You seem confident for someone whose entire event hinges on this bullshit.”
He glares at you and for a moment, you think he’s going to bite back. But he sighs and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Since we’re stuck with this,” he says grudgingly, “we might as well figure something out.”
“You mean like a theme? Something broad enough to tie everything together?”
“Sure,” Mingyu says. “What do you suggest? Rainbows and friendship?”
“Don’t be an asshole,” you snap.
“I’m serious. If you’ve got a brilliant idea, then let’s hear it.”
You take a deep breath, your mind running through various possible ideas. Something broad, something versatile. But every idea either feels too generic, or too forced, and Mingyu’s expectant stare doesn’t help.
“What about… perspectives?” you finally say, hesitant.
He frowns. “Perspectives?”
“Yeah,” you say, gaining a little confidence. “Different ways of seeing the same thing. Photography is about capturing moments from unique angles, and art is about interpreting the world in your own way. It’s broad, but it connects.”
Mingyu leans back in his chair, brows furrowed in thought. He admits, slowly, “It’s… not bad.”
The faint approval in his voice surprises you, but you don’t let it show. “I know,” you say instead, crossing your ankles. “It’s a good starting point.”
“But it’s still vague,” he muses. “If we’re going to pitch this, we need to make it concrete. How are we actually going to combine everything? Are we splitting the space? Alternating pieces? Blending them somehow?”
Your stomach twists at the thought of compromising the layout, but you push the discomfort down. “We could structure it around the theme. Pair photos and artworks that complement each other—contrast them, even. It could be a dialogue between the two mediums.”
Mingyu’s eyes narrow slightly, like he’s contemplating. He nods, once, reluctantly. “It could work.”
“Okay,” you say. “Then we’ll need to draft a detailed proposal—layout, schedule, costs. Dean Park isn’t going to approve of something half-baked.”
“Obviously.”
You glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “We’ll have to inform our members as soon as possible.”
“Done. I’ll text you, ‘kay?”
You hum in response, watching him gather his things. It’s not exactly a truce, and it’s definitely not teamwork—not yet, at least. But for the first time, you feel like both of you are pushing against the same problem, rather than each other.
“See you around, I guess,” you say tentatively, reaching for your bag.
Mingyu slings his camera bag over his shoulder and lets his lips curve upwards by the slightest. “See you.”
When Kim Mingyu said he would text you, you expected him to send you a message some time during the day, like a normal person would. Of course, the mistake you made was assuming that anything Kim Mingyu does is normal, so, really, why are you even surprised?
You don’t know for sure, but you’re certain it has everything to do with the fact that you were startled out of sleep minutes ago because of the incessant ringing of your phone, a week after your proposal was approved by Dean Park. The caller ID says Kim Mingyu (Photography President) and the time on your phone screen reads 1:01 A.M.
Someday, you will find a way to strangle him and get away with it.
You squint at your phone, half-tempted to let it ring out, but you know he’s stubborn enough to keep calling until your phone dies. You swipe to answer with more force than necessary.
“What?” you snap, voice rough with sleep.
“Get dressed,” he says, sounding way more chipper than anyone in their right mind would at one in the morning. “I’m outside.”
You sit up in bed, your blankets falling into a heap around you. “Outside where?”
“Your building.”
There’s a pause while you blink, trying to process his words. “My what?”
“Look, there’s no time to argue,” he says, as if he’s not the one calling you at an ungodly hour. “I need to show you something. It’s about the exhibition. Plus, I have hot chocolate.”
“Couldn’t this have waited until daylight?” you ask—but curiosity, and the mention of free hot chocolate, gets the better of you. You rub the sleep out of your eyes and slide out of bed.
“Nope, it’s time-sensitive,” says Mingyu, while you’re busy shoving your head through the nearest hoodie you could find.
When you step outside, the cool night air pricks at your skin, and you spot him almost instantly. Mingyu is leaning against the lamppost by the entrance to your building, a steaming styrofoam cup in each hand and his camera slung around his neck. His tall frame and disheveled hair, illuminated by the soft glow of the light, would almost make him look charming—were you not keen on murdering him for disrupting your sleep.
“What took you so long?” he says, holding out one of the cups as you approach.
“You’re insane,” you reply, snatching the cup from him. The warmth seeps into your fingers, and despite your irritation, you take a grateful sip. It’s sweet, just the way you like it. “This better be worth it.”
“It will be,” he promises, already turning towards the path the winds through your campus.
The night air is cool and crisp, laced with the faint scent of damp earth and fallen leaves. You clutch the cup of hot chocolate like it’s a lifeline, savouring its warmth, though it does little to thaw your irritation. Mingyu walks ahead of you, long strides confident; you trail behind him, muttering under your breath about insufferable photography club presidents and their questionable priorities.
The campus feels different at night—quieter, softer—as if the world has taken a deep breath and is holding it. Shadows stretch long and wide under the sporadic lampposts, and the buildings loom taller, their windows dark. The only sounds are the soft crunch of gravel underfoot. You don’t want to admit it, but there’s something peaceful about this moment, despite your company.
“Here,” Mingyu says suddenly, veering off the path toward a patch of bushes near the edge of the quad.
You hesitate, watching as he crouches low. His movements are surprisingly careful for someone normally so clumsy. He motions for you to follow, his fingers pressed to his lips in a gesture for silence.
“What are you—”
“Shh,” he whispers, pointing ahead.
At first, you don’t see anything. But as you squint, you catch a movement—a small shape darting across the grass. And then another.
A family of raccoons.
There are four of them, their sleek bodies silver in the moonlight. The largest one—presumably the mother—nudges a smaller one forward, while the other two rummage through a pile of leaves nearby.
You crouch next to Mingyu, your knees pressing into the damp grass, and watch the raccoon family scurry about under the pale silver glow of the moon. The mother raccoon joins her two kits and noses through the leaves, while the smallest one tumbles clumsily after her, clearly still learning the ways of the world.
“They’re cute,” you whisper.
“Hm,” Mingyu hums, lifting his camera to his eye. The soft click of the shutter sounds through the quiet. “I’ve been tracking them for weeks. This seems to be their favourite hideout for the night.”
You glance at him sideways, watching the way his brows furrow in concentration, the way he adjusts the angle ever-so slightly before clicking another picture. He’s good at this, you think—finding something ordinary and turning it into something else.
“You dragged me out of bed for raccoons?” you ask, without any real malice in your voice.
“They’re more interesting than you give them credit for,” he says, not looking up from his viewfinder. “Most people don’t even notice them. And if they do, it’s just to call them pests.”
The soft, almost wistful tone of his voice surprises you. You shift your gaze back to the raccoons, watching as one of the smaller ones climbs onto a low branch, wobbling slightly before regaining its balance.
“They’re just trying to survive,” Mingyu continues, lowering his camera. “Finding food, looking after their family. They’re not pests. They’re— Resourceful. Resilient.”
You blink, caught off guard by the thoughtfulness in his words. “And this connects to the exhibition how?”
He smiles slightly, finally turning to look at you. “Think about it. How many things go unnoticed every day? How many stories don’t get told ‘cause people are too busy looking at what’s shiny and obvious?”
You frown, considering his words. The raccoon mother pulls out a discarded chocolate wrapper from the leaves, sniffing it before passing it to one of her kits. It’s nothing extraordinary, but there is something undeniably tender about the way she moves, the quiet care in her actions.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about our exhibition theme,” says Mingyu, “and—”
“It’s a matter of perspective,” you finish softly, the words slipping out before you can contain them.
Mingyu nods. “Exactly. Everyone’s always so focused on the big picture that they forget the small details. The stuff that seems insignificant but isn’t.” He gestures towards the raccoons. “This is the kind of thing I want to highlight—the unnoticed, the overlooked. The beauty in things people usually ignore.”
He has a point. The raccoons, with their clever little hands and determined movements, have a strange sort of grace to them. You wonder how many times you’ve walked past this very spot without noticing them, without realising there was a whole world quietly unfolding in the shadows.
“You think we can tie this to the exhibition?” you ask, your skepticism only half-hearted now.
“Why not?” he replies, enthusiasm bleeding into his tone. “Your art pieces are all about interpretation, right? How people see the world in their own way. And photography is about showing people something they didn't notice before. It fits.”
You chew on the inside of your cheek, annoyed by how much sense he’s making. Grudgingly, you mutter, “You’re not as stupid as you look.”
Mingyu laughs softly, the sound low and warm in the night air. “Thanks, I think.”
You both fall silent again, watching as the raccoons scurry off to another tree nearby. Mingyu raises his camera one last time, snapping a shot of their retreating forms before lowering his camera with a small, satisfied sigh.
“They’ll be gone by morning,” he says, almost to himself, “and no one will know they were here.”
There’s something oddly poetic about the thought, and you’re struck by the realisation that, for all his infuriating habits, Kim Mingyu has an eye for seeing things differently. Maybe that’s why he’s so good at what he does—and, maybe, that’s why you think he’s not so different from you, after all.
The walk back to your building is quiet. Mingyu keeps his camera slung over his shoulder. You sip the last of your hot chocolate. Lukewarm as it is, it’s sweet and nice and provides a shred of warmth against the cool air nipping at your cheeks.
“Don’t get used to this,” you say, as the two of you near your building.
Mingyu blinks innocently. “Used to what?”
“Me being nice to you.”
He grins, a boyish, lopsided thing that makes your heart rabbit about, just a little. “Noted. I’ll savour it while it lasts.”
You pull out your sketchbook and your charcoal pencils the next day, after classes, and settle down on a bench that offers a clear view of the quad. The winter sun is a gentle wash of gold, spilling over the campus like honey, pooling in the dips of the cobblestones, and casting long, soft-edged shadows. It’s a contrast to the silvery quiet of last night, but somehow, the same tranquility lingers, a memory etched into the air.
The spot where the raccoons had been feels empty now, but not barren. Students drift through the quad in loose clusters. A girl sprawls on the grass with a textbook splayed open beside her. Two boys toss a frisbee near the far end, their laughter bright and contagious. Someone sits cross-legged under a tree, earbuds in, bobbing their head to music only they can hear.
Your pencil touches the paper, instinctive. Lines emerge, at first hesitant and light, but quickly growing in confidence. You sketch the arch of the bushes, the curve of their leaves. The grass flows beneath your hand, strokes that whisper of its softness, of its endless spread.
The students begin to take form next, their figures caught mid-motion—an outstretched hand here, a tilted head there. You don’t draw their faces; they’re not meant to be individuals, but simply a part of the quad in daylight.
You don’t think about composition or technique; your hand moves as though it has a will of its own, tracing shapes and shadows. For the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no pressure, no self-imposed critique weighing you down. The sunlight dapples the page, shifting as the leaves above you sway in the breeze. Your strokes grow bolder, the charcoal smudging against your fingertips as you shade in the deeper shadows, the play of the light on the cobblestones.
You pause, leaning back slightly, your eyes flicking between the quad and your sketch. It’s not perfect—nothing ever is—but it feels right.
Then, out of nowhere, you think of Mingyu.
It’s a small thought at first, barely noticeable—a stray memory of him crouched low in the grass last night, his camera poised. But it grows, and before you realise what’s happening, you’re imagining what he’d think of the sketch. Would he point out the uneven shading, the hasty lines where you’d been too impatient to linger? Or would he see what you see?
You close the sketchbook. The thought of showing it to him surprises you, an idea you’re not sure you understand. You’re not friends—not really—and the very idea of seeking his approval feels strange.
But you’ll trust your instincts, you suppose. They haven’t led you astray so far. You tuck your sketchbook under your arm and set out to find Kim Mingyu.
You find Kim Mingyu in the photography clubroom, hunched over a cluttered table, sorting through a stack of pictures. The room smells faintly of ink and chemicals, the soft hum of a printer filling the silence. The light streaming through the windows bathes everything in warm, golden hues, catching on the strands of his hair every time he shifts.
For some inexplicable reason, you feel shy.
You linger by the doorway for a moment, fingers tightening around the edges of your sketchbook. It’s ridiculous, really—he’s the same infuriating person who called you at one in the morning and dragged you across campus to look at raccoons. But now, with the sketchbook in your hands and a strange weight in your chest, the thought of stepping into the room feels monumental.
You clear your throat, and he glances up. His hair is slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it in frustration, and the sleeves of his hoodie are pushed up to his elbows. For a split second, he looks surprised to see you. Then his expression shifts into something closer to curiosity.
“Hi,” he says, holding out a photograph like it’s a peace offering. “Are you lost? Or are you here to chew me out over something about the exhibition?”
You roll your eyes, stepping further into the room. “Neither. I wanted to—” You hesitate, the words tangling on your tongue. His gaze flickers to the sketchbook under your arm. Thankfully, he doesn’t push.
“Come in,” he says instead. “Since you’re here anyway—” he gestures toward the stack of pictures— “help me decide. I’m narrowing down shots for the exhibition.”
You step closer, drawn despite yourself. The photographs are stunning—a leaf caught mid-fall, a cluster of streetlights glowing through the fog, the silhouette of a child through a bus window.
“They’re good,” you say, and you mean it.
“Just good?” he teases, leaning against the table. But there’s something gentler in his expression now, a quiet kind of pride that softens the edges of his grin. “Coming from you, that’s basically a standing ovation.”
You glance away, suddenly self-conscious. Your fingers tighten around the sketchbook again, and before you can overthink it, you thrust it at him. “Here.”
Mingyu blinks. “What’s this?”
“Just—look at it,” you mumble, heat rising to your cheeks.
He takes the sketchbook carefully and flips it open to the page you’d drawn earlier. His eyes trace the lines etched into the paper with charcoal, widening slightly.
“It’s the quad,” he murmurs, quieter than you expected.
“Obviously.”
“No, I mean—” Mingyu looks up at you, and there’s something thoughtful in his gaze. “It’s the quad, but it—it feels… alive, you know?”
You suck in a breath sharply, eyes darting to him. “Alive?”
“Yeah.” He gestures at the sketch, fingers hovering just above the page. “Like here,” he says, pointing to a student mid-step, laughing at something the person next to them says. “And this.” He moves his finger and circles the pair of boys tossing a frisbee about. “I can actually imagine it happening. In real time. Does that make sense?”
The way Mingyu looks at your hastily-drawn sketch—as though it’s something extraordinary—makes your chest feel tight, like you’re holding your breath without even realising.
“I don’t know how you did this,” he continues, almost to himself, eyes roving over the page like he’s trying to decode a secret. “It’s not just the quad—it’s everything about it. It’s like you froze something no one else would notice.” The corners of his mouth lift in a small, disarming smile. “It’s kind of amazing.”
Your mind scrambles for something to say. “It’s… not that big of a deal,” you say lamely. “Just a sketch.”
“Not to me.”
Your eyes settle on the stack of photographs on the table, anything to distract yourself from the heat crawling up your neck. “So, um, what does this mean for the exhibition?”
“Everything,” he says simply—knowingly, almost. Mingyu flips the sketchbook shut and hands it back to you.
You hug the sketchbook to your chest. “You think so?”
“Yeah,” says Mingyu. “You’re really talented, you know that? Not just technically. You see things—details most people miss. That’s really rare.”
You see them, too, you want to say. Because he does. You’ve witnessed it firsthand, and your sketch feels like a paltry attempt at recreating the same thing. Mingyu’s compliment sends a strange ripple through you—half pride, half unease. It’s not that you haven’t been praised for your work before, but coming from him, it feels… different.
“I just drew what I saw.”
“Yeah, but you saw it,” Mingyu presses. “Not everyone would.”
The sincerity in his tone makes your heart stutter. You glance at him, unsure of what to say, and find him watching you with an expression that’s entirely too open. You’re not sure when the shift happened, but you feel it—a softening, an ease you hadn’t expected to find with him.
The confusion in your chest settles into something quieter, something that almost makes sense.
Maybe you don’t dislike Kim Mingyu. Maybe you never disliked him at all.
There is something to be said about having a crush on the person you thought you would never get along with.
It creeps in during moments you don’t realise are important until later. You find yourself seeking him out more often, not because the exhibition needs it—it’s practically done—but because you enjoy being in his presence. The barbs you once threw at each other have become something like banter; his toothy grin makes your heart flutter in your chest. You don’t know when it started, but it’s there now, a quiet and persistent little thing that is difficult to ignore.
The day of the exhibition dawns quicker than you expect, and ends just as quickly.
Kim Mingyu kisses you at the end of it, when the lights are dim and the skies are tinged with twilight. His lips are featherlight at first, and his hands cradle your face. He is soft, warm, and your fingers find their way to the collar of his shirt, gripping tightly.
There is much to be said about having a crush on the person you thought you would never get along with. The most important is this: it’s simply a matter of perspective.
⇢ a/n: thank you thank you thank you to @etherealyoungk for helping me out with all the design/art aspects of this fic & essentially brainstorming this entire thing with me; skye lifesaver fr (the theme behind combining the art and photography club events was all her idea). thanks for reading & i hope you have a wonderful day!
synopsis: you don't do long-distance. you never have, and you never will. not unless it's jeon wonwoo - and those chances are slim, as it is.
genre: situationship au ; fluff, angst, suggestive themes.
pairing: situationship!jeon wonwoo x fem!reader
word count: 6.5k
rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
warnings: swearing, alcohol. drunken confessions, pining. kissing...that's about it.
what to listen to: completely - jaehyun ; love of my life - harry styles ; sleepwalking - james arthur ; can't get you out of my head - johnny goth ; wish you were here - superm.
author's note: after receiving that horrible enlistment message from pledis, i've decided to hurt myself even more! welcome back to haologram, where we wallow in despair. i know this might be similar to my previous wonwoo fic, except it's not at all because it's 10x shittier and if you say that then you hate me and you don't have to read this ♡ i'm so SAD AUGH !!! anyway, floral dividers are by @/saradika-graphics ! enjoy.
– TUESDAY, 10:52PM.
Message From: Jeon Wonwoo [Yesterday]
[11:49PM] i know i don't deserve to tell you this
[11:49PM] but i miss you
[11:49PM] and i know you're asleep but i wish you were here.
You're barely reading your messages from the night before.
You turned your phone off when Mingyu started spam calling you. You saw, from Tzuyu's location, that they had all gathered at their favorite bar, likely buying hoards of liquor to drown the sudden plummet in their chests when Wonwoo dropped the bomb on them.
A bomb he dropped on you – over text.
A singular text message, less than a week ago.
Message From: Jeon Wonwoo [4 Days Ago]
[9:21AM] hey…i'm leaving town next month for a while. i got a good job offer overseas, and i took it without considering anything else. i'm sorry, and i think we should end whatever this is. at least for now.
You hadn't replied, only sat on the edge of your bed and felt your chest constrict.
His job wasn't the issue. It'd never be the issue, you wanted him to succeed. You wanted him to feel fulfilled.
The issue was him…well, it was…
Ugh.
"Stupid men." You muttered to yourself, taking a swig out of the bottle in your hand. It was the nasty bourbon he liked, the one that burned your esophagus all the way down. Your stomach wasn't empty, per say – there was a bag of chips sitting next to you on the couch. It wasn't as enticing as it usually was, but you didn't care that the salt and vinegar didn't pair well with your drink of choice.
A drink that reminded you of Wonwoo, and would be the only thing that would once he was gone.
Unless you counted the smell of his cologne in your sheets. Or the hoodie that's draped over your shoulders, the plaid boxer shorts that belong to him covering your upper thighs. Or the champagne mustard you keep in your fridge specifically for him. Or the toothbrush he keeps at your apartment, despite the two of you being nothing more than friends.
Friends that kiss. Friends that undress each other in a frenzy, aching to feel the warmth of each other's skin. Friends that risk it every time, the raw feeling of skin on skin far too euphoric to give up.
Friends that say I love you in mumbles as they kiss, as they undress each other, as they give themselves to each other without a second thought.
Friends that had each other at arm's length for the last three years: you, because you were afraid of being too much.
And him, afraid of not being enough.
"I hate him." You mumble wearily, fumbling with the remote to flip through shows. You don't like anything, your eyes stinging with tears as you switch streaming services. Your Amazon Prime screen is too bright, and you flip through your Continue Watching…
Only to see his favorite movie sitting there, right after the last episode you'd watched of Bad Girls Club – Dead Poets Society.
Sighing, you toss your remote to the side and slide the bottle of bourbon onto the coffee table. You lean your head back onto the couch, feeling the effects of the liquor start to sink into your bones as you rustle the bag of chips. Popping one in your mouth, you chew lazily as the tears begin to slip down your face, rolling into the shells of your ears as you swallow.
"Wish you were here. What a fucking sadist."
You don't do long distance. You never have, you never will. And now, knowing that Wonwoo was leaving – the chances of you ever giving it a go were slim to fucking none.
Knock knock.
You jolt, coughing around the remains of the chip. The bag tips over, kettle chips scattering over your couch as you curse under your breath. You swipe them all back into the bag, dusting your couch off and scrunching the bag at the opening. You take a quick swig of the bottle, making a noise of disgust as it goes down.
Knock knock.
"Coming, I'm coming! God." You're wobbly on your legs, and you force yourself to concentrate as you toss the bag of chips onto your dining table. Not bothering to look through the peephole, you unlock your door to an apologetic Kim Mingyu holding a tipsy Jeon Wonwoo tight to his hip.
"No." You shake your head, moving to close the door when Mingyu gives you a pleading look.
"Please, Y/N. He won't stop crying about you, and I don't know what to do anymore. I'll literally wait in the parking lot if you can't calm him down. Please, help me out."
"Mingyu, I'm too drunk for this right now." You pinch the bridge of your nose, holding onto the frame of your door to keep steady. You're lying – you're not even near drunk. You're probably just as tipsy as Wonwoo is, and that's enough for you to not want him in your apartment. It would only end badly.
"Please, Y/N." Mingyu begs, and Wonwoo is seemingly staring straight through you.
"Don't hate me." He mumbles, and you can't help but look up at Mingyu through teary eyes.
"I'll be right downstairs, Y/N. I promise." He assures you gently, carefully shoving Wonwoo into the threshold. Wonwoo stumbles into your apartment, toeing his boots off in the foyer and disappearing into your kitchen. "I promise, Y/N. I think he just misses you."
"He ended things, Mingyu." You whisper, hearing the door to your refrigerator open. You hear him jostling around the jars of condiments, and Mingyu runs a hand through his hair as he nods.
"I know, sweetie. He told me." He winces, before rubbing his face in frustration. "I think…maybe just talk. I'll be here, I swear."
He holds out his pinky, and you weakly link your own as he ruffles your hair with your other hand. "I got you."
"Thanks…" You murmur, before moving back to shut the door. Mingyu takes his leave, quietly clambering down the wet stone steps as you turn back into your apartment. You peer slightly into your kitchen, seeing Wonwoo holding a butter knife between his teeth as he fumbles with your jar of strawberry jam. He's got the bag of bread open on top of a plate and your toaster is on, peanut butter rolled on the counter haphazardly. You roll your eyes, watching as he stares at the jar with confusion before sighing.
"Y/N!" He calls, taking the butter knife from his mouth. He leans against the pantry door, his cheeks flushed as he calls your name again. "Y/N! I need your help!"
"Idiot." You mutter to yourself, walking into the kitchen. He doesn't say anything as you grab the jar, spinning the top off with ease and holding it back out to him. He holds the knife out to you.
"It tastes better when you do it." He mumbles, his eyes low as you scoff. "Please? I didn't have dinner."
You grumble inwardly as you turn away from him, fishing another knife out of the drawer as he slides the other one into the sink. You tuck your chin into your chest as you take the bread out of the toaster, chewing your cheek as you spread the jam thickly.
"This is mine." He tugs on the hem of the hoodie you're wearing, and you glance down at the brown material covering your torso. You shrug.
"So?"
"So, I want it back."
"You're in my apartment, not in my good graces and I'm holding a knife. I wouldn't test your fucking luck tonight, Jeon." You grit, before swiping the knife on the edge of the bread to get the jam off. You open the peanut butter, flicking the cap towards the backsplash of your countertop when you feel his hands fisting the fabric as he leans into you.
"I want you back. You're mine, too." He rests his head on the back of your neck, and if he feels your shoulders tense, he says nothing. "I want you. Always."
"You're drunk." You mutter, feeling tears sting your eyes as you swipe a thick layer of peanut butter onto the toast. He groans, his breath warm against your neck and you can smell a light layer of grapefruit tequila on it. You liked the taste of it off his tongue, not so much out of the bottle.
"I need you." He tugged absently at the hoodie, "I need you to know that I love you, Y/N."
"You're drunk, Wonwoo." Rolling your eyes, you stick the bread together and slice the tip of the knife diagonally, making two triangles. He was an iffy guy, never one to finish a sandwich alone. "Here. Eat."
He doesn't take the sandwich, and you feel his hands grip your hips before turning you around with ease. Your face screams disinterest, but you can feel your chest heating at his proximity and the way his peachy cologne fills your nose. You meet his eyes, raising a brow as you take in the glassy look of his.
"You're drunk."
"I've had three shots and a beer, I am not drunk. I love you."
"Stop saying that." You shove the sandwich closer to his face, a pointed look in your eyes. It's like the bourbon you'd been drinking did nothing, because you're hyper aware of his every move and the very feeling of your blood coursing through your body. "Stop saying things you don't mean."
"I've always meant it. I'll always mean it and I'll always feel it. I love you." He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he kneads his hands into your hips. You swallow a sob, feeling the ache in your throat as you look up to will away the tears threatening to fall.
"You dumped me." You forced your voice not to tremble, cursing yourself internally as a tear slipped. You wipe it away quickly, and he nods frantically.
"I know, honey. I know, I'm sorry. Fuck, I'm so sorry." He buries his face into your neck, and you can feel his own tears begin to soak through the thick fabric. You sniffle, letting yourself breathe out around the lump in your throat shakily. "Please, forgive me. I'll beg. I'll do it, just don't leave me."
"I've never left you, idiot." You scoff, staring at the sandwich in your hand. You make no effort to comfort him, to run your nails down his back in soothing spirals like you would before you would fall asleep facing each other. You make no effort to soothe him, his shoulders trembling as he cries into your (read: his) sweater. You let your tears stream freely, feeling Wonwoo's arms wrap tightly around your waist and pull you impossibly closer to him.
You've always been weak when it comes to Wonwoo. You proved it time and time again: when he needed you to fill the girlfriend role at his graduation party a few years ago so his aunt would stop trying to set him up with one of the neighborhood girls. When he kissed you in a fit of jealousy at a bar in front of a nice boy who was trying to buy you a drink, and you let him take you home. When he undressed you with ease in the comfort of his bedroom and sank his teeth into any part of your body he could reach in bouts of possession, any time you'd go over.
Something you never understood, because you weren't his. Not really, not ever.
"I love you, Y/N."
"You're drunk. Sleep on the couch, we'll see how much you actually 'love' me in the morning." You mutter, shoving him off your body. You can't bring yourself to look at him, so you hold the sandwich up to his face, "Open."
He pushes your hand away, "I love you."
"Wonwoo–"
"No, Y/N. I love you. I love you and I'm sorry. Please, let me love you the way you deserve and if I can't live up to it, I'll walk out of your life forever."
His arms are still loosely wrapped around your waist, and he pulls you close. Your hands are squished between his body and yours, and you sigh inwardly. He plucks the sandwich from your hand, putting it back on the plate as he sniffles.
"Please. Just give me another chance."
"You're leaving, Wonwoo. You're leaving me behind."
"Come with me. I'll buy your ticket, I'll even get someone to take over your lease and we can be together, I promise–" You cut him off with a shake of your head, closing your eyes.
"You're leaving. That's enough to want to move on, isn't it? You don't love me, Wonwoo. You love the thought of me." You mutter, "You love knowing I'm always here. You love knowing that I wait for you, time and time again. You love knowing that even when you fail, I show up."
You open your eyes, peering up at him with a bit of poison dripping in your voice.
"You love having someone, it doesn't matter who it is. So find someone else."
He doesn't reply, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he tilts his head to the side. His eyes narrow slightly, his arms loosening around your body. You move back a bit, your lower back hitting the edge of the counter as you cross your arms and look away.
"How can I prove to you that that's not true?"
You scoff, rubbing your face with one hand. It feels hot, and you're not sure if it's from the alcohol or the closing proximity between his chest and yours.
"Tell me. I'll do it. I'll do anything." His hands are on either side of you now, gripping the counter gently as his teary eyes scan your face. For a hint, for an emotion, anything that says you want him too.
You shake your head, feeling your chest constrict as you clear your throat. "There's nothing you can do, Wonwoo."
"I'll rescind my offer. I'll drop it." He tested, and you shook your head slowly.
"There is nothing, Wonwoo. And I wouldn't want you to lose out on a major opportunity just because–"
"You are the major opportunity I'm missing out on. I took the fucking job because I couldn't stand the idea of not being enough for you. I couldn't stand laying in my room and thinking that one day you'll realize what a fucking coward I am and pick someone else. It was never about the fucking job, Y/N. It's about me not being enough for you, but still wanting to have my cake and eat it, too."
His eyes are full of sincerity, but something inside you burns.
"How can you say that about yourself?" You whispered, your eyes filling with tears as you looked up at him. "How can you think that, Wonwoo? Not enough? For me?"
He breathes out, looking at the ground between the two of you. Your socks are his, too.
"How can you not? How can you stand here, in my sweater and my boxers and my socks and tell me that you don't? Tell me that I'm a coward, tell me that I keep running from the things I love because I want to be enough and when I finally return, it'll be of no use. I'm trying to…I want…This is hard for me. Tell me it's not enough just to love you, and I'll do whatever it takes. Please."
You can hardly see him through your tears, the vision of the broken man in front of you blurred just like many of your drunken memories with him. But you remember every single one. Every kiss, every caress, every drunken I love you.
Every sober I love you.
Every single time Wonwoo showed up for you – when you needed a date to an office party so your coworkers would stop hounding you about going on a date with Hyesung from Finance. When you went on a trip with your sister and got stuck in the woods, and he drove over eight hours to get to you. When he picked you up from the shittiest date known to man, and drove you to his apartment – only to change you out of your uncomfortable dress and take you out for ice cream.
When he said I love you, every single time you needed him. Even if no one else was listening, even if you were both fully clothed and sitting in his car listening to music.
"Please."
"We should talk in the morning. I'm tipsy, you're tipsy…" You trail off, your hands coming to rest on your eyes. The cool feeling of your fingertips was enough to get you to stop crying, "This is too much for right now. You're still leaving."
"You're the only reason I'd stay." He admits quietly, his voice thick as you cross your arms again.
You stand upright, tilting your head towards the sandwich on the plate. "Eat. I'll clean up the couch for you."
He lets you slip out of the kitchen without a word, but you can feel the heat of his gaze on the back of your head. You're silent as you walk around your apartment, gathering your thickest blankets and a few pillows for him to rest on when you hear your phone buzzing incessantly on the coffee table.
Incoming call: Kim Mingyu
"Hello?" You tuck the phone between your shoulder and your cheek, and hear a sigh of relief.
"You okay? You didn't tear each other to shreds?" His voice is meek, making you snort.
"It's fine, he's just tipsy. He's sleeping on the couch. I'll call you in the morning?"
"You sure? I can come get him right now."
You glance up, seeing Wonwoo staring at the calendar on the wall in your dining room.
"Nah. Goodnight, Mingyu."
"Keep me posted."
You hang up, tossing the phone over your shoulder and moving the cushions around. You don't pay him any mind as he walks towards the bathroom, figuring he's going to brush his teeth. Fluffing pillows, you listen quietly as the water turns off and on, and the sound of the toothbrush moving back and forth.
You cap the bottle of bourbon and put it back on the second layer of the coffee table, where Wonwoo usually left it. You turn your television off, leaving the remote on the arm of the couch in case he wanted it or woke up in the middle of the night and wanted something to entertain him.
You turned off your lights, leaving the overhead stove light on for Wonwoo. It was odd to make up the couch for him – he never slept there, always in your bed. He'd wash his face, brush his teeth and snuggle into your side.
Walking towards your bedroom, you see him fishing out a pair of sweatpants from your last drawer and undoing his belt simultaneously. You roll your eyes, ducking into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face. You let your mind wander as you do so, quietly doing your night routine and hearing Wonwoo walk about.
It brought you some comfort, hearing the floorboards creak under him.
Sighing, you looked at yourself in the mirror as you wiped the wet sink down. Eyes swollen and red from the tears, the shoulder of your sweater damp from Wonwoo. Wrinkled around the waist, from his grip on it.
You turned the light off, tucking your hands into the pocket of the hoodie and slipping into your bedroom.
Only to see him lying on your bed, under your purple duvet. His glasses are still on, but his eyes are closed.
"Wonwoo."
"Mmh."
"Wonwoo, go on the couch. You're not sleeping here tonight." You tapped his shoulder, only for him to hum in response. "Wonwoo. I'm serious."
He peels an eye open, "I never sleep on the couch. I didn't sleep on the couch that one time everyone stayed over because they were too drunk to drive, you got me used to a life of luxury. Don't take it from me."
You huff, crossing your arms on your chest as he closes his eye.
"Get in and shut up."
"Yeah, right. Wonwoo, out."
"No."
"Wonwoo!" You groan in frustration, stomping your foot petulantly. You knew him. You knew he was stubborn as a fucking mule. "This is my apartment, I am not sleeping on the couch!"
"Wow, crazy." He replies lazily, before plucking his glasses off his face and sliding them onto your nightstand. "Goodnight, Y/N."
"Jeon Wonwoo, so help me God–"
He turns on his side, bringing the duvet further up on his shoulder as you gape at him.
Rubbing your face angrily, you round the bed and slide in. You turn your back to him, "Stay on your side."
He doesn't respond.
– WEDNESDAY, 2:48AM.
You can't fall back asleep.
Instead, you're laying in bed facing Wonwoo – who did not stay on his side. Your leg had been pulled over his hip, his hand splayed across your lower back, under your sweater.
You were counting his eyelashes as he slept.
"You're a pain in my ass, you know that?" You start, your voice soft so as to not stir him. "You're a pain in my ass every single day, Jeon Wonwoo. You come into my life right when I'm going through one of the biggest transitions of my life, and you kiss me in the backseat of an Uber Pool. But no, you couldn't let it stop there, could you? You had to help me move into my apartment. You had to welcome me to the neighborhood, you couldn't just be the weird one-night-stand I met at a bar while celebrating my big move to the city. I would have never thought you'd be so outgoing."
Your hand moved to gently brush his hair out of his face, your thumb moving down his sideburns gently before you traced the shell of his ear.
"And then you just kept coming around. I don't know what it was that made you keep coming over, and at first I thought nothing of it. I was fine with the sex, with the shared meals, and having a companion. You were nice, and you showed me a bunch of places, and you took pictures of me and helped me get them framed. Then you introduced me to Mingyu, and oh God. He's a whirlwind, isn't he? I love that guy."
You sigh, lightly swiping your knuckles across his cheek as he breathes in quietly.
"I love knowing you. I think it took me a minute to understand you better. We were never really just friends, but you made it feel like one of the most fulfilling friendships I'd ever had when we weren't fooling around. You engaged me, and you shared your passions with me. You drove me around when I didn't have a car, and I'll never forget when I called you scared out of my mind during that trip with my sister. You came. It took you eight hours but you came and I can't imagine ever not having you."
Tears well up in your eyes, and you wipe them quickly before they can drop onto him.
"I love you, Wonwoo. Even if you're leaving. Even when I think I'm too much, you don't hesitate to calm that storm before it's even come to the surface. You've always been so gentle, and I can't imagine someone like you looking at someone like me, the complete opposite of you, and wanting that. I won't say for the rest of your life, because you're still going to be gone in a few weeks. But right now, at this moment, you're here. With me. And I love you."
You sniffle slightly, pressing your lips to his hairline in a featherlight kiss before closing your eyes. Your nose barely brushes his as you do, and you feel more tears slip out as you mumble again.
"I'll miss you."
You don't see the crystalline tear slide down his face and sink into the pillow.
– WEDNESDAY, 3:15AM.
"I hate it when you cry. You always say you look bad, but you don't."
Wonwoo's eyes are glued to your face, so close to his he can count every eyelash you have. His lips touch yours slightly as he speaks, but he can't bring himself to move back and risk waking you up.
"You'd never be too much for me. I was made to love you, even if you don't believe me. I said I'd walk out of your life forever if you didn't believe me, but I lied. I could never do that, and I've never felt more seen by someone in my entire life."
He can't touch your face like you did him, because your arm is wrapped around his shoulder and your hand is nestled in his hair. He's satisfied with the warmth of your back on his palm, his thumb tracing light circles into it. He's satisfied with this, wanting to kiss you so deeply that he's the only thing you can taste for days.
He wants to be the only one who kisses you. For the rest of your life.
"I gave up the offer. You're going to be mad when I tell you, but I'd rather ask your forgiveness than have you think I wouldn't give up everything to have you. I'd give the shirt off my back in a winter storm in the middle of Minnesota if it meant I'd have you forever…but that would also probably mean death, so. I guess I'm saying I'd die for you."
Your face scrunches suddenly, and you shift in your sleep. Your hand in his hair slides down, your fingertips breaching the collar of his shirt. He stops breathing as you run your nails across his skin gently, before it snakes back up to his hair. Your thumb moves in a circular motion behind his ear, before it stops and he feels a soft exhale from your lips.
Years of confessing to you in your sleep tell him you're still out.
"I love you, more than anything. I love that you keep champagne mustard in the fridge for me after I said I liked it once. I love that you called me when you needed that date to that office party, even if it was to get your coworkers off your back. To call you mine, in front of other people and even just have a taste of the idea…it ruined me. I can't think of anything else, with anyone else but you. Being in love with you feels like I'm constantly unwrapping a gift, but the wrapper is the gift. It makes you, it's everything you are."
Wonwoo sighs, and your face shifts closer to him. Your forehead touches his, and he's sure if he says anything else, he'll be kissing your lips.
A reward so sweet, that he has yet to deserve.
But he speaks anyway, and hopes your heart hears him.
"You don't have to miss me. I'm here. Please, only miss me when I'm at work. Only miss me when I'm not able to come over because Mingyu conned me into going out with him and the guys. Only miss me when I'm asleep and can't talk to you, but know I dream of you. Know that everything I am is you, and even when you're asleep next to me, I wish you were here. Talking, telling me every thought that comes across your mind. I love it, I love knowing you. I love you, Y/N."
He adjusts slightly, his nose bumping yours slightly but his lips no longer aligned with yours.
"Please, only miss me when I'm actually gone. Wish for me and I'll appear, my love."
His eyes close, the sting of tears overwhelming as he buries himself into you as best as he can.
"I love you. Please, love me, too."
He doesn't see the pout on your lip when you hear him sniffle.
– WEDNESDAY, 5:53AM.
You're awake again, despite your protests to whatever God was out there.
Wonwoo is also awake, his eyes glued to your necklace. A chain, actually, that you stole from him a year ago. Classic.
You're both frozen in position, your fingers tangled in his hair and his still on your back. Neither of you have said anything, and you're waiting for your alarm to go off so you can have an excuse to worm yourself out of his grasp.
You have nowhere to go. You work from home, Wonwoo knows that.
"You work today."
Your eyes glance down, seeing Wonwoo still staring at your neck. His voice is nice and raspy in the morning, and your fingers tighten in his hair out of reflex. He winces, and you grimace, rubbing the back of his head in apology.
"I do."
He doesn't say anything, instead wiggling slightly to meet your eyes. He looks up at you, tired eyes scanning your face before he closes them. He hums.
"Can we talk before you jump out and run with the excuse?" He murmurs, and you nearly scoff – when you realize he knows every trick in your book. You frown at yourself, before sighing. His eyes open, and you reach behind him to grab his glasses. He doesn't budge as you silently brush his hair out of his face, sliding them over his ears before settling back.
"...I suppose."
"I love you."
You feel your breath hitch in your chest, and you move to pull away from him when he shakes his head, holding you tightly to him. "Please, stay."
His lips are too close to yours for you to say anything without brushing them. The ache to kiss him is deep in your stomach, but you will it away with a sigh.
"I love you."
"I know, Wonwoo."
"I love you so much, Y/N." He mumbles, his hand sliding out from under your sweater to your thigh, high on his hip. He pulls you impossibly closer, "It'd be selfish of me to want a life without you, when I know you feel the same."
You look away, your eyes glued to your headboard as you try to speak around the lump in your throat.
"What does it matter? You're leaving."
His hand moves to your jaw, gently squeezing your cheeks together when you glance back down at him.
"I'm not, I won't be making that mistake again."
He presses his lips to yours, inhaling your soft sob as you kiss him back as best you can. He pushes you onto your back gently, never disconnecting his lips from yours as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him flush to you. Your fingers find home in his hair, earning a soft groan into your mouth as you tug lightly.
"I love you. Please, please believe me." His forehead is pressed to yours, lips brushing yours as he speaks. Your eyes dart all over his face, and you choose to swallow your insecurities. You choose to allow it – if he wants to love you, flaws and all…
It's his prerogative.
"Please." He begs, his hand cradling your jaw gently as he molds his lips to yours chastely. He holds you like you'll break, with such care as you look up at him. "Love me, too. Please."
"I heard you, earlier. When you said you rescinded the offer." You murmur, watching as he nods carefully. "You need to fix that. You need to take that job."
He shakes his head, "No. I want to–"
"You need to take it, Wonwoo." You repeat yourself, your eyes pointed as your hand wraps around his wrist. His eyes are full of worry, ignoring the way your thumb against his wrist tickles and the way your warmth against him is making his head spin. You look hesitant, but breathe out gently as you speak.
"I'll still be here. I promise, I'll still love you then." You whisper, watching as he nibbles on his lip before ultimately shaking his head.
"I can't."
"You can, and you will, Jeon Wonwoo."
"I can't. You'll be here and I'll be there…I couldn't even go a week without seeing you, what makes you think I can go six months?" He groans, slumping his forehead against your collarbone. You hum, running your hand through his hair.
"Well for one, I'm hoping things are more than just this–"
"They are! They are, I love you. Please, be mine. Be my girlfriend."
He jolts up, making you snort as he squishes your face with his hands, "Say yes. Say yes right now, before I lose my mind."
"You could ask me over breakfast, at least. We could shower–"
"Can you just answer?"
"Together."
His insistence stops, and he acts nonchalant as he leans back, his hands sliding on your thighs. He shrugs, tonguing his cheek, "I mean, if you insist. Together, and all."
"You're such a fucking loser." You kick his hip lightly, making him huff as he pushes your foot away. "Go, start the water."
You shove him away gently, and he casually slides off the bed, stretching his arms over his head. You look at the clock on your nightstand, 6:17AM. You furrow your brow, reaching for your phone and seeing your alarms had been turned off.
"What the hell?"
"Oh, I turned them off last night when you were brushing your teeth."
Wonwoo squeals as he sprints out of your bedroom, followed by a throw pillow being chucked after him. It hits the doorway as he skids into your bathroom.
"Missed me!"
"You're dead when I get in there, Wonwoo!"
It's silent for a second, before you hear the water start running…
And the lock click.
"I love you, too!"
– 2 MONTHS LATER: CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.
"Whoever said long distance was easy fucking lied." Wonwoo grumbles into the phone, "My paid week off isn't for another three weeks and I feel like I'm losing my mind. I wish you were here, sweetheart."
He leans back in his desk chair, the clock reading 9:32PM. You're on the subway, he thinks. You've got a Pilates class you take during your lunch hour.
"I know, honey. Hey, on the plus side, I sent you a care package! There's lots of good stuff in there, it should arrive soon. I checked the tracking." Your voice is kind of strained as you talk, and Wonwoo frowns.
"The time difference is also a bitch. I'm about to go to bed and you're not even halfway through your day. You've got Pilates today, right?" He clicks around on his laptop, pulling up your shared calendar. He squints, seeing an added red section marked MINGYU lasting through the next three weeks. "What's going on with Mingyu?"
"The time difference does fucking suck, I agree. As for Pilates, my instructor actually overbooked my session. She won't refund me, that old hag." You scoff, "Mingyu is going out of town, and he wanted me to see if Tzuyu needed anything. Tzuyu told me in the politest way possible that she wanted me to fuck off because she's going to spend her entire week sleeping. God, I wish that were me."
"Agreed. I've gotta get going, honey. If I don't go to bed now, I'll fuck my sleep schedule and this weekend is the only free one I have. I might go some places, pick some stuff up for you." He nods to himself, and you hum in response.
"I miss you."
He feels his heart sink. "We agreed we wouldn't say that, Y/N."
"I know, it's just…ugh."
"I'll be out there in three weeks. Before you even know it, I promise." Wonwoo rubs his eyes, seeing his doorbell pick up some movement on the app. "Hang on, I think your care package is here."
"Ooh, unbox it with me! I wanna see the reaction."
He laughs, "I'll send you a video. You need to get your camera fixed, this phone call shit is ridiculous."
"Pay for it to get fixed, man! All that work abroad and nothing for the lonely sugar baby at home." You chide, making him snort.
"The most I've got to give you is all going to the ticket back to Seoul. You'll get some sugar soon. Hang on." He stands up, stretching his hands over his head as he walks to his door. He can still hear your disgusted sound from the foyer, and he peeks out his peephole to see no one on his doorstep but the box.
He opens the door cautiously, the hinges in desperate need of ointment when he feels someone looking at him. He glances up, seeing you leaned against the wall in his brown hoodie, with your duffel bag swung over your shoulder.
"Think you can give me that sugar now?"
He gapes, "You…I'm…Y/N."
"Is that a no? After I flew all this way here?" You fold your arms across your chest, rolling your eyes with a flair of sass. "God, Wonwoo. You are the one that said wish for me, and I'll appear. I am here! I appeared!"
You're right, he did say that.
"Your phone camera isn't broken, is it?" He crosses his arms, and you grin, holding out your phone that's in perfect condition. "And Mingyu's at your place, isn't he?"
"He wanted to deep clean my apartment! What was I supposed to do, say no?" You shrug, and Wonwoo just scoffs as he reaches for you, pulling you towards him by your belt loop. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "I missed you, Wonwoo."
"I missed you, too. How long are you here?" He pushes the two of you into the apartment, inching the care package into the foyer before slamming the door with his foot.
"Three weeks." You murmur against his lips, moving your arm to slip your duffel bag onto the floor. He hums in response, his hands gripping your waist as he maneuvers the two of you to his bedroom.
"Hungry?"
"Nope."
"Tired?"
"Maybe when we're done."
Wonwoo doesn't do long distance. He never has, and he thought he never would. And now, knowing that you are the distance away that he needs to brace himself for – the chances of him ever giving it a go were undeniable.
He'd go days without seeing you, as long as you still loved him. He'd go weeks, months even, without seeing you as long as he still heard your voice before he went to bed and as he made his commute to work. He'd go years without seeing you, as long as he could wish you were there and you'd appear.
@bluehoodiewoozi has a prompt wheel. i told her i wanted to break the wheel
“marry me.” seokmin’s eyes are hopeful as they stare back at your wide ones.
“you’re insane, min.”
and you’re right. seokmin is insane for proposing to you now.
“c’mon. right here, right now. what do we have to lose?”
another meteor flies above your heads. you’re fairly certain the blast would’ve caused ringing in your ears, if your left eardrum hadn’t burst from an earlier explosion. you stumble into his arms from its impact as the giant space rock crashing into the next neighbourhood over. a protective hand pulls you flush against his chest, shielding your head against the sudden dusty winds.
you know you could always trust on seokmin to catch you.
still, his words ring clear in your mind. you push him away with what little strength you have left. your knuckles whiten along with the death grip you have on his shirt. “min, stop with the nonsense!”
for once, ever since the world’s end was announced, seokmin stops smiling. oh, you realise. he’s not joking. “…y/n, please.” he kneels down before you, offering up a ring as he clasps his hands in yours. it’s a flower ring, you note. you noticed he was twisting the poor flower earlier, but you didn’t know it was for this.
ferocious winds whip your hair back, the charred fabric of your shirt flapping in the wind. you try to urge seokmin to stand up, to run away from the oncoming blaze, but he’s still staring up at you with that stupid, dopey smile of his.
“seokmin, get up! we have to go!”
your words fly over him. “please? we can get wonwoo to officiate. hao and gyu can be our flower girls!”
he’s smiling widely at you, but there are tears pooling in his eyes.
“lee seokmin…” your free hand cups his chin. he nuzzles into it, eyes closed with content. your throat tightens up as you choke your next words out. “the world is falling apart.” you sniff. “we can’t–“
“we can! right here, right now…” he scrambles to his feet, this time both his hands enveloping yours. it’s a familiar comfort, how his thumbs rub over your knuckles. they’ve gotten rough with scratches, but your heart tugs at how gentle he’s treating you still. he slides the flower onto your ring finger, and you can’t help but choke back a sob.
he’s right: what more is there to lose? at the very least, you’ll be going out as lee seokmin’s wife; is that so bad? it’s a title you thought you would hold in at least a few more years.
you finally nod, tears falling freely down your face. from the corner of your eye, you spot wonwoo frantically waving at the both of you to run to safety… not that anywhere seemed safe enough anymore. you wear your own toothy grin, the very one seokmin falls in love everyday with, and you give his hands a tight squeeze.
(your latest assignment has you jetting off to argentina hoping to finally catch the infamous art thief that's escaped your agency one too many times already. you know what's at stake if you lose your focus. enter the beautiful stranger that has you questioning everything you know.)
pairing: jeon wonwoo x f.reader
genre: strangers to lovers, (kinda, v light) enemies to lovers | smut, fluff, angst
rating: explicit, minors DNI
word count: ~22.8k (idk what happened)
warnings: art thief!wonwoo, secret agent!reader, brief mentions of death & bloody past (again, reader is a secret agent), mentions of past violence, mentions of weapons, food, drinking, VERY ambiguous ending
smut warnings: multiple smut scenes, multiple positions, unprotected sex (don't do this), slightly rough sex, mild dom!wonwoo?, fingering, oral sex, choking, spanking, multiple orgasms, squirting, light marking, semi-public sex, food play (whipped cream, chocolate), i think that's it
a/n: this is for @svthub's world tour collab (check out the other fics here). i had so much fun writing this even if it got away from me a bit. thanks to @effortandmore for lending me her art brain. thanks to @highvern for constantly listening to me and @multi-kpop-fanfics for fit inspo. and as always, thank you to my bby @wongyuseokie for the banner & divider.
edited to add: i am considering an epilogue if that’s something anyone is interested in
“We’ll be landing in about 45 minutes, according to the pilot,” a voice says, interrupting your laser-like focus.
You look up from your tablet and blink at him for a second. It takes you a moment or two to register he’s even standing there. Another moment to register what he actually said to you a second ago. In the meantime, you switch the program open on your tablet.
“Oh, thanks,” you say in response.
He sits down in the seat opposite you and fixes you with a smile. “Must be a good book, you’ve barely looked up for the entire flight.”
“Guilty,” you say with a practiced smile.
Chan, you think that’s his name, seems nice enough. A little overeager and too ready to agree to something when his bosses tell him what to do. There’s that real thirst to prove himself. But, at least from what you hear, he’s got a bright future. He’s done well with what he’s been given so far, which are increasingly difficult assignments. You can see why. He’s easy on the eyes and he’s got that soft smile down. The kind of unassuming smile that makes people want to trust him. If he can keep it up, he’ll go far.
“Thanks again for letting me catch a ride,” you say to fill some of the space between you.
Chan only shrugs. “Any friend of Mr. Choi’s is always welcome. Plus, nobody really says no when the boss says something.”
A lesser person would have probably laughed at that. Hearing him referred to as Mr. Choi and the boss is a little comical to you. Not that it isn’t true because he is definitely Chan’s boss. It’s just, well, it’s a little more complicated than that.
“Honestly I don’t really even understand what Cheol does,” you lie and turn on a little bit of the charm. It’s always good to practice on people that are trained to be charming themselves.
“Do you call him that?” Chan wonders.
“Call him what? Cheol?” you ask and Chan nods, eyes a little wide. It catches him just off guard enough. “Yeah, but I’ve known him for years. What do you call him?”
“Sir, usually,” Chan answers too quickly. You can’t fully fight the smile that answer brings to your lips. “Glad to see I entertained you.”
“He’s not nearly as bad as I’m sure he seems at work,” you say like you’re sharing a secret.
The truth is that you’ve been hearing about this new agent that Seungcheol is personally training for over a year now. So, you know that eventually, you’re going to all be laughing at this conversation in hindsight and he’ll also be calling his boss Cheol. For now, though, things are a little bit different.
“He mentioned that you were heading down to do some research?” he asks and you nod.
This part has always been a little tedious to you, the part where you come up with a cover story that you even have to feed to other people within the same organization. It’s been this way for your entire career. You were recruited at 18 years old and went through special training along with obtaining a degree. The Agency had two divisions, but you only ever learned about the second one if you were recruited to work there. It was that second division you joined right away.
Training had been grueling. If it wasn’t some kind of physical endurance training, it was sitting in a windowless room studying history or a foreign language. Or it was combat training with whatever weapon was on deck that day. Or working to blend into any situation. You quickly learned that did not mean not being memorable. At least not in every situation. Sometimes that meant looking at ease in your surroundings even if eyes were on you. Thankfully, the charm seemed to come naturally to you and that was one less thing you had to worry about learning.
The Agency officially works in maintaining international relationships between countries. That can mean a number of different things. Sometimes it involves an agent or team heading out to a location as official representatives. They can help with negotiation, security concerns, smoothing out issues, anything really. Unofficially, it often involves going undercover on a mission. That can involve either division, depending on the sensitivity of the mission. If it’s simpler, then someone like Chan gets sent out to work his way into a situation and influence the outcome so that everything stays calm. In fact, he’s here to charm a wealthy heiress that’s getting a little too close to revealing confidential information on government contracts.
You, on the other hand, are officially here to study Argentinian culture and immerse yourself in local traditions. Chan doesn’t know that you work for The Agency as well. He doesn’t know that Seungcheol is like a boss to you. It’s not his preference. Seungcheol misses the days when he was by your side in the field instead of stuck in the office behind a desk. Unfortunately, several years ago he suffered a severe injury that just made field work impossible for him. It took a lot of convincing, most of which fell on your shoulders as the person closest to him, to get him to transition to his current role. Where you had never set foot in the main offices, he had been there periodically. He was known to people there. And he was so insanely smart that you pointed out he would be bored trying to assimilate into regular life. Why not get to do one of his other favorite things and tell younger agents (or even older ones) what to do? That had been the biggest selling point because he was good at being in charge. It had been a bit of a rocky transition at first, but now it’s smooth sailing.
Unofficially, you’re here tracking one of the most infamous art thieves in the world. This is the kind of thing that has to be handled with the utmost secrecy. Other agencies and your own have tried to track him down and apprehend him only to have him slip into the wind. If you had to hazard a guess, you’d assume that there had been leaks during the previous attempts. You’ve also considered that he’s just really good at making a mark and blending into his surroundings. This is one of the most secretive missions you’ve ever been sent on despite seeming relatively innocuous. How much harm can an art thief really cause, right? Except, The Agency is largely funded by private investors and several of those investors have been victims and had art stolen. Despite that, the only people that know you’re making this attempt now are Seungcheol and the head of covert operations. His counterpart doesn’t know that you’re handling it, or even who you are. Instead, the main division of The Agency has a team headed to Amsterdam thinking that they’re after the notorious thief.
Although it seems like it should be straight forward, this thief has been working in the shadows for years without anyone really knowing what he looks like beyond him being a man. The reports about what he actually looks like vary so greatly that nobody really knows what to believe. You and Seungcheol have spent months trying to put together a profile that seems most realistic and you feel as comfortable as you can. His appearance seems a little elusive, but the information that he’s going to be in Buenos Aires is the best lead you’ve gotten. It comes from someone that you worked with on a previous mission. You had been studying your profiles when Chan came over and quickly exited to a different application.
“I am. I’m working on understanding the history of Argentinian culture through the eyes of Buenos Aires for a project,” you say with all the affection of someone who was actually going to be doing that. “I’m going to spend most of my time just out talking to people, learning their stories, that kind of thing.”
“Do you, uh, speak Spanish?” Chan wonders with clear apprehension.
“I do,” you say with a light laugh. “Be a bit awkward if I didn’t, right?”
“That’s impressive,” he says.
“I speak several languages,” you say nonchalantly and then make a show of catching his eye. “I studied language and culture in university.”
“You’re not what I’d imagine for one of my boss’s friends,” Chan admits. “Especially one close enough to get added to the manifest.”
You shrug. “I’ve known him for a long time.”
“He doesn’t strike me as someone with a lot of time for friendships or someone that you can ever really know,” Chan presses and you laugh.
“Married to the job, right?” you agree. “I’m a low maintenance friend. I spend a lot of time out of town for research, immersed in local culture. We’ve probably got more in common that you’d think.”
“That makes a lot of sense,” he concedes, seeming to easily buy your cover. He stands up. “I’ll let you get back to your reading.”
The rest of the flight goes smoothly and you say your goodbyes to Chan and the others from the flight once you get off the plane. As is the plan, you take your suitcases to a local taxi and head to your hotel, checking in under one of the many fake names you used when on a mission. The room is nice, too, even if it’s nothing all that extravagant. It’s just another part of the cover.
Since it’s been a long day, you figure that you might as well just order room service and settle in for the night. It’ll give you the chance to start getting your body used to the local timezone. Not that your body really has a home timezone anymore with how you’re constantly on the move. But, you still don’t mind the idea of resting for the night.
You’re incredibly thankful to be in Buenos Aires in July since it’s the coolest month. It makes it easier for you to just walk everywhere. Before leaving your room for your first full day in your new city, you double check your messenger bag to make sure everything is in there: camera, multiple lenses, journal, tablet and keyboard, sunglasses, wallet, and all your little bits to make it look like a bag you wear all the time. You smile at the receptionist on your way out, letting her know that you’re going off to explore what the city has to offer. She seems happy to see that you look better rested than after your long travel day. Even if heading out is mostly a cover for your mission, it’s also a little true. This city has been on your bucket list to visit for years and you’re not going to waste what might be your only opportunity to explore. It might even make it more believable as you’re trying to blend into the crowds around you.
After spending several hours wandering around and taking in everything you could, you find yourself at a local cafe in the early afternoon to have a cup of coffee and a light lunch. The whole morning flew by in a rush of colors and culture. It’s so easy to be interested in everything that’s before you because it’s just so vibrant. So full of life. Such a juxtaposition of history, tradition, and new influences. It’s one of the first times you’ve been somewhere and had to remind yourself that you are actually on a mission. You’re not just there to sightsee and fall in love.
There are a lot of tourists in the cafe, which doesn’t really surprise you. Most places in Buenos Aires stay open during the afternoon for tourism, but you know that cafes in smaller towns would close. You figure that most locals probably avoid shops during this time of day as well. It feels lucky when you spot an open table in the corner until another patron moves and you see there’s actually someone sitting in one of the seats. It’s an uncharacteristically awkward moment for you, especially given how confident you are with everything else, that he catches you mid-decision. His eyes meet yours before looking at the coffee in one hand and the plate in the other. When he looks back down at the table, it clicks into place before you can turn around.
“You, uh, can sit…” he starts with deliberate slowness that shouldn’t be throwing you off even more.
You shake your head to clear it and smile. “It’s fine, I don’t just speak Spanish.”
“Oh,” he says with a breath of relief. “Well, you can sit here.”
“I don’t want to intrude,” you say and go to turn around.
“It’s busy. Are you going to just eat standing up?” he asks with a challenging raise of his eyebrow.
“Well,” you start.
“I probably won’t be here much longer anyway,” he offers.
Reluctantly, you move to sit down with him. It’s kind of insane the way he’s thrown you off your game by just existing. Usually, you’re the one that’s disarming strangers with your charm, not the other way around. As soon as you sit down, he looks back at the book he has open in front of him. It gives you a chance to figure out if he’s actually that attractive that it’s thrown you off or if you’re still just jet-lagged.
His glasses slide down a nearly too perfect nose and he pushes them up without missing a beat. His black hair is a little messy and a little long, falling carelessly around his face as he gets lost in whatever book he has open in front of him. His clothes make him look a little too fancy to be sitting in a cafe overrun with tourists like this. Somehow, he makes a cardigan over a dress shirt with nice, pressed slacks work without looking like he’s trying too hard. Everything about him just exudes calm, confident energy. Like the kind of person you would assume comes from old money. Unassuming, yet standing out without even meaning to. It reminds you of some of the landmarks you saw that morning, like rich history perfectly combined with modern needs.
Thankfully, at least some of your training kicks back in and you manage to keep it from being too obvious that you’re one step away from fully checking him out. Your new tablemate seems content to sit in silence, though, so you pick at your food while going through some of the pictures on your camera. Today is about getting the lay of the land as much as anything else. It’s not like you can just find your infamous art thief without knowing where to look.
“I’m sure you got some great shots,” he says, drawing your attention again. When you look up, his eyes are on your camera.
“Oh, yeah, it’s so hard to really capture the feeling of something through a camera, but I definitely try,” you say.
“I saw you at The Obelisk and I thought, I’ve never seen someone so focused in my entire life,” he says, except now he’s looking at you.
“There must have been thousands of people there. How did you pick me out?” you ask with a laugh.
The mystery man shrugs. “Like I said, you were focused. And not in the way a lot of influencers who travel for the perfect picture are. I knew that it was more than that for you.”
“It is,” you agree. “I’m studying the history and the culture down here. Just got in last night.”
“Can I see the picture you landed on?” he ventures.
You hesitate. Your pictures are good, sure, but you’re not actually doing anything that serious when you’re down here. Since it’s supposed to be part of your cover, you should feel confident. After a moment, you hand your camera over to him with your favorite picture in the display window.
“Be kind. My focus is language and history first, not photography,” you toss out. Another layer to the cover. It’s convenient, though. Not that you expected to be talking to someone like him about photography.
“This is amazing,” he says and seems earnest. “Can I look through the rest?”
Again, you pretend to consider. This time it’s for the sake of the persona you’re committing to. It’s not like there’s anything on there from before today since it’s a fresh SD card.
“I promise to be kind,” he presses and you roll your eyes.
“Fine,” you say and he smiles.
It’s hard not to notice the amount of care he uses while handling your camera. Maybe he knows something about photography and realizes it’s an expensive model. Or maybe he’s just gentle with something that clearly means a lot to someone else. It’s also easier to feel like you can appreciate things about him when his attention is somewhere else. Like he won’t notice the way your eyes map his features, noting the furrow in his brows or how smooth his skin is. Or the way his hair seems absolutely perfect without any product in it. None of it seems fair that he should just get to walk around looking like that.
“I’m surprised not to find a picture of myself on here,” he starts and it pulls you from your thoughts. There’s a moment where you wonder if he’s secretly self-centered, until you meet his eyes and see the glint there. “You know, with how you’ve been studying me.”
“I appreciate beauty wherever I see it,” you answer, trying to channel more boldness than you feel.
“Are you saying I’m beautiful?” he questions, entirely too at-ease.
“I don’t think you need confirmation on that,” you scoff and look out the window. “Besides, it wasn’t me that noticed you earlier.”
“A shame for me,” he muses. “I appreciate beautiful things as well.”
He hands your camera back with his eyes locked on you. It makes your skin feel a little flushed and you hate it. Hate that you’re always able to keep your cool in any situation and still so completely disarmed by this man. Hate that it’s him that breaks the moment, too, when he looks down at the expensive watch on his wrist with a sigh.
“Late for something?” you venture.
“Something like that,” he agrees and puts his book away in a bag you hadn’t noticed. “I’m glad you sat down though.”
“Me too,” you admit a little too quickly as he’s standing up.
“Enjoy your afternoon, beautiful stranger,” he says and you twist around.
“Wait, I didn’t get your name,” you call and he stops by the door. The smile he throws your way sends a tingle down your spine.
“I hope we’ll run into each other again, then,” he says.
And just like that, he’s gone. Slips into the crowd like he wasn’t even there in the first place. It makes you wonder, just for a second, if the entire exchange actually happened. Until you look back at the table and see the cup of coffee he had been drinking. Beside it, you notice a small piece of paper advertising a new installation at one of the local art museums. Not entirely out of the question, you think, for someone visiting this city and also interested in seeing your camera.
It’s then that you remind yourself why you’re actually here. You shake your head to clear it of any thoughts of the stranger, knowing you can’t make any effort to run into him again. The mission is the only thing that matters. Getting close to someone that could distract you in that way is not part of the plan. So, you can appreciate the banter and get back on track.
The next few days pass relatively uneventfully. You continue to explore the city while always keeping your eyes and ears open for any indication of the art thief. It’s a little frustrating to not have much to go on, but you’re also one of the most patient agents and you know it’ll pay off eventually. Seungcheol keeps in regular contact, sending along each new nugget of information he’s able to find. Even if they’re seemingly insignificant, you file them all away, appreciating how hard you know he’s working given how few people know about the mission. He has to pull the relevant pieces to send to you without tipping off the team in Amsterdam.
You’re also splitting your days. Making sure to get out to experience the local culture to maintain your cover, while spending just as much time locked away in your room so that you can do your own research. Everything points to him already being in the city as well. It also seems like this next heist might be two-fold for him. It appears that he’s got a client that wants a specific piece of art and that he’s also going to steal some pieces for himself to sell at later dates. It’s a bit unusual, from what you’ve been able to tell. He usually likes to keep each job simple to reduce the likelihood of getting caught. Then again, he’s been active for years and doing just fine.
Today you decide to go to check out a museum that you’ve been putting off. It’s silly, but you didn’t want to show up there the day after that cafe since it seemed a little convenient to leave behind. You have to familiarize yourself with all the museums in the city, though, and it seems like this one could be your thief’s target. It has just the right amount of traffic. Just the right combination of popular pieces with lesser known artists.
Once you’re there, you immediately move away from the popular sections. That’s not the kind of art you’re after because it’s not the kind of art the thief ever steals. It’s too recognizable. Too hard to move. Just too risky. Once you’re in a quieter part of the museum, you fight off any feelings of being a fraud. Art has never really been your strong suit. If it weren’t for this mission being so sensitive, you definitely would not be the first agent anyone would choose. But, it is sensitive and so you have to rely on your training to carry you through any conversations that might pop up. You have to rely on the hours spent pouring over lectures about the different styles and influences, the different periods, different techniques. Hopefully your talent at rote memorization will serve you well.
“It’s a shame they keep one of the best artists tucked away in a corner like this,” a voice says from your side, pulling you from your thoughts.
You answer without even thinking much about the voice or even turning to see the person who appeared next to you nearly soundlessly. “Makes it easier to appreciate in peace, though.”
“You like surrealism, then?” he asks and it’s only then that you notice something familiar about the voice or the manner of speaking. Or the fact that he’s not speaking to you in Spanish.
Before you even turn to your side, you know who you’re going to find. He’s looking just as put together and at-ease as he did several days ago in the cafe. His hands rest in his pockets, but his eyes on you are sharp. There’s something a little hard to read about him, you think.
The smile you give him is practiced, designed to seem genuine. “I like Leonor Fini.”
“You’ve got good taste,” he says and turns back to the piece.
“I do like surrealism,” you carry on, turning back to the piece yourself as well, “but, with her work, I really appreciate the way she used female subjects through a female lens. Too many artists…”
You trail off, pretending you’re unsure if you should continue. He falls into the setup easily. “Men could only show female subjects through their own eyes, but women look different through the eyes of other women.”
“Exactly,” you say and smile at him before turning back to the painting again. “There’s something so captivating about the work she did.”
“I agree. That’s why this is my favorite piece here and in my favorite section of works,” he says confidently.
“You already have a favorite?” you joke.
“Well, I’ve been here every day for the past several days,” he shares.
This makes you turn to him fully. “Because you love this section and this work so much?”
This mysterious man actually looks down like he’s embarrassed to admit whatever he’s about to tell you. Like he’s gotten shy for a moment. “I do, but I was actually hoping to run into you.”
That catches you a bit off guard and it takes your brain a minute to remember, once again, you’re here on a mission. “It would have been easier to run into me if you just asked for my number.”
“Kind of ruins this whole mysterious thing I have going on, though,” he shrugs.
You roll your eyes and extend your hand, giving him your fake name for the mission. His eyes sparkle for a second before he takes your hand.
“Wonwoo,” he answers.
“Nice to finally get your name,” you tease.
“I figured you’d come check out the museum when I left the card there at the cafe,” Wonwoo says.
“I knew that was on purpose,” you mumble.
“Yet you didn’t come until today,” he observes.
“I wasn’t trying to make it easy on you,” you throw out quickly.
“Okay, time to switch tactics, then,” he says. “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”
“I’m not sure, can you?” you ask.
“Please let me take you to dinner,” he says.
It’s a bad idea and you know it. Everything about him screams distraction. This isn’t what you’re in Buenos Aires to do. Yet, there’s something about him that has you curious. There’s also the fact that this museum seems to be the most likely target for the art thief and this man admitted he’s been here every day. A small part of your brain is sending up alarm signals to keep an eye on him. He doesn’t seem like a secret art thief, but hasn’t your training taught you how to hide in plain sight? It’s entirely possible he’s doing the same.
Your brain goes into overdrive as it often does on missions. There are a million little details in the pages of your profile on the art thief. They come flooding back to you. The profile so thoughtfully pieced together by The Agency says he’s probably unassuming. The kind of man that fits into any situation in the same way as you do, like he’s not trying to fit in and it means he doesn’t stand out as not belonging. The profile suggests that he’s confident. That he would appear calm. Most importantly, he’s the kind of person that would absolutely look at home in the midst of art. So, whether it’s a good idea or not, you know you’re going to say yes. He must see the answer in your eyes before you voice it because he smirks.
“What time?”
Wonwoo offers to pick you up at your hotel, but you insist that you’ll meet him at the restaurant. It’s safer that way, after all, being a woman traveling alone. At least that’s what you tell him. Not that anything about Wonwoo seems that threatening and you’re better equipped to handle yourself than most. You just don’t need him anywhere near your room even with everything put away. After going back to get ready, you made time to pour over the information you have. The more you consider it, the more it seems plausible that he could be exactly who you’re looking for. There’s only one issue: he asked you out. Everything you have suggests that he made agents in the past and slipped into the wind. You’re not cocky enough to think you’re too good to fall victim to the same fate. You keep your update to Seungcheol vague in case the lead doesn’t pan out.
Surprisingly, Wonwoo picks a nice place off the beaten path for dinner. It’s not overrun with tourists and it’s not too expensive. Like him, it’s unassuming but quietly impressive. You try not to let your heart skip a beat when you see him in a simple white dress shirt and black dress pants. He stands to pull your seat out for you and then settles back into his seat across from you. This is for the sake of the mission. Either he’s the person you’re looking for or you’ll have enjoyed a free and tasty meal. Nothing more to it.
His Spanish, it turns out, isn’t that great and so you help him through ordering since it’s definitely a place more for the locals. Or maybe it’s just an excuse to get your help. You’re not really sure you mind either way. He makes suggestions about which wines he prefers, but ultimately lets you pick, insisting that he will take care of whatever you land on. Once you get through ordering and all the small talk, it gives you a chance to really get to know him.
“Have you been here before?” you ask.
“This restaurant or this city?” he asks.
“Either,” you shrug.
“No to both,” he answers. “Clearly, my Spanish is a bit rusty. I’m so lucky that I found someone who’s so fluent.”
“I’m not sure I believe you can’t speak the language,” you muse.
“I can speak enough Spanish to get by, but it’s not that good,” he assures you.
“Interesting place to visit, then,” you observe.
“I’d miss out on a lot of beauty if I only went where I spoke the language fluently,” he retorts and you smile genuinely at that. He’s right.
“Like the art in the museum?” you suggest.
“Or a charming stranger,” he counters. You’re impressed. “I do like the art as well, though.”
“What other beautiful places have you visited?” you ask.
“Oh, I hardly think it’s that interesting,” he dismisses.
“Humor me,” you say.
There’s a moment where he’s careful in listing off places. Like he’s weighing something that you can’t really place. He ends up listing some places that catch your attention. Each of them has some wonderful art museums and it piques your curiosity. You try to look just politely interested, commenting on how he’s lucky to be able to travel as extensively as he seems to. He plays it off with a vague comment about being fortunate with help from his family. It’s the kind of thing that you know passes on a first date. It’s not appropriate to mention money on a first date. So, that would be fine, if it didn’t also make you curious about who this man really was. After all, your art thief being well connected through family would definitely make sense.
Throughout the rest of the dinner, you try to enjoy it. Not that it’s hard to do. Wonwoo is actually a lot of fun to be around. The conversation flows easily and you’re able to connect on a lot of shared interests. At least, interests that you pretend to have for the sake of this mission. But, it feels like he might also be pretending on some of his interests. He’s just a little too calm and put together. A little too quick with his answers. A little too rehearsed with his comments. Maybe you wouldn’t think twice if you weren’t doing the same.
By the time you finish the main course, you’re pretty sure that you managed to stumble into a date with the exact person that you’re here looking for based on his stories. It may have been a guess before. It feels nearly for sure now. He mentions how you have to visit Japan when the cherry blossoms are blooming, which sounds stunning. He mentions Oktoberfest in Munich and how he barely remembers anything from that trip. Then there's the ice festival in China, Nordlysfestivalen in Norway, and a few other locations that sound beautiful. They also have one thing in common. Each place is also on your list for stolen art around the time of the events.
Once you finish dessert, you’re making a decision that you know you should really clear with someone else before making. Sure, you’re pretty sure that Wonwoo is the art thief. And yes, it’s true that keeping an eye on him is in your best interest. One way to do that is to continue with the date. Yet, you’re not stopping to check in with Seungcheol. You’re not analyzing the pros and cons of doing this. After giving Seungcheol a vague update about a lead and promising you’ll have more information later on, he should be the first person you call. He’s not swept up in the atmosphere of a foreign city with a gorgeous stranger. No, you don’t do any of that. You’re just agreeing to go back to his room with him without a second thought. He’s painfully hot and you’re incredibly attracted to him, which is wildly unprofessional. But, you’re not sure you care. At least for the night. You can figure it all out later.
Wonwoo is quietly confident without being cocky. His gaze is so penetrating that it feels like he’s undressing you without it being slimy. He can hold a conversation about seemingly anything, but he’s also just as interested in what you have to say. In fact, you have his attention the whole night, regardless of anything else going on. It’s a little overwhelming to have someone so focused on you. But, when it feels a little overwhelming, he makes a perfectly timed, slightly sarcastic joke that makes you laugh harder than you should. The smile you wear all throughout the date is genuine. You’re actually enjoying yourself so much that you’re not sure you want it to end. Life has never felt so simultaneously complicated and easy.
Wonwoo’s lips are hot on yours as he cages you against the door of his hotel room. That intensity you saw all dinner reappears and you feel like you might burn under his touch. He’s so in control. You’re still not entirely sure how you wound up here, but you’re not really trying to think too hard about it. The fact that he’s almost definitely the art thief becomes an issue for future-you the second he kisses you like it’s your last day on Earth. It’s not like he knows you’re tracking his movements and it isn’t exactly a bad thing to keep a closer eye on him. Nor is it the first time you’ve done something like this. It is the first time you’ve done it without thought, though, and genuinely been interested in the man you let seduce you.
He has his body pressed against yours with his arms on either side of you so there really is nowhere to go. It’s kind of hot and you’re not even pretending to be turned on. A definite bonus. Your hands quickly undo his belt so that you can pull the edges of his shirt out. The moment your hands make contact with his skin, he pulls away and hisses. They’re likely cold, not that you care. It gives you the chance to catch his lower lip between your teeth. You watch his eyes darken with lust as you run your hands up his back, scratching down lightly.
“Just who do you think is in control here, baby?” His voice is so low in your ear that it makes you swallow hard. Everything about the endearment sounds sarcastic and it shouldn’t work, but you’re only human. Then he nips at your earlobe and you actually moan.
“What are you going to do about it?” you challenge. It feels like a lot of heat between you. If your head were clearer, you might consider that it feels like two people who know they shouldn’t be fucking. Almost like he’s punishing you a little, which he might want to, given why you’re here.
“That’s a dangerous question,” he warns you.
“Afraid I can’t handle it?” you ask and watch the way it nearly breaks his composure. You press forward into him, pulling him down so his ear is by your mouth now. Barely raise your voice above a whisper. “I’m not that fragile. I can handle a little pain.”
That seems to set him off. You’re worried for a second when he pulls away, but that disappears as you watch his nimble fingers rapidly undoing the buttons on his shirt. He casts it aside and looks back at you.
“I want you stripped naked and on the bed,” he commands.
You’re not typically in the habit of taking commands but something about him makes you want to listen. Even if you want to challenge him a little. He turns his back and you do strip down. Mostly. You climb onto the bed wearing only your panties, legs spread open and waiting for him. When he turns around, you miss the flare of his nostrils at your defiance looking at his muscles. For someone so unassuming, he was certainly in good shape.
“Is this your idea of naked?” he questions.
It’s funny, since he’s still got his boxer briefs on, though they leave little to the imagination. You can already see that he’s getting hard from the lead up.
“I thought I’d leave that honor for you,” you say, injecting as much innocence as you can muster into every word.
Wonwoo looks at you for another long second before climbing onto the bed and getting between your legs. He pushes them further open and you bite down on your lip.
“You don’t get to muffle those moans from me, sweetheart,” he teases, running a hand up the inside of your thigh.
“Or what?” you challenge again.
He raises an eyebrow at you and pulls his hand away from your thigh. You’re about to whine when he brings it back in a sharp slap.
“Shit,” you hiss.
“You liked that, didn’t you?” he asks. You nod with big eyes. “Use your words.”
“Fuck, yes, I liked it,” you rush out the second his finger traces a light line up your clothed cunt.
“I can tell,” he snarks. “Just tell me if it’s too much.”
“It won’t be,” you insist. He pulls his hand away and looks at you surprisingly soft for a second.
“Tell me if it is,” he repeats.
“I will,” you promise.
“Good,” he says and hooks his fingers inside the band of your panties, pulling them down your legs and casting them aside in one motion. “That’s better.”
In another surprise, Wonwoo doesn’t dive right into your cunt the way you expect him to given how frenzied everything has been so far. Instead, he trails kisses from your knee up your inner thigh. Pausing occasionally to nip into the skin before running his tongue over the mark to soothe it. You’re writhing on the bed by the time his breath ghosts across your cunt. The chuckle is low and deep as you squirm when he moves to your other thigh. You’re going to die before he even touches you.
“Jesus fuck, Wonwoo, if you don’t start eating me out…” you start, a hand winding into his hair.
He pops up and glares at you. “You’ll what? Did you already forget who’s in charge?”
“I’ll…” you start, before cutting off with a sharp, “FUCK!”
He’s still got his eyes on you when his thumb runs quickly through your folds to press against your clit. There’s barely any movement but it anchors you in place. “That’s what I thought.”
His kisses up your other thigh are much sloppier with a thumb still in place. It only makes you squirm more, searching for some kind of relief. When he finally gets to your lips, you expect he’s going to tease you again. You’re wrong. Again. His tongue dives into your pussy while his other hand keeps you spread open. This man knows what he’s doing and it’s immediately more than you’re expecting. You can’t stop your legs from snapping closed to box him in. That is, until he pulls his hands off you to spread your legs wide again, giving him the best access to you. It’s clear that he’s in charge and he wants you to know it.
It’s everything you can do not to thrash around, but Wonwoo seems to be ready to help there. He’s got a hand on your stomach anchoring you down to the bed. You’re not even sure how he’s got enough hands to move them along your body the way he seems to. Without warning, he moves his mouth up to pay attention to your clit. And he doesn’t give you a break, sliding two fingers into you and immediately scissoring them open. He sets a brutal pace, curling his fingers to hit you where he seems to know you need him on some of the passes.
“Fuck, Wonwoo, oh my god, fuck,” you scream out.
“You gonna come for me, baby?” he sneers at you from between your legs.
“Yes, fuck,” you moan. “Your fingers, oh my god.”
“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans.
In the next moment, you’re coming so hard you squirt over those amazing fingers of his. Your vision whites out around the edges and your toes are curling. It’s all you can do to catch your breath as Wonwoo’s fingers pump through the high.
“I don’t remember the last time I came that hard,” you admit.
“We’re not done yet,” he shares and the tone of his voice has you nearly clenching your legs together. “Turn over. Get on your hands and knees.”
“So bossy,” you say with a roll of your eyes. You turn over anyway, though, and put your ass in the air.
“This is a really good fucking view,” he says. You feel the bed dip when he gets back in place after removing his boxers.
Wonwoo has one hand on your hip and the other is running up your back to press you down further. To help you get that perfect arch of your back. You wiggle your ass at him and are rewarded with a stinging smack. Your moan is muffled by the pillow, so you turn your head to the side. Already know he wants to hear you. When he smacks your other ass check, you nearly scream out.
“That’s it, I want to hear you,” he encourages.
“Please, Wonwoo, just fuck me already,” you beg.
“One orgasm wasn’t enough?” he asks and you can hear the cockiness in his voice. Bringing a ringing smack down on your ass again. You scream out at the sting.
“No, I want you to split me open,” you whine. In any other situation you might be embarrassed by the admission, but not now. Not with him. Not when it’s so clearly turning him on.
“Greedy little thing,” he comments. His fingers press into your cunt again and you nearly yelp.
There’s no time to adjust when Wonwoo removes his fingers and immediately lines himself up at your entrance. With one snap of his hips, he’s fully inside you and you’re hissing. He’s bigger than you were guessing, even with the outline in his boxers. And he doesn’t give you a break as he starts fucking you hard. All you can hear is the sound of his skin slapping against yours and the mingled moans from both of you. You’re sensitive from both the pace and the earlier orgasm. Your legs feel like they would collapse under you if they could.
As if the pace isn’t enough, Wonwoo snakes an arm around you to reach for your clit, rubbing circles into it at the same pace as his thrusts. You can tell he’s nowhere near close, but you’re about to lose control again and you’re not sure how to stop it.
“Fuck, Wonwoo, slower, I’m going to - fuck!” you whine out.
“You gonna come again? So soon, baby?” he taunts.
“I can’t - fuck, please,” you beg. “I’m so close.”
“I want you to make a mess of my dick the same way you made a mess of my fingers,” Wonwoo directs.
“But you haven’t…” you start and Wonwoo removes his hand from your clit. You cry out at the loss until his other hand grabs your hair to yank you back against his chest. When it’s clear you’re not going to move, his hand moves from your hair to your throat.
“I want you to come for me. Right now. Show me how good I feel inside that tight pussy,” he directs.
It’s one of the most surprising reactions, the way your body immediately responds to him. He’s got you coming just as hard as the first time and he doesn’t give you a chance to second guess any of it. As the shocks rip through your body, you notice that Wonwoo does slow down his thrusts. Doesn’t pull out of you, though. You collapse forward and arch your back again so it’s easier to meet Wonwoo’s continued pace.
“You’re so good at listening,” he praises.
“Not usually,” you mumble into the pillow through the haze.
“I must be special,” he says as he lazily fucks into you.
“Jesus Wonwoo, you can fuck me. I know you haven’t finished yet,” you grumble.
“In a rush to go somewhere?” he teases.
“No, but it must be…well, I don’t know. Hard for you,” you mumble into the sheets.
“I’ve got excellent control,” Wonwoo says, all confidence. “I’m not in a rush to end this.”
Despite your instance, he continues to lazily snap his hips into you. It’s so slow, way too slow. He reaches down to pull you up against his chest again, still keeping the pace. His hands are on your breasts, squeezing them to anchor you to him. He rolls one of your nipples roughly between his fingers to see what he gets as a reaction. Your moan seems to spur him on further. Each time pain shoots through some part of your body, it only seems to turn you on more. It’s easy to forget why you agreed to this in the first place.
For all the demands, Wonwoo is actually very attentive as well. He peppers kisses from behind your ear all the way down your shoulder and back, paying special attention to the areas that seem to get the best response from you. He’s also careful with where he nips you, never biting hard enough to leave a mark somewhere that couldn’t be easily hidden. The entire experience has been so all-consuming that there isn’t space for any other thoughts in your head. It’s just him and this hotel room that’s entirely too fancy.
He must feel that you’re starting to get worked up because he pushes you back down into the bed. His pace finally picks up again, which is good because you’re sprinting towards being too sore to actually enjoy it anymore. The pace gets much faster again, not nearly as rhythmic as before. His fingers dig into your hips as he thrusts. It’s the first time it actually feels like he’s losing control.
“Oh my god,” you cry out. “I’m gonna come again. Oh my god!”
“Me too,” he groans through a stuttered breath. “Fuck, where can I come?”
“I don’t care,” you cry out. You’re about to have your third orgasm. “On my back, on my ass, I don’t fucking care, just come with me.”
You press a finger to your clit to try and help you over that last bit to tumble over the edge so that Wonwoo can chase his own relief. The second your body starts shaking, you feel him pull out. He must pump his cock a few times because there’s a slight delay before you feel something hit your back. You feel a little proud with how much cum you feel on your skin, like maybe he was a little more affected by you than he wanted to let on.
As soon as Wonwoo lays down next to you on the bed, you also collapse onto your side. The bed is soft, but your knees are still a little sore from spending so much time on them. Wonwoo immediately pulls you into him so that he can kiss you breathless. His hand is behind your head, keeping you from pulling away. The chemistry between the two of you is intense. Not something you were prepared for. It’s clear that if one of you doesn’t stop, then you’ll be fucking him again. And your body needs a break.
“I should get cleaned up,” you say when you pull back, more than slightly breathless.
“Let me just get cleaned up a little and then you can take a shower,” he says.
He presses a kiss to your temple and then gets up off the bed. There’s no point in pretending you aren’t watching him as he walks to the bathroom. He’s all lean lines and unexpected muscles. Nobody should be allowed to look the way he does, to look so good that Greek gods would be jealous. And yet here he is.
A few minutes later, he emerges from the bathroom and arches an eyebrow at you. There’s a towel slung low around his hips in a way that should be a sin. “You’re going to make me think that you want more.”
“I don’t even know if I’m going to be able to stand,” you joke as an answer.
It surprises you a little when he comes over to the bed and helps you up. That is, until you see the way his eyes take you in. There’s nothing soft there, only predatory. Like you’re a meal he wants to return to. Your brain still feels a little slow to catch up, but registers something like he’s analyzing you. Still, he helps you get to the bathroom, points out the toiletries, and then disappears back into the room.
By the time you’re clean and wrapped in the softest bathrobe you’ve ever worn, Wonwoo is sitting at the table wearing shorts and his glasses with nothing else. He’s scrolling absently through his phone and picking at some snacks that hadn’t been there when you had gone to shower. You didn’t think you’d been in there long, so it’s surprising he was able to get something up so quickly. When he notices you’re out of the bathroom, he indicates the food.
“I ordered us some snacks and they were happy to get them up here quickly,” he says.
You take a seat across from him a little apprehensively. This is the part that you hadn’t really considered. How do you excuse yourself from the situation in a way that ensures you’ll see him again? It’s not that you want to have a repeat, though there’s part of your brain that is not opposed like you should be. It’s just…well with the room and the toiletries and the fast room service, you’re sure that this is the man you’re looking for. Which, admittedly, might make things a little complicated. But, you do have a job to do.
“I guess I am hungry,” you admit and reach for something.
“Glad you’re not going to make me eat alone,” he muses.
“You already paid for dinner and drinks, I wasn’t expecting more treats,” you admit.
“Seems fitting after the mindblowing sex,” he says and watches you, a clear glint to his eyes. “I can’t get over how insanely hot it was to watch you squirt for me.”
Your cheeks redden without your permission. He’s so free with admitting it even with the moment having passed. Maybe he’s more trouble than you realized.
“Seems like I wasn’t the only one to enjoy myself if my back is any indication,” you toss out.
“I really enjoyed the way you told me I could come on your back,” he shares.
“And my ass,” you remind him.
“I got that too,” he reminds you. “And what a nice ass it is.”
“Careful or I’ll ask you to blow my back out again,” you say, voice slightly betraying that you’re affected by his very presence.
“That makes me think you were going to head out and never see me again,” Wonwoo ventures.
“I haven’t decided yet,” you say, trying to be coy.
Wonwoo fixes you with a stare that you can’t quite decipher. It nearly makes you squirm under the intensity. Is he just like that? The kind of person that does everything with that burning look in his eyes.
“Let me ask you something, Agent,” he begins and your mouth runs dry. You do everything you can not to let him know that you’re a second away from losing it. “Do you fuck all your targets? Or am I special?”
The way he smirks at you lets you know that he knows he’s onto something. Knows exactly who you are. Or maybe who you work for, at least. He’s made you and you’re not entirely sure you’re safe anymore. You’re also not entirely sure what the best move is. Probably take half a second too long to decide if his face is any indication.
“Agent? Target?” you laugh out. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t you?” he presses. “Really, we shouldn’t be lying to each other so early in the relationship.”
“I’m here doing…” you start.
“Research, yes. That’s what you said. And you almost had me when it took so long to run into you again. Your Spanish is flawless. It doesn’t sound like someone that learned at some secret agency. You’re much better at languages than any of the other agents that have come after me. And waiting so long to meet me again, genius. It really had me second guessing who you were,” he says. “But then, you made a mistake. Do you know what it was?”
“Going on a date with someone that’s clearly a little delusional?” you ventured. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, I think you do,” he says, confident. “I’ll tell you where you fucked up. It was dinner tonight. No, not something you said or did because you were shockingly smooth with it. It’s that you agreed to it at all. I suggested a place no researcher would ever go to. Because it used to be the site of a religious monument, but it fell into disrepair. A local crime family took it over. Only locals bother going there, but no researcher ever would.”
Your heart sinks. Through all your research and all your planning, you knew that you would never be able to get everything. There just wasn’t the time. So, you had to hope that the person you were chasing wouldn’t notice any small missteps. Or would write them off with your cover story. What you had not planned for was this. In all your careful consideration, you had not planned to go on a date with the art thief himself. He had you and he knew it. It’s hard to see the right path out of this.
It had been a gamble to get close to him the way you had. A gamble that you questioned taking and took anyway. A gamble you took without clearing it with Seungcheol. Usually, getting close to a target this way, you talk to him to make sure that he thinks it’s a good idea too. Make sure that this kind of move will fit the profile for the person that you’re chasing. This time, you’re flying blind. You had gotten a little ahead of yourself. A little sloppy. This isn’t the type of work you’re known for. It’s not the reason that you were sent down to Buenos Aires to chase him on a secret mission.
“One mistake,” you sigh with a shake of your head.
“Yeah, just the one,” he agrees.
“So why did you invite me back here?” you ask.
Wonwoo shrugs. “I’m curious about you.”
“Curious? You risked inviting me back to your actual hotel room over curiosity?” you ask, looking around.
“Who’s to say this is actually my room?” he says with another casual shrug. You clock it on his face as soon as he says it.
“No, it is your actual room. The comfort, the speed of the room service, the way things are laid out. It’s not staged. This is just where you’re staying,” you observe. That makes him smile in a way you’re not expecting.
“Good eye,” he agrees. “Now for my question. Do you fuck all your targets?”
“No,” you say shortly.
“Why even agree to go on a date with me, then?” he presses.
You sigh and sit further back into your chair. Take a piece of fruit from the table to buy yourself some time. “I don’t know. It wasn’t a good decision, obviously. I wasn’t even sure you were my target. There was just…something about you.”
“So you’ve never fucked a target before? I’m special?” he asks with a smirk.
“I didn’t say that,” you respond. “I just don’t usually fuck a target without clearing it first.”
“Who knows you’re here with me?” he asks.
“Nobody,” you answer. It’s too honest.
You’re not sure if you should have admitted that and even less sure if he’ll believe you. It is the truth, though. Nobody in the world knows where you are right now. It’s kind of a crossroads for you because Wonwoo isn’t dangerous. He’s never been violent, as far as your information shows. Despite being physically separated from your bag, you’re not exactly unarmed. And yes, he does look like he’s in shape, but you’re still confident that you can take him if it comes to that. Once again, your mind is running through a million calculations a second as you realize you definitely should have talked to Seungcheol.
“I’m trying to figure you out,” he admits.
“How’s that going?” you ask sarcastically.
“Not as well as it would normally,” he says. It’s something else that’s honest between the two of you. More honest than you’re expecting. “Most people are too easy to figure out. It’s boring. Nothing about you makes sense to me.”
“And what about me is so difficult for you to figure out?” you ask, still lacing your words with sarcasm.
“You know, despite me figuring out that you’re after me, you’re actually the best agent that they’ve ever sent. You fit into your role seamlessly. You’re just the right amount of charming. You blend into your surroundings because you don’t try to do anything to dull yourself. Against my better judgment, I am impressed. And yet, you still decided to come on the date. You’re clearly the best they have and you’re still here,” he says, gaze soft but analytical on you.
“I’m going to keep my mouth shut,” you say carefully.
“Why?” he asks.
“You disarm me,” you admit. “I know so much about you and yet, here I am. Unwilling to leave even though you know what I’m here to do.”
“Do you still want to turn me in?” he asks.
“Are you going to disappear into the wind the second I walk out that door?” you counter.
He regards you for a moment. A moment too long, really. It makes you squirm in your seat. This isn’t going at all how you would have imagined. “No.”
“Why?” you ask.
“Because I’m waiting to see how this whole thing plays out. You haven’t said that you want to turn me in. I can see you’re conflicted about it. So, I’m going to see how this plays out,” he answers. He holds up a hand when you open your mouth. Seems to predict you’re going to ask why again. “Because…okay, look. I know this is really weird. I know you’re here to try and find me. But, you’re actually interesting and that sex was fucking good. So, I don’t know, call me cocky. I’m not ready to let you walk away just yet.”
“If I can walk at all,” you grumble.
“You were walking just fine from the bathroom. Maybe I need to really make sure you can’t walk,” he muses.
The eye contact is too much and you turn your head away. You’re positive he’s onto you, especially when you carefully cross your legs. It’s just that he’s right, isn’t he? You can sit here and pretend that you only slept with him to keep him close while you tried to figure him out. Can say that it was all just part of the job and you didn’t enjoy it. Can say that you wanted to take a different approach since nobody else has been able to catch him.
That’s also very clearly a lie.
Seungcheol likes to know what his agents are up to, particularly when it comes to agents like you that deal with secret missions. Since you started as friends before he had to retire to his desk, he’s also very protective of you. He hates it when you suggest using your charm on a target like this. So, no, this isn’t just another target. This is something else entirely. You have to admit that you actually enjoyed it. That you would like to do it again. That you actually don’t even want to leave his room because you’re not convinced you’ll ever see him again. Which is really stupid, isn’t it? You should not care if you never see him again. Unless it means that you failed your mission. That’s not why you’re worrying about never seeing him again, though.
Just as you’re about to open your mouth and say something else, your phone chirps from your bag. It’s a sign. You know it is. The sound is tied to Seungcheol. Which means he’s looking for a check-in. Which means you’re late, something that never happens with you. You’re standing up to get your phone before even realizing it. Wonwoo’s eyes track your movements.
Cheol: hope you’re enjoying your trip! Send pictures when you can
It’s code. Sent through a normal message so that it doesn’t look suspicious. And so that it gives you the chance to ignore it if you’re not in a place where you can answer him. You don’t even hear Wonwoo approach as you’re mentally calculating how to respond to this.
“Is that code?” he asks and you nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of his low voice by your ear. God, nobody should have a voice like his.
“It’s my handler, I guess you could say,” you answer.
“Are you going to call him?” he asks.
“He’ll worry if I don’t,” you say and realize it’s true.
Wonwoo steps around you to grab his own phone and then returns to his position at the table. “I’ll be quiet if you want to call.”
There’s something kind of hot about how he says it. Like he doesn’t actually want to let you leave. Or like it’s an order to stay. You’re not sure if you’re reading too much into it. When you look over at him, his eyes are on his phone, but his lips turn up in a smile. He knows your eyes are on him and he’s still playing a game. A game that you just might lose, for the first time in your life.
With a sigh, you shake your head and just fire off a text in response. You don’t have it in you to call Seungcheol and you also aren’t exactly sure what to say. He’s always been able to read your tone like it’s his own. After telling him you might have a lead, he’s going to know something is wrong. This is going to be a problem.
You: it’s been amazing, i’m loving each new thing i get to see in person. I’ll have some pictures to show you tomorrow!
It’s a signal that you’re not going to have anything new to share with him tonight and not to contact you again until you check in the next day. You’re not really sure if this is the right decision, but you need time to clear your head. This is the only way that you can see getting that. It’s too hard to think about making a decision when Wonwoo is still half naked and looking at you like you’re prey. At least you can assume that you could take him if you needed to. Thankfully, he’s not really looking at you like that kind of prey.
“I’ll call him tomorrow,” you say.
“And what will you do tonight?” Wonwoo asks, looking up at you.
“I’m all yours, at least for tonight,” you say.
You’re surprised the look he gives you doesn’t melt you into the floor. “I can work with that.”
The next day brings more confusion than the night before. At least you’re back in your own hotel room and out of the intoxicating orbit of Wonwoo. The downside is that you couldn’t leave his bed without agreeing to lunch plans with him. Both of you wanted to get breakfast together, but hadn’t been able to get out of bed in time for that. You turned down his offer to just buy you new clothes so you wouldn’t have to leave his sight. Thankfully, he does seem to understand that you need a minute to process everything in the last 24 hours. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind.
That’s not what you need to focus on right now, though. You don’t have any more messages from Seungcheol, which is what you expected. Still, you need to call him before he doesn’t something to check on you. Like sending Chan to your hotel with some made up story. You don’t want to put anyone in that position. You also don’t really know what you’re going to say. When you left Wonwoo’s hotel room, he made it clear: the choice was yours. He wants to see you again and he also knows that he’s asking a lot. Too much, probably. So, he’s giving you a choice. If you show up at lunch to meet him, then you’re at least willing to get to know him a little more before deciding anything. If you stand him up, then he’ll know you can’t agree to that. It’s a major gamble for him because you know what he looks like and his real name. You have more than you need to put an end to years of his hard work.
Nothing in your life has prepared you for this. Not really. Sure, you train for missions and you perfect your skills. But, emotions have never been part of it. It’s always been so easy to separate your humanity from your job. Kind of like you just switch of anything that makes you normal and go into mission-mode. You once compared it to being an actor because you’re just playing a part. None of it is real and none of it is really your decision. This is uncharted territory for you.
Once you catch your breath, you pull a device out of the secret pocket in your bag so that you can connect it to your phone. It’ll scramble the signals and make the line secure so that you can call Seungcheol. It’s a bit of normalcy that you’re craving in the madness around you.
“Finally, I’ve been worried,” Seungcheol answers.
“I answered you right away,” you point out.
“Yes, to say that you would not be calling me,” Seungcheol presses and you sigh.
“Because I don’t have anything new to report,” you say without even realizing when you made the decision. The lie flows so easily. “I’ve been cataloging everything on everyone I see at the museums and galleries. Cross checking the names coming into the country. Surveying anyone that sticks out as I check things out.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Seungcheol cuts in.
“I’m here to find him, though,” you point out. You’re not sure why you’re doing this.
“I know,” he says. “But, I’d rather you be safe.”
“I’m always safe,” you lie. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to pick up on it.
“I know, but I also know you’re competitive,” he says. “Remember, we’ve already sent no less than 6 teams to find him and they’ve all failed.”
“I don’t fail, though. That’s why you sent me,” you say. You’re not even sure why you’re arguing with him.
“Just be careful. What happened with that lead you thought you had?” he asks.
“A dead end,” you say with a practiced sigh. “Does the intelligence say he’s still in the city?”
“I can’t imagine he’d leave without taking anything,” Seungcheol says.
“Good point,” you say. “I’ll keep looking.”
“Do you want me to send back-up?” he asks.
“It’s your mission,” you say noncommittally. “If you think it’ll help and we can still fly under the radar, then by all means.”
“I was thinking of Chan since he’s still kind of in the area,” he says.
“Ah, yeah, I’m not sure,” you admit.
“You’re right, I know. I do want you to formally meet him soon, though. But, definitely not mid-mission,” he agrees. “Just be careful and keep me updated. If it goes on too long, we’ll just pull you. Maybe he got spooked.”
“Yeah, that works,” you agree.
“See you when you’re back,” he says.
“See you,” you answer and hang up.
It feels awful to lie to him, of all people. He’s one of the only people that you’ve ever trusted in your life. The only one that knows exactly who you are, knows all your demons, and still accepts you. He knows just how many people are six feet under because of you, knows the ways you’ve had to use your body, knows the lies you’ve told and the people you’ve hurt, both physically and emotionally. He knows all your scars and he accepts it. Because you know all his scars, too. It sucks to lie to him.
Sometimes they say that indecision is still a decision. That’s where you are now. You can say that you haven’t made a decision about what you’re going to do with Wonwoo. You can say that you’re waiting for more information. But, in a way, you’ve made at least one decision in his favor. You didn’t tell Seungcheol that your lead turned out to be the art thief himself. No. Instead, you’re showering and getting ready to meet him again, about to make yet another decision. Maybe you were always going to agree to lunch rather than stand him up. He’s got a lot to lose here too. It’s far more complicated than it should be.
Your head is a little in the clouds by the time you leave your room to head down to the lobby and out into the comfortable winter air. If you spend a little more time than strictly necessary making sure you look nice, well that’s your business. The only drawback is that you don’t have Wonwoo’s phone number, at your own insistence, and so he may think you decided to stand him up. That worry lasts as long as it takes for you to reach the lobby. That’s where you see him, sitting casually in an armchair with his eyes locked on you. There’s no reason for the way your heart skips over such a simple outfit. It’s just a t-shirt and a leather jacket. Why are you nearly losing your mind?
“What are you doing here?” you ask and he gives you the most charming smile you’ve ever seen. It probably even puts your own smile to shame.
“I took a chance that you would decide in my favor,” he says and stands up.
“Confident,” you say, “but still, I was supposed to meet you at the restaurant since I hadn’t decided.”
“It’s a date. I’m picking you up,” he says and surprises you by placing a gentle kiss on your cheek .
“Isn’t that chivalrous of you,” you comment while trying to convince your heart to stop beating out of your chest.
“Shall we?” he asks and motions for you to walk ahead of him.
The chivalry doesn’t stop at picking you up at your hotel, unfortunately for you. He opens the door and then gently takes your hand. There’s a hand on your back when you step around him. He puts himself between you and any traffic. It’s the best anyone has ever treated you and you hate that you’re even noticing that. Now, you’re thinking that you should have stood him up for an entirely different reason.
Lunch feels like the most normal thing in the world. The real reason for being in this beautiful city doesn’t come up at all. Instead, you talk about life and interests. The type of music and food that you like. What you do in your free time. It’s exactly what you imagine first or second dates to be like. Not that you have much experience with actually dating.
It only gets deeper from there with Wonwoo telling you more about himself. Not about how he really makes money, but it certainly helps you understand how he got involved and how he stays under the radar. As it turns out, he comes from a lot of money. He doesn’t say it in a way that sounds like he’s bragging. It makes sense, though. Everything about him screams old money, which fits the profile you put together. The way he carries himself, the way he speaks, the way he dresses. It doesn’t feel like someone that’s made his money from stealing art. You learn that he’s involved in a lot of charities, which surprises you a bit. You also learn that he sponsors students in a video game design program in his home country. There’s so much more to him than stealing art. In fact, that seems to be such a small part of who he is. It’s more than a little surprising, which is odd since it’s usually so hard to surprise you. It’s clear that he’s grown up around art. All this time and he’s just been hiding in plain sight.
The two of you sit at lunch for so long that the servers finally, very politely, indicate that it’s time to leave. It’s never been this easy to sit with someone in your entire life. It’s a level of comfort that you should absolutely not feel with someone like Wonwoo. But, you can’t help it. You can’t help the way you feel around him. Can’t really fight the feelings that keep threatening to bubble up.
The roads aren’t nearly as busy when you walk back towards your hotel. Even though it’s a tourist city, it still quiets down in the mid-afternoon when the local businesses close down. The tourists seem to use the time to also relax or take advantage of certain monuments being quieter. It lends itself to the comfortable silence that settles around you and Wonwoo on the walk.
When you reach the lobby, you turn to face Wonwoo and your breath catches a little. The sun in July isn’t as strong, but it still provides a backlight like he’s some sort of dark angel. Which sounds insane, even if your head. There have been so many beautiful people in your life, yet this is the one that has you forgetting how to put words together. It’s like he knows exactly what you’re thinking when he steps into your space and takes your face in his hands. He kisses you so fiercely that you forget your name. It’s the kind of kiss that doesn’t look like much from the outside, but changes your entire world on the inside.
“Well how am I supposed to go back to my room and leave you now?” you ask against his lips when he pulls back. You can feel the smile on his own lips when he kisses you again.
“Isn’t it obvious?” he whispers.
“No,” you whisper back and kiss him again.
“I don’t want you to leave me,” he says.
That makes you pull back sharply so that you can search his face. Does he realize how that sounds? It makes you wonder if he means more than just tonight. What is he trying to do to you? How many ways can one man make you reconsider everything you stand for? Nothing about his face looks smug or even insincere. In fact, he looks the way you imagine you feel. A little smitten and a lot unsure of what to do next.
“And what would I do instead?” you ask, though you have an idea where he’s going.
“Go pack a bag of some of your things and come stay with me for the next few days,” he requests. It’s just bordering on a demand, even though it’s clearly your call.
“Are you crazy? We barely know each other,” you protest without much heat.
“What better way to get to know each other?” he counters. He grabs your hips, pulling you close to his body so he can wrap his arms around you. “And think about it. I can see you’re still not sure what you want to do. If you’re with me, you’ll know where I am at all times. I can’t get into any trouble while you’re still deciding.”
“I suppose you do make a point,” you concede.
“I have never done anything this reckless in my life. So, I’m just asking for a chance,” he shares.
It’s a little insane for him to say this is the most reckless thing he’s done in his life. Surely, stealing art is crazier than this. Which would make you lean towards not believing him if it weren’t for the voice in the back of your head. That little voice that agrees with him. You’ve put your life in danger more times than you can count, but saying yes to the man in front of you feels like the most dangerous idea yet. Maybe it’s because you know it’s not your body you’re putting on the line, but your heart. And maybe, just maybe, that’s what he means too. That he’s never taken the chance to chase someone like this. Or maybe you just want to believe that you might be special.
All you can do is nod at him and watch the smile that breaks across his face. It’s honest, unguarded. It’s real. There’s nothing behind it except genuine happiness that you agreed to spend the next few days with him. Before you can second guess your decision, you give him one more kiss and nearly run up to your room.
Being separated from him gives you the chance to actually catch your breath. To focus on what you need to bring with you. Since, apparently, you’re not going to reconsider if this is actually a good idea or not. You know you should. You know that this is another one of those moments that you chalk up to indecision when your actual decision could not be any louder. Again, you’re reminded of what you’re doing here. What you’re supposed to be doing here. This man is your enemy. He’s the person you’re supposed to be arresting and bringing into The Agency to face sentencing. You’re a good agent. You always put the mission ahead of yourself, your thoughts, your beliefs, or even your relationships. This isn’t a version of yourself that you recognize and it should stop you in your tracks.
Instead, you decide which dress to pack away and what pair of shoes looks best. For the first time in your life, you’re diving in first and asking questions later. Or never.
It shouldn’t be surprising that you end up naked in Wonwoo’s bed minutes after crossing the threshold to his hotel room. Not with how things have gone so far for the two of you. Yet, what is surprising is that the sex is even better than the night before. You’re catching your breath, tucked into Wonwoo’s side, body tacky with sweat but so impossibly happy. His hand that’s around you absently traces patterns into your skin. It’s honestly like you’ve known him for years. It’s insane to realize how comfortable you feel when that’s not something you ever experience. Not like this.
It’s also shocking to you how much this man wants to share with you. He carries on your chats from lunch as if he hadn’t just fucked you into his mattress yet again. Like this means more than some dirty sex holed up in a hotel in a foreign city. Makes you feel like you might actually mean something to him, which is a very dangerous feeling to have. Both of you know that this can’t mean more than what it is. At least, you think you know that and you think he might too. But, there’s a clear understanding that you won’t talk about it. Not now, at least.
Wonwoo decides that he wants to take you somewhere fancy for dinner. The type of place that you would never consider going to while on a mission. Though, you’re always prepared for anything. When you were packing up your things in your hotel room, you even grabbed a couple nicer dresses. All they needed was a quick steam, which the hotel staff had been only too happy to accommodate. Any protests about it being too much fell on deaf ears. He was set and the two of you were going to a famous restaurant. All you had to do was shower and get ready. Your dress would be ready by the time you needed it.
It’s clear you don’t really understand the limits to Wonwoo’s wealth, if there even are any, when you arrive at the restaurant. It’s the kind of place where you usually need reservations well in advance. It’s not the kind of place you can just show up at. Despite that, the host leads you back to a semi-private area where you’re tucked into a corner booth. It’s clearly one of the nicest tables in the place. You think you catch Wonwoo sliding the host something when he shakes their hand before he turns back to you. All thoughts go out the window when he slides in right next to you, not leaving any space.
Wonwoo’s Spanish really is very remedial and so you help him decipher the menu and order. It gives you pause when there aren’t prices anywhere on the menu, but he’s quick to wave off any concerns. Insists that it’s his treat. You don’t want to think that’s something you could get used to. It isn’t like you have any real trouble affording nice things. Your salary is high and you don’t have much to spend money on. This is a different level, though. It’s even different from the times you’ve gone on a mission and charmed your target. That always feels temporary. Like you’re something of an imposter. You don’t get those feelings here with Wonwoo.
Letting him pick out which outfit you wore may have been a mistake. You discover this once you get your drinks and the waiter leaves you alone. His hand rests possessively on your thigh, against the bare skin of your leg exposed by the slit in your dress. His body is angled towards you and he’s encouraging you to continue telling your story. But, he has to know he’s distracting, too, with the way his hand slides further up your thigh. What started as arguably innocent ventures quickly into dangerous territory.
“You were saying?” he prompts. His hand is inside the fabric of your dress now, keeping you from pressing your thighs together like you want to.
“I, uh…” you stutter as he digs his hand into the soft flesh there. “Wonwoo, aren’t you worried?”
“About what?” he asks innocently.
“Getting caught,” you hiss and look down at your lap.
“No, sweetheart, I’m not worried,” he says and you glare at him, “because you’re going to be good for me and be quiet.”
“I don’t know…” you start and stop as soon as his pinky grazes along your entrance through your panties. “Fuck.”
“Doesn’t seem like you actually want me to stop,” he points out.
“I, fuck, you know I don’t but there are people,” you say softly.
“I paid good money for this table. I don’t think we’ll be disturbed,” he tells you.
“I…” you start. When he pulls his finger away, you nearly whine.
“I need to hear you say you want it,” he says.
“What?” you ask, a little louder than you intended.
“Use your words,” he directs and you glare.
“Fuck you,” you hiss, earning a chuckle out of him.
“Not yet,” he retorts.
“Fine, yes. I want your fingers inside me here in this damn restaurant,” you say.
He’s expecting this answer. It’s written all over his face. This time, he doesn’t tease you. Doesn’t waste any time because you may not have much of it. He simply pushes your panties to the side and slides his first finger into you. The angle doesn’t make it easy but his fingers are long and slender, like they were built for something like this. It’s hard to keep from making a sound, so you try to do anything to distract yourself from the way he pumps into you. Or the way he adds a second finger so quickly.
When you pick up your drink to take a sip from the straw, you watch his eyes on you. They seem to darken the second that you wrap your lips around the straw. His fingers pump into you even faster. And his lips are demanding on yours when you set the drink back down. You moan softly into his mouth without really considering if anyone is paying attention or if they can hear you. His tongue tangles with yours frantically while he tries to get you off right in that booth.
This is new for you. You definitely didn’t think you would get so turned on by the fact that anyone could walk back over to see what you were doing. Anyone could hear the noises you’re making. Anyone could figure it out. When he feels that your pussy clenching around his fingers, he pulls away from the kiss. Leans his forehead against yours so that he can whisper filthy things in the space between you. Tells you how good you feel and how he loves watching you when you’re about to come. Moans about how tight you are. How pliant you are for him. Reminds you to be quiet. Tells you he can’t wait to taste you on his fingers. That’s what finally pushes you over the edge.
Your fingers grip the edge of the booth underneath you as you come hard and fast. He lazily guides you through it and then follows through by bringing his fingers to his lips. It’s so hot that you consider asking if you can just leave and go back to the room to be fucked properly. But, then your stomach rumbles and you think better of it. It’s only another few minutes before the first course arrives with a slightly knowing look from the waiter. After that first course, you excuse yourself to the bathroom to clean up, at least a little. You deem your panties ruined and just remove them, tucking them away into your bag. You’ll have to be a little more careful the rest of the night.
This dinner is somehow even better than the first and it has nothing to do with the place being expensive, though the food is definitely amazing. You also don’t think it really has anything to do with the way Wonwoo fingered you under the table. That’s definitely a first for you. Exhibitionism hasn’t been your thing before, but maybe he’s got you learning new things about yourself. It had only taken him a minute to realize that you weren’t wearing underwear anymore. It definitely took him another minute to regain his composure.
The thing that actually makes this dinner better than the first is the man across from you. With his walls down, the entire night just feels that much more. It’s one of the only times you’ve ever felt your own guard come down. It’s not smart and you don’t care. You think you probably look a little punch drunk to anyone that can see your table. Then, you meet Wonwoo’s eyes again and think he probably looks the same. You never really have the chance to enjoy dates, but even if you did, this would still probably top them all. It’s all the little things. The way Wonwoo carefully brushes a strand of hair out of your face. The way he offers you a bite off his own plate when you say it looks good. The way he brings your knuckles up to his lips and presses feather light kisses to them.
“Are you going to insist on ordering dessert here too?” you ask after the main course.
“I was thinking we might have dessert back in our room,” he says and you raise an eyebrow.
“Our room?” you question.
“Don’t test me,” he cautions.
“I wouldn’t dare,” you say and lean into him to press a slow kiss to his cheek. Your hand brushes over his lap as a way to get closer.
“Is this you not testing me?” he asks when your hand brushes across his lap again.
“What? You can make me come on your fingers but I can’t tease you a little?” you ask innocently.
Wonwoo grabs your hand and anchors it on your own thigh. “We’re getting out of here and then you can show your appreciation however you want. We don’t need to give them more of a show.”
It seems like it takes an eternity to pay the bill (which Wonwoo doesn’t let you see) and get a cab back to the hotel. The promise of something else simmers between you the entire time. Wonwoo keeps a hand on you the entire time. A hand on your lower back out of the restaurant, fingers intertwined with yours in the cab, an arm around you walking into the hotel. When you get into the elevator, he pulls you back against his chest as more people join. He masks it as affection and presses a kiss to your cheek, but you feel the desire beneath it.
The moment you cross into the room, you slip out of your shoes and turn around to press a kiss to Wonwoo’s lips. The tension between the two of you is thick and it’s hard to remind yourself to come up for a breath. He overwhelms every one of your senses. There’s nothing but him in every corner of your brain when he kisses you like that.
It’s almost embarrassing when he breaks the kiss and you chase his lips. “How about dessert?”
“I thought that was just your way of saying…” you start and he directs your attention to the table. There’s an assortment of fruit, whipped cream, and melted chocolate there.
You’re a little hesitant when he starts to walk to the table. It just feels incredibly intimate, which is true for a lot of what's happened with Wonwoo. But, this still feels different. It feels like more, once again. Wonwoo realizes that you’re not behind him and turns back to you. He closes the space between you yet again and places a hand on your cheek, impossibly soft.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” he asks.
“I’ve never done…this,” you say softly into the quiet between you and him.
“Pretty sure we’ve already fucked several times,” Wonwoo says to lighten the mood.
“No, I mean, this…I don’t know. The desserts and the whipped cream and chocolate. It just feels, I don’t know, intimate,” you admit.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he assures you.
It’s absolutely insane that you’re hesitating. It doesn’t have to be some super intimate thing. It’s not like Wonwoo hasn’t already seen every inch of you and gotten to know your body better than anyone should in that period of time. But, this is far beyond the point where you can convince yourself any part of this is for the mission anymore. This isn’t just to keep him close. This is no longer indecision, as much as you want to pretend that it is.
“Is this your go-to move, then? Have a bunch of sweets delivered to the hotel room and seduce people with being all gentle?” you ask.
“I’ve definitely never done this before,” he says and it’s too honest.
Instead of answering him you just kiss him because it’s the only answer you can think of. Somehow, knowing that this is different for him too makes it feel less overwhelming for you. You drag him back towards the table until you’re leaning against it. Your back arches into him as he licks into your mouth. His hands wrap around you to keep you tight against his body. He pulls away again and you’re ready for it this time.
Wonwoo reaches an arm behind you and dips a strawberry in some of the chocolate. He brings it to your lips and watches intently as you get your mouth around it. The first bite sends a little bit of juice and chocolate over your lips. Just as you’re about to wipe it away, Wonwoo pulls the remainder of the strawberry back and kisses it away. It’s like that one action unlocks any hang ups you have. You twist around to scoop up some whipped cream with your finger. Your eyes lock on Wonwoo as you slowly lick it off. With it still in your mouth, you kiss him hard, enjoying the way your tongues dance and the tastes.
The two of you take turns dipping fruit and feeding it to each other. The kisses become more and more desperate in between feeding each other. It’s a little messy, though, so you unbutton Wonwoo’s shirt and slide it off his arms. He undoes your dress to slide it off your body, removing your bra along the way. You rid him of his pants and briefs as well so that you’re not the only one standing there naked.
When you reach back to get more fruit, Wonwoo grabs your hand to stop you. There’s a question in your eyes that he leaves unanswered as he moves things out of the way behind you. Then, he’s sitting you on the edge of the table and reaching for the whipped cream, which also answers your question. He puts some of the topping on your breast and sucks into your skin to lick it off you. Your legs part on their own as you lean back on the table to encourage him to get closer. He swirls his tongue around your nipple before softly nipping at your skin. Without warning, he bites into the flesh of your breast and laves over the spot to soothe you.
Food should not be this sexy. Maybe it’s just that it’s Wonwoo tempting you, but you’ve never been this turned on. His tongue is everywhere across your breasts and your stomach. Covering you in kisses while also licking the whipped cream or chocolate off of you. Your nails scratch down his back each time he nips into your skin. Somehow the sensations are everywhere all at once. You wrap your legs around his waist to anchor him closer to you.
“I need you inside me,” you whine out with Wonwoo kissing along your neck.
“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” he asks into your skin.
“Feel for yourself,” you encourage.
Wonwoo pulls away from your neck and looks at you with lust. He presses his fingers to your mouth and you suck them in without even thinking about it. They’re sweet as you swirl your tongue around them. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
As if it’s confirmation, he ruts against you, seemingly hard just from all the making out and the food. You pull his fingers from your mouth and guide them to your already dripping pussy. He’s not the only one that’s gotten insanely turned on. As soon as you guide his fingers through your folds he groans again.
Neither one of you is in the mood to wait and he doesn’t waste any time angling his hand so he can pump his fingers inside you. Just presses two fingers right in and adds a third to try and open you up. It makes you scream out, praising his fingers with how quickly they work you over. He removes his hand entirely too quickly and you’re whining at the loss. Wonwoo runs a hand along his cock, pumping a couple times and catching some of the precum to spread it along his length. It’s not enough, but you don’t really care right now.
“Please, Wonwoo, I need you,” you beg.
“Feeling a little desperate, princess?” he teases, that cocky smirk back on him.
“Just fuck me already,” you whine.
Wonwoo doesn’t say anything else, just lines himself up and presses his tip into you. It stretches you out and you’re a little surprised that he goes so slowly. Then, you realize that it feels like more when he’s inching into you like this. His eyes watch you for any signs of discomfort. He leans forward and catches your lips in the neediest kiss of the night when he bottoms out in you. You lean back onto your elbows, bringing him along with you. The kisses get sloppier as he starts to thrust into you.
He pulls away from you to reposition and presses your leg up so that he can get deeper. You let your leg fall over his arm so that you don’t have to hold it up. The moans between the two of you are loud enough to drown out the sound of skin on skin as he fucks into you hard. You can’t help it, though, and you throw your head back in pleasure.
“Look at me,” he directs roughly.
You moan in response but tilt your head back towards him. It feels like a chore and that’s when it occurs to you. Taking hold of his free hand, you move it to your throat. For a second, his eyes go wide and his pace slows. He’s searching your face for a clue before he grabs your throat a little more forcefully.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“Yes, fuck,” you groan out. “I’ll tap you if it’s too much.”
“You’re so fucking hot,” he utters, flexing his fingers on your throat.
Somehow, Wonwoo seems to know the perfect amount of pressure. It’s just tight enough that it makes it a little harder to breathe, but not so much that it’s actually choking you. He seems more comfortable than when he did it the first time. It also makes it easier to keep your eyes on him the way he wants. Everything feels heightened and it’s entirely too soon that you’re rushing to your high. You clench your walls around Wonwoo and he fucks you harder, groaning at the increased tightness.
“Gonna come all over my dick again?” he asks and you moan.
You can’t really say anything and you don’t want to. This is all you need. Your hand winds down your body and you look at Wonwoo with a question in your eyes.
“Go ahead, baby, touch yourself,” he directs you.
Asking for permission to do anything is unlike you, but there’s something about wanting to please this man that drives you to all sorts of new things. You rub your clit in time with his thrusts and it seems like only moments pass before you’re tipping over that edge.
Heavy breaths eventually subside to find Wonwoo slowly, almost lazily, fucking into you. His hands are now both on your hips as he waits for you to come down. You sit up with him still inside you and kiss him, slow and full of all sorts of unspoken things.
“You really are fucking amazing,” you say, voice a little hoarse. “You can move faster.”
“I was thinking we might need to get into the shower,” he says with a smirk, pressing a finger to your skin. You’re about to object when you watch him pull it away and it sticks.
“Maybe I can take care of you in there, then,” you say and kiss him softly.
His eyes seem to light up a little at that. He slides out of you gently and walks slowly into the bathroom. You meant what you said. Shower sex is definitely not your thing because it’s never as sexy as people make it out to be. It can be slippery and there aren’t really any good positions. That doesn’t mean you can’t help him out a little.
Wonwoo has other ideas first, it seems. Once the water is warm enough, both of you get in and he lathers up a loofah to gently wash all the stickiness from your body. It’s gentle in a way you’re not expecting and impossibly thoughtful. You relax against his back with his arms around you while he makes sure all the remnants are gone.
When you’re clean, you turn around to face him and kiss him hard. The water falling on your back creates the perfect sensation with the heat between the two of you. He gathers you against his body, hands sliding down to grip your ass. It’s all you can do not to melt right on the spot. You think that you could probably kiss this man for the rest of your life and never get bored. Or never fully prepare yourself for the way it makes you feel.
You drop to your knees and take his cock in your hand. He leans back against the wall of the shower as he looks down on you. It’s crazy to you how turned on this man gets (or stays) just from kissing or skin contact. No matter what, his body always seems to be ready for you. You run your tongue along his length and swirl your tongue around the tip. You’re impatient and you know he’s been waiting, so you don’t waste any time before you suck him into your mouth. You relax your throat and swallow as much of his cock as you’re able to, alternating between bobbing and hollowing out your cheeks.
“You look so good looking up at me like that,” he groans.
You hum around his dick and Wonwoo grabs the back of your head to anchor you there. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes before he releases you and you can get a breath. Even in this position, you can tell that you actually have control over this man. It’s a great feeling since he’s been in control every other time. His hips buck when you suck him back into you. It’s definitely a powerful feeling. The groans also tell you what you already know, you’re good at this. He’s putty in your hands.
With a few more bobs, he’s coming down your throat and then slumping back against the shower wall. It doesn’t stop him from helping you up off your knees. You pepper light kisses along his collarbones before he surprises you and pulls you into another kiss. It’s never been your experience that a man wants to kiss you like that, but he doesn’t shy away.
“We better get out of this shower before we run through all the hot water,” he says between kisses.
“You’re right,” you say with a sigh.
The two of you step out of the shower and Wonwoo is quick to wrap you up in a towel. It takes everything in you to tell your heart to calm down. You know Wonwoo feels all the same things you do. Even if he's not free with vocalizing his emotions, his actions tell you exactly what he’s thinking. If you know where to look, that is. You’re realizing that you definitely know where to work.
Twenty minutes later, your skin care routine is done and you’re curled up in bed in one of Wonwoo’s oversized t-shirts. You know your alarm is going to be too early tomorrow since you need to check in with Seungcheol, but all you want to do tonight is curl up and talk more with this incredibly interesting man.
Something seems to shift now that you’re holed up in Wonwoo’s hotel room with him for the next however many days. Before, he seemed hesitant to talk about the real reason you two crossed paths. You’re not sure what causes the change or why he trusts that you’re not going to just turn around and burn him. Maybe it’s just that you haven’t done it yet.
“What made you want to start stealing art?” you ask while the two of you are sitting outside on the balcony. This room really is too nice. It almost makes it hard to leave and explore.
“I don’t know if it was that I wanted to steal art,” he chuckles.
“Okay, how did you start, then?” you ask with an affectionate eye roll.
“It’s going to sound stupid,” he says with an uncharacteristic shyness. “I guess, I don’t know, I grew up in this house where nobody ever seemed to care what I was doing. I stole the first piece from my parents and sold it off to someone I’d met at this underground club. I figured my parents would catch me and then at least I’d have their attention for a minute.”
“I’m guessing they didn’t catch you,” you comment.
“They didn’t even notice it was gone,” he says with a chuckle.
“How old were you?” you ask.
“16,” he answers immediately.
“So you’ve been doing this…?” you start, doing the math in your head.
“12 years, yeah,” he says. “It took awhile to get to the point I’m at now. I think for a while I was figuring that my parents would somehow catch on and give a shit about my life. By the time I was 19, I was really good at it and I’d made a lot of contacts. I still moved in all those circles so I never looked out of place at a gallery or a museum. Nobody looked twice at me.”
“Did it ever get lonely?” you ask and Wonwoo regards you for a moment. “I just mean that you were still part of all these circles. You still went to all these parties and it seems like none of them knew you at all. You were hiding in plain sight because nobody knew you well enough to see it.”
“I had the networks of people that I sold to or accepted jobs from,” he says.
“But everything I’ve ever seen says that you rarely met with those people in person. It was always online contact and leaving pieces somewhere after the money had been wired,” you share.
“I guess your agency got a few things right,” he mumbles.
“It sounds loney,” you say sympathetically.
“I wish you were a little less observant,” he says like he’s trying for a joking tone.
It’s immediately obvious that he’s a little tired and definitely lonely. You can’t really imagine that type of life. Sure, you’ve been working on your own or with a single partner for your entire adult life. But, you’ve still been part of an organization. There are people that know you at your core. There are people that you can turn to when everything in life feels like it sucks. No matter how bad things get, you know there are people out there who can support you.
Almost involuntarily, a series of images pop into your head. Wonwoo in a suit at a charity gala, the type of person that everyone wants to approach. You can imagine people whispering behind their hands about going to speak to him or ask him to dance. Maybe trying to approach him at the bar. Then you see him just as clearly at home afterwards, alone and sitting on his couch with a drink in hand. You see him perusing a museum to get the lay of the land so that he can steal it later. Once again, alone. You see how he probably sits at home communicating with all his potential buyers.
Wonwoo reads the look on your face and assures you that it’s probably not as bad as you’re imagining things. Yes, he admits that he’s lonely sometimes and that he’s alone more than he’s with other people. It’s hard for him to let anyone in. He doesn’t want to have to account for his time or trust that they won’t blow his cover. There’s nobody in his life that he can be totally himself with, at least not until meeting you. But, he insists that it hasn’t been so bad. Mostly, he prefers to be on his own anyway. He likes the quiet and the solitude. Likes to be able to enjoy his down time however he likes. He gets enough socialization when he goes to events as he’s expected to.
Which brings up a question. After over a decade of doing everything solo, why has he trusted you with all of this now? His answer comes more immediately than you would expect, yet it makes sense. You have something to lose here, too. Possibly even more than he does. After all, there have been a lot of teams that have been close to unraveling his mysterious identity. You, on the other hand, are supposed to be tracking him down. Not spending time locked away in his hotel room with him. That brings you up a little short because he’s right and you’re not planning on going anywhere.
He admits that you intrigue him. All his life, Wonwoo has appreciated a good puzzle or a good challenge. You present both to him, though it hasn’t been as much of a challenge to get you to give him a chance as he expected. It is a challenge to try and unravel you. To try and figure out what made you say yes to the date and what makes you stay now. You also meet him on a level that nobody ever has before. You nearly blush at the way he describes your intelligence and how he feels more turned on by your brain than anyone before. Normally something like that would make you cringe. But, somehow Wonwoo makes it sound both sexy and endearing. You’re just as challenged by him, too, so maybe you get it.
It also brings up some very conflicting feelings in you because it’s a reminder that you have a life entirely separate from him. You have a life that doesn’t allow you to account for this time. At some point, you have to make a final choice. It’s way too late to just turn Wonwoo in without any sort of repercussion. It’s too late to act like this is all just in the name of bringing down one of the most difficult targets you’ve had to track. In the name of getting to know Wonwoo better, you’ve also shared a lot about yourself. A lot that someone like Seungcheol would be able to clock immediately as being true. Every moment you stay with Wonwoo makes your future more complicated. Things are already too hazy.
“Okay enough heavy stuff,” you declare and stand. “Let’s go do something.”
“Such as?” he prompts.
“We’re in a beautiful city, let’s go see some of it,” you suggest.
Wonwoo wants to take a minute to actually plan something, but you veto that. He’s definitely not the spontaneous type, which you figured out before you were even sure who he was. It makes more sense now, knowing who he is. So it feels like more of a win that he relents and agrees to just go with the flow. It’s not as if you’ll be flying totally blind anyway. You did a lot of research before coming down for the mission and you know a lot of the places to see, both tourist places and some that are off the beaten path.
Once you’re outside of the hotel room, things feel different in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. Everything in the hotel room feels real in the sense of getting to know each other. The conversations can be heavy and there’s that constant need to rip each other’s clothes off. Being outside exploring a foreign city feels real in an entirely different way. None of the conversations are heavy since you’re just appreciating the sights. But, you and Wonwoo trade off in taking pictures of each other (or even snap some together) and it feels like a glimpse at another life. It isn’t a fantasy world because it does feel real, but it doesn’t feel like an actual reality either. It almost feels like a mission you’re on where you and him would pretend to be a couple. You have to remind yourself this is actually a mission and you’re running around with your target because Wonwoo isn’t your partner.
When you’re in Plaza de Mayo, you take a step back to allow Wonwoo to purchase something to eat. It’s too cute to watch him stumble through his Spanish, constantly looking over at you as if asking for help. All you can do is smile as he mixes up hombre and hambre. The older woman putting the food together only smiles softly. There’s something incredibly cute about watching this stoic man get flushed over ordering in another language.
The next few days follow mostly the same pattern. You wake up earlier than Wonwoo so that you can pretend to work on the mission and actually check in with Seungcheol. Wonwoo pretends that he’s still asleep sometimes. Other times, he gets up and works on his own things. It’s cute that he’ll do anything to make it seem like you have privacy. Breakfast in the room always comes next because it’s an easy way to get ready for the day.
The days themselves are all a little bit different. You see the Piramide de Mayo, the Floralis Generica, the monuments to Juana Azurduy and General Jose de San Martin, Teatro Colon, the planetarium and several other interesting sights. The planetarium is a personal favorite of yours because it’s just kind of weird in an affectionate way. It’s hard to truly pick a favorite though because each new stop teaches you more about the local culture. It’s the kind of place that just makes you want to fall in love with it. There’s so much beauty and so much to appreciate. Each new stop also seems to involve learning something new about Wonwoo and somehow him trying his hand at Spanish again, only to fail. You’re wondering if he does it just to entertain you.
While you’re seeing all the tourist spots, you take time to see the things the locals recommend as well. Sometimes that’s hole-in-the-wall food places or stands that someone mentions. Other times it’s a park that’s too out of the way for tourists. Even other times still, it’s a hidden access point to the beach. Thankfully, it’s still cool out and getting Wonwoo to agree to the beach isn’t difficult. You idly wonder what it would be like to try and get him to visit the beach in January when it’s the dead of summer.
You want to try as many local dishes as you can while you’re there, too. Given his way, Wonwoo would probably eat in the hotel room just as much as out of it, but you don’t know when you’re going to get this chance again. So, even though he’s worn out from spending so much time around people, he lets you drag him out again every night. He even seems to enjoy himself.
At the start of whatever this is, it was always you asking Wonwoo all the questions and trying to volunteer as little about yourself as possible. You’re still an agent and you’re still supposed to be after him. The least you can do, while you’re totally ignoring your mission, is try to better understand Wonwoo and his motivations. Even if you don’t end up turning him in, it's an invaluable experience to get to look into the mind of a criminal. When will you get another chance like this? When will you be this close to someone to ask personal questions? No part of you even considers that he’s lying to you. You’re positive that he answers everything truthfully.
Somewhere along the line, it shifts. Maybe because you know everything you want to know about the man across from you. Or maybe because you genuinely feel comfortable about him. Either way, he’s the one that’s asking you questions now. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t want to know anything about your work. He doesn’t seem to care about any of that. There’s a nagging thought that thinks he might just be trying to make you comfortable. You try to quickly brush it away, though, and just answer any of the personal questions he asks. Wonwoo wants to know the simple things like where you grew up, what your family was like, and what you wanted to do when you were younger. The things that allow him to really know you. It’s terrifying.
By the time you get back to the hotel that night, you’re exhausted. It feels like it’s been a never ending span of days in the best way. You collapse on the bed without changing. All you manage to do is take off your shoes. Wonwoo leans over you and kisses you, softly at first. But, like every other kiss with him, it leaves you gasping for air after a minute.
It’s amazing how he seems to take your breath away and even more amazing how he always seems like he’s ready to tear your clothes off. You’ve never had someone like him in your life. But, that also brings you back to reality. Wonwoo asked you to give him a few days staying in his hotel room. It’s definitely been longer than that without either of you seeming to notice. There’s a level of comfort that neither of you talk about given that this all has an expiration date. And that expiration date is rapidly approaching.
Staying with Wonwoo turns out to be longer than either of you planned and neither of you has a complaint about it. You’ve been checking in with Seungcheol every morning and Wonwoo pretends not to listen. It’s been like living in a little bubble where reality isn’t a concern.
That’s just the thing, though, isn’t it? This isn’t real life, not for you. This isn’t something that lasts long term or that you can even sustain. The reality is still there. Wonwoo is one of the most infamous art thieves to ever live and you work for a secret agency tasked with bringing criminals like him to justice. You’re not exactly sure what the last however many days have been. All you know is this is just a break from reality. A brief glimpse into an alternate life that can never be. It’s been amazing and something you won’t ever forget. You’re hoping that you’re both on the same page about that, at least.
“I should probably go back to my hotel today,” you say.
Wonwoo looks up from across the room where he’s reading while you pretend to work on your case. It helps to at least log in to the system. “To get more stuff?”
“I can’t stay here forever,” you point out.
“No, I expect at some point we’ll leave and head to the next place,” he agrees with a shrug.
“We?” you ask, eyebrows flying up.
“Yes, we,” he says like suddenly you’re slow on the uptake. “I’ve got a few places in mind that I’d love to take you, but it’s really up to you.”
“Wonwoo,” you start and your heart sinks.
You are definitely not on the same page. Probably not even in the same book, if you’re honest. Everything over the past days with him has been amazing. The perfect little escape from your reality. But, that’s all it’s been: an escape. Or maybe that’s all you’ve let yourself think it was. Anything else seems like entirely too much. His face drops as he watches you.
“You’re not coming with me,” he realizes.
“I didn’t even know you would want me to!” you state, too loud for the space.
“How could you not? I’ve been telling you all the places that I wanted you to see,” he says and that hits you harder than a physical blow. He’s been giving you all the signs that this isn’t just a bubble.
“I didn’t think you were serious,” you point out.
“Clearly,” he says, voice thick with disappointment.
“Wonwoo, come on. It’s not like I can just, what? Run away?” you say.
“Oh, no, there’s a whole life waiting for you back at your precious agency,” he says with derision.
“It’s all I’ve ever known,” you plead.
“And I’ve shown you that there’s more to life than whatever this is for you,” he counters.
“I can’t just leave them,” you say with a shake of your head.
That seems to make Wonwoo angrier than you expect. “No, of course not. How silly of me. You have to get back to your handler that so clearly loves you.”
“Seungcheol does not love me. We’re friends, sure, but that’s it,” you disagree.
“Let’s pretend that’s true and it’s normal for a handler to speak to you the way he does. Or that it’s normal for him to worry so much about your safety. Who are you going back to apart from him? Who’s waiting for you?” Wonwoo asks.
The questions wash over you like acid rain. Painful and harsh and unrelenting. The worst part is that he’s right. You have wondered if there are some feelings there from Seungcheol. You also don’t have anyone waiting for you. It’s really a half-life, if you’re being honest. Less than a half-life, probably. The past few days with Wonwoo are the most alive you’ve felt since you were a child, before joining the agency.
“I can’t just…this is my job, Wonwoo. And you’re an art thief. A very famous one and…” you start.
“Have I stolen anything here?” he asks and that brings you up short.
“Well, no, of course not. You’ve been with me,” you say simply.
“And I will leave this city without stealing. I will switch careers entirely if it’s that important, though it doesn’t seem like it is since you haven’t turned me in,” he says and it’s almost like he’s talking to himself. “I’ve been all over the globe trying to feel something. Trying for anything. I started stealing because I could. I wanted to get the attention my parents never gave me. I kept going because I was looking for a challenge, which it is, at least sometimes. I was looking for someone, I think. Then, I find you and you’re everything I didn’t know to ask for. But, you’re telling me some job where you can’t even have a life is more important than this? That my job, which I’m completely willing to give up, is too much of a barrier?”
“I have a life,” you scoff.
“Really?” Wonwoo challenges and folds his arms. “When was the last time you went on a real date? Not with a target, but a real date just with someone you wanted to know? When’s the last time you let yourself just breathe and explore a city? When’s the last time you did something just because you wanted to?”
“Plenty of people are married to their jobs,” you begin.
“I thought you were brave, you know,” Wonwoo muses. “I thought you were someone who would realize how rare this is. It’s not like everyone is lucky enough to meet a person that completes them like this. I guess I was wrong. I guess all I was really good for was fucking you and that’s all it was.”
“Of course that’s not all it was,” you disagree. There are tears threatening to spill over. This isn’t at all how you imagined it going. You weren’t prepared for him to try to fight for you. “The last few days with you have been everything I never thought I’d experience. But, it hasn’t been real, Wonwoo. It can’t be real. Life doesn’t work that way.”
“Why can’t it?” he fires at you.
“Because I don’t deserve it!” you scream, tears finally streaming down your face. “Because you don’t know my scars. You don’t know the things I’ve done. You don’t know the mistakes I’ve made. You don’t know that I have demons that are constantly chasing me.”
“I’m a fucking criminal,” he points out. “Who am I to judge?”
“Exactly,” you agree but rush to finish your thought before Wonwoo can interject. “You don’t…question the decisions you’ve made. You stand on everything you’ve done. But, you also do so much good with charities and helping students and just giving back. Plus, I’ve looked at your crimes. You only ever stole from the rich to sell to other rich people.”
“Yet you still were sent to chase me,” he points out.
“Yeah, who do you think pays our salaries?” you ask flatly. “My point is that…I don’t know. I’m standing here across from you and I feel like I’m the infinitely worse person in this situation.”
“It really can’t be that bad,” he reasons.
“I’ve taken lives, Wonwoo. More than I can count. And without even questioning if our reasoning was solid for taking them out. I’ve used my body in ways that I may never recover from, thinking it was my choice at the time. I’ve done what I was told and I’ve been good at it. Too good, maybe,” you say. You’re talking to yourself more than him at this point. “I’m the one they send when they don’t want a record. I’m the one they send when nobody else can do it. I’ve spent the last 10 years of my life training and doing what I was told. It’s given me scars that you can’t see and won’t ever heal. All I know is this. They’re not just going to let me go. And even if they did, you don’t deserve all the baggage that I come with. You’re not a bad guy.”
“And you think you are? A bad guy?” he asks.
“I know I am,” you say.
“That’s all you are if that’s all you see, but I see so much more,” he argues.
“I still can’t just ask them to walk away,” you press.
“I wasn’t suggesting that you ask,” he says. “You deserve a chance to start fresh. To see what you can be without the weight of the world hanging over your head.”
“I don’t deserve anything more than what I have now,” you disagree.
“What about love? Do you deserve that?” he asks, changing directions.
“I don’t know,” you admit.
“And me? Do I deserve love?” he asks.
“Yes, without question,” you answer immediately.
“So give me the chance to experience love,” he begs. “I never thought I’d love anyone and I’ve never taken this kind of chance on anyone. But, I’m asking you for a chance. Just one more.”
There’s so much tension in the air between you. So many things still left unsaid and so much emotion. The air between you and him seems to crackle. A storm brews behind his eyes as he waits for you to answer him. It seems insane to think that he could feel that for you after such a short time. But, really, what do you know? You have unquestionably never been in love before, not really. There’s never been the time or space for it in your line of work. Relationships never seem to get deeper because you’re always keeping secrets. Can’t ever tell them what you really do for work. And then there’s Wonwoo. He knows so much about you already and even though it’s barely scratched the surface, it’s still more honest than you’ve ever been. He doesn’t want to run away and that scares you more than any mission you’ve ever had.
It’s just…it’s too much to decide now. You spend your whole life having to make split second decisions, yet can’t about this. Don’t have the data that you have on missions. Don’t know the pros and cons. It’s uncharted territory. It’s scary in a way you’ve never experienced. You’ve stared down the barrel of too many guns and this still feels infinitely more terrifying. Maybe he can love you after such a short amount of time because he seems to realize what you’re going to say before you say it.
“Don’t,” he says softly when you open your mouth. “I’m going to leave the day after tomorrow. I’m going to set the flight to leave at 1 in the afternoon. That gives you time to change your mind.”
“And if I don’t reach you before then?” you ask softly.
“Don’t ever expect to find me again,” he says with a finality that surprises you. When you meet his gaze, it’s harder than you’re expecting. “I really care about you and I’d love you to come with me. But I know how stubborn you are. It’s part of why I love you so much. So I’m leaving my heart open until the day after tomorrow. Then it’s over.”
“You’re an amazing person, Wonwoo,” you say and press a kiss to his cheek. “You’ve challenged a lot of my ideas about right and wrong. I’ll never forget that.”
“I’m not accepting this as goodbye. I’ll still hope to see you before I leave,” he says and presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead.
Your throat is too tight to say anything in response to that. All you can do is gather up your things and head out of the hotel room. Everything in your body feels tired from the unexpected heaviness of the conversation. It hurts to see Wonwoo looking so hurt. As crazy as it sounds, you do mean that he deserves the absolute best. You also meant it that made you rethink a lot of your preconceived notions. You actually questioned things for the first time in your adult life. Despite all of that, you still walk right out of the hotel room.
You spend nearly every minute after walking out of Wonwoo’s hotel room considering his offer. Go as far as scheduling your flight out of Buenos Aires for the same time as his. Genuinely, you’re not sure what you want to do. At least Seungcheol understood failing the mission. Somehow, he still sees it as a win that nothing was stolen from anywhere in the city while you were there. He assumes that your presence somehow spooked the notorious art thief. Thankfully he doesn’t realize just how right he is.
The biggest surprise is that Chan, the slightly overeager agent from the flight down, will be meeting you when you get on the plane. He’s only wrapping up a second mission that popped up in the area. The Agency is sending him along so that you can debrief about your actual mission and start looping him in going forward. Apparently, as great as you are and as (almost) perfect as your record is, the agency still wants to have someone for you to work with when you need them. Since that can’t be Seungcheol, he’s recommending a promising younger agent. This apparently also includes you being the one to tell him all of this yourself.
The airport is busy when you get there, an unsurprising side effect of planning flights during the afternoon. There’s also the fact that private planes have to leave from the international airport, which is always somewhat packed. Getting through customs and security is surprisingly smooth and soon you’re going to have to face your literal crossroads.
In one direction is the familiar. Nothing about working for The Agency is easy. There’s a sense of routine to it, though. A sense of generally knowing what your days or weeks or even months will look like. You know how to make coffee in the shitty break room when you’re actually on site (a rarity). You know how to play nice with the other agents. You know how all the tech works. And you’re good at the missions themselves. That’s just to say you don’t have to learn anything new. You’re lucky enough to have a semi-boss that you get along with. There’s a sense of routine to everything from mission briefings to flights to the missions themselves. There’s comfort in knowing you don’t really have to make the decisions. Sure, you have to figure out which course to take on the ground with a mission. But, that usually only means picking option A or B. All of the possible courses of action come in the briefing. You just have to evaluate the factors and figure out which pre-determined option fits best. It’s easy. As fucked up as it might be to admit, you like doing something that you know you’re good at. It’s nice to get praised for constantly succeeding. It’s the easy decision.
And in the other direction…well, it’s the unknown. Being with Wonwoo has been nothing short of the best feeling of your life. The most alive you’ve ever felt. It’s kind of crazy but part of you thinks you may love him. Can see how the whole future plays out, even if it’s not crystal clear. The two of you could start over somewhere new where he doesn’t have to steal art and you don’t have to chase criminals with questionable methods. Both of you have the funds (even if he’s better set up) to start over. Both of you clearly have the skills to disappear into the wind, too. It’s not like your legal name exists anywhere anymore. Very few people even know it, not that you would go back to it.
It’s easy to get lost in the daydream. As much as you love the sun of Buenos Aires, you can’t imagine Wonwoo in a place like that during the actual summer. Everything about him makes you think of somewhere cooler, somewhere that you’re not constantly sweating. That would let you take breaks to sunnier weather. Places where you could soak up the sun while he took refuge under an umbrella, watching you with all the affection in the world. Actually, you can picture visiting a lot of places with him. He would be the perfect travel partner to see all the beautiful corners of the world that you’ve never been able to appreciate. It’s like going somewhere for a business trip. You’re there working, not to appreciate everything around you.
There’s something kind of poetic about being at an airport as an actual crossroads in your life. It’s like you can get on a plane going anywhere. Quite literally, since you’re not sure where Wonwoo’s plane is going. Not that it really matters. If that’s the path you pick, then it’s for him rather than the destination.
The only question left is whether you’re ready to leave your entire life behind. Are you ready to say goodbye to the agency that saved you? Are you ready to cut yourself off from the few people who actually know you and accept you as you are? Can you live without having any closure on that part of your life? Would you feel guilty that Seungcheol would be left with a million questions about what happened to you? Or would it hurt you to know that he would blame himself for your disappearance somehow? Then again, maybe he would know, on some level, that you just finally reached the point of needing to walk away. That’s something you and him have talked about before, in the early hours of the morning after too much to drink. What would you do if you could walk away from this life? What would life after The Agency look like?
With a deep breath, you pick your path and you don’t look back. That’s the only way you know you’ll have the strength in your decision.
i hope you all enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it! please reblog or comment and let me know 💕
warnings: math. (1) dirty joke. thats it i think (lmk if there's more)
synopsis: Walking into the first class of the semester shouldn't have been as eventful as it was (not that you can complain for long)
masterlist
(A/N): I haven't posted a fic in a while so i hope i redeem myself with this one hehe. a million thank yous to @toruro for beta-ing for me (even at the dentists lol) you can thank her for this too shes the reason i finished so quickly kjvkdfjg
It takes a lot to surprise you.
It’s not that you enjoy it, but your friends simply make it easy to read them. It took Soonyoung seven human years to learn the art of surprise birthday parties. You know, the ones where you aren’t supposed to know he’s throwing a party just for you. Or Minghao, before he learned the art of deceit, and held his disdain like a badge on his face.
You seem to have honed the skill of psychics better than most, confident in your ability as a higher-risk party trick.
Skipping into the new semester at uni, you enter your lecture hall at the reasonable hour of 8 in the morning, expecting nothing but the usual. No surprises were to come your way today, just another first day back, fueling for the coming months.
You push the doors of your lecture hall open, ready to greet your professor for Pure Mathematics 171, pushing your spirits high to commence your per semester buttering. What you find though, is the front desk crowded with students wanting to do the exact same, all for the professor that would be teaching the most dreaded unit of the course. Of course.
You spot Soonyoung among the crowd as he spots you at the door as well. You note how gleeful he looks at this hour. This can’t be good. Hao too presses his mouth together in an attempt to conceal his budding smile, hand to mouth when he miserably fails.
What on Earth was so funny?
Attempting to crane your neck, over and under, to catch a glimpse of the ever popular professor, you find yourself blocked by the sea of math nerds and ass-kissers just like yourself. Curiosity was becoming a little too much for you to bear, not that your friends sniggering and whispering while looking directly at you was helping at all. You were just about to march up to the two and demand to be put on their shoulders to see what the fuss was about. Until—
“Alright! It’s almost 8, let’s save the chatter for after class, how about?” you hear a voice boom in the centre of the anthill.
You knew that voice.
You watch in slow motion as the hoard of bodies disperse, not missing the pointed glances of both your friends directed at the teacher’s table.
And then you see it. Standing there, looking down at his folder sheets, dry-erase marker in hand.
Choi Seungcheol.
Choi Seungcheol was your professor.
Your boyfriend was your professor.
How did this happen? Did he know about this? Was he keeping it from you? Were you blind when you read the clear ‘Dr. Kim’ next to your unit code?
Seungcheol doesn’t notice you standing there slack mouthed and frozen in his classroom. Until he does.
Instead of mimicking your shocked expression, you watch as his mouth goes to pull what you recognise as a smirk.
Oh, he thinks this is hilarious.
His eyebrows are raised as he questions you, “Will you be taking a seat, miss?”
It’s then that you realise you're in the middle of a lecture hall with about a hundred eyes watching you as you gape at your collective professor. Could they be mistaking your imminent horror as you checking him out?
If this was another situation maybe you would have, but this was starting to sound like a sick joke.
But alas, you could not confront your professor like that, at least not in front of an audience. So you find it within yourself to slowly slug towards the staircase to plant yourself next to your friends. Both of whom were having the absolute time of their lives watching your dazed expression.
You might have committed murder that day.
You’re forced to snap out of it as you hear Seungcheol - professor Choi - begin to speak at the front of the class.
“Good morning everybody,” he starts, hands on his desk, a pleasant expression on his face as he awaits a response from his borderline comatose students. A chorus of good mornings greet him back, excluding your own.
“Hope you guys had a good break, welcome to Pure Math 171, my name is Professor Choi” he moves to scribble his name on the whiteboard, “And I would like to be referred as such.”
His gaze finds you in your seat as he utters those words. He is quick to shift.
“We’re gonna be starting light today, I’ll be going through our unit guide and grading system…”
Seungcheol talks. And talks. And talks. And you don’t listen. You watch instead.
You’re mad at him. Really mad at him. But you can’t help but wonder as he walks around looking like that. He’s in the simplest dress shirt and slacks of a neutral colour, but he wears it oh so well.
You’ve watched him every morning as he gets dressed for work, knowing his attire has always suited him. Your friends who have been in his classes have expressed their disappointment when told he wasn’t single, and promptly draw open in shock when they realize it's you that’s snagged him before the world could.
Seungcheol, for lack of a better word, hits different when he’s in his element. His hair is pushed back and out of his face, noting how his glasses look so much sexier when he’s pacing the room with hands dipped in his pockets. He’s speaking tongues of numbers and symbols, and it’s suddenly the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
But you're mad at him. It shouldn’t be that hard to remind yourself.
“You know, you’re being real ungrateful for a person who just got a free pass on the hardest class this fucking insitution can cook up,” Soonyoung whisper-shouts next to you.
Minghao quips beside him, “Look alive, sister, you’ve hit the jackpot.”
“Were you two in on it?” you finally snap, irritated at their apparent glee.
Soonyoung snorts, “Fuck, no, we saw him when we walked in this morning”
“So did he know?”
“Oh, I think Professor Choi would be glad to tell you himself after hours,” Minghao sleazes while Soonyoung throws you the greasiest wink known to man.
Disgusted and disturbed, you turn your attention back to the front of the room. You’re still disgusted and disturbed. Seungcheol is still there, looking like he does, scribbling some example equation on the board.
“Hmm. I think professor Choi ought to know his favourite student’s having trouble paying attention? We can’t have that, you should move up front.”
You do move. Away from your friends to the seats higher up.
It’s a mind-numbing two hours in which you think you experience every emotion possible.
You think of your friends who have sat in his classes all semester, that have ogled him and admitted his apparent attractiveness. There were people in this room that were thinking the very same thing in this very moment, and it was making your skin crawl. You wanted to get up and scream: This is your boyfriend.
But alas, you are but a tired, tired college student. He wouldn’t fail you, would he? Then again, he has a ruthless streak of keeping you from the lights of life when you’re slacking in dire times. You might be the love of his life, but he remains a man of discipline.
It’s an annoying trait, but only ever in the moment. He might be the sole reason you haven’t completely lost yourself in the sea of academics.
“I think we can wrap up with that, it’s basic stuff but it won’t hurt to revise on your own before next week when we really get into it,” Seungcheol’s voice booms.
There’s a churn in your stomach for some reason, and you have to neutralize your breathing as you watch the lecture hall slowly empty out. A few students remain lingering at the front desk for yet another round of buttering. Seungcheol entertains them, pleasant smile on his face, nodding along to something. You remain seated, arms and legs crossed as you stare daggers into the top of Seungcheol’s head as he speaks with his students.
The remaining students file out as well, and you notice how Soonyoung and Minghao are long gone, leaving just you and Seungcheol alone in this big, big room.
It’s only then that he looks up searching, to check if you had left yet.
He remembered quick.
His eyes finally land on your, disgruntled, tight form, refusing to make eye contact for more than three seconds before huffing audibly, moving to put away your things. Seungcheol moves around his front desk, hands in pockets, hiking his way up the lecture steps to where you were at the top row.
You’re shoving your laptop in your bag by the time he’s done with his trek, planting himself on the chair next to you loudly. You ignore him.
“Do you think we’d get in trouble if they caught us like this?” he muses after a few silent moments.
“Caught us like what?” You snap. There goes your pledge to remain silent.
“You can’t possibly think a teacher and his student caught in a classroom by themselves is necessarily a point in our favor”
“I’ll do the honors then” with that you’re swinging your bag over your shoulder to trudge behind him to the steps leading down, wanting to be out of his presence for the time being.
You’re barely past him when there’s a grip on your wrist, firm and purposeful, that tugs you backwards in a harsh manner. The bag on your shoulder is sent to the floor while you, in your entirety, are sent straight into Seungcheol’s lap.
Bastard.
The smirk on his face is enough to send you into a pot of livid fumes, right after you’re done balancing yourself on his shoulders. You try not to grip on too tight.
“What makes you think you can leave without being dismissed?”
“What the fuck.”
“Language, miss. I don’t tolerate obscenities in my classroom.” It might’ve been a menacing threat, but with what lay behind the glint in his eyes you knew he was being a little shit.
It takes you every fibre in your body to refrain from thinking too much about him. Him and his hands that rest on your thighs, him and his hands that are placed near your waist, stroking and pressing into your shirt.
No, you're mad at him.
“Did you know?” you ask finally, tired of the back and forth.
“Nope,” he replies, “Found out when you walked in.”
“Do you not read your attendance sheet? Isn’t that your job? You had the entirety of summer to give me a heads up, this is your fault!”
“Dr. Kim got into an accident last night, she’s out of service for the rest of the semester. I didn’t know until I came in for my other class I was being switched over—”
“How does that happen?!” you almost yell.
He’s silent for a moment before beginning again, “Do you want me to ask for another class?”
Wait, what.
“I didn’t say that—” You can’t finish because your being pushed off your seat on his lap to stand while he gets up as well.
“I’ll go talk to the co-ordinator then, class isn’t working out for me.” With that he’s trudging back down the steps, making a beeline for the door.
You’re left stunned at the top of the stairs, not knowing if he was being serious or not. Were you about to let his presence bother you that bad? To the point he had to switch classes? What were you even that upset about?
Twirling around in place trying to look for the bag that was strewn about earlier, you grab the straps and race down the steps. If Seungcheol can hear your bounding footsetps, he doesn’t show it. Instead you crash into his back just as he’s about to leave the room, to which he turns around.
The smirk seems glued to his face and you realize right then you may have been lured. With the 180° that had become of your perception, you couldn’t be mad at him anymore, cooling off the simmer that had been brewing for the past couple hours.
“Maybe…Maybe I can live with seeing your face for a couple hours a week,” you mumble, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact.
He lets out an incredulous laugh, “Couple hours a week?! Do you realise we sleep in the same bed at night, pretty sure that’s more than a couple hours.”
“You know what I meant!” you huff, arms crossed and turning your head away. You cringe slightly at how you voice echoes across the large lecture hall.
Feeling his hands enclose yours, pulling your body slowly towards him, you bring yourself to look back up at him. His hands come up behind you when you’re close enough, snaking up your back and waist. You try not to shudder, but it’s hard when you know he’s doing it on purpose. There’s warmth that radiates off of him, a stark contrast from the chill classroom, your fingers finding purchase around his own waist.
There’s more of that same warmth when he kisses you, short pecks, yet ones that have you smiling against his lips. The curve remaining as he rests his forehead on yours.
“Let’s go home, just need to grab my stuff,” he says, but makes no effort to move from his position.
“Are you already done for the day?” you frown.
“No,” he muses, “But it’s only the first day. Besides, I wanna sit in bed with my girl while I map her out for the first assignment of the semester.”
“Does your girl get premium access?”
“Hm, maybe.”
Before you can refute, the door of the room bursts open with a bang that reaches straight into your soul. With the way Seungcheol’s eyes widen, you don’t doubt the same was happening in his own chest.
There isn’t enough time for you to pull away before hearing gasps alluding from the threshold.
Soonyoung and Minghao stand at the door, scandalized looks complete with hands over their faces. Hao shakes his head in mock disappointment, eyes pointed. Soonyoung pulls out his hands, framing them like he was taking a picture of the both of you gripping each other.
“Now what would the bulletin look like with these two on the front cover? You’re friends with Seok, right? D’you think you could put a word in?” Soonyoung yaps, the most insufferable look on his face.
Seungcheol laughs, to your surprise, and looks over to you, “What d’you think the bulletin would look like with his F on the front cover?”
“D’you think you could put a word in?” you raise your eyebrows.
His smile widens but he’s being pulled away as both your friends move forward to surround him. You vaguely register Soonyoung cupping your boyfriend’s face delicately, singsonging about their years of friendship, or how Hao has his arms wrapped around him in a back hug, head on his shoulder.
You vaguely register any of it, because you’re smiling too hard at the scene. Smiling too hard when Seungcheol catches your eye, before bursting out laughing, attempting to wrestle the two off of him.
You bring your phone up to the chaos instead of your hands, wanting to frame the scene for real this time.
the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now - the story of us
synopsis: So many walls that you can't break through; except you do.
wc: 2.1K
contains: best friends to lovers, angst, fluff, humour, happy ending, alcohol, arguments
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[a/n]: im exhausted, im loopy, im hungry, but i really wanted to post this so here you go my babies I'm sorry i haven't fed you in so long (ty @toruro for making sure i wasn't talking out of my ass in this ily)
[edit; 11/04/24]: grammar and spelling.
Jeon Wonwoo was nearing boiling point when he watched you push him away from yet another conversation.
He tried to understand, just like he always had. But it was proving near impossible at the five-month mark.
There were clear signs you exhibited when you needed space, for whatever reason, Wonwoo knew you would tell him when you recovered. So he gave you what you needed.
And yet, when he finds himself pushed away from what looks like a casual conversation between your mutual friends, he finds his mild annoyance grow into something hotter.
There’s a clench in his jaw as he tries not to squeeze the red cup in his hand with too much pressure, even when all the spiteful bit of his brain wants to do is to pour its pigmented contents all over your cream outfit. He manages to control himself, choosing to get up and exit the premises entirely. In complete silence, he refuses to acknowledge any yell of his name from passing acquaintances.
Jeon Wonwoo refused to respond to any of your advances after that.
Invitations to lunch were left on a jarring sent, the notification sitting in his log until he chooses to open it too late. His response was bare when you asked for help on some accounting concepts, pushing you over into Jihoon’s hands to fulfill your requirements. There’s a blatant shrug when you touch his shoulder, concerned, asking why his behaviour had become so distant in the past weeks; he responds with a mumble of, “just tired”.
The great divide happened a few days proceeding your birthday, one for which Wonwoo did nothing for but send you a quick message during the evening, never to see you throughout the extended day.
“I can’t believe you’re putting this on me!” you all but yell, eyes wide and expression exasperated at the situation.
“Are you blind? Or just plain stupid? Because I didn’t tolerate months of your shit attitude to have you say it isn’t your fault.” Wonwoo is breathing heavily, hands motioning towards your entire figure with equal disbelief.
“What attitude?” you emphasize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I couldn’t be upfront with my best friend.”
“There’s a difference between being in a mood and blatant disrespect. I’m tired of having to put up with your mood swings like it’s my responsibility to coddle you. When was the last time you genuinely asked me how I was doing?”
“All the time!”
“Yeah, after you realize there's nobody else to whine and wail to!”
“Wonwoo, you’re being ridiculous.”
“Fine. If I’m clearly so unhinged, I’ll leave you to your liking.”
The dwindled interactions, from messages to hellos, went from sparing to nonexistent — just like that.
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t expect for you and Wonwoo to reconcile in the matter of a few days, if not a couple weeks.
But when the distance did nothing but grow larger, there was a settle of resentment in the pit of your stomach as you accepted the feud you were in.
A text was sent from your phone a couple days after the incident.
[You]: can we talk?
But when you see no sign of the grey Delivered on the end, you knew he had blocked you.
This was all nothing less than baffling to you for a number of reasons, starting with how you had never witnessed Wowoo acting this way.
Wonwoo had done nothing but reprimand you the rare chance you suggested blocking an apprehensive individual, something about not showing that you cared. His voice seemed redundant after a certain decibel, the rarest chance to witness him yell at a failed video game or a frustrating professor.
You know better, which is the only reason you’re ruling off paranormal possession.
The claims against you came as an afterthought, not, however, rendering them any less strange. There’s a part of you that pondered if your shield of annoyance blocked you from seeing the truth in his words and in your behaviour, finding yourself overwhelmed with emotions when the thought crossed your mind, tears of frustration immediately blurring your vision.
You did not understand, you could not. And when it all got too much, you allowed the hurt and confusion to turn into something more dangerous. You replaced it with anger, in the same place that once occupied a more delicate emotion.
There was an uproar in Wonwoo’s mind when he sees you walk into the lecture hall, unaware of your overlapping schedule in the new semester. He watches as your eyes pass over the moderately packed space, briefly glancing over where he sat; if you saw him, you did nothing to bring a reaction out of it. You take a seat a few rows up front, right in front of him where he’s able to see the back of your head for the next two hours — for the rest of the semester.
He wonders if it’s too late to switch classes.
“Wonwoo, I honestly think this is getting out of hand.” Jihoon munches on his cashews, leaning against bark of the tree they were both sat under.
“Did you want me to keep tending to her bullshit then?” he grumbles.
“That’s not what I’m saying, you know it’s not.”
“That’s what it sounds like.” Wonwoo’s retort is brisk.
Jihoon is suddenly snapping his fingers in his face at the reply, a flinch accompanies Wonwoo’s already sour expression.
“See! See how frustrating it is when somebody isn’t making sense?”
“How does this—”
“Wonwoo, did you try talking to her about how you felt, you know, without the screaming?”
Jihoon watches as Wonwoo’s expression clears out, his eyebrows unfurrowing and the scowl fading. He doesn’t speak, choosing to let the realization kick in.
“No.”
Jihoon sighs, taking another pause. “I’m not saying what she did wasn’t uncalled for, but you need to talk shit out before deciding you hate each other.”
“I don’t hate her.”
“Right, so can we wrap this up quickly and have you confess your undying love so we can all relax.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Heat crawls up Wonwoo’s cheeks.
“What? If you don’t hate her, it’s gotta be the opposite.”
Did Wonwoo like you? Yeah, he probably did. Did he ever let himself ponder upon it? No, because he was downright mortified of the mere thought. He finds himself a hypocrite to say it was to preserve your friendship, but he figures he’s fucked it up in a way that’s arguably worse.
Regardless, Wonwoo walks away from that conversation with two things: a stark realization, and an even starker admittance.
Everything was going wrong. At least that’s what it felt like when you hear the clang of your water bottle hit the pavement, rolling off into the oncoming traffic as you sprint to grab it. You nearly cause a vehicle pile-up, swallowing a couple profanities from braking drivers.
You’re stuffing the darn thing into your bag when you trip on a loose brick on the path, nearly landing on your face. The glare you send into the pavement costs you even more when a hard shoulder bumps into your side, sending you another couple steps back. You don’t bother to see who the perpetrator is, too preoccupied with your attempts to take in deeper breaths amid the blankness of your mind.
There are no hiccups after that, what you might owe your more conscious mind to. Stomping up the library steps, you thank nothingness for the air conditioning that meets your hot face, slowing down as you take in the crowd.
Scanning the room for an empty seat is harder than you’d anticipated, hoping the heat would keep students away from the building as you left to get work done. Approaching a table, you set down your bag with a huff, pulling the chair out to finally take the seat you’ve been needing for so long.
The universe seems to have other plans.
It’s almost funny the way you and Wonwoo make eye contact across the other table, the recognition sending a jolt through your stomach.
You’ve never moved so fast, pushing the chair back in with a screech that earns you a few looks, grabbing the handles of your bag as you turn around to leave the building you’d just entered.
No way you'd sit there. Not when he was around.
You're bounding down the steps when somebody passes you, murmuring something without slowing their stride.
“I’m leaving, you can go inside,” Wonwoo says, and the sound of his voice has you halting almost immediately.
Whipping your head around to search for the sound, you watch as he takes a turn at the end of the steps, slowly moving out of your vision.
There’s a swirl of something in your chest, and you realise in that moment how much you missed hearing his voice.
Chiding yourself, you blink back the water that wells up in your eyes, embarrassed at how quickly you were losing yourself.
But the damage was done. And you wanted to be reckless, regardless of how desperate it made you look. A split second decision is made in that moment, one that lightens the heavy feet that you’ve planted on the concrete.
You’re back to bounding down the steps, but this time with aim.
Taking the same turn you saw Wonwoo take, you break into a sprint as you see his figure move farther away. You keep running, continuing to bump into both objects and people, hurried "sorry"'s the only thing you choose to throw their way.
“Wonwoo!” Your voice comes out stronger than you’d intended, the sharpness having him turn around in search, eyes landing on your accelerating figure.
Both of you realize too late how fast you’re really going, the velocity taking you directly into his outstretched arms, hands grasping the sleeves of his shirt as you come to screeching stop directly into his chest.
You don’t have the time nor the patience to be embarrassed, pulling your face back to look directly into Wonwoo’s bewildered eyes to huff out your next words.
“Why did you block me?” you ask, voice gruff and slightly out of breath.
Wonwoo’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, words refusing to come out.
“Why are you so mad at me? Why are you being nice to me if you’re mad at me?” You don’t stop, the direct questions tumbling off your tongue in desperation.
You search his face for an answer when his mouth fails, but all you find is the remnants of shock yet to ebb away.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t important, I’m sorry for taking your presence for granted, I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for…for… I don’t know! I’m just really sorry and I don't know how else to make this right.”
“I’m sorry, too,” you hear him say and you feel the moisture return to your eyes.
“Huh?”
“I should’ve…” he pauses, looking sheepish. “I should’ve talked to you before I, y’know, went off on you. I should’ve managed my feelings better, I’m sorry.”
You're silent for a few tantalizing moments before you raise your fists, and pound down on his chest with everything you have. You do it again, and then again, and again—
“What?- Ow!”
“When are you gonna stop bottling up your feelings for fucks sake, it’s landed you everywhere but good!” you say, nearly yelling.
Wonwoo whips his head around to see who’s listening, palm to mouth in attempts to silence you.
“I’m sorry! I know! I’m working on it,” he rambles, trying to get you to quit struggling. “Jihoon and I talked, that’s why I realised I was being dumb.”
“Are you gonna unblock me now or do I need to pay Jihoon to sit down with you again?”
Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow. “You payed Jihoon to sit with me?”
“No, you idiot. But I should have because you can’t seem to figure out how to feel emotions.”
Wonwoo can’t help himself when he breaks out into a grin, letting out a breathy chuckle that has you asking “What?”.
He pulls you in, heart to heart in an embrace, holding you tight to make up for the weeks of no contact. He breathes in your scent and feels as though he hasn’t in years.
“I’m not gonna come running up to you the next time you decide you hate me,” you mumble into his shoulder, pouting slightly.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“No.” Wonwoo pulls away but keeps you in his arms, looking at you, “I love you. Like, the kind of stuff that makes you wanna live together forever. I love you.”
It’s your turn to gape like a fish.
“W-what?”
“You told me not to bottle up my feelings.”
“Yeah, but—wow, um.”
“Did I make another mistake?”
No! You wanted to scream. But you don’t. You instead lift your hands up to come around his face, cradling it. And you kissed him.
“I love you, too. Like the live together forever kind.”
