The Fall

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[pasteidolons]

pincushion - jww

pairing: tailor!jeon wonwoo x bookbinder!reader genre: 1960's, romance, angst, fluff, smut (MDNI 18+) warnings: swearing, alcohol, smut (p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex), no use of y/n, afab reader, an overabundance of 60's references oops word count: 19.9k summary: when a newly appointed tailor stops into your shop one autumn morning, you're unaware the impact he would have on your life for better or for worse.

1963, Autumn. The small knife in hand cuts through the thin leather with relative ease, stopping at the point you’d marked with a small piece of chalk, you switch to cut the other end of the material. You eye the coffee sitting on the opposite end of your work bench, watching the steam rise from the cup that you’d barely taken a drink from. It’s only nine in the morning and you hadn’t slept well the night before, had there not been any orders to fill you would have slept in a while longer. 

With the leather finally cut into its allotted pieces you go to move to the bound paper you were trying to cover before you hear someone walk in. The chimes above the door at the front of your shop sound off with a soft resonance, the same sound that had echoed the room for years. Footsteps tread carefully into the center of your shop, you can’t eye the stranger from your closed off workshop unless you open the heavy wooden door. 

A quiet “Hello?” rings out, they sound apprehensive and unfamiliar to you. There’s a tinged worry that treads on the lone word, leaving you all the more perplexed as you set down the leather and the semicircular knife onto your workshop table and head out into the main gallery of your shop. 

“Can I help you?” Question falling from your lips as soon as you begin to push open the oak door, finding a taller man looking down at one of the fabric laden books on one of the display tables. 

“Oh,” his attention turns to you from the book, to the doorway you’d entered from and then back to you.  The horn-rimmed glasses adorning his face slipping down the bridge of his nose. “I’m here to pick up an order for Seungcheol Choi.” His slender hand moves from its once stagnant position to push the glasses back up before moving to his right-side front pocket, “I can show you the receipt if you need it—”

“There’s no need,” you shake your head and raise your hand. Seungcheol had been a longtime customer of your family’s shop, you assume it’s mostly because of a mutual acquaintance with the Hong clan, but you would never be the one to edge into that conversation unprovoked. “I’ll go and grab your order,” a short smile and you’re turning on your heels and striding into your storeroom/workshop once more. 

When you walk back out a few moments later, the books wrapped in brown paper to protect their covers, the stranger is once again looking down at the assortment of books atop your display tables. 

“So,” you begin as you hold out the bound books to him, “are you new? I don’t think Seungcheol has sent you before.”

He takes the books gingerly, his gaze returning to the soft leather-bound journal after he gives you a short nod in thanks. As if it took him a moment to process the question he blinks and turns back to you, “Sorry— My name’s Wonwoo Jeon. I started working for Seungcheol last week.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you nod, trying to register the face with the name as comprehensively as you could. “Tell him to give me a ring when he needs his next order, I know he goes through those fairly quickly.”

“I will,” Wonwoo smiles, “Before I go do you think I could buy this?” His head nods down to the maroon colored leather-bound journal he’d been eyeing earlier, “It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

A small smile gracing your lips, “Of course, it’s unlined though. Is that alright?”

“It’s perfect, thank you,” he says as you pick up the book as his hands were already burdened with his boss’ order. “How much do I owe you?”

“No charge,” you shake your head, fingers tightening along the spine. It’s smooth but the ridges of the leather run coarse under your touch, “Think of it as a congratulatory gift for getting a job under Choi. I know he has a reputation for being a bit of a—”

“Hard-ass?” Wonwoo muses, eyes widening as he realizes how he’s just insulted his boss. “And really, I can pay for that, I’m sure it must’ve taken you a while to make it.” 

“I’m not sure if that’s the exact term I was looking for, but it does fit,” you laugh, raising the book up. “Don’t worry about it, do you want me to wrap it?” 

“If you could,” he offers a smile as you move to the roll of brown paper atop the register table. 

It only takes a minute for you to cover it, you’d done hundreds, if not thousands, of wrappings for novels and books. Once you finish tying the twine bow atop the journal, you gently stack it on the books Wonwoo holds. 

“I hope to see you here again, Mr. Jeon. That is, if Seungcheol doesn’t scare you off.”

“He’s like a weird mix of my dad and what I’d expect Hardy Amies to be,” you weren’t sure exactly who Amies is or what Wonwoo’s father was like, but you did know Seungcheol. Oddities and all. “And don’t worry, I have a stronger resolve than most,” he shoots you a wink before spinning on his heels and heading towards the door. He calls out, “Thanks again for the book!” before shoving the door open with his hip and losing himself in the crowd of the street outside.

1963, Winter There was nothing quite like the holiday season in New York. Shops elevated the grandeur of their storefronts to catch the eye of window shoppers. Your own shop had seen an influx of patrons, as was typically the case around this time of year. But the demands were great, your hands had the slew of papercuts and hastily put on bandages to show it. Not that you minded it all too much, it was great revenue and it had paid for the camel hair coat you donned this evening. 

The city was abuzz with life and festivities along almost every street, and while the excitement from Hanukkah and Christmas had died down over the last few weeks, most now looked towards the reining in of a New Year as December thirty first arrived. 

“We’re going to be late,” Vernon’s arm slides under yours, the crux of his arm locking into yours as his pace quickens along the dimly lit street. The sound of his derbies clicking against the pavement reverberating around the nearly empty row of houses. 

“It’s ten and we’re going to a New Year’s Eve party, I doubt we’ll be late, Vernon.” You let out a scoff, fumbling with your bag for a moment, not sure what you were searching for in the first place. The streetlamp’s orange glow does not aid you in deciphering the numbers etched into the doorways of the homes. 

“Says the person who took five years to pick out a jacket, I’m surprised we got out of your apartment before my hair turned gray— Wait a minute,” his fingers of his free hand trailing up to the dyed platinum locks on his head as he turns back to shoot you a glare, “It did.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” eyes rolling, you nudge him with your shoulder “It’s not my fault your stylist bleached you instead of dyeing you.”

“I feel like an idiot, they can’t even see me to fix it for another week.” He groans as the pair of you make your way to a brownstone tucked away neatly into one of the city’s streets. It would be innocuous from the others aligning the strip had you not been able to hear the gentle buzz of chatter and the occasional laugh drift out from the screened door. 

“Did Hong invite the whole block?” Vernon murmurs as he lets go of your arm so that he can jump up the short handful of stairs to the front door two by two. 

“It would explain how dead the rest of the street seems,” Musing, you follow him, more carefully as you’d always seemed prone to falling up stairs. The voices grow in volume and now you can even hear the scratchy sound of some music floating from the door. There’s no one at the door to greet you when you walk in, just an array of faces that you seem to recognize while others are brand new acquaintances, Vernon and you drop off your coats in a nearby closet and shuffle your way inside in search for the nearest drink station.

“I’d say his house is beautiful, but I can barely see anything. How does he know this many people?” Vernon questions as he slides out of the way of someone’s elbow almost hitting him in the stomach. “All I want is to get slightly drunk tonight but I bet the alcohol’s already gone.” 

“It’s the Hong household you know that’s not going to happen,” a snicker leaves you before you feel a gentle tapping on your shoulder. Stopping in your tracks you’re fully ready to meet Joshua Hong’s smirk and subsequent banter, but it takes you a minute to realize that it wasn’t your childhood friend that had garnered your attention at all; instead, it’s a somewhat less familiar face.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Wonwoo’s cheeks are slightly flushed with a smile, the contents of his champagne glass half-empty as he poses the question, “Can I get you a drink?”

“Oh, sure.” You return his smile, nodding your head as he begins to walk off, only stopped by someone calling out to him.

“I didn’t know Pincushion would be here,” Vernon’s voice draws nearer behind you, it seems like he realized you weren’t trailing after him anymore. You feel his hand land on your shoulder as he continues to talk to Wonwoo, “How are you?”

“I’m good, thanks.” He taps his shoe on the floor, only stepping forward a little bit to let someone pass by behind him.

“Pincushion?” You question, looking from Vernon to Wonwoo with a quizzical look on your brow.

“That thing he wears around his wrist every time he comes in?” Vernon shrugs, “I couldn’t remember his name the first time I saw him, but I could remember that. Hence: Pincushion.” 

“Is that what it’s called?” You recall the ball of velvety looking green fabric you’d seen on Wonwoo’s wrist the last handful of times he’d come to pick up the tailor shop’s orders. 

“Yeah my grandma used to have one and I stole the needles from it to use as swords for my toys when I was a kid,” his shoulders shrug as he looks past Wonwoo and spots something beyond him. “I see one of those guys with a tray of drinks, I’ll get back to you in a bit.” And with that he’s off, sliding around you and Wonwoo to brush his way through the crowd in a frantic sprint to grab himself a glass.

“Does he know that there’s an open bar in the other room?” Wonwoo asks aloud as he watches your friend disappear into the crowd.

“Not yet but give him twenty minutes and I’m sure he’ll be all over it.” Vernon wasn’t one to drink heavily often, it was more of a holiday thing where he only did it if he knew he wasn’t going into work for the next few days. Needless to say, Christmas and New Years are binge drinking galore for him. 

“So, book binding? How’d you get into that line of work?” You’d been so concentrated on looking for your friend’s brightly colored hair that you almost didn’t hear Wonwoo when he asked. 

“Family business, dad’s too sick to come in.” Your eyes flickering over to him, a small shrug of your shoulders.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” his brow contorts into worry for a moment, as if he’d offended you somehow. 

“Don’t be, if anything I think he’s playing it up a bit just so mom has to be around more often,” You smile, it was really only minor back issues but the doctor had prescribed bed rest and your father had been milking it for months now. 

“Smart man,” a short laugh into his drink before he takes a sip from his glass. “So, how do you know Joshua?”

“Old family friend, plus he’s as rich as all get out so it’s nice to see what it’s like.” You note, looking up to the chandelier overhead. If it were anything but Tiffany you’d be surprised. “What about you?”

“You didn’t hear this from me but Seungcheol might be secretly dating one of his sisters and she invited the whole shop just as an excuse to see him.” The two of you lock eyes, a playful smirk on his lips dancing in the warm glow of the room. “I’m not complaining.”

“I don’t doubt it,” chuckling for a moment, you then look up as if you’ve realized something. “I should probably go and greet the host; can you imagine how rude of a guest I’d be if I didn’t?”

A ceding nod as he steps away from you, gesturing with his glass towards a side room off the main hall, “I think I saw him in there a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks, Wonwoo,” you move to pass him, heading towards the doorway before you stop for a moment, your head tilting in question, “Want to meet back up later?”

“I’d love that,” a gentle thud in your chest as you nod at him, beginning to move again and question the feeling that had plagued you enough to ask him that. 

You don’t find Joshua in that room, or the next, or even upstairs in his own bedroom. You do, however, find him on the second-floor fire escape, the butts of several cigarettes at his feet and a glass of whiskey in his hand. It’s cold, had you known this would be where you’d speak you would’ve brought your coat with you.

“Joshua Hong,” You begin, crouching down to duck through the open window, catching him as he’s begun to lean against the brick exterior of his home, “Hiding away from your party again?”

“The guest of the hour,” A grin as you walk towards him, “How are you? I haven’t seen you at all in the past few months.”

“I’m good, good… It’s been so hectic with the seasonal shopping and all, who knew journals were a hot commodity for gift-giving?” You sigh, elbows resting against the cold fence of the escape. The time between now and the last you’d seen him had been great, but it had always been far and few in between when it came to his jet setting tendencies. 

“Sounds hellish for sure,” Musing, he takes a sip from his glass, the scent of whisky hitting your nose as it nears. His other hand rests atop the rusted metal of the fire escape, impatiently tapping as he looks out into the backyard of his home.

“And what about you, Mr. Start-Up? Tear down any more conglomerates recently?” You query, noticing that he was on one of his inward treks again. Something must’ve come up with his family.  

A snicker, as he offers out his glass to you, noticing that your hands were painfully empty, “No, but we’re working on a pretty big acquisition right now. It’s all mind games and if I didn’t make a shitload of money I’d be out of this business.” 

“Lucky you though, you’re able to retire at thirty-five if you really wanted to,” musing as you swirl around the contents of the glass, the ice inside clinking around. 

He laughs, the cold air mixing with his breath in plumes of white that spiral into the nighttime. You push yourself from the wall, bringing the glass to your lips and downing the rest of the contents as quickly as you can, “This isn’t the time to be hard on yourself, Joshua. I think the countdown’s about to start,” a look at the small wrist watch on your wrist, the time indicating that you had about five minutes until the new year began.

“Shit,” the word elongated exasperatedly as he leans over to catch a glance at the clock face, “Let’s get back out there.”

The two of you amble inside, your cheeks cold with the winter air and hands a little stiff from holding the glass for too long. You set it down on one of the various demilunes scattered around the hall as you make your way back into Joshua’s living room. He’s lost along the way, pulled into a group of businessmen to talk or fawning girls to cajole with, you’re not sure which at this point. All you’re trying to do is find someone you know. 

You can try to push through the crowds to find Joshua, but at this point it’d be like trying to part the Red Sea with your own two hands and it was infeasible to say the least. Or you could head to one of the drink stations around the house in hopes to find Vernon, but he was as elusive as a snake and it’d be a miracle if you could find him before the clock struck midnight.

“Sixty!” A choir of voices ring out from a nearby room, you think you can hear Joshua’s voice rising above them all, but it might also be your ears playing tricks on you.

“Are they really counting down the entire minute?” The voice next to you startled you so much that you jumped, turned, and saw Jeon Wonwoo looking off in the direction of the countdown. His brow furrowing in confusion, “I at least thought it’d be the last ten seconds or something.”

“Jesus Wonwoo,” hand over your heart as you try and catch your breath, “You almost scared me to death.”

A laugh, “Sorry about that, I’m a little light on my feet.”

It also didn’t help that you could barely hear with the throng of people surrounding you. The gaiety electrifies the room, as it does the entire world when on the eve of a brand-new start. 

“Did you want me to help you find one of your friends? I’m sure they couldn’t have gone too far,” his height somewhat advantageous to him as he scans the crowd, not seeing you shake your head as the countdown reaches thirty.

“I think I’m fine just staying with you,” you don’t notice the way he tenses ever so slightly at your words, a more rouge tint to his cheeks as he looks back to you with a sheepish smile.

“Are you sure?” Eyes widening as your gazes’ lock and you feel the familiar warmth creeping up the back of your neck.

“If that’s okay with you?” You question, the countdown hitting fifteen.

“That’s great— fine, it’s— yeah,” he trips and stumbles over his words, trying to find solid ground somewhere on the confab plain. It’s at that moment the countdown comes to ten, and the pair of you join in for the last seconds of 1963.

Five, four, three, two — 

“Happy New Year!” 

The clock had struck midnight and he was the closest one to you, you can’t remember if it was you or him that pulled the other closer to share a kiss. The kiss was chaste, but it resounded around your ribcage like the booming of the fireworks being shot off a distant skyscraper. A smile on your lips as you mouth back your own, “Happy New Year!” Despite it being innocent in nature, you know with the way the feeling buzzes on your lips you yearn for something more.

1964, Early Spring. The two of you’d spent time together since that evening, outside of that transactional relationship formed in the commerce of you selling your journals and him picking them up for Seungcheol whenever he could. It was outside of that realm, more personal as the days, weeks and months had transgressed. 

By some miraculous circumstance, and no less of your incessant mentioning, you and Wonwoo had been seeing each other on a regular basis 

“Seungcheol?” The door of the tailor shop opens with nothing short of a struggle. The heavy oak pressing back against your foot as you pry it open, your hands too full to push it. 

“Need some help?” A voice behind you, startling you so much that you almost drop the large stack of books in your hand. You look over your shoulder to see Wonwoo standing behind you, his head tilted as if to question how you’d made it this far on your own.

“Thanks,” allowing him to brush past you, he steps into the shop and holds the door open wider as you enter. “Where is everyone?” Noticing that the usual handful of other tailors didn’t seem to be aimlessly roaming the store waiting for a customer to arrive.

“Busy,” He notes, motioning for you to hand him the plethora of journals. Obliging willingly, you hand them off and stretch your arms, surely the strain from the hardbacks would pull your finger muscles. “There’s been an emergency tailoring session, some big shot’s in town and needs alterations done for some party they’re throwing tomorrow night.”

“Explains why no one came to pick up the order today,” you muse, “Shouldn’t you be helping with that?”

“I will be in about an hour,” he sighs as if he’s already imagining the work that he’ll need to put in this evening. “But someone had to watch over the shop today.” 

“Do you want company while you wait?”

You’re not sure how you’d gotten roped into staying with Wonwoo until well after the sun had set and the last customer had come in for the day. The lights of the shop are off, save for the small lamp that sits above Wonwoo’s workstation. He sits at his little desk in the back corner of the shop as he sews and hems away. His eyes scan the notes the patron had given when they’d dropped off the clothes, you had to squint to try and read the messy scrawl etched onto the parchment. You sit some desks away, flipping through some editorial detailing the up and coming designers of the fashion world but nothing was particularly catching your eye.

“Three alterations in one night, Seungcheol’s really trying to work us to the bone,” Wonwoo sighs exasperatedly, his hands falling atop his desk, a needle held between his right index and thumb while his other hand holds the garment he’d been attending to.

“Doesn’t it take a week to do something for just one piece?” You ask, not too versed on the schematics of it all, just acutely aware of when your father had needed suits adjusted as he aged.

“Normally,” he glances over to you, a hazy impatience settling behind his brow as he thinks to the two other pieces he was set to mend. “But it’s nine-thirty now and the guy wants them done by noon tomorrow,” Wonwoo almost barks out a laugh at the absurdity of it all, “I didn’t even get the roughest pieces, Mingyu’ll be up all night and finish five minutes beforehand if he’s lucky.”

“What are they making him do?” Magazine set aside as you stand to stretch, your legs numb with the fuzziness of pinched nerves.

“Some simple inseam stuff like I’m doing, but also taking in a few jacket sleeves and fixing shoulder divots,” He says as if you know what he’s talking about, upon seeing the puzzled expression that paints itself on your face he explains a little more, “It’s nearly impossible to do with the amount of time we’ve been given.”

“Why’d Seungcheol accept this job then?” Pins and needles poking through your skin as you walk over to him to take a look at what he was working on.

“Because the client’s paying us a fortune,” setting the needle down he pulls a pin from the cushion around his wrist to situate it into an odd angle in the fabric in front of him, “I might actually be able to take you on a real date if I finish this in time.”

“I’ve kind of liked the ice cream socials,” you shrug your shoulders, as he turns to look at you, “And all of the gritty little dives, it’s more memorable that way. Plus, it makes me a cheap date.”

A small ‘tch’ leaving him as he turns back to his work, “You deserve more than that.”

“As long as you’re there I’ll be fine,” you lean down to press a kiss on his cheek, “Now I’ll stop distracting you, I’ll make dinner or lunch or something because I know you’ll be dead on your feet tomorrow.”

“Try and get to bed early,” he says as you go to grab your things from where you’d left them up front, “I know you like to overwork yourself too.”

1964, Summer When you’d been invited to Wonwoo’s small apartment, you’d expected a small dinner and then maybe you’d go and watch television or explore the city afterwards. What you hadn’t expected was to see dark plumes of smoke emitting from under the doorway. You don’t knock, instead you barge into the apartment to find Wonwoo unlatching his windows and opening them to let the smoke escape, the source of the plumes coming from his small kitchen. 

“What happened?” You call out as he turns to you, your hand rising to your face as if it could vanquish the putrid smell. 

“I cooked,” the last window opens with a struggle, Wonwoo’s arms ache with how much force he had to exert when opening it. He shuffles over to you, seeing that you’d walked into the kitchen to find the source of it all.

“You… cooked….” A charred, black entity sits in a pan that Wonwoo had presumably pulled from the oven minutes prior. “Wonwoo what is that?”

“A loaf!” An almost excited tone cutting through your confusion as you turn and tilt your head at him.

“A… loaf of?”

“Meat!” At least he’s trying to sound cheerful, but that was his disposition most of the time. His hand guides your gaze over to a handwritten recipe atop the counter, he must’ve gotten it from some program. “I followed Julia Child’s recipe.” 

“I’m not trying to be mean but that looks like a brick.” Gaze flickering back to the meat-brick. 

“Yeah,” a sigh as he picks up a nearby spatula, grazing it atop the burnt meat, it scrapes atop it rather than giving way at all, “It’s about as hard as one too.”

The utter exasperation breaking through in his voice cause enough for you to laugh, the absurdity of it all pricking tears into the corners of your eyes. “We can try and salvage it,” you offer once you calm yourself down enough, the occasional chuckle flitting like a bird around your ribcage.

“Let’s just go to Le Pavilion or something, there’s also a new movie out too, we can try and catch it if we eat fast enough.”

And you do. For some reason Wonwoo orders the most expensive dish on the menu and doesn’t even like it, offering it to you instead with an abysmal pout that almost has you reeling in the small interior of the restaurant. The atmosphere is warm and jovial, met by the sinking sun as the two of you exit the venue, hands interlocked with a faint tightness as if you never wanted to be without him in your grasp again. Wonwoo and you then walk to a theater some blocks away, hands still held and a bubbling silence between you.

The film that Wonwoo had mentioned earlier had been Mary Poppins, some Disney film starring Julie Andrews and Dick Van Dyke; you’re sure you’d heard Andrews somewhere before, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. 

“I didn’t realize they could combine live action and cartoons like that,” Wonwoo’s voice full of childlike wonder as the pair of you exit the cinema. The smell of popcorn wafts out of the theater’s doors and the bright bulbs of the marquee overhead creates a strange glow contrasted to the nighttime sky. 

“I didn’t either,” you note as a few kids brush past you and begin to race down the street, their voices carrying off into the night. It brings a small smile to your lips as you watch them gallivant around, not a care in the world as they continue to chase one another.

“Do you want me to walk with you back to your place?” Wonwoo offers, extending his hand out to you. You don’t answer aloud, instead just take his hand into yours and begin to walk the steadily emptying streets.

“Have you always lived in the city, Wonwoo?” It takes a moment for you to speak again, instead of just admiring the way that the lights glint off of passing windows and the rumblings of the cars that pass to your left drown out in the other amblings of the city.

“No, my family actually lives up north a little way away.” He hums to himself as he thinks, “I thought I’d always be stuck up there too, but I got the offer from Seungcheol and moved here as fast as I could. Although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it at times.”

“I see,” you mutter, not knowing the feeling of leaving your home. It was a foreign concept to say the least, for almost the entirety of your life you’d known you were going to take over your father’s shop one day, and you’d been complacent in the matter. You’d had your hobbies that you dabbled in, but this was a nostalgic comfort that would and had transitioned into your livelihood that would take you nowhere other than the little shop you call your own. “Would you want to move back?”

“Maybe when I’m older, sure. But I want to see the world first,” he nods his head, a twitch in his hand as he holds yours, “there’s so much I haven’t done or seen.”

It was a reckless ambition, but Wonwoo lived in that fantasy of the unknown, he had for all of his life. That was what he knew and all he abided by. You’d be fooling yourself if you didn’t worry for him at times, but he’d made it so far and you were curious to see where he was going. There was a creative longing, a desire to make, within him that no one else you’d come across had.

“I love you.” The words aren’t romantic when they fall from your mouth, when they’re swept up in the humidity of the summer air and ring around both his and your ears. This was more of a reckoning, a realization of the culmination of your growing feelings towards him since you’d met him almost a year ago now. A weight you hadn’t realized was there lifting from your chest, a songbird free from a gilded cage.

Wonwoo pauses, his feet stopping on the concrete as you continue to walk, only pulled back when you meet resistance. So, you stop yourself, turning back to look at him, a little ‘o’ on his lips and a confused look gracing his features. Had you said it too early? Or did he not reciprocate your feelings?

“You beat me to it,” a small pout emerges onto his lower lip, “I love you too.”

1964, Autumn “I can’t imagine those are comfortable.” You’re sure the clacking of your shoes could be heard miles away, with the obnoxious way they hit the sidewalk. They were pinching your toes too, and you might as well have put a band-aid on the backs of your heels because they were definitely going to be blistered tomorrow morning.

“They most certainly aren’t, but they are cute.” You note, standing on your toes so you can click the red slippers together three times at the heel. “

Wonwoo stands at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to your apartment, offering out his hand for you to grasp when you carefully make your way down the steps. As opposed to the cool air that had begun to settle into the city, his hand offers warmth against your bare skin as his fingers intertwined with yours.

“Which way is Vernon's?” He questions, looking over your costume for the evening.

“He lives over in Flatiron, kind of near the shop so it won’t be too far of a walk.” You notice him looking at the checkered dress and bright shoes. “Was Dorthey not a good idea, Mr. Holmes?” Noting his outfit of choice, the pipe held in his free hand, the detective cap as well as the cape to match.

“I think you look cute,” Looking away from you and towards the street you’d begun to walk down.

Vernon’s apartment was small, it being so led to more intimate parties than one would find at Joshua Hong’s home, in a way you appreciated it a little more. Bigger parties with unfamiliar faces made you feel as if you had to act less like yourself and more robotic in your interactions.

“I’ll let you in if you promise not to chuck my house to Oz,” Vernon asks as he jokingly cracks open his front door as the two of you stand in front of it, “And Pincushion here doesn’t try and solve a murder or two.”

“Hmm I guess that’s doable, right?” You play along, turning to Wonwoo to confirm.

“It might take some restraint but I’m sure I can manage.” Hand under his chin as if he’s deep in thought.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Vernon sighs and swings the door open, “Drinks in the kitchen, I think Chan’s trying to do a comedy-musical routine in the living room. I’d steer clear because he’s trying out ‘audience participation’ tonight.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” You laugh as you walk inside, the warmth of the room exacerbated by the sheer number of people crammed into the tiny space. “I actually kind of want to check out Chan’s thing,” You mention to Wonwoo after you find a space where the two of you can stand unimpeded.

“I don’t know if I can stomach that quite yet, want me to grab you a drink in the meantime?” Wonwoo asks, looking towards the kitchen and the few people filtering in and out of it.

“That’d be great,” a smile and then Wonwoo’s off to struggle his way through the packed room.

Lip bitten, you try to look through the crowd, but the drawls of laughter tell you almost exactly where Chan’s giving his tri-annual standup show. It’s shoulder to shoulder and you can barely hear him over the other going-ons of the party but from what you can ascertain it’s pretty funny.

“Happy Halloween!” A hand on your side as they call out, you turn, and it takes you a moment to recognize the face under the Gomez Addams’ mustache and wig.

“Joshua!” A smile as you move to hug him for a moment, pulling away with your hands resting on his forearms, “I thought you were overseas?”

“I was supposed to be, a nasty storm delayed us by a few days over in Spain so I’m not leaving until Wednesday.” He says, looking over your outfit. “Didn’t you wear this like two Halloweens ago?”

“What no one knows won’t hurt them,” a playful nudge on his shoulder, “And if I were to remember, this wig looks very Elvis of you.”

“You might be able to remember correctly,” The black strands of hair that were pulled back are still reminiscent of the shape they once held. “Hey, I was wondering if I could talk to you alone?” Joshua smiles, a nervous tinge to his voice as he continues, “It’s a little loud in here and I can’t really hear.”

“Oh, yeah,” brow furrowing at the attitude shift, “But first I should tell— Wonwoo!” The confused expression on Joshua’s face is somewhat laughable as you wave your boyfriend over, spotting him exiting the kitchen with two drinks in hand.

“There you are,” Wonwoo says as he walks over, placing a kiss on your cheek as he hands you a glass. You’re not too sure what the contents are, but it’s warm and smells spiced and oddly autumnal. “Hey Joshua,” he greets with a small nod of his head as you take a small sip from your glass.

“Hey Wonwoo,” a return of the nod, “I should probably let the two of you go, I just remembered I have some calls I need to make.”

“What did you want to talk about?”  You ask as Joshua begins to turn on his heels. It freezes him, he looks back to you before offering you a warm smile once again.

“It’s nothing important, I’ll catch up with you some other time, yeah?”

The party goes one without much note after, the most affable thing being that routine that Chan had been preparing.  At one point you and Wonwoo had slipped out citing an acute tiredness as an excuse to just walk the city some more. By this time of night, the kids that had gone out in search of candy were slowly waning, now only the belligerently drunk wandered the streets in search of the home they probably lived in.

“You have to admit that the joke about Red Skelton was pretty funny though,” insisting that Chan wasn’t the worst comedian you had ever seen. Sure, his act could be cleaned up a little but there was definitely potential.

“What was it— I know a guy who bought a $99 color TV set. Now every Tuesday night he watches Green Skelton?” Chuckling as he recalls the joke, Wonwoo shakes his head “That was pretty good.”

“That’s the one, he’s no Jerry Lewis but he’s trying his best,” you laugh as you arrive at the entrance of your apartment, “Did you want to come in?”

“I’d love to,” he says, and your heart skips several beats, “but I’ve got a client coming in early tomorrow.” And then your heart drops, “I’ll come by tomorrow after I’m done?”

“Alright,” you nod and you say your good nights, he places a kiss on your cheek before turning on his heels and walking into the darkness of night. 

You fumble with your hands, trying to unlatch the small picnic basket that had acted as your purse for the evening, in search of your keys. 

“Actually, do you have room for one more?” You’d been too distracted trying to get your keys that you hadn’t heard or seen Wonwoo come back to your stoop. 

“I thought you said you had work tomorrow,” a wayward glance to him.

“I do, but it’s dark and I’m kind of afraid to walk home alone, I mean what if a ghost or vampire gets me? I’m too pretty to die right now,” he states, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waits for you to invite him in. 

“A big baby, more like it,” you scoff, once again turning to look at your door and stating, “If you are coming inside, can you lend me my own spare? I think I dropped my keys at Vernon’s.”

“Yeah I think I’ve got it on my ring,” he rummages around his pockets for a moment until you hear the familiar jingle of his keys. There are only four that adorn the metal hoop; his apartment’s, his mailbox’s, Seungcheol’s shop, and the most recent addition: yours. 

“Roommate not home?” He questions as the two of you make your way inside, kicking off your shoes as you beeline to your kitchen.

“At some B. Altman holiday extravaganza with her beau,” pulling two glasses from a cabinet and grabbing a nearby bottle from the small section of your kitchen dedicated to alcohol, “Nightcap?”

“A small one,” Wonwoo nods as you come into the room, he’s standing over your record player, turning it on and beginning to play whatever was on the platter. You set the glasses down onto the coffee table and pry the cork out of the bottle, pouring two small glasses as he falls into the sofa beside you.

“I hope Delamain’ll do?” You set down the bottle and pass a glass to Wonwoo, only settling down on the couch once your own glass is in hand.

“It’s perfectly fine,” he sips at his glass, setting it down on the settee as he muses some more, “What record is this?”

“Ella Fitzgerald, mom gave it to me for my birthday last year, it’s one of her favorites.” Sipping from your own glass steadily turns into you just downing the liquid in one go. The glass hits the end table with a clink when you set it down, Wonwoo’s free hand resting on your thigh as he listens to the music wafting through the air.

“It’s lovely,” he sighs out as you rest your head on his shoulder, the scent of his Pour Monsieur cologne invading your senses as you settle. The meticulous grazing of his fingers over your thigh causes you to sigh, wanting to sink further into him.

“Can you kiss me?” The words fall breathlessly from your lips, as his fingers trace the hem of your dress. And he does, turning his head to crash against you with such voraciousness that your teeth click against each other before he steadies and falls into motion with you. The pair of you stay like that for a moment, before you feel his hand slip under your leg, urging you to sit atop him. 

You straddle his waist, feeling a hardness beginning to strain against his trousers as you grind down onto his lap. He lets out a moan, probably the sweetest thing you’d ever heard, his eyelids fluttering as you do it again. A smirk graces your lips, your hands trailing from his chest to the button on the front of his pants, the fabric coarse under your touch as you move to unfasten it. Before you could, you feel a pair of warm hands atop yours, you looked up to see a wide-eyed Wonwoo. 

“I didn’t think I’d be doing this today, so my underwear isn’t exactly mood appropriate—” He says all too quickly for you to comprehend fully, “Just don’t judge me too hard.”

“They can’t be— Is that Mickey Mouse?” You catch the name on the waistband of his underwear, hesitating on releasing any more of the animated character for your eyes to see. 

“And I think you’ve just killed the mood,” he groans, his head falling onto the back pillow as his hands fall atop the couch cushions. 

“No, I didn’t,” you lean down for a kiss, rolling your hips over him, feeling that he was almost fully erect. His hands fly back to your sides, guiding you along as he lifts his pelvis to meet yours. “I think they’re cute but maybe leave them home next time.”

“Next time?” He mused, looking up at you through clouded eyes, a joking tinge added to his voice “What makes you think there’s going to be a next time?”

“Call it foresight,” shoulders shrugging as you look down at him, your head tilted ever so slightly “and you don’t seem like the hit it and quit it type, baby.” He’d slept over at your apartment before, maybe you’d had a few drunken makeout sessions but nothing ever this sobering, this far. In hindsight maybe you should’ve been nervous, let the butterflies in your stomach take over and calm you down. You’re not sure why you’d taken such a confident route with him, it just seems like he needed it. 

“Baby,” the word fell out as a whisper as you saw the faint pinkness of his cheeks in the glow that emanates from the lamp to his right, “Can you spare me any further embarrassment and just take them off already?”

“It doesn’t feel like you’ve got anything to be embarrassed about,” your hand brushing his away from the front of his pants, you sit up on your knees, “Mind kicking them off for me?”

He readily began to comply as you tried to maneuver without inhibiting him, you noticed him watching you, a hunger in his gaze that sent shivers down your spine. His hands still for a moment and his head twists to look towards the kitchen where the entryway is. 

“Fuck— is someone else here?” He asks and you listen to the familiar sound of your front door unlocking; it doesn’t open but you can hear loud footfalls and an even louder voice talking outside of the door. 

“Sooyoung?” You call out after you were sure the voices had stopped, walking to the kitchen when you hear your roommate's keys hitting the kitchen counter “I thought you were staying at your boyfriend’s?”

“The asshole broke up with me because he wanted to be Holly Golightly. Him! He might have astoundingly good looks for it but I think I’m a little prettier, don’t you think?” The door of the fridge slamming shut, a rustle around the utensil drawer as she looks for a spoon. She did look stunning as the Hepburn character; you have to admit. “They’re re-airing that episode of Perry Mason if you want to watch it.”

“Wonwoo’s actually over so I think I’m just going to call it a night,” You say, leaning against the doorframe, watching her begin to dig into a tub of ice cream. “I’ll be sure to rant about your ex with you tomorrow.”

“You’d really do that?” A sigh as she shoves the spook into her mouth, “I’ll try not to wake you guys up when I get up for work tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Sooyoung,” a smile before you slip away and head back into the living room. “Alright Woo, it’s time for bed.”

“Alright,” Wonwoo pushes himself off of the couch, buttoning his pants and shouting out a ‘Goodnight Sooyoung!’ before ducking into your room. With his long strides he walks to your bed and subsequently falls into it as you turn to close the door behind the two of you.

“Don’t you want to change, Dr. Holmes?” You note his still costumed self as you look at his sprawling figure on the bed, “I think I’ve got your bed clothes from the last time you were here… Not sure if I cleaned them though.”

He huffs, “Forget it, I’m going to sleep.” He crawls to his side, blanketing himself with your duvet as you go into your bathroom to remove your makeup and change. 

You can hear him softly snoring as you exit the restroom, your face still a little damp and the scent of your cleanser tingling your nose. Sooyoung’s turned off the music in the living room, the garbled sounds of the small black and white tv quietly floating in under your door. It takes a moment, but you climb into bed next to Wonwoo, pulling the duvet up to your chin before you shut your eyes and fall into a dreamless slumber.

It isn’t sunny out when you wake up, you don’t want to look at your clock for fear that your alarm was about to go off and you’d miss the opportunity to sleep in a few minutes more. An arm draped over you, even in sleep Wonwoo was a cuddler. Normally you weren’t opposed unless it was the summertime and it was unbearably hot outside. 

“You know,” you hear him mumble tiredly, as if he senses that you’ve woken up too, “I always thought your apartment would be much more… bookier.” With the way his voice rasps with fatigue you’re not sure if he’s fully awake or half asleep. 

“What were you expecting? Books wall to wall?” eyes still closed as you pull your duvet closer to you, feeling his arm tense around your waist. 

“Kind of, something akin to a fairytale library,” his breath hot on your back, the hairs on the back of your neck raising at the sensation. “Like uhm— some Grimm story… Oh,” voice perking, “Can we go for that Halloween next year? You didn’t even tell me what you were going as until I saw you tonight.”

“You want to have a couple’s costume?”

“Yeah,” breathing slowly as if he’s falling back asleep again,”Maybe Lucy and Ricardo, that’d be fun.”

The next time you wake up, the sun’s blaring into your eyes with an intensity you had never asked for.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” Wonwoo’s mumbling and shuffling around your room, sunlight was pouring in from your windows and he looked heavenly even in his manic state.

“What’s wrong?” Stifling a yawn behind your hand as you watch him frantically feel his pockets.

“It’s nine-thirty, We— I overslept,” another string of curses escaping him as he looks around your room, “Do you have a phone I can use?”

“It’s on the dresser.” You point lazily to the red rotary.

You hear the dial tone ring a few times before someone on the other end picks up, “Mingyu can you put my client on the line?” A pause, “Yes I know I’m late.” Another pause before Wonwoo speaks again, “Hello Mr. Smith? Yes, this is Wonwoo Jeon. I'm running a little late for our appointment, I had bit of an emergency and— Huh? Oh, yes, of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Only minorly,” he frowns, “You wouldn’t happen to have a suit perfectly tailored for me to wear, would you?”

“Can’t say that I do, why don’t you just go in what you’re wearing?”

“I am not going dressed up as Sherlock Holmes for this client. I have some pride, you know.” 

“You’re literally wearing Mickey Mouse underwear,” you snort, “it doesn’t look that bad anyway, just don’t wear the hat and lose the pipe. Maybe the cloak too but it’s kind of sexy.” 

“Don’t try to tempt me,” he groans, buttoning and zipping his pants, “I’m late enough as is.” 

“I’d offer you an iron if Sooyoung hadn’t broken mine, that shirt looks super wrinkly now that I see it in the sunlight,” you note, he still looked nice though. He would probably look nice in anything he wore.

“Ugh, really?” Hands running over the wrinkled fabric he sighs to himself, “I’d say I’ve looked worse, but I normally have myself together.” 

“Good luck. I, for one, am going back to sleep.” You sigh and fall back into your blankets, not wanting to leave the sanctuary of warmth quite yet.

“Now who’s the baby?” He scoffs and you hear him tread to the side of the bed, a kiss planted on your forehead as you crinkle your nose up at him. “I’ll call you later today?”

“I’ll talk to you then.”

1964, Late Autumn. The rain began only a few minutes into your trek to the cafe, your umbrella weeping with the droplets as they roll off its surface as you trudge down the street. There’s a rumble in the distance but you’re not sure if it’s the local train station or thunder somewhere off beyond the city. Your other hand in your pocket, running your finger along the ridges of your shop’s key. While you know you’d locked it, you can’t help but have the underlying fear that you’d left the door wide open so that anyone could just walk in. Although you’re not quite sure what they’d take, a few blank notebooks don’t seem like it’d do too well in any sort of underground market. 

By the time you pull yourself from your thoughts, you’re standing in front of a small cafe that feels more like a second home to you than your own apartment did at this point. The door swings open, you stand in the entranceway so that you can close your umbrella and leave it in the small stand upfront before you head fully inside. It smells like autumn, or at least the coffee’d variant of it. Pumpkin, nutmeg, and a few other scents you can’t quite pinpoint wafting through the air as you walk up to the counter to place your order. You pick out a few pastries as well and ask that they’re brought out when your coffee is ready. A hand to remove the paper-wrapped book under your arm so you can reach for your wallet, realizing then that the water had soaked into the leather. The wrapping paper now a little damp from where it’d brushed against your coat, you pick it back up as well as grab the receipt from the barista before scouring the cafe for what you’d come here to do in the first place.

Wonwoo’s dozing off when you find him in the back corner of the coffee shop. His jacket slung on the chair beside him, a scarf thrown haphazardly atop it as he leans with his head tilting backwards, pretty much dead to the world. Had the two of you not been frequent customers you’re sure that he would’ve been kicked out by now. But there he was, black turtleneck, tailored pants, and the cartoon bandages he loves so much wrapped tightly around his fingertips.

He doesn’t wake up when you accidentally scrape your chair on the ground when you pull it back to sit across from him nor does he wake when you drop the paper-bound book atop the table with a loud thud. Wonwoo does, however, wake when you brush your hand gently atop his, nearly falling out of his chair as his eyes open wider than you’d ever seen someone’s do. 

“That wasn’t funny,” he frowns as you snicker, glancing over to the counter trying to act as if he’s regained his composure, “did you already order?”

“For me? Yes,” you place your bag in the chair adjacent to you, shrug off your raincoat and hang it on the back of your chair. “For you, what is it that you get? Flat white, two sugars, low fat milk?”

“That’s it,” he hums, leaning his head back once more. It must’ve been another sleepless night for him.

“You should be thankful I’ve got an exceptional memory,” you frown as he can’t see you, he overworks himself too much and if you ever try to bring it up he brushes it off with a wave and an excuse of ‘I’m just doing what I love’. 

“You know,” he begins, leaning his head back up, opening his eyes to look at you. There was something shining behind them that you’d only seen on a handful of occasions; he has an idea and he’s not sure that you’ll like it, “I was wondering if you’d model a dress for me? Not for a fashion show or anything. I just think it’d look good on you.”

His gaze breaks from yours to look at the aisle behind you, you turn and see the barista coming with your drinks and assortment of baked goods. After a few repetitious ‘thank you’s she leaves and the pair of you are left alone once more. 

“Are you flirting with me?” An eyebrow piqued as you looked at him. He’d asked you to do some of the strangest things before, going from the mundane ‘I think we need to get annual tickets to the opera just in case I forget your birthday and it’ll be a birthday present’ to ‘I swear to god if we don’t rescue this cat right now I’m never calling you again’. But it was two am and a sorely inebriated Wonwoo had thought that a raccoon was a cat as it rummaged through the garbage. That had also been the night where he’d serenaded you with his own rendition of Blossom Dearies ‘Dance Only With Me’ and Sinatra’s ‘I’m a Fool to Want You’; he’d broken down crying at the latter and you’d forced him to go to bed early. He only went on the condition that you’d hug him as he slept. It was certainly an interesting way to spend your first date together. 

“Do you want me to be? I’d say it’s fairly doable,” He winks as he drinks from his mug, blowing on its contents beforehand to cool the brew. 

A laugh, the brown paper under your fingertips wrinkling as you strain your fingers and push it towards him. It slides across the wood with relative ease, your finger partially tearing the paper where it had been dampened by the rain. 

“I brought you your book.”

“Unlined and all?” He asks as he sets down his cup, shifting himself forward to get a better look.

“Unlined, flexible binding, the works.” 

“You’re a lifesaver,” he sighs, taking the still wrapped book into his grasp. 

“I know,” you smile, watching as his fingers toy with the twine that kept it together. 

“Hello? Paging Ms. Bookbinder, you there?” Wonwoo’s hand waves in front of your face, suddenly you’re back in reality and trying to remember the conversation. You didn’t realize you’d zoned out that hard.

“Yes Mr. Reichelt?” You question, looking down as his finger’s unlace the twine you’d wrapped around the paper packaging. 

“Don’t call me that I am much cooler than Franz Reichelt, and less dead, for that matter.”

“Can you say that after you drink your coffee?” You poke jokingly while he eyes his mug with a wary glance.

“Anyway, were you even listening to me?” He leans towards you, elbows resting on the tabletop and a slight curvature to his smile that looked far too playful for the current moment. It stilled your heart for a second before you shake your head at him. 

“Not really, no.” You confess, sipping from your cup, “What is it?”

“I was asking if you would let me make a dress for you. I’ve had this idea in my mind for weeks and I finally got this mulberry silk imported from Lyon and it’s too good not to use immediately.”

“I don’t even need a dress like that, Wonwoo.” You frown, picking at one of the pastries in front of you, pinching off a piece before stuffing it into your mouth. “I’m not exactly the type that goes to parties where I’d need a silk dress.” You think that the last party you’d attended you’d worn a sweater and a dress from your roommate’s closet, nothing remotely close to what he was proposing. 

“You don’t even know what it looks like,” he pouts, “All I need are your measurements, you won’t even have to see the thing if you don’t want to.” 

A sigh, “Fine. When do you want me to drop by?”

“Does Tuesday around ten work for you?”

“I should be able to get Vernon to look over the shop while I’m gone.”

1964, Winter. The ringing of your shop’s bells draws you to the front room, your hands wrought with binding glue, you try to rub them on the apron you wear to rid yourself of the sensation. Before you can ask what the customer needs you stop in your tracks, head tilting to the side, “Isn’t it your day off?”

“It is,” Wonwoo’s voice is cheery as he walks in further, looking at the array of newly bound books sitting out on display.

“What are you doing here?”

“Am I not allowed to want to see you?” You fluster at the words, hard to hide the small smile that forms on your lips.

“I mean, you can, it’s just that I’m working.” You motion to the store, to the few customers browsing the items.

“You’ve spent however many nights watching me hem skirts and taper jackets; I think it’s time I return the favor.” A nod of his head as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “What can I do to help?”

“What the hell’s Pincushion doing here?” Before you’re able to open your mouth, Vernon comes out of the back room with a stack of books in his grasp, “I thought you’d be holed up in your shop by now.”

“It’s my day off.”

“And you’re spending it… here…” The thud of books landing on a nearby table as the skepticism in Vernon’s voice rises.

“Yep.”

“He must really like you,” Vernon scoffs, going to grab a different selection of books off of another shelf. He turns to you and asks, “Can you grab me the leather samples from the back? I think Maisel’s coming in today and you know how he gets.”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You shake your head and head to the back room to search for the swatches.

While he waits, Wonwoo notices a small web lingering in the intersection of two walls, the sunlight glinting off its strands having been what alerted him to his presence in the first place. At first, he thinks to sweep it away with a broom he knows is hidden somewhere in your storeroom. You weren’t the biggest fan of bugs or arachnids; he was surprised you hadn’t rid your shop of it by now. But he can’t find it within himself to brush the web asunder. It had worked hard to build and craft its home; he knew firsthand how difficult creating something from nothing was. 

“Her name is Jorōgumo.” Vernon had walked up behind Wonwoo with little announcement. The younger jumps, turning his head to look at the other. “I offered to kill her… him…? For her but she said it was eating the bugs and to let it be.”

Wonwoo eyes the fat-bodied spider, “Why is it named that?”

“It’s a fairytale from Japan, there’s a spider that looks like a woman. It entices men to follow her and then eats them while they’re distracted,” Vernon explains, the sound of the storeroom opening behind him.

“Are you bullying Arachne again?” You frown, handing the swatches to Vernon and looking up to the small web in the corner.

“I am not bullying Jorōgumo.”

“If I’m keeping a spider in my shop, I am not naming it after a monster.”

“And a heretic is better?” Vernon scoffs, tapping Wonwoo on the shoulder, “What do you think, Pincushion?”

“I’m just wondering why both the myths have to be women,” he shrugs his shoulders and looks to you, “Do you think you’d be free this evening so I can take your measurements? I finally have some free time to start working on that dress.”

“I think so,” a nod as you look at Vernon, “Mind looking after the shop for a bit?”

1965, Early Spring “Didn’t you already measure me?” Wonwoo’s hands hold a rolling measuring tape as he holds it up to your forearm as you ask.

“Yeah, but I want to make sure this is perfect.” Tape lowered; he writes down the number into one of the journals he’d brought with him to your apartment. Trailing away from that your eyes look to the bouquet he brought when he’d come over.

“What’s the deal?” Brow furrowing at the pink, red and white blooms, “You never give me flowers.”

“It’s a special occasion,” Beaming, he’s as bright as the sun. A jilted visage against the cool tones of your apartment’s interior. He looks up to you with a vividness in his eyes, “Your boyfriend’s going to Paris.”

“What do you mean Paris?” A hitch in your voice as you ask, a strange and warped confusion overcoming you.

“Seungcheol got me an apprenticeship with one of his friends, he’s going to be in town in a few weeks to talk about it with me and I want to show off the dress there.” He’s speaking at a mile a minute, a clear excitement as he beams.

“Don’t fall for some mysterious Parisian woman while you’re there,” You poke, still unsure about how you even feel about this.

“I doubt I’ll have time to even wander the city. With all of the workshops and sessions we’ll have. It’s going to be the opportunity of a life— ow—” he says as you gently hit his shoulder. “I won’t fall for some other girl, I promise,” He laughs and continues to take your measurements.

1965, Late Spring “Did you have a good time tonight?” The lock clicking into place as he asks, your footsteps falling on the floor as you make your way to his workbench in the center of what would’ve been his living room had he not made it into a makeshift workshop. 

You note the tools, the fabrics and array of swatches that litter his home, the pincushion he wears on his wrist as he works settled onto the tabletop. It’s as if the apartment is a representation of him, messy in ambition but persevering through the struggles as he tries to find the limelight of his own. A smile forming as he walks over to you.

“I had a wonderful time, thank you for inviting me.”

It had been a small gathering at the tailor shop, a small dinner with Seungcheol, Wonwoo, Seungcheol’s friend and Wonwoo’s future mentor Jeonghan, and yourself. The entirety of the night you’d felt a knot forming in your stomach, the anxiety of Wonwoo’s future endeavors weighing heavily on your shoulders. You want to be happy for him but the closer it gets to Wonwoo’s departure for Paris leaves you feeling more and more despair at the event of it all.

“Thank you for coming,” Wonwoo’s hands find your sides as you lean your backside against the rough wooden edge of the table. “You made it all the more bearable,” smiling softly in the dim lighting of the apartment, he leans forward and places a soft kiss on your lips. The wine from earlier lingers on his breath, you’re sure it does the same to yours, the darkness of the red already making you warm and your body feeling weightless, almost as if you were floating in a pool of water. 

You part, staring into each other’s eyes, a silent conversation before he’s leaning in again to find your lips. His kiss seems as if it seeks to steal the breath from your lungs. To devour you entirely until all you can think of is his closeness, the softness of his lips atop yours, of just him. The woolen fabric of his overcoat is rough under your fingertips as you move your hands from the workshop table to his shoulders, gently pulling at the cloth to urge him to discard the garment. His hands leave your sides momentarily as he shrugs the jacket off, the fabric falling and pooling on the floor at his feet. A metallic clang echoing around the space as he leans forward to lock his lips with yours.

“Wonwoo,” you breathe, soft pants escaping the both of you as you turn your head from him, your eyes trailing to the sewing scissors that had clattered onto the floor. Another rustling of fabric and you realize he’s discarded his suit jacket as well.

“Let it be,” a hand under your chin, guiding you back to the comfort of his lips. He presses himself into your touch, the way your fingers dance along the smooth cotton of his starched shirt, fiddle with the buttons and run your fingertips atop the small engravings adorning them. 

“Are we really going to do this in your workspace?” You look up to his darkened gaze, your voice caught in your throat as his own fingers move to toy with the neckline of your dress. Gentle, electric touches that have you reeling.

“Does that bother you?” His lips leave yours once more as he places soft, yearning kisses to your cheek, trailing down your jaw and then to your neck. He raises a hand to pull away the neckline of the dress to allow him better access to the apogee of nerves nestled at the point where your shoulder and neck meet. Teeth biting ever so gently that you would have mistaken it as a light graze had you not felt the sharp pinch. It pulls an almost whining sound from your vocal cords, causing your head to tilt to allow him more space to roam. 

Lips curling into a smile as he pulls away, his hand sliding from the table to your arm, then raising and gently pulling at your hair, “You didn’t answer me.” 

“God, fuck, no it doesn’t bother me,” you trap his lips in yours, tilting your head up so the orange glow of the street lamps outside shine into your eyes before you shut them, finding yourself lost in the entity of your lover. The slowest ministrations of your hips trying to roll against his, to seek out friction and closeness and the yearning of him to once again be a part of you, “Wonwoo.” Your tone is darker, needier, wanting as he presses his clothed self flush against you. 

A huff of air escaping you as he once again pulls his lips away from you, and then the gentle rolling of his hips against yours ceases as well. Eyes opening to find him looking over you, not scrutinizing, it seems as if he was rather admiring the picture that sat before him.

Head tilting, the presence of desire absent for a moment as he muses, “I think it looks amazing.” He hums as he lowers himself to his knees, somehow the softness of his voice makes you want to comply with every word uttered, “Can you sit on the table for me?”

Hands brushing against tulle and satin and a plethora of other fabrics you could care less about at this moment in time as you find your hold on the table as you move to sit atop its surface, your heeled shoes clattering to the floor as you do so. Wonwoo’s fingers caress your calves as he leans himself closer to your core, his warm breath making your mind conjure some of the most unspeakable thoughts. 

“I’ll have to let the designer know he did an amazing job,” you smile, involuntarily shivering as he slides his hands upwards, the hem of your dress inching towards your stomach the further he ascends. 

His face merely inches from your core now, your hips squirming at the proximity. “I think he’d be appreciative of the feedback,” Wonwoo smiles, his face now obscured from vision due to the collection of fabric, you have half a mind to tear it off of you, not that you ever realistically would. It’s far too precious. 

The rip of fabric, the coolness of the air hitting your now exposed sex, you whine in protest as he begins to slide the now torn fabric of your underwear away from you. 

“I’ll get you some more,” his right hand hovers over you, he uses his middle finger to swipe up the length of your slit, causing you to draw in a sharp breath. 

“Are you a lingerie atelier now— Fuck,” you begin to joke before he begins to tease your clit with the tip of his finger. He moves his middle finger slowly, languidly as he draws deep breaths and stifled moans from your lips.

After a moment, your own hand moves to your breast, trying to fondle the flesh through several layers of fabric. He changes his approach, moving lover to tease your entrance before he slips his finger inside of you and with a moan you roll your hips to try and meet him halfway. 

It’s not until he eases in another finger and begins to slowly draw them in and out of you as well as latch his lips to your clit that your vocalizations rise in volume. The digits curl inside of you, his tongue swirls around the sensitive bundle of nerves and your head finds itself lost in the euphoria of the moment, your hand falling away from your breast to find itself running through Wonwoo’s locks. He hums against you as your fingers tighten their hold, nearly sending you over the edge.

“Are you close?” You look at him, lips coated with the sheen of you, a tinge to his voice that straddles between curiosity and a carnal question. 

Hand moving from his hair to his cheek you can only nod, trying to roll your hips to the increasing speed of his fingers inside of you. His eyes watching you as you do finally reach your climax, chortled breaths escaping you as well as a slew of incoherent words and his name. Wonwoo can feel the way your walls spasm around his fingers and sighs to himself as he pulls them from you, wishing that it had been more than just his digits that had made you cum.

You sit up, a little dazed and a lot more aroused than you were when you’d first stepped into the apartment. Wonwoo rises to greet you, your lips clash together and you can taste yourself on his tongue as you vie for dominance. 

“Switch with me?” You ask, parting for air, voice whispering as your hands move to once again toy with the hem of his collared shirt.

And he does, backing away from you enough so you can land your feet on the floor and trade places with him. Your turn to take control for a moment, you feel the hardness of his cock through his pants as you tentatively palm it, trying to elicit some sort of sound from him. 

“Come on, Woo, I know you’ve got it in you,” you tease, running your hand up and down the etching of his member, slowly and meticulously trying to draw him out of his shell. 

“Have what—” he cuts himself off as you run your fingers over his cockhead, a low groan as if he hadn’t wanted you to hear it. 

“Have that,” you lean forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. The taste of salt greeting you, the sheen of sweat on his face glittering in the lights dimly illuminating his apartment. You fall to your knees, sending shivers down your spine as the cool air that balloons the skirt of your dress as your knees hit the floor with a dull thud. Hands sliding up his thighs, you move to his belt to hastily unfasten it.

It falls away, as do his pants and underwear, you were going to mention the lack of cartoon characters adorning it, but you were too preoccupied taking him into your mouth to comment. 

Tongue running over the slit on his head, it draws the sweetest sounds from him, saccharine-like honey that drips from his moans and rings around your ears. His hand running through his hair, his other gripping the table as he tries to stop himself from bucking into your mouth as you take him further. 

Your knees ache from the rough floor, the pain not deterrent enough for you to forget about the wetness between your legs. Fidgeting as your head bobs up and down on his length, you don’t think he takes notice. Yet Wonwoo was more perceptive than he let on at times, considering his hand now rests upon your hollowing cheek. 

“Get up,” Wonwoo urges, his voice hoarse as he tries to gently nudge you away from his cock. “I want to cum inside of you.” When you do let him leave your mouth, a thin line of spittle trailing from his head to your lips you hear him sigh out again. It was so easy to get a reaction out of him, he almost feels like putty in the palm of your hand. 

The indents from the wood settle into the flesh of your thighs as he helps you stand and lightly pushes you back onto the table. His belt clattering onto the floor as he fully kicks off his pants, his shoes, and briefs. 

You wonder at this point if you should take off the dress, but as your hand begins to reach for the zipper, he stops you, “No, keep it on.”

He kisses you again, taking his hands to gently pry your legs open so he can align himself with your core. Lips parting, you feel his cock brush up against your entrance before he pushes himself into you, his hands moving to trail up the sides of your legs. Slowly, feeling every inch enveloping him as his fingers tighten their hold on the skin of your hips. 

“Fuck,” he moans, fully sheathing himself inside of you. His brown eyes meeting yours, tongue darting out to wetten his lips, “Do you need a minute?”

When you shake your head no you fully expect him to start rutting into you with reckless abandon as he did most nights you stayed together. But he doesn’t, instead he starts to roll his hips into you, not trying to fuck the life out of you, rather trying to gauge how and what made you feel good.

“Woo,” you mutter with half-lidded eyes, hands trailing up his arms and to his shoulders, your nails digging into the now exposed skin. It was sure to leave marks, but only small crescent moons that would fade away come morning. 

It’s whispered ‘I love you’s’ that fall from his lips as your forearms wrap around his neck to pull you up and draw him in closer, a thrumming in your chest each time he says it. And you repeat it back to the best of your ability, to find a constancy in him that hadn’t ever made itself presentable to you in a lover or significant other before. 

For a moment you’re able to lose yourself in him, to forget that he’d be leaving you soon and your heart along with it. You’re enveloped in the presence of him and you wouldn’t have it any other way, you wouldn’t let it be any other way. 

Wonwoo’s thrusts become more sporadic as he reaches his end, one of his hands leaving your side and moving to your clit to try and bring you over with him one more time. You’re sensitive and strung out on him, legs tensing as they try to close, stopping around his waist as you press your forehead to his shoulder. 

He cums with little warning, other than his hand moving from your clit and back to your side as he stills himself within you. The sweat collected on both of your bows intermingles when he presses his forehead against yours. His breathing slows as he regains his composer, kissing you as he slides himself out of you. When he pulls away to slide on his briefs you land your feet on the ground with shaky legs, holding the edge to balance yourself.

Wonwoo turns back to you and almost has to stifle a short laugh, your face contorting to the feel of his essence leaving you, it’s strange but not overtly bad. Just not something you’re fully accustomed to.

“Let’s wash up, hm?” Hand taking yours, he leads you to his small bedroom, only stopping midway so he can help you out of your clothes. He unzips the dress, the cool air of his apartment fully encasing you as he pulls the fabric off your shoulders. You feel his lips press a soft kiss onto the nape of your neck and he catches the scent of the perfume you’d applied earlier in the evening. The dress falls, pooling at your feet and you step from its depths and onto the hardwood floor. Before you’re able to reach for the dress, Wonwoo’s swept it up, already moving to hang it in his closet. 

The two of you shower together, reminiscing on a handful of occasions with him that you’d fully devoted to memory but also of the future as well. Wonwoo was excited to leave, every mention of it fractalizing your heart just a little bit more, not that you’d let him know, you just put on a smile and tell him how happy you are for him.

You borrow a shirt from him to wear to bed, exiting the bathroom while he brushes his teeth and combs his hair. While he does, you wander his room, looking at the shelves that adorn the space. Most books atop them are about tailoring or sewing, things that wouldn’t typically draw your attention. You then spot a few that are familiar, the bindings nostalgic under your fingertips as you trace them, no names or words that address their titles.

“I never realized I made you so many,” You muse, looking at Wonwoo who’s just exited the bathroom.

“I have been your loyal customer for a while now, you know.” He notes, falling into his bed and collecting the blankets, he pats the mattress beside him to beckon you closer. 

You fall back into the bed beside him after you saunter over, encased in the blankets for a moment by the duvet he tosses atop you before you look at him, “I don’t want you to go.” It’s a simple statement that carries all too much weight for those six words alone, they lie heavily in your chest, saying them aloud does nothing to stop that. 

“I know, I know,” There’s a hurt in his voice as he knows just how difficult it’ll be to part from you. “We’ve still got almost two months left before I go though, let’s try to make the most of it, okay?”

1965, Summer It had only been a month since Wonwoo landed in Paris. His French is awful, and he only knows how to call things pretty, cute or something lewder thanks to the teachings of his fellow apprentices. There are bags under his eyes from another sleepless night, a cigarette hanging from his lips (a terrible habit he’s picked up as of late), and the mute sounds of some song playing out of the bar he’d just crawled out of. It’s probably Bridget Bardot but he can’t tell from his position, not that he can understand anyway, he’s barely been able to comprehend his own thoughts.

His fingers ache, only nude bandages that are a little too pink wrapped around them because he can’t find the cartoon ones that you’d given him tucked away in his things. His eyes feel strained, tired, and pulsing from overanalyzing stitching and searching cloth for tears, pulls or other impurities. Montmartre was beautiful, not that he was able to see it often as he was constantly working. And if he wasn’t working, he was probably trying to catch up on lost rest.

This was his dream, a part of it though, the other half had you somewhere tucked away in the echelons of his fantasy life. Although he was doing what he wanted, what he loved, there was something about you being in absentia that had him feeling empty. He’d written countless letters but only signed and sent a handful, worried of saying too much and worried of saying too little. To you and his father, his father that had sent him on this path at a young age. ‘Make something of yourself,’ he’d said when Wonwoo was seven, ‘you’re too ambitious not to.’

If he could laugh at him now, he would. But his father was an ocean away, retreated somewhere in the depths of Wonwoo’s childhood that he’d rather leave behind. 

Yet on the other hand, he’d written you what felt like every day and struggled with each composition. Wonwoo had never missed someone’s voice as much as yours, the gentle feel of your hand intertwined with his or even the sounds of your footsteps trailing through your shop. He’s supposed to be happy, why isn’t he happy?

The cigarette burns, the acrid smoke filtering into his mouth as he inhales, a plume of what’s left leaving him when he huffs out, the cigarette dropped onto the ground, smoldering away. Hand flitting through his knotted locks, the dampness of sweat clinging to the pads of his fingertips as he brushes over his brow. 

Most people had dropped everything to work under Jeonghan, a certified maestro of their craft. And Wonwoo had dropped everything, not begrudgingly at first, but as the dog days of the beginning of summer and the end of spring drew near there was a rising anxiety within his chest. If you had asked him not to leave as he was standing at the terminal’s gates, he probably wouldn’t have gone at all. 

He’s been giving up more and more lately; sleep, adequate meals, a solitary living space. Wonwoo’s worried when this serpent of work will seek out to devour you away too. It’s not that he wants to let you go, but if he’s to make something of himself he might have to, as cruel and malicious it may seem. In that you waiting for him was burdensome, not to him but to yourself. While he’s off gallivanting in an ancient city you’re in your shop, was he just supposed to expect you to idly sit by and wait for him? He’s not sadistic enough to tether you down to the unknown.  

1965, Late Autumn. You’d come home that morning with a new record tucked under your arm, the words ‘Rubber Soul’ peeking over the paper sheath that the store had given you as you set it down on your countertop after discarding your shoes and jacket by the door. You hum to yourself, shedding your bag, reaching for the new record, and bringing it over to your player, Sooyoung’s worn copy of one of Billie Holiday’s albums resting on the platter. With gentle hands you remove it from the spindle, tucking it away in its cover before releasing Rubber Soul from its own and setting it onto the player. System turned on, you place the needle on the record and adjust the volume so the first few riffs of ‘Drive My Car’ begin playing through the speakers. 

Nodding your head to the rhythm, you set down the cover and make your way to the kitchen, noticing the small pile of postcards and letters you’d received from Wonwoo over the last few months. He’d been so busy he hadn’t really had the time to call or write a lot for that matter. But it wasn’t like calling was free, especially an international connection. With each new card that he sent to you, there seemed to be less that he wrote of and more empty space adorning it. 

“Hey,” You hear Sooyoung say as she exits her room, her purse in hand as she heads to the hall tree to grab a coat, “I’ve gotta head in, someone completely ruined the display for the winter collection.”

“I thought you were in charge of that?” A tilt of your head as she passes by. Sooyoung’s one of the floor managers of the flagship B. Altman some blocks away, and that left her unnecessarily stressed by the minute details of the store. 

“I am, but I let one of the new girls try and set it up,” a frown as she opens the door, “That’s what I get for trying to take on a protegee. I’ll be back around dinnertime, okay?” 

“I’ll see you then,” waving her off with a hand as the door slams shut, the sound of your friend’s key locking the door before the apartment falls into silence once more, the only sound coming from the next song on the vinyl. 

Stifling a yawn with your hand you head to the living room, plopping down onto the sofa as you reach for a magazine atop the table. It was one of your roommate’s detailing a plethora of fashion information, this seemed something like Wonwoo could take to more so than yourself. Before you’re able to get lost in the pit of missing him again the phone on the table next to the sofa begins to ring. 

“Hello?” Magazine tossed aside, you reach for the phone, pulling it to your ear as you lay reclined on the couch. Fully expecting a family member or one of Sooyoung’s friends over the line you sound a little more crass than normal.

“Whoa,” a familiar, achingly distant voice calls out, “Did I do something wrong?” 

“Wonwoo?” Eyes widening, your grip on the phone tightening before your brow furrows and you sit up, “Where are you?”

“I’m actually in a phone booth outside of Jeonghan’s shop right now,” A short laugh, there’s something quiet about it, “I feel like I’m in some sort of film.”

“It sure sounds like you are,” distancing yourself from the line for a moment as the connection pops and crackles. Ear returning to the phone you feel your heart swell as you lean against your wall, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” He sounds apprehensive, as if there’s something ruminating behind his lips, but he was too afraid to say it. “I’m sorry for not calling sooner, it’s just been extremely busy here.”

Twirling the phone cord absentmindedly with your finger you shake your head, not that he could see you, “It’s alright.” The disquiet in his voice puts you on edge, “What’s wrong?” 

“I’ve been thinking,” He’s holding his breath, and you don’t realize that you are too.

“Of?”

“Ending this. Us.” There’s a pause, a bated breath, and a clearing of his throat before he begins to speak again. It sounds robotic, rehearsed, even. “I don’t want to leave you waiting for me when I don’t even know when I’ll be back.”

“If you don’t think I’d wait for you you’re ridiculous,” A confused tone to your voice, you blink several times as if that were the cure-all to comprehend what he was suggesting. “Is there someone else?”

“God, no, of course not. It’s just—” A break in the facade for a moment before it turns static again, “You deserve constancy. I don’t want you waiting around for me when you could be happier somewhere else with someone else who’s actually there for you.” 

“Are you serious?” With the thought of him being an ocean away you could barely go as kicking and screaming as you wanted to, but you can’t. It’s hard to collect your thoughts with so many jumbling around your head. 

“I’ll get Seungcheol or someone to stop by and get my things,” voice muffled, there was a small banging coming from the other end, as if someone’s hitting the outside of the phone booth that Wonwoo is situated in. 

“No,” you frown, a heavy feeling settling into your stomach. “I’ll drop the dress and your things off at the shop.”

“Keep the dress, it was a gift,” his voice insists, sounding defeated and tired. 

“I don’t want it, I want you, Wonwoo.”

He would rather watch the stars flicker and die from their sepulchered facades in the expanse above, watch the oceans shrivel and continents shrink, than be the source of your privation. It’s as if he can hear your heart break over the line. It isn’t loud, it isn’t ear shattering— it’s a hairline fracture that webs out and settles into every fiber of your being. He knows it because it’s the same thing he’s afflicted upon himself. 

“I’m sorry, I love you but there’s no feasible way that I can—” he pauses, and you hear a voice tinned by the crackling line. It’s French, sounds angry and causes Wonwoo to speak into the phone once more, “I— I have to go. I’ll call you back later so we can talk about this, okay?”

“Okay,” the word is lifeless as it leaves your mouth, you hang up and pull the phone away from your ear as if you could still hear his voice after you’d killed the call. 

You are a bag of bones, skin, and whatever else deigned itself rotted enough to crawl its way inside of you and flourish. Amber leaves looking more titian as you leave your apartment, a muted tone as you walk the streets and to your shop. The lights inside aren’t as bright as they once were, sounds far too muffled by the blood rushing to your ears as Vernon asks you what’s wrong.  

1966, Winter “Try this one,” The bartender standing in front of you sets down another glass. He’d been talking to you on and off the whole night trying to get your opinions on different drinks he’d been concocting to try and get put on the menu.

“What is it?” Amber liquid swirled around what looked like a dried slice of orange. The whiff of something floral and reminiscent of anise hits your nose, causing your face to scrunch. “That’s not straight absinthe and cognac, is it?”

“Cognac Tesseron, Peychaud’s Bitters, simple syrup, and just the smallest taste of absinthe,” Carefully crafted and delicately handled you pick up the glass and observe it some more. “I’m thinking about calling it the Forget Me Not, but we’ll see what management thinks of that name.” Voice tinged with that oddly specific Brooklyn accent he turns to his other clientele, leaving you with the newest cocktail. Lips carefully pressed to the glass you drink, mulling over the flavors as you do so. After thinking about it you set the glass down, lips pursed together, it wasn’t a bad taste you just wished there were more acidic notes to it.

Alone. You sit alone in the dimly lit bar that denoted itself as La Fête. Why, you aren’t sure, but the cacophony of spirits mixed into the glass between your fingers is the only thing that has made you feel well the entire evening. Some comedian stands on the stage a few meters away, giving off a routine that isn’t hitting as well as it should be. There’s muffled laughs and chortles from the audience in front of him, yet you’ve barely heard a word he’s said.

“Mind if I join you?” A voice rings out to your right; you’re unable to see who it is until they take a seat next to you.

“Mr. Hong,” Eyebrows raised as Joshua turns to face you, “What brings you here?” You hadn’t seen him in a month or so, not after that had happened.

“Vernon told me I could probably find you here, and Sooyoung also told me about trying to cheer you up since the gifts she got you weren’t working,” A smirk playfully bouncing on his lips. “You look awful.” Hands folding atop each other as he adjusts himself in the seat.

“What makes you say that?” Scoffing as you bring your glass to your lips, taking a sip of your drink before setting it back down.

“Vernon did say you were going through something heavy.” His tone lowers, becoming more sympathetic and less lighthearted than it’d been a moment before.

The gentle ambiance of the bar around you, as well as the slew of alcohol in your drink, mellows your inhibitions and voice. It was the calmest you’d felt the entire night. “I just needed a break from all of this,” hand motioning towards your head. 

“I can understand that” Pausing for a moment he opens a nearby menu, perusing the selections. “I just came from a conference in D.C., aren’t you going to ask why?”

“Hmm, why?” You pose, head tilting as you turn to look at him.

“We’re acquiring some major stock in Marriott,” He says with a playful lilt, “Forcing a bunch of bigwigs to give up their assets is an adrenaline rush I won’t get anywhere else but there.”

“Sounds… fun?”

“In reality it’s just a bunch of stuffy old men with their own hands up their asses,” he hums, “Although I guess I have to get used to it; I’ll be one of those men someday.”

“Joshua Hong you will never be like any of those men,” sigh losing itself in your glass as you bring it back to your lips.

“I appreciate the sentiment,” as he closes his menu, he calls the bartender over, ordering some drink that sounds all too extravagant for your taste.

The pair of you sit in silence for a few moments, your glass now set atop the marble bar as your eyes wander around the warm, eclectic interior. “Are you merging them with that Canadian group? I can’t remember their name.” Snapping your fingers together as you try and recall. You look back to Joshua, who was beginning to take a drink of another one of the bartender’s creations.

The glass now moved away, and he frowns into the back of his hand; you wonder if it’s due to the alcohol. Head shaking in the negative he answers, “I actually left that partnership a year or so ago, decided I didn’t want any of ‘Daddy’s Help’ and tried my own hand at it.” Leaning back, he adjusts the lapels of his suit jacket, “And I’ve been doing a pretty good job if I do say so myself.” His confidence is a manic beast at times, but it never fails to make you roll your eyes. “What about you? Gonna commercialize your shop anytime soon?”

“As if,” You snort and look towards the darkened windows of the venue, “I’m perfectly fine in my shop,” Elbow resting on the counter, you lay your cheek atop your hand as your hair falls around your face, looking up at Joshua as your cheeks warm with embarrassment, “It’s all I can manage.”

Joshua laughs, it’s hearty and you feel your pulse rise along with the heat in your cheeks, “Don’t sell yourself short.” Shoulder shrugging, he returns to his drink while you sit up, rubbing your cheek.

“We’ll see when I get there,” smirk showing itself again as his fingers trace circles on the light marble of the bar. “Oh, weird, crazy question really,” His hand moves to his jacket, fumbling around one of the inside pockets for a moment as he searches for something. 

“Want to go to a wedding with me?” A piece of elegantly cut cardstock tossed down onto the bar, you don’t recognize the names scrawled onto the front of it in some pretentious calligraphy.

“Aren’t you dating that girl?” Fingers pulling the card closer, trying to recall the name, “Yoona or something? Why don’t you take her?”

Joshua almost chokes on his water as you speak, hitting his hand against his chest to get some air. “God no,” He coughed, setting his water glass down. “Yoona’s just a family friend, more like my big sister than anything else. If anything, my sister will get married before me.”

You nod your head in understanding, “Ah, is she still dating Seungcheol?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust them to tell me if it was raining outside or not,” he muses. Suddenly his demeanor turns mischievous, you’re not sure how to properly describe it as he leans in towards you, the smirk back with a vengeance. “But why were you interested in who I’m dating? Are you curious?”

It takes most of your willpower to lean back away from him and roll your eyes as you scoff out, “As if.” He only increasingly gets closer before you put a hand on his shoulder and playfully push him back.

“And what about you?” Does he seem nervous? You hear a genuine interest in his voice, but you aren’t sure if you’re exaggerating it due to the miasma of spirits clouding your senses. “Has any prince charming come up and swept you off your feet yet?”

“Does it look like it?” Eyebrow raised, you motion to yourself, “Vernon told you why I’m here, didn’t he?” Frown settling onto your lips you finish your drink, setting it down back onto the bar with an audible clink. 

“He may have mentioned it in passing,” Joshua mutters, finger rubbing along the rim of his glass.

“I haven’t spoken to him in weeks, months even and he has the audacity to send in an order?” You try your best to sound indignant, but the truth was that it’d felt like a stab to your heart to see the hastily signed ‘Wonwoo Jeon’ adorning the invoice. Your heart had almost stopped then, you’d thought that you and he were, at that point, separate entities once more. “He made it blatantly clear he wants nothing to do with me anymore, he can go woo as many Parisians as he’d like, I’m over it.” Not yet, you aren’t. But maybe repeating it enough will make it a reality.

“You know what I think?” Joshua asks, finishing the rest of his drink as you look at your empty glass.

“I’m not drunk enough?”

“I think you’re plenty gone. But I don’t think you’ve ever let anything destroy you this much, or if you have, I’m a terrible friend for not realizing it. And with that being said, I will personally take up the reins to try and get you out of this slump,”

“Any other thoughts, O wise and wonderful mood maker?” 

“Yeah, this comedian’s garbage. I’ll take you to a Lenny Bruce set one day and you’ll laugh your ass off.”

“I appreciate it,” a snicker leaves you. “Anyway,” your eyes move to your watch, checking the time, “I should probably head back to my place, it’s getting late and I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” You rummage around your bag for a crumpled mess of bills that you toss onto the counter in front of you.

You stand and begin moving towards the exit when Joshua speaks up, “Want me to walk with you?”

“If you want to,” pausing, you turn back to him and offer a smirk of your own, “it’s not too far away.” The two of you walk in silence through the winding interior of the bar as you make your way to the front entrance, you see through the large wooden doors that it is pitch black outside, thankfully the streetlights adorning the sidewalks keep things fairly visible. When the doors open and the two of you step outside you can’t help but let out a “Shit, it got cold.” 

“Here,” Joshua shrugs off his already unbuttoned suit jacket and hands it to you, you can see the thin dress shirt he’s wearing, and you wonder how he’s not shivering himself. “Did you leave your jacket inside?” He asks as you drape the soft fabric over your shoulders.

“At the shop,” Standing outside, your toes on the edge of the sidewalk, your head cranes, trying to remember which way you’d walked here. “It’s…” you look at the signs at the end of the street, “that way,” hand motioning towards your abode once you recognize the names. “It’s about a fifteen-minute walk, I can always call a cab or something, so you don’t have to worry about it.”

“It’s alright,” His shoulders shrug as the two of you begin walking, “It’ll help the alcohol get out of your system.” Had he seen you stumbling on your feet on your way out? If he did, he doesn’t say as the two of you walk the uneven streets, pushing through masses of tourists and civilians parading around the city. It’s not long until the crowds wear thin, leaving you, Joshua, and the occasional pedestrian roaming the streets. “I’ve always loved this city,” Joshua muses as the two of you stroll through one of the many parks dotting the town.

Nodding, “It’s lively for sure.” Your hands move to close his jacket tighter around your bare shoulders, “I don’t think I could imagine leaving it.”

“Maybe for a summer home though?” Joshua laughs, moving his hands to his pockets. “I remember how you’d stay inside whenever it snowed or went below thirty when we were kids.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, “I wouldn’t say it’s that much of a problem anymore, I’m just a big fan of the sun in all its glory, not when it’s obscured behind a wall of cl—” Perhaps you would’ve finished that sentence had the heel of your, admittedly too high-heeled shoe not gotten caught between one of the junctures of the sidewalk, causing you to fall forward. You feel a pair of hands on you, one wrapped around your waist and one on your shoulder, as the ground rapidly rises to meet you.

Eyes closed you hear, “Are you alright?” as you’re hoisted back up onto your feet, never feeling the impact of the ground. 

“I’m fine.” Once his hands had left you, you raise your hands to your cheeks, feeling the rushing blood warm your palms, “I guess I’m a little tipsier than I thought.”

Joshua looks at you for a moment, and then down to your feet, “I think you broke a heel.” Finger raised; you follow it downwards to look at the heel almost completely detached from the sole. “Here,” voice quickening as if to distract you from it, he takes your arm and puts it over his shoulder so you can lean some of your weight onto him, “wouldn’t want you to fall over again.” After offering him a quick smile and a small ‘thanks’ of gratitude you begin to walk again.

After a minute or so of walking, the pair of you take a turn onto one of the main drags of the city, the cool air soaking into you. “Do you mind if we stop for a second?” You ask, thinking you may have twisted your ankle when you tripped.

“Of course,” the two of you make your way to a bench along the sidewalk, you sit while Joshua stands next to you. It’s a moment of quiet before he speaks up again, “Are you feeling alright?”

You can only shake your head in the negative, for fear that you may explode should you open your mouth.

“What’s wrong?” He questions, sitting down next to you, his hand falling atop yours in an act of subtle comfort.

Everything. Your throat becomes dry as you lean forward and embrace him, unable to vocalize the horrid deluge of hopelessness and heartbreak washing over you. 

You had seen the shop where Wonwoo was apprenticing when you’d gone into Seungcheol’s one morning, it had been featured in some editorial that he subscribed to. Seeing that it was a beautiful boutique and was quite revered among local and international audiences hadn’t dampened the blow at all. Wonwoo hadn’t been lying when he said it was the opportunity of a lifetime.

It still hurts. You’d been selfish in trying to make things work, too absorbed in it you hadn’t felt him slipping away until it was too late. Vernon had sat you down one day and told you to shape up. Wonwoo wasn’t coming back and the sooner you realized it the sooner you’d get over him. You don’t remember how long you cried into his shoulder for. For the eidolon of him was beginning to fade now, the lingering remnants of it still striking you to the core whenever you catch a glimpse of it.

“I just want to go home,” you try your best to sound strong, hating that the veneer you usually kept was able to slip so easily. Pulling away from the other you move to stand, kicking off your shoes and moving to hold them before you begin to walk.

“Aren’t your feet going to get cold? It’s nearly the middle of winter,” Joshua calls out after you as he catches up, unsure of how to go about comforting you.

“I’ll be fine,” your toes cold on the concrete, “It’s only a few blocks away.”

It’s silence once more as the pair of you two amble to your apartment, the windows dark when you approach, Sooyoung must be out again. A sigh leaving you, alone again.

“Thanks for walking with me, Shua.” You stop, turning to your accompaniment and smiling softly at him.

“Shua?” His brow raises at that, “Are you sure you’re not still drunk? I don’t think you’ve called me that since we were twelve.”

“Yeah, I know. But I mean it, thank you.” Your other friends had tried to console you but Joshua’s attempt had been the most successful so far that had gotten you to even budge ever so slightly from the slump you’d found yourself in.

1967, Summer. The sparkler hisses as Joshua hands it to you, the bright end flickering with every centimeter the flame engulfs. A smile on your lips as you look at him, an equally bemused smile gracing his face as he steps away and begins handing out sparklers to a few other guests. After the host finishes handing out the sticks a large chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ begins to ring out, directed at Jihoon Lee. 

You didn’t really know the guy, but Joshua said he was hosting a birthday bash at a lake house up in the Catskills this weekend and it was a good excuse to get away from the city for a bit. It was a work friend of his, not sure from which endeavor but you aren’t complaining. Work at the shop had been far too busy to manage with just Vernon and you, you’d been looking at several applicants, but you had a difficult time sifting through the resumes. This was a much needed, and much deserved, break away from it all. 

Before the sparkler has a chance to burn down to your fingertips you blow it out and set it onto one of the porcelain plates atop the table in front of you. A small crowd had gathered to sing and with the rapidly setting sun it was difficult to see familiar faces among the crowd.

“Looking for someone?” A pair of hands placed on your hips as the question sounds out, the familiarity of it making you smile a little brighter.

“Just you,” You turn, looking at Joshua.

“Oh?” He questions, leaning in for a brief kiss before pulling away, “You’ve got that look on your face.”

“What look?”

“The one that means you’re thinking of something,” A sparkle in his eye, the light from the nearby dock casting a green glow onto the lawn.

“Just work things,” you admit, “Even if I’m miles away from the shop it’s still on my mind.”

“Work’s a sickness, isn’t it?” He mutters, “Well, they’ve already started to cut the cake, want to head in and grab a slice?”

“Sure,” you say as his hands leave your sides, taking one of your hands in his and heading through the lawn and into the brightly lit interior of the home.

“Seungcheol said he’d be arriving a little later, my sister’s ready to blow a gasket but, when isn’t she?” Joshua laughs as you make your way to a nearby table, grabbing a plate with a precut slice of cake on it before turning back to him.

“Is this from the same bakery who made my cake last year?” You ask with nearly a mouthful of cake.

“I told you I made that cake,” he says jokingly, grabbing his own slice, “And if it were, would you say yea or nay for them making the wedding cake?”

“Yea. Definitely, this is by far the best buttercream I’ve ever had,” you nod, “Although I do need a drink.”

“Amaretto sour?” Questioning as he sets down his plate, ready to go off and mix your drink himself.

“You know I can’t,” a frown settling on your lips as you take another bite, “Just water.”

“I’ll be back in a sec,” Joshua says and heads to the bar in the next room over.

You move out of the way of the other partygoers looking for food and make your way to a window that looks out at the road in front of the house. As you watch, you see the bright headlights of a car pulling into the drive, trying to careen past the other vehicles lined up there. It must be Seungcheol.

It’d been a while since you’d last seen him, having to mail his orders to him now that you’d moved shop locations. So, you head to the front door, anxious to see an old friend. The door opens with a swing of grandeur, Seungcheol Choi stepping inside with a clear look of panic on his face.

Seungcheol spots you as he enters, rushing over to you, “She’s not angry, is she?”

“Your wife?” You question, putting a finger under your chin in thought, “She’s only told half of the people here how upset she is, so I think you still have time to save yourself.”

“I’d better get in there then,” he sighs, almost brushing past you before he stops, “I should also tell you that—”

You don’t hear what he says, though. Because you hadn’t realized that there was someone standing behind him until they step through the dark entranceway and into the bright lights of the foyer. For a moment it feels like time has stopped, the plate in your hand straining from the pressure your fingers now exert on it as you lock eyes with someone you hadn’t ever expected to see again.

It’s you who breaks away first, mumbling about needing to find Joshua while it feels as if your heart seizes upon itself in your chest. Before you’re able to rejoin the party, you feel a hand gently grasp your arm, “Can we talk?” The question is quiet, almost lost in the atmosphere of the celebration as Wonwoo asks.

A strangled gulp as you nod, setting the plate down on a small mail-table before you brush past him exit out of the front door. He follows you wordlessly, from the gravel path that wraps around the house and to the backyard that overlooks the lake. You keep walking, wading through grass that comes up to your knees until you’re standing on the wooden dock, the gentle sloshing of water hitting the posts giving you something else to focus on.

Face green in the glow of the dock light overhead, it beams around the soft fog rising from the water as you hope it would swallow you up instead of you having this conversation with Wonwoo. 

“You never returned my calls,” he says, standing several feet away. His tone isn’t accusatory, it sounds hurt.

“I kept forgetting.” Liar. Nails digging into your palms as your hands clench with an anxiety that hadn’t riddled you for two years. “And you only called four times.”

“Five.”

“Four.” Resolution in your voice as you try and stand as firmly as you can. The shoes you’re wearing are pinching your heels and you want nothing more than to kick them off into the water. You turn to look at him, trying to stay calm. “Would you have picked up even if I did call back?” A tangle in your stomach as you recall having Sooyoung answer the phone for the next handful of weeks after the two of you had parted, each time he’d called Sooyoung would say you weren’t home.

He hesitates, at least his body does, the words, “Of course I would have,” escaping him before he could prepare himself with a more eloquent response.  

“You seem to be doing well,” It’s silent until you break it, noting the suit he was wearing was from a higher end retailer.

“So, do you,” a break in his voice as he notices the crack in your demeanor, “I didn’t see you at Seungcheol’s wedding, I thought he would have invited you.”

“My mother got sick, so I missed it,” you recall having to forgo the event last year. Did that mean Wonwoo had been back that soon?

“You still have the dress.” There had been a melancholy deep set into your bones that had lasted for what seemed like lifetimes, now resurfacing more and more the longer you look at him. You’d forgotten about what you were wearing, the same dress that the tailor had labored unknown hours over and that had been the figurative wedge between you and him. Maybe this was some deity’s cruel sense of irony. “I still think it’s one of the best I’ve ever made,” 

“It’s a little tighter now but it’s still one of my favorites,” you can’t lie. Be it from the laborious love that was sewn into every stitch or the bygone memories associated with it, it was and still is one of the best pieces you own.

“I really was an idiot for letting you go, wasn’t I?” Hands shoved into pockets, he’s not sure what to do with himself.

“You did what you had to.” Brow hardening, a remembrance of the last time you’d spoken.

“Don’t say it like that,” a soft plea, he’d never meant to hurt you.

“Then how should I say it?” Bitterness you thought forgotten riddles every word you pose. 

“You know I tried to visit your shop when I first came back,” Deterrent of the conversation, he looks across the water to the distant shore. “But it was empty, some guy passing by had said you packed up months earlier and just left.”

“There was a water main break, ruined most of our inventory and we had to rebuild from scratch in a new place.” You still remember the dread you’d felt that morning, walking in to find everything in shambles.

“With Joshua’s help?”

“Joshua helped.”

“Congratulations on your engagement, by the way,” eyes flickering to the ring on your finger, the light of the dock glinting off the main stone. “He’s a lucky man.”

Wonwoo sounds bitter, you can understand why but you can’t understand one thing. “Why did you come? I’m sure that Seungcheol said that I was going to be here.”

“I don’t know.” The answer is simple, but there’s a heaviness to it that you can feel. “I’m supposed to be flying out to Milan tomorrow. I guess I just wanted to see you again.”

“Did you expect me to fall into your arms, Wonwoo? To take you back?” Lip bitten, you’re sure you were going to draw blood if you kept at it any longer.

“Maybe I did when I came back last year, when I’d tried to see you.” He frowns, “I think now I want to make sure you’re happy.”

Happy. It feels as if that word dances off of the water behind you, across the sound and into the forest. Were you? The encroaching despair that had taken aim and marked you when Wonwoo had left was gone, a memory overwritten by the years that had followed, by the people who had followed. The shedding of yourself that came when he left took a while but without a doubt you can truly say this is the most complacent you’ve ever been.

The door to the lake house opens some ways behind Wonwoo, the lights from inside spreading across the lawn in an obscene spotlight on the two of you. A silhouette stands in the doorway, it’s easy to tell who the figure is as he leans against the door frame. You smile as you look at the outline of Joshua, heart swelling as it once had for the other man in front of you.

“Yeah, Wonwoo, I’m happy.”

enjoy what you read? leave a comment! it helps with motivating us writers to keep producing content for our lovely readers ❤

[hannieoftheyear]

WARNING SIGNAL [J.WW]

Two targets you need to figure out, alongside the one person you most despise, and zero mistakes allowed.

In a treacherous turn of events, your most recent mission gets tangled with Wonwoo's, the last person you'd want to partner up with.

As the lives of your targets get more and more intertwined, and your plan gets more complicated, memories of the past and feelings you thought you could put aside threaten to ruin the mission.

pairing: criminal!wonwoo x criminal!fem reader

word count: 26,2k

genre: criminal au, heist au, exes to partners in crime to lovers, violence, angst, smut.

MINORS DON'T INTERACT! YOU'LL BE BLOCKED

content warnings: (read all of them pls, the list is long for a reason): unethical characters, graphic descriptions of violence, vague descriptions of what their "job" is, wonwoo's a menace, betrayal, jealousy, pet names, shitty family dynamics, criminal acts, stalking, spying, manipulation, invasion of privacy (planting microphones, mention of hacking home security cameras), use of fake names, fake identities, stealing, poisoning (not deadly), puke, both wonwoo and mc start fires, use of guns, multiple fight scenes, injuries, blood, murder (implied and explicit), death (not the main characters), happy ending | explicit smut, teasing, manhandling, marking, fingering (f rec.), unprotected penetration (they're stupid, you shouldn't be!), creampie, multiple orgasms.

gentle reminder: this is a fictional work, it doesn't represent how any of the real people mentioned are like in real life

check out my main masterlist ♡ dividers used

note: i really can't believe i wrote this much off of a 5 minute dream i had a year ago

hope you like this, and don't forget to leave your thoughts!

The woman a few tables from yours sighs loudly. She’s been waiting at this almost empty cafe for over half an hour, but the person she’s expecting shows no signs of life. Her lipstick-stained coffee mug sits empty while she stares at the phone in her hand, annoyed more than anything else. Her curly auburn hair tied in an elegant bun is now a little disheveled compared to when she walked in. She’s dressed way too nicely for this run-down cafe, with high-heels that could trigger your fear of heights and a floor-length scarlet dress, matching her glam makeup that was definitely done by a professional makeup artist. The looks she receives from the cafe staff evidence how out of place she is. 

The waiter comes up to her table to get her the check, but she ushers him away as her ringtone echoes across the room. You barely hear the words leaving her lips, but her tired expression and desperate-like body language gives it away. 

She rolls her eyes, mad at the person on the other side of the line, and throws a couple of bills on the table, grabbing her big purse tightly as she walks away in a rush. You do the same, in a less showy way, thanking the staff as you step out the door. The sky marvels in a dark shade of azure, the sun setting behind the tall buildings. The wave of people makes it hard to focus, but you see the red hair a few meters ahead and follow it. 

People bump into you as you rush past them, and a few shouts are directed your way, but pedestrian education is not a priority right now. The woman steps into a mall without looking back, blocks away from the original meet up place. It’s a gallery-like mall, with very few shops open and even fewer people doing the shopping. Two out of three ceiling lights don’t work, and the AC hums a little too loudly in the hallway, contributing to the eerie atmosphere. 

You maintain your distance, close enough to track her movements but far enough so she won’t notice a presence shadowing her. She doesn’t look lost nor appalled, like she knows exactly where the person over the phone told her to go, like it’s not her first time going in there. 

When she finally steps into a tattoo shop, your feet direct you to the one just in front, an antique store that’s so empty, it doesn’t even have a cashier on the clock at the moment. The lights are just dim enough so that you’re well hidden from the outside, contrary to the tattoo place, with blinding white led lights that allow you to see every detail of what’s happening inside. The man that opened the glass door for her checks the hallway before closing the door and putting up the closed sign. 

From where you stand, behind some old clocks and piles of yellow-paged books, you have a perfect view of the woman’s interaction with the sketchy man. She opens her purse, which she was protecting vigorously at the café, and shows him what’s in it with a smirk. But before he has the chance to sneak his hand in, she hides the bag behind her back and tells him something you can’t quite decipher, but it definitely annoys him. 

“Found what you were looking for?” 

A voice right behind you triggers your fight response, but the sight of the man behind you causes nothing more than disgust. 

“Not with your help, that’s for sure.” 

Your eyes roll almost on instinct as you keep surveilling the interaction on the other side of the hallway, trying your best to ignore the annoying presence that’s now by your side. 

“I know you don’t need any help.” 

It’s unclear whether he means it or not. 

“It sure doesn’t look like it.” Your eyes don’t leave your target for a second more, you need more information on this man she’s meeting, but the human of the same specimen behind you is getting on your nerves simply by existing around your personal space. “What are you doing here?” 

“Doing my job, what else would I be doing?” 

That’s funny. 

“So now your job is to keep tabs on me and make sure I don’t screw up?” 

“Listen, this might not be easy for you to understand, but not everything I do revolves around you.” 

“Really? Then why is it that you followed me here? Enlighten me.” 

“Your first mistake is thinking I followed you. I’ve been here for over half an hour.” Your mouth agapes for a second before you realize that you just showed him how surprised you were. “You didn’t see me when you came in? Either I got better or you got worse, don’t know which one I prefer.” The smirk translates clearly through his words. 

“I was too focused and didn’t inspect the room, blah blah, I don’t need a lecture, especially not from you.” 

You take your second phone and start snapping pictures of the meet up after checking the flash isn’t on. 

“Why are you here?” 

“I’m doing my job, Wonwoo, Isn’t it obvious?” 

You’re usually cautious when saying someone’s name on the job, but you’re tired, enough time dealing with the bullshit he left behind to put up with him any longer. 

“No, I’m doing this job.” 

“The fuck does that mean?” 

You finally turn to him, annoyed, angry, drained. You haven’t seen him in months, and you weren’t planning on ever seeing him again. Not since the damn day he almost got you killed. And this is your very first interaction? Him taking over your assignment? Like hell you’re gonna let him. 

“I’m in charge of Elias over there.” 

His eyes point to the same tattoo shop, and you don’t even have to look back before the neurons in your brain click. You could be relaxed that he’s not after the same person as you, but that just means your jobs are, once again, intertwined. 

“I’m in charge of Cecilia over there.” He understands immediately. 

You don’t tell him the real reason you're after Cecilia, and he doesn’t tell you anything about Elias either. 

“Well, this is sure gonna be fun.” 

“This is not gonna be anything.” 

Thinking of working with him again puts a bad taste in your mouth, alerting you that it wouldn’t turn out to be a good choice. 

“I have all the info on the man you need, you have all the info on the woman I need, c'mon, don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

“You don’t have anything I can’t get on my own.” 

The white light suddenly turns off, leaving only the few working hallway light bulbs to see into the mall, and both of you turn your heads to the side. The man and the woman split up, heading opposite ways, walking as fast as they could, away from each other, from the mall and from you. 

In a rush of getting away from the antique shop, and a new need to do this job better, your feet set to keep following the redhead on her way back, but a hand grabs your wrist as soon as you step foot out the door. 

“C’mon baby, don’t get mad at me.” Baby? You haven’t heard that from him in a while. 

The cold wall hits your back as Wonwoo puts his hand on the side you almost use to escape. He's too close. But why? The familiar cologne he’s obsessed with is already reaching all your surroundings, and he’s all you can see. 

“I know I should’ve asked you before but,” this interaction is getting more and more confusing, and you can only stare at him, puzzled and angry, “Don’t you think that cute elephant statue would look good in our home?” 

You almost chuckle before you realize he’s doing a bit. He noticed something's off and is putting up an act to cover for the both of you. His arms hide your faces just perfectly from any prying eyes. 

“You can’t just spend ten thousand dollars without telling me!” His face doesn’t change, but a glimmer of satisfaction flashes through his eyes. “What about the money we’re saving for the baby?” 

“I already told you! My podcast is about to take off and I’ll be a millionaire in no time! You have to trust me!” A cackle fights to get out, but you quickly overcome it. 

“You’ve been saying that for over two years! You have three listeners! And one of them is your mom!” 

“She told me she’ll get her knitting friends to listen too, we’re going to be popular with the ladies!” 

Wonwoo shifts away from you slightly, that way you’re able to see into the hallway and check if it’s empty already. 

“They’re gone.” 

Your hand pushes his chest away and he stumbles back with a chuckle. You don’t want to stay and hear what he has to say, and your legs are already walking in the woman’s direction. It’s not in your plans to ever get involved again with Wonwoo, and there’s nothing he could possibly have gathered about that man that you can’t also find out. 

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” 

“The bit is over Wonwoo, go home.” 

“Let’s just work together, one last time.” His voice reaches closer and closer from behind you, until you stop walking and force yourself to face him. 

“Not only do I not need your help, I especially don’t want it.” 

You couldn’t trust him even if you got offered a million dollars, if you were in a desert and he was the only person with a glass of water. That thrill he used to feel when you worked together, that he’s dying to get back, you’re making sure he doesn’t come close to feeling again. It’s unbelievable that he's even offering it so nonchalantly, like all of this wasn’t his fault to begin with. 

“Look, I’m not asking you to forgive me, just–” He appears to have regretted what he was about to say, and you don’t wait for him to gather his thoughts. 

“Just what? Understand it? We’re way past that don’t you think?” 

From all the times he tried to apologize before you cut him off completely, this must be the most outrageous one. How could you possibly understand getting betrayed by the one person you trusted the most, who you once thought was the love of your life. 

“We’re good together,” your brain glitches with astonishment before he corrects himself, “We always worked better when we did these jobs together, you know that.” 

“You have some serious nerve, after last time, the least I should do is rat you out right this second.” 

“You wouldn’t do that, it’s not your style.” His brow quirks, like he must think he's being funny 

“To fuck over my partners? No, that’s yours.” 

He's trying to charm his way into your life again, like the past few months could disappear at the flash of a smile, and you'll be damned if you let him.  

“Let’s just… see it as a mere trade of information, nothing more.” Neither his voice nor his expression suggests that he’s trying to deceive you, and you hate that you're even considering his offer so quickly. 

If the years of knowing him help you for anything, it’s to realize that under the layers of teasing, he’s desperate for your help. There’s a large probability of him already encountering you over the time passed, but he chose now to get close to you again, to ask for your help, in his own way. 

“And I wouldn’t have to see your face ever again after?” 

His smirk grows, knowing what your question means. “That would be your loss, but sure. One last job and we’d be done.” 

“Are you being serious?” 

It’s hard to trust him, no matter how much he insists it’s his only goal. But it’s true that whatever knowledge he collected on that dude would save you a lot of time and resources, and you have to do this job well to prove yourself again. 

“Dead serious. I promise.” 

A year before.

  The waitress, with purple bags under her eyes and bleach blonde hair tied up in a bun on the edge of falling undone, sighed on the way to tell the same client, for the fourth time in two hours, that it was prohibited to smoke inside the establishment. You saw that man doing countless other illegal things while sitting in that same dark booth the entire night, but the bar drew the line at smoking indoors. 

He huffed at her, but ultimately put the cigarette out against the wood table. There were less and less people the more the time passed, and soon enough, it was going to be too suspicious for you to still be there. You couldn’t be the only customer left in the bar when he left, but the person he was still waiting for was the key to all this, and you couldn’t leave without that information. 

An ‘80s country song started playing on the radio, and the man started tapping his fingers against the table, following the rhythm of the classic. It was almost serene, the way he relaxed at the sound of the familiar tune, but the night started to feel more and more like a waste of time. Whatever the deal was with the person who wasn’t showing up, it was clearly not happening. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” A familiar figure sat in front of you at the secluded booth you kidnapped for the whole night. But the smile that appeared on your face at him quickly dissipated. 

“You shouldn’t be here, it’s too empty.” Besides the staff, you and the old man, there were only three people inside the dusty bar at that time, all alone, too drunk and on the brink of leaving. It was almost impossible to not stand out in that crowd. 

“Don’t worry, I called in a few favors.” Just as Wonwoo finished his sentence, a group of at least ten men, talking loudly and in the mood to celebrate something, walked into the tiny bar, disrupting the serenity but providing you with much needed cover. 

“You’re so... resourceful.” Your words mixed with a giggle as the atmosphere changed from calm and musty to a playful bachelor-esque party inside the bar. “How did you know I was here?” 

“I always know where you are, baby.” A chill climbed up your spine at his teasing smile. “And also, I was waiting for a guy to show up here, he’s supposed to be meeting someone.” 

The loud laugh that escaped you almost beat the drunk shouting of the bachelors in volume. It was easy to connect the dots, and it also wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. 

“You know something I don’t?” Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t stray away from the smile on your lips. 

You just giggled as your eyes darted towards the sketchy old man, who was back to smoking seeing that the staff’s attention was focused on the new customers. You could feel Wonwoo’s gaze stay on you for a second before following yours, and the realization hit him quickly, the years of working together serving their purpose. 

“Yours?” The amusement in his voice made you nod eagerly, sipping on the mocktail that had been sitting untouched on the table for over an hour. “It’s been a while.” 

This job, the thing that you do for a living, got lonely every now and then. Doing everything on your own, not being able to share it with the people closest to you, can take a toll on anyone, no matter how detached they're able to get. So, when you got a chance to work with the one you love, you were for sure gonna take it. 

“I know, it’s gonna be fun.”  

Hidden in the back seat of the car, guarded by the polarized windows, your breath is controlled and eyes are focused as you see into the first-floor window of the house across the street. There stands Cecilia, being very expressive while talking to a person standing just by the sheer curtain, making it impossible for you to see them. 

She’s walking back and forth around the room, switching between listening attentively to the other person and giving feedback. Behind her, there’s a large desk filled with incomplete paperwork and empty water bottles, but the particular clean envelope you’ve been observing for days catches your attention. It looks so out of place there. 

Cecilia's face lights up as she receives a call and answers it staring happily at the person in front of her. The call ends quickly after, not a lot of talking done, but she looks satisfied with what she heard. 

As she grabs the envelope to read the message inside, the other person stands close to her, his face still not visible from your point of view. Taking in account all you have gathered, his height and deep black hair with a fresh undercut, plus what Wonwoo sent you over these past few days, that man most probably is Elias. 

Adjusting your position just slightly, you try to get a better look at the envelope that’s now in the hands of your target. You take your phone out, camera settings at the highest possible quality and flash turned off, so you can later analyze every detail. Only a few pictures save on your gallery before they turn the lights off and step out that room into the inside of the house you can’t see. 

You can’t help feeling like you’re not the only one outside on the street, but after a quick look around the empty road and sidewalk, nothing seems out of place. The parked cars were all there way before you got here, and not a soul walks on either side. But that warning signal on the back of your mind doesn’t turn off. And it turns out you’re right, because a knock on the window makes you jump. 

Wonwoo stands just outside the passenger seat, hands inside his pockets and an insufferable smug expression. 

“How the fuck did you find me? This isn’t even my car.” 

“I still know all your tactics babe, now would you let me in? We need to talk.” You know it’s not safe for him to stand out there for too long, where anyone could notice him, so you open the door to the back seats of the car and reluctantly let Wonwoo in. “Wait, you didn’t see me? You really don’t know how to look out, don’t you?” You’re sure you can see the inside of your skull from how hard you roll your eyes. He’s so fucking smug about everything, you’d punch him. 

“Why did you come here? You could’ve been seen.” If Wonwoo knew where you were, you can only assume he’s been surveilling Elias all day too, and came to Cecilia’s house just after him. 

“I wanted to have a little meeting, and they aren’t watching right now.” Great. He’s not going to leave the car anytime soon. 

“Fine, what did you want to talk about?” With him, sometimes it's better to accept defeat and do whatever he wants so it ends faster. 

“What is it that she has that you’re after?” You haven’t had that conversation, and it's surprising that he’s even bringing it up. 

“We aren’t allowed to discuss that and you know it.” You aren’t looking at him, choosing to keep your eyes on the house in case anything happens. There aren’t really rules when it comes to two separate jobs getting involved with one another, but you’ve learned the hard way that it makes things messy. 

“There are a lot of things we're doing that we aren’t supposed to.” 

“It’s not relevant to the plan.” 

“C’mon, why don't you wanna tell me?” You know he’s pouting, because he’s not getting what he wants and to try to convince you, but that doesn’t work anymore. 

“Why do you wanna know so badly? Is there something in it for you?” 

“We're working together and I’m just curious.” 

“Well, like I said, it’s not relevant, and it’s nothing I haven’t done before.” 

“You’ve done a lot of things, that doesn’t narrow it down much.” 

“Just drop it will you? You don't see me asking about yours.” For the first time in your life, he actually shuts up when you ask him to. 

Finally in silence again, you can watch the house in peace as Wonwoo gets more bored by the second. Cecilia and Elias have been doing god knows what on the back of the house for a while now, but the security cameras she has set up are easily hackable, and if anything happens, you have that last resort. 

“How have you been?” Wonwoo doesn’t last and disrupts the silent atmosphere in a matter of minutes. 

His lazy try to get on your good side again doesn’t go ignored. But sometimes, you wish he’d do something different, prove that you can actually trust him, not engaging in meaningless talking to make you unconsciously open up. 

“I’m busy, Wonwoo.” 

“Nothing’s happening.” 

“Well then, I don’t want to talk to you.” Working alongside Wonwoo is barely something manageable, you’re not about to engage in whatever “friendly” conversation he wishes for. 

“Are you seeing someone? Is that why you don’t want to talk to me?” He can’t be serious. 

“Sure, that’s why. Not because you fucking ruined my life.” You try to be cold, you try to be dry and not let him get to you, but his nerve is astonishing. 

“How many times do I have to tell you? I did it becaus–” 

“And how many times do I have to say that I don’t care? You chose to set me up, you chose to betray me. You can’t expect me to be all smiley and nice and talk to you like you’re my friend.” 

“I just want to know how you’re doing, it’s good that you’re working again.” You’d kick him out of your car if it wasn’t for the unwanted attention you’d receive. 

“You don’t deserve to know anything about my life, not anymore.” 

“I know I don't.” A glimpse of something similar to regret flashes through his factions, but there’s no time to question it. 

A loud sound and two voices draw your attention back to the house, and you both instinctively crouch on your seat. Cecilia and Elias get into his car and drive away fast, not looking back. But you’re not in a rush to follow them, as the most important information at the moment is currently in your gallery. The pictures you took of the envelope aren’t the best, but if you zoom just a little, you could make out the words. 

“Should we follow them?” 

“I think I know where they’re going.” He doesn’t respond, but rather looks at you in silence expecting you to tell him everything without asking. You don’t forget to roll your eyes before answering, “Like I told you yesterday, she got this envelope in the mail a few days ago, and has been keeping it safe until your guy got here this morning.” 

You show him that you managed to take pictures of it, knowing he’s thinking to himself that they’re blurry as hell. But before he could take a real look, you snatch your phone away. 

“So? What does it say?” Wonwoo’s deep voice goes through one ear and out the other. You’re trying to enhance the picture and he only wants to bother you, making a whole show while moving around on the back seat to sit closer to you. 

“It’s an invitation to some kind of event, it might be where they’re doing the exchange. Do you think the boss can–” 

“Get us an invitation? Yeah, I'm on it.” He’s already grabbing his phone to make the call before you finish talking. 

The warning signal reappears at the back of your mind at the interaction. Is Wonwoo calmly going to let the boss know you’re working together again? Does your boss already know? But there’s no way he'd be okay with that. Suddenly, very little makes sense, and the paranoia invades your every thought. But Wonwoo gets his call picked up, and he can't notice you going crazy.  

“Invitations,” you make sure to highlight the ‘s’ at the end as you show him the finally enhanced photo, “looks like a week-long fancy thing, hope you have clothes that don’t look like they haven’t been washed in over a week.” 

“I fixed my washing machine.” He covers the phone’s microphone to whisper and then continues explaining the details to the event. Something stings deep down. A remainder of how things used to be between you. When you could trust him. When you loved him. When you thought he loved you too. 

“That’s good.” No snarky response this time. Only a bigger need for the interaction, and the job, to be over so you can go back to your Wonwoo-less life. 

The key turned with a click sound, almost impossible to hear with all the noise that was coming from inside the apartment. Thudding sounds, like a machine stumping on the ground and against the walls, and a string of curses filled your ears as you took the first steps inside. The wired hanger on your hand, heavy with fancy clothes for that night, dropped flat on the couch when you saw the door to the laundry room was open, noises and curses getting louder and louder the closer you got to it. The floor leading to the room was shiny, covered in what seemed to be soapy dirty water. 

“Fuck! This fucking machine!” 

Wonwoo was kneeling on the floor, pants completely wet and hands scooping foam out of the washing machine as the dryer shook furiously to the rhythm of his curses. A few wet clothing items were scattered around the dirty floor, while the rest hid under all the bubbles Wonwoo fought to get out, even if it seemed that every time he took a scoop out, the mountain of dirty foam only got bigger. 

He didn’t hear you come in, helplessly focused on cleaning up as best he could, and getting more and more frustrated in the process. He scrunched his nose in confusion at something, his glasses slipped further down his nose, and his instinct told him to fix them with his foam-covered hand, resulting in a cute boop of bubbles on the tip of his nose. 

Your giggle shot his head to look your way, with a pout that almost made you hate the metal artifact causing him trouble. His body relaxed immediately at the sight of you, and he sat down on the floor, completely giving up his task. 

“What happened here?” Your words came out mixed with tiny giggles, increasing his pout by 100%. Kneeling on the floor by his side, the dirty water cooled your legs uncomfortably. 

“I think I need a new washer.” He wrapped his arms around your waist, laying you down on his lap so you wouldn’t be able to escape when his hand approached your face and left a matching blob of foam on your nose. “Or maybe, you can finally let me move into your apartment and then I won't have any problems.” 

“Acting like you weren’t the one who told me ‘We can’t baby, it’s too dangerous’ when I asked!” Your impression of his low voice triggered a smile across Wonwoo’s face, and an irresistible urge to lower his head and connect his lips with yours. 

“You’re right, but I was also right.” You didn’t care that he brushed your hair back with his wet fingers, caught up in the look in his eyes as he said those words, warm yet hurt, with thoughts racing through them that couldn’t be vocalized. He was right, you both knew your relationship would never be normal, yet still chose to move forward with it, hoping that your love for each other would be enough. 

“Do you have anything clean for tonight?” Ignoring that one aspect of your relationship became the number one rule for you, not ready for what thinking too much about it could result in. 

“There’s the black shirt I wore yesterday.” His eyes didn’t leave your face, scanning it as if trying to remember every little detail. 

“Babe,” your head tilted against his thigh with judgement, “you fixed your car yesterday.” 

“So? The oil is basically the same color as the shirt, you can’t even see it.” He laughed, knowing it wasn’t true. 

“Let’s just hope it’s dark inside so no pretentious douchebag from that side of town can notice.” He chuckled at your little rant, and the sound almost made you forget what you were saying. 

“I love how mad you get at rich people.” Forgetting the time crunch and the state of the room you were in, Wonwoo flipped you onto the wet floor, his lips quickly taking over yours as he slotted between your legs. 

The easiness in which he had you melting for him, not caring about your uncomfortable wet back against the cold floor, was your one and only weakness. There were no problems when your limbs were tangled with his, when his chest flushed against yours and your breathings synchronized. 

But the outside world didn’t care about your little bubble, and when a new wave of foam rushed out of the washing machine, you were forced to stop whatever the kiss was growing into. Getting up in between laughs and unplugging the machine, the need to shower outgrew the pounding of your heart. 

“I’m going to take a shower and get dressed, you should do the same or we’ll be late.” Your wrist got taken when you started walking away, and Wonwoo twirled you back until you were in his arms again. 

“I’m happy to join you if that’s what you’re saying.” Your head fell back with a smile, but before you could reply, his hands tightened on your waist, “It’s to save time!” You both knew it wasn’t true, but you were unable to say no to him, and he was unable to keep his hands off of you for too long. 

Doesn’t matter how many you infiltrate, the events that rich people attend only to show off their money will always amaze you. 

You've studied the way these people dress, talk, walk, act, everything. And you manage to blend in seamlessly, stepping out of the limousine in your mahogany floor-length dress, the driver’s hand waiting to take yours and help you out, and one of the hotel's staff getting your bag out the trunk. Rich people don’t carry bags, don’t drive their own car, and they especially don’t waste the opportunity to wear their most expensive luxury clothing to any event they’re invited to. 

There’s little to no media coverage, not even one camera pointing at the people getting off the cars, weird judging the size of the event and the long list of attendees you were sent earlier, but at least it saves you the effort of disguising and keeping a low profile. 

The act starts as soon as both of your feet are on the ground and your rented limousine drives away. Paying no attention to your surroundings, walking as nonchalantly as you can, you follow the obnoxious red carpet laid on the way to the hotel’s entrance. These arrangements can get so corny sometimes. 

Inside the reception, at least fifty people are scattered around the entire floor, either sitting on the many expensive looking couches and matching chairs, or walking to their rooms with their personal luggage boy behind them. Not one face surprises you, no one you knew was in the invitation list, and you did background checks on anyone that sounded suspicious. Everyone’s just another millionaire stranger that doesn’t know they’re a piece in your game. 

The long reception desk has no line, and the workers behind it seem already bored of everything going on. You take the chance to go up to them and get your room key. 

“Good evening mam, how may I help you?” The blonde girl straightens her posture when she sees you walk up to her. 

“Hi!” Looking straight into her eyes, she visibly relaxes at your loosened-up demeanor, contrasting to every previous person she’s helped during the day. “Could I just get my room keys? I can’t stand this any longer, I need to go and take a nap.” 

No one here is being kind nor nice to them, and that’s the key to getting the staff's trust. Stand out, talk to them like they’re people, and most importantly, don’t portray that obnoxious rich person's personality. 

“Of course! Could I get your last name?” 

“Roberts, Marissa Roberts, with two ‘s’.” Your fake ID is in your hand, ready for the girl to take, but she ignores it, going straight to look you up in the system. 

While she goes to look for your room card through the endless pile of rooms that haven’t checked in yet, a strong presence stands beside you, speaking to the other receptionist. His voice manages to reach your ears even with all the murmur around you. 

You don’t want to look at him, turning your head and acknowledging his presence now is too risky. But when the redheaded receptionist goes back to find his room card, leaving you alone at the desk, he’s the one that faces you, giving you no choice but to follow his lead. 

“Nice day, huh?” You can’t ignore him, it’ll be weirder if you don’t reply. 

“It’s cloudy with a 90% chance of rain.” Trying your best to sound as dry and not interested as possible, you eye him for a split of a second before the receptionist brings back his key. What’s taking so long with yours? 

“You staying for the whole charity week?” You know the act he’s trying to put up. Planting the idea that he’s interested in you so it won’t be suspicious when you talk during the different events taking place over the week. 

“Yeah,” luckily, you’re interrupted by the blonde receptionist finally bringing your room key, and by an impatient man standing behind Wonwoo, huffing when he doesn’t immediately move, keeping the newly formed line from moving. 

“I’ll be seeing you then.” He’s then off with a wink and enchanted sighs from both of the girls behind the desk. 

You used to be like them, easily swooned by his natural charm. His deep, teasing voice could make even the meanest and coldest soul fall to their knees. You used to love hearing it, be it in small talk over coffee as you got to know each other, cleverly planning a robbery you were hired to do together, with his arm around your shoulders as he softly talked to drift you to sleep, or whispering dirty nothings in your ear with his body pressed against yours. Now, there was nothing. Even hatred was starting to fade away, leaving nothing but indifference. You don’t care if he’s happy or sad, alive or dead, you only care about finishing the job and moving on with your life. 

As you’re being handed your card, the nostalgia for something that can no longer exist rubs off your body, and you see the opportunity to continue the act. 

“What room is he staying in?” You try to sound as playful as possible, pretending you were just playing hard to get. Because you’re aware that, not only the receptionists, but also the boy carrying your bag just behind you and probably a few people down the line, heard the whole interaction. 

“We can’t disclose the guests’ information.” She seems more friendly now, but it’s better not to push your luck for now. 

“Right, sorry yeah, I totally get it. Guess I’ll have to find him tonight.” She chuckles as you walk away, heading for the elevator to go up to the 6th floor. 

The room was carefully chosen, on the same floor, same hallway as Cecilia's, but not the one right in front of hers, so you can keep tabs on her without being too obvious. Room 606, just above 506, where Wonwoo's staying, same floor and hallway as his target, just like you. 

There’s one hour left before the welcoming toast, the first event of many to come, and where everything begins. The countdown of days until the final night, the charity auction that could potentially change your life. 

The hotel’s dining hall is arranged with hundreds of tables, with matching scarlet chairs and big beautiful centerpieces. A theater-like stage catches your attention, with the curtains pulled down as if you were here for a show. But your amazement for the grandness of the place is cut short due to the realization that no one else coming in is giving the room a second look. They’re not surprised, they’re used to these kinds of things, and you have to become one of them. 

With short and slow steps, you analyze the room you’ll be spending plenty of time in, remembering any possible hiding spots and ways out, blind spots, and if possible, your target’s favorite tables to hang out at. 

In the look for her auburn hair, you see her figure sitting at one of the tables right on the center of the hall, talking with a short-haired woman. Her black bob so perfect that one would think she just cut it before coming down. It seems to be a fairly nice conversation, not a lot of smiling, but there’s not one second where they’re in silence. You’ll do some digging on her once you’re back in your room. 

Cecilia has her back turned on the table right by her side, where Elias is sitting, listening to a few old men in dark blue suits. They’re pretending to not know each other, but why? He looks bored, nodding when one of the men looks at him for confirmation, and checking his watch way too often. Either he’s wishing for the conversation to be over, or he’s waiting for something. 

Like clockwork, a younger guy, just as tall as Elias but with honey blond hair and thick black rim glasses, approaches his table and asks if he can talk to him privately. More relaxed, Elias apologizes profusely and walks away with the new guy. You don’t see him, but you know Wonwoo is trailing behind them. You’ll ask him about that later, but for now, it’s time for you to do your part. 

The one and only rule you’re given when doing these jobs is simple: you can’t engage with your target. You can’t talk to them, maybe a polite nod or a ‘thank you’ if absolutely necessary, according to the interaction, but in no way you can have a conversation with them. You’re given the liberty of planning, you can ask for help if needed, but you must remain a stranger to your target. It seems fairly easy, but there are cases like these, where there’s so much noise not even sitting at a table less than two feet away is close enough for you to hear the conversation. Sometimes using a little loophole is inevitable. 

A quick glance at Cecilia’s table provides you with what you need. Her slightly open purse is hanging loosely by her arm, and any time someone passes by and bumps into it, she doesn’t even feel it. As she stands up to go ask for another drink, her fourth one of the night, your opportunity arises. 

You get up, grabbing a random empty champagne glass from your table, and start walking with very little balance. Your steps almost intertwine with Cecilia’s, and when you almost trip, you pretend to grab onto her arm and slip a tiny microphone inside her purse. The device looks and works exactly like an airpod, but it’ll send hourly recordings straight to your second phone for 24 hours. 

Cecilia barely pays attention to you, and you apologize right after getting up, but she doesn’t even look at you, just continues with her walk and shares a weird look with her friend. No one around you really notices the interaction, and even if they did, they’ll forget by tomorrow. 

As you look up from the floor, the first thing you see is Wonwoo, and he raises his eyebrows teasingly when your gazes connect. Your first instinctive reaction is to roll your eyes. You hate to be observed, and even if this is a tactic you’ve done a few times with his knowledge, it feels almost taunting to see him so composed after not having to break the rules to listen to his target. 

The bar by the door calls your name, and now that you have a way of spying on Cecilia’s conversations from afar, you let yourself have one singular drink. But the time of peace you thought you could have is interrupted. 

“Can I have one of what she’s having?” Wonwoo’s voice sounds dangerously close to you, and when you look to your side, your suspicions are correct, as he’s sitting on the barstool to your right. 

You always wondered how he managed to do this job. The key thing is always to blend in, be forgettable, not draw attention, and he does none of those things. Wonwoo is tall and broad and the suits he wears always fit him just right, quickly making him receive lust-filled stares and dreamy sighs, and he walks around leaving a trail of people in awe because of his looks. Tonight is no exception. The woman sitting at the other end of the bar is eyeing him like he’s a piece of candy, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, focusing on you until you make eye contact. 

“Cheers.” He lifts the drink the bartender just gave him, not even sparing her one glance, and she walks away to serve other people, disappointed after not getting his attention. You give him a light nod and lift your drink as well in acknowledgment. “So, what brings you here?” 

“Aren’t we all here for the same reason?” You speak softly, with a light smirk meant to tease him. He knows you’re forced to follow his lead, but if this is the act he wants to put out, you’re not going to make it that easy. 

“I was hoping you’d say for me.” Wonwoo's words actually surprise you, his sultry tone making your stomach turn against your will, like it has countless times before because of him. 

“I don’t even know your name.” You chuckle lightly and sip on your drink, to check on your surroundings but also to avoid Wonwoo’s eyes. 

“Ryan, Ryan Cohen, pleasure to meet you.” Wonwoo grabs your hand and kisses the top of it. 

Surrounded by people who must believe your act, and the combination of alcohol and an empty stomach in your system blurs the lines just a tiny bit. Nothing is letting you react the way you thought it would to him pulling off something like this. The lines are there for a reason, and the act it’s still just that, an act. You won’t forget what he did to you. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ryan,” from the corner of your eye, you see Cecilia leaving the hall with a man you haven’t seen before, and that new problem rapidly escalates to the top of your priorities, “but unfortunately, I’m calling a night for today. I have important business to do tomorrow.” 

“Wait, I didn’t get your name!” He really nails the put together yet slightly desperate persona. 

“I’ll see you around.” You only smirk before turning around and disappearing from his sight. 

You’re finally able to breathe correctly when you leave the dinner hall. The heavy atmosphere was starting to make you hallucinate things. For a split of a second, you forgot the real reason you were there, and that can’t happen. 

To go upstairs, you wait until the elevator where Cecilia and mystery man hopped on closes its doors, and then you go and press the button to go up. It wouldn’t be weird if it was just a hookup, as it's a normal thing to happen at these kinds of cocktail events, but you still should check it out. 

The bouncer at the door crossed his arms with a deadly poker face, shaking his head after Wonwoo’s third plea to let him come in. 

You knew his obviously dirty clothes weren’t gonna do it. The people in line, all wearing luxury clothing to present themselves as something worthy, looked at him up and down multiple times, judging him and commenting about his horrendous outfit with their friends. Even a few pity looks were thrown your way. People at those types of clubs cared too much about looks, about wearing the perfect expensive outfit for their night out. You looked the part, choosing your bougiest outfit and searching for all the make-up trends at that time, almost as if expecting to be on the VIP list. 

Your view was blocked by the security’s broad tall back. Barely inside the club, the loud music was making the walls tremble and the neon lights even reached the street below Wonwoo’s feet.  

With your best glittery eyes, you placed your hand on the bouncer’s heavy shoulder, making him turn back slightly. Two whispers after, and a promise to come back with more girl friends, he let Wonwoo in with a huff and a warning. 

“What did you say to him?” 

Every step forward you took turned the volume of the music up, and Wonwoo had to crouch to whisper in your ear. His arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you close to him in the crowded club. It felt too intimate for a public place, but that was usual for him. 

“Nothing you wanna know.” You giggled as you saw the man you had been following, sitting on a burgundy couch all the way on the back of the club, smoking alone, waiting for Wonwoo's guy. 

“I’ll make sure he knows you’re taken, so he doesn’t make any moves on you.” Wonwoo’s hands held the sides of your waist, turning you to the side and bringing your bodies closer. The blue, pink and green lights dancing at the rhythm of the music reflected on his beautiful face, with a serious yet teasing expression as his eyes lightly glared at the back, letting you know he also saw your guy. “Should we dance?” 

“Of course! We’re in a club!” There wasn’t much to do besides waiting. You wouldn’t be able to hear what they were saying anyway. The most important task was seeing how they interacted with each other, and Wonwoo’s guy seemed to be always late. What harm could be done by having a little fun? 

Your hand took his, walking further inside the room enveloped in a newly effervescent tension, looking for the best place to dance and surveil the men on the wine-colored couches. The drunk people surrounding you moved in slow motion, different bodies pressed against one another and dancing with no rhythm, giving you much needed cover. From where you were standing, the faint smell of the cigarette of your target could reach you every few minutes, mixing with the smell of sweat and expensive drinks. 

Wonwoo found your waist again, pressing your back against his chest and swaying your bodies from left to right. His lips grazed the side of your ear, letting his breath tickle the side of your face teasingly, and his hands traveled around your body with little shame, blending into the sea of horny couples and sticky bodies making out. 

Covered by the darkness of the place, and with the excuse of fitting in, his hips were grinding against your ass, breathing heavily to the random song the dj was playing. Wonwoo’s target walked in, wide eyes as he tensely looked for anything out of place. He seemed paranoid, playing with his hands as he sat in front of the old man. You went unnoticed, as Wonwoo began leaving wet kisses on the side of your neck, and any eyes going over the crowd would just ignore you, like you were just another drunk couple. 

The bargaining appeared fairly pacific, a back and forth between the two men, so out in the open it wasn't going to turn violent. And when Wonwoo’s hands pushed your hips harder against his, you couldn’t stop your head from falling back onto his shoulders and letting him do anything he wanted. It was easy to get lost in the feeling of him, your bodies pressed together as you surveilled essentially nothing. 

A ripple burst through the packed dance floor. A man pushing groups of people away and not budging in the slightest bumped against Wonwoo, knocking one of his arms off your body. The tall man didn’t look back, and Wonwoo was fuming. 

“Just let it go, assholes like that are everywhere.” 

You knew Wonwoo didn’t take those things lightly, so as soon as you saw him even thinking of going after the guy, you grabbed his wrist and turned him back your way. 

“I wasn't gonna do anything!” Your head tilted to the side, not convinced. “Fine, I was just going to calmly teach him how to say ‘excuse me’.” 

“Sure you were.” 

His chest relaxed under your palms as you stood on your tiptoes to give him a peck. But the softness of his lips glued you to them longer than you initially expected, and his hands on your back melted into you, keeping you close to him. 

“I’m gonna head to the toilet for a sec, don’t go after that security guy.” Your eyes were still closed, chasing his lips as he talked. 

“I won’t if you don’t punch that guy.” It was hard letting his hand go as he walked into the sea of people and away from you. But in that moment, maybe it was best to separate before you got too sucked into your bubble. 

The bargaining between the two men stayed boring, endless talking about whatever the topics changed into. You sat on the bar, sipping on a cold glass of water, waiting for anything even remotely interesting to happen. From the corner of your eye, the guy that bumped into you caught your attention as he came out of the bathroom, and emergency sirens immediately started blasting at the back of your mind. There was no waiting line, so maybe he didn’t come across Wonwoo, you thought. 

But the next exchange you witnessed left you more uncertain than anything else. A bald man you had never seen before walked out of the restroom, Wonwoo following behind him with a noticeable frown. The strange man appeared to be in a rush to get away from him, but Wonwoo grabbed the man’s wrist harshly and turned him to look at him again. Wonwoo’s lips moved fast, saying too much in very little time, and the bad lighting made it harder for you to even try to understand what he was saying. The mystery man gulped hard and nodded with wide eyes, almost like he feared Wonwoo. 

Something seemed out of place, but the little voice inside your head told you not to question Wonwoo about it. You forced your eyes away from the interaction to see that both of your targets were getting ready to leave, and you waited until Wonwoo came back while your mind raced, thinking of every possibility of what that could’ve been about. Maybe he would tell you when he sat by your side, maybe it was nothing and you were being paranoid. But a sweet kiss on your cheek was all you got, and an arm naturally wrapping around your waist as you left the bar together, like nothing happened. 

A final quick glance inside the club made your stomach drop to the floor as you could’ve sworn you saw, blurred by the frenetic neon lights and the people dancing, the bald man sitting right beside your target, whispering something to him.

Spending an entire night surveilling audio footage from Cecilia’s hook-up wasn’t how you originally planned to spend your first night in the hotel. 

In the past days, you’ve learned how frequently she brought different men home, and you should’ve known that this event wasn’t gonna stop her. Good for her, sure, but there is at least 3 hours of unusable footage from your microphone that you have to delete. 

Tiredness begins to take over you, barely concentrating on skipping past the recordings to hear if anything strange happened in Cecilia's room, and your eyes beg to be closed. But you can’t rest, not until you know for sure she’s asleep. 

The first hourly footage that doesn’t contain any sex noises is delivered to your phone at 4 am, and it’s nothing but calm silence. But your sigh of relief is cut short when a call resonates through the audio, disrupting the quiet room and making you hold your breath. Panic sets in, freezing your entire body as you wait for any other sound, because if no one answers, it means either there’s no one in the room, or worse, something happened to her. 

It doesn’t stop, the ringing, as the person calling refuses to give up. The familiar ringtone echoes on your headphones, like it’s too close to the microphone, blocking any other noise from being heard, almost disabling your other senses too. But a simple look around the room lets you realize it’s your phone ringing, and above it all, it’s Wonwoo calling. 

“Why are you awake? What do you want?” He manages to find ways to annoy you even before the sun rises. 

“I need to tell you something, open the door.” 

His serious tone takes you by surprise and makes you jump off your seat. There’s silence on your side on the line while you walk as quietly as possible to your door. A hard but somehow not loud knock on your room door answers your pending question, and leaves you no choice but to let Wonwoo in. 

“What the hell?” You end the call as you reluctantly open the door. 

“I sent you a thousand messages,” Wonwoo stomps inside your room, passing you by with his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

“You shouldn’t be here. Did you check the hallway at least?” You peak your head out the door, the calm hallway welcoming you in complete silence, before closing it with care so it doesn’t draw any attention. 

“You have to stop ignoring me.” Wonwoo walks over to where your laptop still shows the recordings and shuts it close. 

“You’re such a baby, Oh my god. I was doing something and wasn’t checking my phone, it wasn't about you.” His whole body’s tense, his eyes ignoring you and his eyebrows frowning with what could be frustration, fear or even disappointment. “Well? Are you going to tell me whatever you wanted to tell me? Or are you just going to keep strolling around the room like a maniac?” Your arms cross as you sit back on the bed. 

Wonwoo huffs, still stomping back and forth like that would help him clear his head, anxious, thinking hard and gathering his many thoughts. 

“There’s something wrong with my guy.” He settles on those words, vague but still alarmed. 

“Why? Is it about that new guy earlier?” Wonwoo nods, confirming your assumption that he followed them earlier when he and Elias walked away from the table to talk alone. 

It’s like he can’t keep still, his hands slightly shaking covering his mouth and making his non-stop ranting come out muffled. Every second it passes, you grow more and more concerned at his state. The only one other time you saw him getting so paranoid about a mission, he turned out to be right, so you’re not about to dismiss him because of your own feelings towards him. 

“Ok, calm down, talk to me.” Your hand takes hold of his in one of his laps around the room, and you force him to sit down by your side. It’s dangerous, his body so close to yours, emanating an all too familiar heat, but if that’s what it takes to calm him down and make him concentrate, then you’re gonna take the risk. 

“I need to speak with him.” His gaze is trained on the floor, and his right leg shakes anxiously against yours. 

“Elias?” He shakes his head at your whisper, “The other guy?” And at that he nods. 

“You can’t do that, you know it. It’s too much of a risk.” For him to want to break the one rule he’s insistent about, it can’t be something simple he can’t figure out. Your worries rise with every second he spends in silence. “Just tell me what’s wrong.” 

“I… don’t know.” Wonwoo grabs his head and crouches until his forehead touches his knees. “When I heard both of them talk earlier, it sounded like they were speaking in some kind of code. I swear nothing they said made sense.” 

“Maybe they’ve known each other for a long time.” 

“That’s the thing, I have no idea who that other guy is.” He lifts his head from the top of his legs, but still refuses to look at you. “As soon as the cocktail night finished, I went up to my room to try to find anything about him, but there’s nothing. I couldn’t find anything.” 

That definitely sounds wrong. Someone that close to a target should always be easy to investigate, and knowing Wonwoo does intricate background checks on everyone, it’s not good. But you can’t let him see you panic, he needs you to be the voice of reason.  

“You can figure it out, it could mean nothing.” 

“I can do it if I speak with him.” Wonwoo’s not listening to you, too desperate to think clearly, and it just makes you more worried. 

“Think about it first, please, don’t do anything stupid.” You place your hand softly on his knee, going against every rule you’ve set for yourself, only thinking of calming Wonwoo down. 

The silence is deafening. If you listen closely, you might even be able to hear every thought racing through Wonwoo’s brain. His teeth claw on his bottom lip, tinted with blood red as he rips more skin off, and you don’t know what else to say to calm him down. False positivity would force him to push you away again, and now that you two are in this together, that can’t happen. 

“You can.” He simply says as his leg finally stops shaking. “You can talk to him.” 

To say that you’re frozen in place would be an understatement. A part of you, one hidden at the very back of your mind, naturally wants to help him, like you always did without question. But the rational part of your brain, the one that hasn’t been the same since everything happened, screams at you to leave him to figure it out on his own. 

“I– I don’t kn–” 

“Please,” His hand grabbing yours makes you unable to continue talking, “I know you don’t trust me, and I know I don’t deserve it, but, fuck, please, trust me on this.” 

“Wonwoo, I– I shouldn’t.” Words are becoming more and more difficult to think about as his worried eyes begin piercing through you. It’s hard to tell him no, even if your whole body is yelling at you to do so. 

“Look, I’m trying here, I– I’m not hiding it from you or trying to solve it on my own when you’re involved too, please.” You knew this closeness was dangerous for you, your hands between his as his face pleads for you, and your heart pounds against your chest asking you to consider it. 

“Do you even know what you need from him?” His body visibly relaxes at your question, knowing you too well. 

“Anything. Even his favorite color could help.” His gaze softens, a look in his eyes that you were never able to resist. After all that’s happened, his effect on you is still untouched, alive and well even after you tried to bury it deep inside you. 

“It’s too risky Wonwoo, I don’t know if I can.” You’ve already said yes at this point. You know it. He knows it. It’s pointless to still deny it out loud. “We’ve never done this before.” 

“I can do something for you too, anything to keep you from owing me.” His voice sounds sure. Too sure. 

“You sound like you already have a plan.” You slip your hand out of his embrace with force, crossing your arms again. “You came here for this.” 

“What?” There’s genuine confusion on his face. 

“And to think I almost believed you, fuck, I’m so stupid.” That last part was a mumble more to yourself than for him to hear. “I can’t believe I almost fell for it.” 

“Wait, no, I–” 

“I’m not gonna let you use me again.” You interrupt whatever excuse he was about to give you. “You came here, pretending to be stressed and panicking, making me worry about you, all to manipulate me into doing your dirty work! Unbelievable.” 

“Hold on, that’s not why I came.” You’ve stood up some time in between your accusation, and he follows you, grabbing you by the shoulders to force you to look at him. “I promise.” 

“Then why? Why would you offer to do something for me too?” It makes no sense in your head. “You just sound like you already had a plan thought out, like you knew what you came for.” 

“I just remembered the girl Cecilia was talking to earlier and thought maybe you needed information on her.” You frown, not convinced, and he notices, reading you perfectly. “I didn’t come here with that purpose, I swear.” 

“So, you just came here because…” 

“You’ve always helped me clear my mind.” He replies calmly, not a hint of anything close to a lie in his tone. 

You hate it. You hate him. It’s too easy for him to make you lower the walls you’ve been trying so hard to put up. He always finds the right words to say, the thing you need to hear. You should’ve known it was going to happen. One singular moment alone with him and you’re done for. Pathetic. 

“Stop lying.” Your voice comes out weak, defeated. All the emotions you spent so much time trying to bury, fighting to be the cold person you used to be before him, all of them springing out of their hiding simultaneously, weakening you in his eyes.  

“I’m not.” His voice so low makes you aware of the closeness of his body again. His rough hands haven’t let go of your arms, keeping you still in front of him. Your gaze points down at his chest, ignoring his obvious intentions to make you look him in the eyes. “Whatever you want to know, I’ll tell you.” 

“I can’t trust you.” There’s so much hurt in the way words come out of you. Hurt that both of you know has nothing to do with what he’s asking, or with this mission. Hurt that Wonwoo knows it's because of him, and he’ll spend years and years trying to mend, if you let him. 

“I don’t want to hide anything from you.” As he steps back, his arms away from your quivering body, air can finally escape from your lungs. “Ask me anything.” 

From all the questions you’ve harbored over time, the many whys that kept you up every night, the hows that made your skin crawl and never allowed you to be at peace, you’re incapable of asking him the most important one. Reliving that night is out of the question, and when the real issue lies within the current mission, your mouth takes the lead and asks without your brain’s permission. 

“Does the boss know we’re working together?” 

That day in front of Cecilia’s house has been at the back of your mind for days. The way he so casually asked for two invitations like it was of no importance reappearing every time you allowed yourself to follow his lead. 

“Yes.” Wonwoo answers quickly. But you’re not surprised at that fact. 

“And he’s okay with it? I know he doesn’t like me much.” 

It doesn’t make sense that he would allow it, let alone send you to an event where you’re gonna interact way more than on a normal mission. 

“He wasn’t, but I explained to him that it was important to me.” 

Important to him. At that, every previous question evaporates from your mind, creating more current ones. Did he know you were after Cecilia? There’s no way he could. Did he tell him after your encounter at the mall? 

“Why is it important to you?” 

“Because...” Wonwoo hesitates, thinking carefully about the wording for his confession, “I’m not doing this anymore. After this mission, I’m going away for good. I don’t want this life anymore, I’m done.” 

Speechless. That’s the only way to describe the state Wonwoo has left you in once again. But only a part of it seems to get stuck in your mind. 

“Where will you go?” 

You always knew he didn’t like that life. He got stuck in it by accident, with no way out. Sure, he took it seriously, he followed the rules and always did his job right. But he hated it. Hated to steal things for the rich, to be a pawn in someone else’s game. Hated having to always be in hiding, not being able to live a fulfilling life with you. 

A heavy weight sits on your heart, a feeling resurfacing from deep within you, but not unknown. Purposely avoiding him is different from knowing you’ll never see him again. A part of you will always miss him, miss the comfort you felt being with him. 

“I don’t know, just away from here.” He doesn’t sound hurt, but his voice is low, like his words hold another meaning. Here. Away from the city, away from the life he despised, away from the memories of you. 

“You told him you wanted to work with me?” The mental question escapes your lips without your consent, outing your inner thoughts. 

“I didn’t know we’d bump into each other, but once we found out, I called him.” 

“So, what’s the catch? There’s no way he’d take that risk without asking something from you too.” 

Wonwoo sighs, maybe sad, maybe disappointed, maybe ready to be over with the conversation. “I just need to do this right, then I’m done.” 

“That’s it?” It’s hard to believe that a man that hires people like you to do his dirty work and steal expensive stuff for his sketchy clients can let go of his best employee that easily. 

“It’s a hard job, and if I can’t do it, he’ll never allow me to leave.” At one point, Wonwoo stopped looking at you, and you’re afraid you’ve pressed too far. 

“If I know something about you, is that no job is hard for you.” You almost chuckle at the idea of him fumbling a job, even a joke about his betrayal tingles at the tip of your tongue, but the familiarity of your words hits you hard, knocking the easy atmosphere out of you.  

His hand sneaks into one of his pockets, and your fight instinct kicks in again, not ready to face whatever he could possibly show you. But all that comes out in his hand is another phone, one you’ve never seen before, different from the one he used to call you earlier. 

“Here.” Your reflexes work faster than your brain when Wonwoo throws the cellphone to you. “Every detail you want to know, with all my research about them, is in there. You can look through it, see it for yourself.” 

“You want me to go over your entire mission? Are you sure?” 

This is not like the details you’ve been sharing prior to this event, that was only what the other needed. This is different. This is the whole investigation, the entire plan to find his objective and reach his goal. This kind of information is explicitly forbidden to share with anyone, but he’s putting it at risk to gain your trust back. 

“I need your help, please. I can’t do this if you don’t trust what I’m saying.” 

It takes a minute of silence for you to consider what to do next. 

“Then,” from where you stand, your computer is right behind you, light enough for you to grab with one hand, “look through mine. It’s the only folder saved.” 

It’s a silent agreement, implicating that you do want to work with him one last time, to help him get out. You try to ignore the sting in your heart, ignore that you still care, and focus on the missions to take your mind off of it. 

“I can’t ask you that.” He takes your laptop in his hands, but doesn’t open it, even after you signal him to do so. 

“You’re not asking, I’m offering.” Wonwoo sits on your bed, still reluctant to open the computer. “You were right, I barely have info on the woman she was with, only her name and a few other things. We can help each other, but only if we know exactly what we're doing.” 

Wonwoo only nods with a tight smile, understanding even what you don’t voice out.

The candle flame danced at the center of the table, illuminating Wonwoo’s face in the poorly-lighted but expensive restaurant while you waited for the food you ordered. The gold-colored light created a romantic layer that contrasted with the purpose you had set for the dinner experience. 

Wonwoo thought you were here to simply observe your targets’ last meeting before the buying, in addition to having a nice meal, but you had made your personal mission to find out what business he had done the other night at the club. That tall man with a frightened expression haunted your every dream, always turning into nightmares with different outcomes. And not even waking up helped your distress, as you’d open your eyes to find yourself tangled between the arms of the protagonist of said nightmares. 

Wonwoo wasn’t acting weird per se, but that only made your worries worse. There was a chance that you were wrong, that your mind was playing games with you. And you wanted to believe it with your whole heart, no matter how small it was. But the paranoia never seemed to end, and it got worse with each day that passed that Wonwoo acted like nothing happened, living his life normally with you, hugging and kissing you like he wasn’t hiding anything. 

As he sat in front of you, telling you about his day, his back faced where both of your targets were ordering. The waiter spoke comfortably with the old man, you knew he was a regular at that restaurant, and the younger guy trembled slightly, as if afraid of the man sitting in front of him. Wonwoo didn’t seem to care to see the interaction, and didn’t ask you questions about it either, assuming you would’ve told him if something happened. Your eyes were stationed on the two men, but your mind was elsewhere, scheming a way to get information out of your boyfriend without being suspicious. 

“Babe?” His questioning voice almost took you out of character. 

“Sorry, I thought I saw someone.” He smiled, taking no notice of the rollercoaster of thoughts that was going through your mind. “What were you saying?” 

“Who? One of his guys?” His face showed a glimpse of worry, and you debated whether he didn’t want to show emotion in the public place, or if he faked his worry so as to not let you doubt him. 

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like not trusting him. It was eating you from the inside, overthinking about his every move, his every action. You didn’t want to do it. But something at the back of your mind was non stop shouting that something was wrong, giving you no chance but to listen to it. 

“It was…” Wonwoo's eyes followed the way your lips moved with the words, innocently anticipating your answer. “I just thought I saw that guy from the other night.” 

You had him where you wanted him. Eyes wide, hands gripping the sides of the table as he contemplated the options. 

“Which one? It was a crowded night babe.” Wonwoo tried to sound nonchalant. In his eyes, you had no reason to doubt him. 

“That guy that bumped into us, remember?” You pretended to think about that night, like you didn’t go over it in your head countless times, hand on your chin and eyes up to the ceiling as a tiny smile appeared on your face, “you wanna know something funny? I saw him getting out of the bathroom just before you did! I remember fearing you’d done something to him in there.” 

Trap set, you hoped to make him react in any way, but he remained with a poker face, not daring to explain the situation, but not telling you the truth either. 

“Oh, it’s good I didn’t see him then.” Wonwoo chuckled as the waiter finally brought your food and set it on the table, digging into his full plate while your trust shattered in a million pieces. “What an asshole!” 

“Yeah.” 

What more could you have said? Wonwoo was clearly avoiding the subject, eating like a mad man and purposely not looking you in the eyes, and the mission was about to end anyway. The stolen painting your target was selling to Wonwoo’s was already on the way to the abandoned building he always used for his deals, and you intended to steal it before they even arranged their last meeting to finalize the buying and deliver it. 

Maybe that guy was a part of Wonwoo’s mission that he didn’t tell you about, and maybe after you both finished your jobs he’d go back to normal, and you could trust him again. Maybe this time your instinct was wrong. Maybe.

  After the tenth bored nod, the seventh ‘oh wow’ and the fourth ‘that’s crazy’, you’re beginning to understand why all these rich people tend to get piss drunk to get through these kinds of events. Every conversation is identical, the topics, the reactions, the answers, the counter-arguments, nothing ever changes.  

It’s been two days since that night with Wonwoo, where you agreed to get close to each other’s targets’ friends and essentially broke every implicit rule of the job. Two nights since you’ve opened up to each other for one last time. Two nights since you, once again, went against the exact thing you declared you were never going to do again. And a day before the auction where you planned to carry out the robbery. 

Being honest about your missions gave you the amount of reassurance you needed to work with Wonwoo again. What he failed to do last time, not letting you in and not letting you help him, Wonwoo was making sure he didn’t make the same mistakes. And it feels better to work this way. Trusting him, at least with a mission as important as the one he has, is easier now. 

Easier than fake laughing for the tenth time in twenty minutes for sure. 

Elias’ friend sits right across the table, equally as bored as you and showing false interest in the conversation the old men hold. But he stays around them every night regardless, listening to the white-haired men complain about their spouses and showing off their yearly earnings. 

They don’t ask him any questions, and he doesn’t offer anything to the conversation either. You’ve noticed he has some kind of nervous tick, where every two or three minutes he’ll sigh and sit back, brush his blond hair to the side with his hand, look around the room and then go back to pretending to pay attention. Weirdly, his eyes never stray your way, even if you’re directly in front of him and watching his every move. 

The opportunity to personally approach him arises when he opens his mouth for the first time in the night to excuse himself to the bar. Not a glance is spared his way as the table keeps talking, and a few seconds later you do the same. The rich men care more about you leaving than Elias’ friend, but you take three steps away from the table and they're back to their discussion about stock pricing. 

Wonwoo, a few tables back, glances your way and nods just barely, only for you to catch. Due to your previous agreement establishing that the targets remain off limits, he hasn’t approached Sophie, Cecilia’s friend, yet, since the two women are seemingly inseparable. 

The blond man chooses to sit on a barstool on the least illuminated corner of the empty bar, far away from the door. Elias should be in his mid-twenties, according to Wonwoo’s information, so you can only assume his friend is close to that age too, but he looks a lot younger in your eyes, and he orders a vodka cola with a side of fries, further fortifying that impression. 

“What do you recommend?” You ask him as you sit down on the stool next to his, taking him by surprise. 

“Me?” His tone wavers between shocked and bothered that someone’s speaking to him, but you don’t really care which one it really is. 

“Yes, you.” You giggle lightly, placing your chin on the palm of your hand to seem charmed by him. “Do you have any drink recommendations?” 

“Oh I-, I don’t drink often, I wouldn’t know.” He stutters and avoids your eyes. 

“I’ll have what he’s having.” You tell the tired bartender, even if you despise vodka with a passion. “So, what’s a handsome man like doing here all alone?” 

“Those people can get very tiring,” he answers with a serious tone, but a faint blush appears on his ears at your bluntness, “you heard how they are.” 

“Oh, so you noticed me there?” Your flirty persona disappears for a second in slight shock, as you haven’t caught his eyes on you once during the past nights. 

“Of course I did.” Even after his admission, his eyes continue staring as his already half empty glass. “You’re hard to miss.” 

“I don’t know if I want to take that as a compliment, but I will.” Quite the opposite, your intention is to be invisible. “I’m not used to receiving much attention.” You chew on the plastic straw the bartender gives you with your drink, making dreamy eyes at Elias’ friend. 

“Well, you caught mine.” As shy as he may appear, he’s being rather forward with his statements now. 

“What I haven’t caught is your name.” If he’s truly interested in you, then your plan begins, and you intend to acquire as much information as possible. “I’m Marissa.” 

“I’m Lucas.” Amused, he replies as he stretches his hand to shake yours. 

“So, Lucas, what do you do? What brings you to this boring, old rich people event.” A little of your real personality is always good to show when you’re pretending to be someone else. Even if they don’t realize, people have something close to a sixth sense when it comes to strangers, and if you seem to be even a little bit stiff and made up, they’ll unconsciously realize something’s not right with you. 

Lucas chuckles at your undisguised disgust, “I work for one of those rich old men, but he doesn’t like coming here, so it’s my job to make face and buy him whatever artifact he wants on a whim.” 

Hopefully, the microphone you previously set inside your bra hasn’t moved and is recording everything Lucas’ saying in case you forget any details. Wonwoo would never let you live if you forget even the tiniest thing. 

“That sounds awful.” You decide on a short empathetic response, hoping he’ll keep talking without you asking many questions. 

“And what brings you here? You don’t seem to like these kinds of spaces much.” He doesn’t take his eyes off yours as he understands your silence the opposite way. 

“My parents like to come here, but they’re out of town. They asked me to buy one of the paintings for their new home.” You repeat the personal story you created the previous night with Wonwoo. 

“I see. So, neither of us are particularly thrilled to be here.” 

“It’s more fun now that I finally found someone interesting to talk to.” You sip from the vile glass of distilled alcohol, batting your eyelashes in an attempt to lower his guard down. 

“You don’t know anyone here?” He questions, intrigued by you. 

“No, but maybe that’s a good thing.” You pretend to look around, eyes finding Wonwoo in a flirty exchange with Sophie. “What about you? Besides those men back at the table.” 

“Actually, my sister’s here as well, but I haven’t seen her tonight. She always scurries away when the chance comes.” He looks around the room to catch a glimpse of her, but it’s pointless. “And now that she dyed her hair, I can never find her.” 

Like a lightbulb just lit up over your head, the terrible realization of who you’re talking to hits you painfully. “I totally get her.” You snicker back and take another sip of the now more tempting drink. 

You want, no, you need to ask more about his family, find out what you don’t already know, but you throw that thought away the second it comes. It’ll be too obvious, and you can’t afford for him to ask those same questions back. 

“So, what are you taking back for the boss?” Is the question you settle for. 

“He wanted the-” Lucas begins answering, but before can tell you that key information, Elias appears by your side, grabbing him by the arm and muttering something close to ‘we have to talk’. 

Lucas sends you an apologetic smile as he leaves the bartender a tip under the drink he didn't touch. You barely hear him saying goodbye to you, as Elias forces him to follow his lead and leave you behind. 

You’re left perplexed on your seat, jaw on the floor and eyes scattering trying to find if Wonwoo had the chance to see what just happened. At least Elias didn’t even spare you a glance, and you had no time to even think of saying a word to him. 

How could you have missed it? You researched her entire life, since the day she was born up until the day you first started shadowing her. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this job makes any sense. 

Across the room, still at the same table, Cecilia’s friend has moved her chair closer to Wonwoo’s and is tracing lines down his arm as she talks to him. Of course, he can’t avoid that every woman he interacts with throws herself at him. At least it works. 

His eyes find yours just in time, and you tilt your head towards the door. You don’t expect him to follow you. That’s not why you told him you were leaving. But as the elevator doors begin to close, his right foot appears in their way and they open back up again, revealing his tall figure and worried face. 

“Did something happen?” He stands too close to your side, his hand not even bothering to click the button to his floor. 

“Got some disturbing information before He showed up and took the boy away from me.” The four walls surrounding you suffocate you. “You didn’t need to come after me.” 

“I was about to leave myself when I saw you.” Wonwoo straightens his posture, eyes on the doors opening on your floor. “I got everything I needed.”  

“Sure thing.” You sound unconvinced, and it’s no wonder he realizes it too. “Well, text me what you got later.” 

“You looked cozy with him.” His voice trails behind you. “A little young for you.” 

You scoff, back still directed at him as you try to get your damn door to open. “Good night, Wonwoo.” 

“I bet he was drinking something only teenagers like. Maybe vodka? Judging by the face you made when you took the first sip.” He doesn’t relent, and for some reason, your door opens but you stay there. 

“Were you actually doing your job? Or were you too busy inspecting my conversation?” Your body turns to face him, too easily annoyed by him even if you know that’s what he wants. 

“Just watching from afar in case you needed help.” You know he’s staying put as a silent beg for you to spill your information. 

“Well, I didn’t.” You don’t even get to step half a foot inside your room before he’s closing the door in your face, leaving you stranded on the hallway, trapped between the wall and his body. 

“C’mon, don’t make me force it out of you. Tell me what you got.” His tone is stern, clearly done with your avoiding technique.  

“Fine! Fine, but you can’t panic.” You say, but the one panicking is you as your eyes scan the hallway back and forth, again and again. 

“I can be calm, only if you tell me what the fuck happened.” He definitely saw what happened with Elias. 

“They’re siblings.” The beat of silence is louder than your thoughts. “The boy is Cecilia's brother.” Your final whisper draws the color out of Wonwoo’s face. 

“You’re kidding me. You have to be fucking kidding me.” You’re lucky most people are still at the event downstairs, because if not, Wonwoo’s shouts would’ve never gone by unnoticed. 

“You have to calm down.” You try to get closer to him, but he starts pacing around the hall, just like the other night in your room. “Let’s just get inside.” 

“What did he say?” Wonwoo’s not listening to you. “Tell me exactly what he said.” 

“He told me he was here filling in for his boss, and I asked if he knew anyone here.” He won’t calm down until the pieces start making sense in his mind, so you fill him in, in the lowest tone possible. “He said his sister always comes to these things, but that she keeps leaving before the night's over.” Every bit of information you utter just gets him madder. “And that she recently dyed her hair.” 

“How did you not know this before?” He doesn’t doubt you, but the mission. 

“I don’t know!” You’re more focused on hearing any minimal sound on your floor. If anyone finds the two of you in this state, you’re fucked. “There weren’t any papers that said she had other family. You saw everything I had.” 

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence.” Wonwoo wonders out loud, but the both of you know it’s too specific for it to be a coincidence. You don’t answer him, your doubtful look being enough. 

“You’re sure she has what I need.” A nod is all you give him. “And I can’t just get it from her and be done.” You know he’s thinking out loud to himself, but you still shake your head. 

The USB has to be in Elias’ hands when Wonwoo’s time to steal it comes. They can’t know something’s missing before you get what you need. 

“Fuck. Okay." With that, Wonwoo finally stops pacing around. “This is too messy, and if something’s wrong, I don’t want to be here when shit happens. Tomorrow, we do our jobs and we're out of here.” 

Wonwoo stands still before you, waiting for something more than just a securing nod from you. 

“Yeah. We’ll be extra careful.” Is all you can say. 

His last words echo in your mind. ‘And we're out of here.’ After tonight, you probably won’t see him again. Ever. You’ve been living without him for months, learning what it’s like to wake up with his side of the bed cold. Some days, you still wake up thinking you’ll find him fast asleep on the couch, his dirty clothes scattered on the floor because he came home late and didn’t want to wake you up. You’ve been trying to live with that hurt, but at least, you knew he was still out there. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The words blurt out of you without your brain’s consent, and Wonwoo stops in his tracks, barely a few steps away from you. 

He turns around, eyes narrowed, trying to figure out why you’re still there. “If by ‘okay’ you mean that I’ll go back to my room and not be able to sleep, then yes, I’m okay.” 

“I don’t want you to get unnecessarily worried.” As you keep talking, he slowly begins taking steps closer to you. “You just focus on what you have to do, I’ll deal with them.” 

Wonwoo smirks. He smirks so cockily you regret it instantly. He stands in front of you, too close, but you can’t back away, not when he traps you against the wall again. 

“Careful honey, you’re starting to sound like you’re worried about me.” You don’t know how he does it. How he turns a stressful situation into a moment to tease you in an instant. 

“I’m just trying to help you. Don’t get your hopes up, Wonwoo.” You should be trying to get out of his trap, but you don’t. 

The ping of the elevator echoes through the hall, alerting the both of you, but you stay put. His broad back covers you perfectly from every angle, and whoever will walk past you would simply mistake you for another pair of strangers in a steamy situation. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Pointy steps get closer to round the corner where you’re both obviously too close for it to be something else. Wonwoo pretends to whisper on the side of your face. Breathy nonsense as his lips graze your ear, one arm on your side caging you in even more. You don’t breathe, as if the air between your bodies just became toxic. 

You’ve been in similar situations countless times, and it always ended the same. Your brain knows this is different, that it’s just a tactic to go unnoticed. But your body doesn’t. Your stomach tingles with something you know too well, the back of your neck filled with goosebumps following your tummy’s lead. 

As the unknown person walks past you, quickening their pace as they realize what you two seem to be doing, you finally relax. 

“Fuck, Wonwoo, get away from me.” His chest doesn’t budge at your push. “You’re so fucking annoying. Fine, I’ll stop worrying about your job.” 

“Sure, you try that.” The corner of his mouth is still lifted. If only there was a way to wipe it off his face. “See you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah.” He walks away with his hands inside his pockets, and your body finally responds to the signals from your brain and opens the door. 

Your fingers trace the edge of your ear where his lips touched, hearing his footsteps get further away, but not turning to look at him. That would mean he won.

You should’ve known something was wrong. The second you arrived at the location with Wonwoo, following his target into the abandoned building where yours kept the stolen art pieces, it should’ve been obvious. 

The plan was simple. Park an unmarked truck just outside, grab the pieces while your subject’s sentinel’s terrorized Wonwoo’s target –the usual technique to make the clients scared they’re not receiving what they paid for, and then drive away as fast as you could to deliver them to your boss. A plan similar to tons of previous one’s you’ve done together. 

Everything was carefully planned over the few weeks you spent surveilling the targets. Even if your trust on Wonwoo was faltering, you’d never let your worries come in the way of yours and his safety. He had to trust you’d know in which room of the thousands in the empty building they could’ve been keeping the stolen art, and you had to trust him to deal with any security you might encounter on the way. 

When there wasn’t any sign of life on the blocks around the building, you should’ve known. 

When it was too easy to get inside and climb the stairs to find the rooms, you should’ve known. 

When the way down with the heavy paintings was too clear of any people, you should’ve known. 

When Wonwoo closed the back of the truck and got in with no suspicions, you should’ve known. 

The walk from the back of the truck to the passenger seat was so close, you didn’t think to look around in case anyone was there. Why would you? You hadn’t encountered anyone up until that point, and it was nearly over, there was almost no chance. 

The metal blade pushing against your throat the second you began walking away from the truck was that 0,0001% chance. 

“Back away now.”  A low, unfamiliar voice ordered you. You couldn’t talk, couldn’t scream for help. You only had your other senses to rely on. 

You walked back slowly, forcing the man to walk back with you, pressing your back against his torso. He felt strong, taller than you, the knife against the vein on your neck was recently sharpened. But if the job had taught you something, it was to never give up, even if the chances seemed slim. Your attacker may have taken you by surprise, he may have been bigger and more muscular than you, but in that moment, to his demise, your need to punch men was skyrocketing. 

Elbowing him straight on the nose, his arms let go of you in shock, screaming in pain as he stumbled back. You didn’t have time to focus on the drops of blood you felt dripping down your neck. 

His bald head stood out over his blood covered face and the suit he was wearing for some reason. Of course you remembered him. With the way you saw him every night when you tried to sleep, he was basically burned to the back of your eyes. You could recognize him from miles away. The man Wonwoo had talked to behind your back that night in the club. 

In the second it took him to stop bitching about his nose and look up, you began stomping his way, your fist in the air ready to give him another bruise to remember you by. 

The crack sound reached your ears before you felt the pain shooting up your arm. The guy’s head flew to the side at your punch, breaking at least one of your fingers in the process. A bearable pain compared to what the situation meant. 

Your eyes fell on the knife laying on the ground just steps away from you at the same time as him. And he was faster. You felt the pain on the back of your left leg before you realized what was happening. He slashed your calf with the dirty blade, and was getting up to finish the job. But you were never a runner. 

With quick reflexes, you successfully avoided the first few punches he threw your way, managing to tire him out to get in a few punches to his ribs. Somehow, the pain coming from your every limb was overshadowed by the anger you felt. In that moment, that man could have shot you, and you would’ve still found it in you to keep fighting. Because no one was coming to rescue you. That fact became more evident after the scream of pain you let out at your broken hand. In that moment, something you should’ve stood by your whole life sank in. You only had yourself. 

A ringtone came from somewhere on the floor around where you were standing, and the bald man’s eyes widened in the search for it. He stood on guard, searching for the phone but ready if you wanted to throw another punch. But before you had time to look for it yourself and smash it on his shiny head, an engine starting caught your full attention. 

From behind you, the truck where you knew for a fact Wonwoo was sitting in rumbled as the key tried to start it. There it was, the confirmation of everything you’d been trying to convince yourself it wasn’t possible. The sound of your heart breaking might’ve been even louder than the engine as the driver changed gears. 

Your eyes connected with Wonwoo’s on the passenger seat, as your target drove them away at light speed. It was a millisecond, where his eyes took notice of your beaten-up state, the dirt building up on your face and dry drops of blood on your arms, not physically defeated, but disappointed. 

From the corner of your eye, you saw your aggressor cowardly running away, his phone in one hand and his other hand holding the side of his torso you made sure would hurt for at least weeks. But you were petrified in place, unmoving as the truck disappeared into the horizon. 

The man you always imagined fighting by your side, who you thought would have your back even on the toughest times and who allegedly saw a future with you, who now set you up for a trap, watching from the sidelines as you got injured fighting for your life, driving off with your alleged target. 

And with them, the little hope you had left.

Your hand cramps over the door handle. It’s been wrapped around it for minutes, waiting for your brain’s signal to turn it to the side and step out of your room. But the nervousness building up inside your stomach is becoming more unbearable by the second, rendering you incapable of continuing with your day. It’s a new type of feeling, one you never thought you’d feel on the job. Nervous? About stealing some random piece of jewelry from a rich woman? If Wonwoo could see you, you’re sure he’d have his fair share of laughs. 

Many things could go wrong. Details tend to scramble on the job, and getting creative with new ideas the second something happens is a key part of it. But the probability of a few mishaps happening never left you immobile like this before. The little chance, however small, that either your job or Wonwoo’s carries something deeper within rushes a cold wave through your veins. 

No job ever is truly easy, of course there are bumps on the road for everything, but when the future of someone you care for depends on it, it holds a different kind of weight. There never was this much at stake, at least to your knowledge.  

You weren’t supposed to get this involved. Even the details Wonwoo shared before you got essentially locked up in the fancy hotel seemed too much for you. And now, it’s a given that as soon as either of your targets realize their missing item, you’ll both be in trouble. The relationship between your targets made you hoard even more responsibility than before. You couldn’t make a single mistake without taking Wonwoo down with you. 

It’s a noise on the hallway that takes you out of the trance, a door slamming shut that sounds too precise to be a coincidence, but once you finally leave your room, it’s impossible for it to have been anything more than that. The empty corridor sends chills down your spine, a slight bad feeling you’ve been fighting to get rid of all morning. 

The way down the elevator becomes a movie theater to visualize the entire plan. Every room, every move, every possible alternative, every single detail runs laps around your brain as you try not to look stressed to the few people going down with you to the final event. 

The automatic doors open, and the packed bottom floor welcomes you full of murmur and the fanciest gowns and suits you’ve seen yet. Stabilizing your breath, avoiding looking around the room too much, you walk out, weary of the people around you and going straight to an empty place to sit after grabbing your sign for the auction. 

Sitting on a row at the back and right at the edge of the chair arrangement makes everything easier. You won’t bother anyone by standing up, drawing the minimum attention possible, and you can surveil from behind everyone, just in case. 

As the lights dim on the crowd, and the presenter steps on the stage to begin his speech to introduce each piece getting auctioned tonight, the time to wait has come. 

Cecilia sits close to the very first row, with her friend, whose name you learned is Sophie, sitting to her right as expected. The most difficult part will be getting close to Cecilia without her personal sidekick in the way. The only time you saw her alone all these past days, was when she flirted with different men. 

Surely, she'll go to the restroom alone right? But what's the only way she could leave her purse unattended for you to quickly snatch, grab what you need, and return without her noticing. The answer, you've thought about all week. But you can’t move forward with anything until you get Wonwoo's text saying he's finished.  

You haven’t laid eyes on him yet, which means he definitely saw you. 

Both of you agreed that telling each other your plans to get the theft done was a bad idea. You have to take every precaution possible, and the less people know your plan, no one in this case, the better. 

Piece by piece gets auctioned quickly, the staff wasting as little time as possible. Nothing really draws your attention, most of the works are contemporary art, which is not really your favorite, but Marissa on the other hand, she came here for one of the paintings. 

It’s dark so the people can concentrate on the auction properly, but there’s enough light for you to recognize Elias standing up and leaving the dance-hall turned stage. Wherever he’s going, you’re sure Wonwoo’s trailing after him. When Cecilia stands up a minute later and goes after him, you’re certain their exchange is happening. 

You wait patiently for Wonwoo’s text, seeing ugly painting after painting pass, but none of them are decent enough for you to spend money you don’t have on it. The numbers people shout for these art pieces is ridiculous, not because they aren’t pretty, art is subjective after all, but because these people are spending so much money on things that’ll just collect dust in their second mansion they only visit once a year. Rich people and their money. 

Like a sign from the universe, Cecilia materializes at the giant door once again, returning to her seat just as your second phone vibrates inside your dress’ pocket. 

Ryan: The flan has been eaten. 

A cackle almost slips out of you before you get a hold of yourself. 

You: Smooth?  Ryan: Could’ve been better, maybe with a little more caramel. 

You don’t understand what that’s code for, but at least he’s done. It’s your turn now, before any of them realize Elias doesn't have the USB in his possession anymore. 

After winning the bid for the least bad looking painting there, you take your chance to sneak off, standing up and crouching as you walk over to the bar. It's the perfect cover: going to do all the paperwork and transfers after winning a bid. Given the odd chance that someone noticed you, it won’t be weird if you disappear for long. 

“Hey! Can I ask you something?” You approach the bartender, the same one who’s been working all those previous nights. 

“What can I help you with?” If your tactics worked, this part should be easy. 

“Do you happen to know that woman’s usual drink order?” As discreetly as possible, you point to Cecilia. “I was talking with her earlier, and she said I could sit with her during the auction, but I don’t want to show up empty handed.” 

The bartender giggles lightly, nodding at your request before turning back and making the drink. With her back blocking your line of sight, it’s impossible to see exactly what the cocktail is, but hopefully it’s not the most expensive one. 

Applause erupts in the crowd behind you. Just like clockwork. 

“Here’s the drink, mam.” She sets the pinkest cocktail you’ve ever seen in front of you. “It’d be $40.” She smiles so politely you manage not to choke on your spit at the ridiculous price. At this point, she could be scamming you and you wouldn't care. 

After rummaging through your bag to find $50 and a tiny pill you threw in there, you hand the bill out to her with a smile and the empty feeling of your wallet. At least you’ll get a lot more money back after the job’s finished. 

While the bartender’s focused on fetching your change, you drop the quickly dissolving pill on Cecilia’s drink. Just something for her stomach to be a little upset and trigger a trip to the restroom. 

“You know what? Keep the change, sweetie.” The old people's nickname slips out of you, but you’re walking away before even registering her reaction. 

With the overpriced, and probably way too sweet drink, in your hand, you approach a now standing Cecilia as she talks with a group of older women. A few feet away from them, you spot the man she hooked up the first night there. 

“Sorry to interrupt ladies,” you sneak in between their bodies, getting a few weird looks, and lightly touch Cecilia’s arm to get her attention, “but that man over there told me to get you this drink.” You point to him after giggling, and leave the group right after she takes it. 

Would what you did be considered rule breaking? It was absolutely necessary! In reality, no one’s going to remember you after tonight. They never think about strangers for over a few minutes, except probably to talk shit behind their back.

It's not long before your little secret starts taking effect, so you don’t waste any more time, head to the restroom and lock yourself inside the middle stall. One would think bathrooms at these kinds of things would be fancy, spacious and luscious, but out of the five stalls, the two closer to the entrance are “on repair”, there’s no toilet paper in any of them, and it smells like those toilets behind the locked doors haven’t been cleaned in weeks. Luckily, you don’t have to submit yourself to wait there much longer. 

Minutes after you escape the crowded hall, the echo of a pair of stilettos rushing on the hallway towards the bathroom pierces through the tension you built up alone. 

The door slams open, and the known body stumbles against one of the available stalls, falling limp on the ground as her purse falls next to her. It’s open all the way, ready to be raided by you. 

As Cecilia starts puking nonstop, it’s easy to ignore the smell and sneak your hand under the tall opening under the stall wall. You’re in a time crunch, and another echo of someone, definitely Cecilia’s friend, sprinting to the bathroom pumps up the adrenaline as you look as fast as you can. 

The heavy gold chain is easy to feel with your fingertips, sitting at the bottom of Cecilia’s bag. You don’t question why she threw such a significant necklace into her purse like that, not even nicely kept in a box, as she also did that with the USB she traded with Elias. At least she made the job easier. 

As stealthily as possible, you retrieve the emerald gem along with the chain. No wonder the necklace is being so obsessively looked for. Apart from the price the clients are willing to pay for it, its beauty could create rows of people lining up just to catch a glimpse of it, the green stone matches perfectly with the gold.

You shove your hand away from inside the bag and hide as best as possible in your stall, just as Sophie runs inside the toilet to help her friend. But they can’t know someone else is there with them, because they’ll instantly know when you took the necklace once they find out.

Stepping on top of the toilet seat, trying to make no noise even if they probably won’t be able to concentrate on anything other than Cecilia, you breathe shallowly, waiting for them to leave once and for all.

If it wasn’t for the little time you gave her to put food in her stomach, you’d be standing there, over a dirty toilet, for at least an hour, but Cecilia’s a woman that doesn’t want to miss out on any party. It takes her less than two minutes to recover and clean herself up looking in the mirror over the sink, and they’re both out of the restroom in a flash, as if they were never there.

After waiting until you hear no noise in the hallway, you know you have to get away from there before anyone catches up to the plan and realizes where exactly the necklace was taken. There’s a little more time to get away from the hotel, after you and Wonwoo get your things.

Wonwoo.

Should you update him? Tell him everything went okay?

He is technically done. He got what he needed and let you know, there was nothing more he had to do. And Wonwoo never liked staying on the job more time than necessary, so he probably left already.

Since the elevator’s too risky, climbing six floors up the stairs is your best option. A little exercise never killed anyone.

It’s a hard task, but you manage and finally reach the floor in which your room’s patiently waiting to be packed away. Your lungs struggle to let air inside, and as you enter your hallway, the figure standing against your door takes the little air you managed to inhale all the way out again.

Wonwoo’s resting his back against the door to your room, with his phone in his hand, probably playing a stupid game. A storm of different thoughts rain over your head, unsure on how to feel at the sight of him. Annoyance? Relief? Sadness?

“What are you still doing here? I thought you would’ve left by now.” Your voice snaps his head your way, and he quickly slips the phone into his pocket to give you his full attention.

“I wanted to wait until you were done.” He hesitates to raise his voice, but interrupts you before you reply. “Just in case.”

You walk almost robotically as you get closer to him, not knowing what to do, how to act. Is he here to say his final goodbye? Do you even want him to?

“Well, It went well.”A sigh of relief leaves his lips, and as he looks down, ready to leave you alone like you asked so many times, it dawns on you. “You can tell your uncle that you're done. And to go fuck himself.”

Your joke relaxes the both of you, laughing lightly at your stupid, but very real, declaration full of resentment. Wonwoo knows you mean it. You never hid your dislike for his family, like they never hid their hatred towards you.

“Believe me, I have much more to say than that.”

The tension in Wonwoo’s face visibly goes away as you both laugh again, a little louder this time. Neither of you aims to get away from the other, atmosphere unexpectedly comfortable.

When he locks eyes with you, smiles still there but fading as the moment passes and a new one emerges, you don’t avert your gaze. When he takes a step in your direction, you don’t back away. And when he cups the side of your face and lowers his until your lips touch, you let him.

The familiar feeling of his lips against yours envelops you all around. For a second, blood runs warmer through your veins, the weight on your shoulders flies away, and you’re somewhere where nothing else matters other than him and you.

But before his hands creep up your body and compel you to make a bad decision, you pull back.

Your top lip’s still tingling when Wonwoo apologizes. “I shouldn't have done that. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you?” It doesn’t come out as irritated as you thought you wanted it to. Your lowered guard must be playing games with your mind.

“I… just wanted to. For one last time.” His quiet voice and shoulders hanging low contrast with his eyes, looking at you like he doesn't regret it one bit.

“W-well, you can't do that.” No matter how nice he’s able to make you feel, what he did is unforgettable. Even if it’s your body’s instinct to react to his touch. “I didn’t forgive you.”

Wonwoo stays silent, his stare leaving your eyes and concentrating on the floor below. Your remainder drew the line between you two again, the one that shouldn’t have gotten blurred in the first place.

As your hand wraps around the door handle slowly, hesitant like so many hours before, the air behind you tenses, and Wonwoo speaks up before you even have the chance of leaving him there.

“I didn’t want to do it.”

His tone full of regret makes you stop in your tracks. He’s not talking about the kiss, but rather that damned day, But you’re tired of hearing those words.

“You told me that. Several times.” How can he think that’ll fix the damage? “But it doesn’t change anything. You still did it.” Anger bleeds through your cold tone, reliving the thousands of times you had the same conversation.

“If you knew why I had to do it, you’d get it.” He sighs with his reply, but his frustration makes no sense to you. “There’s a lot you don’t know.”

“Then why don’t you tell me?” In the past, the only times you were mad enough to demand an explanation, he always avoided telling you why. Why he tricked you and left you to fight alone. “Nothing’s gonna change if you leave me out of the loop.”

Wonwoo’s mouth opens and closes several times as he tries to figure out what to say. Can’t he just tell you the truth? After tonight, you’ll never see him again. He’ll leave for good to find a better life. He’ll leave you behind, alone with that uncertainty forever haunting you. From your point of view, it’s the best time to enlighten you about that night.

“It was to protect you.” His hesitation makes it hard to believe him.

“I didn’t feel very protected.” You don't know why you're still hearing him out. You should be on your way home, memories of him wiped clean and money getting sent to your account.

“I can't just-”

“You can't what? You made a deal behind my back and betrayed me!” Admittedly, you're getting angrier than you should. You should've risen above it by now, but he's making it too hard.

“Can we get inside to talk?” Wonwoo's wide eyes scan the hallway carefully, like he's just becoming aware that you're still in public.

Do you need an explanation that badly that you're willing to be inside an enclosed room with him again? Your uncontrollable feelings haven't been trustworthy lately, but if you want closure, it may be the only way.

With a sigh and the wall around your heart falling apart, you walk into your room with Wonwoo following behind you.

“Talk.” The dry atmosphere is suffocating, a need for everything to be over growing with every second Wonwoo stays silent. “And fast, because I don't have much patience left with you.”

“I don’t blame you for hating me.” He starts, and any thought you had vanishes into thin air. “I even hate myself for it, but I don’t regret it.”

“How can you say that?” Hearing those words come out of his mouth shouldn’t feel like a punch in the gut, and you hate it. You shouldn’t have allowed him in. “Whoa, just, why don’t you just leave? I gotta pack and leave this godforsaken place.”

Wonwoo grabs your arm and prevents you from turning your back on him.

“They knew you were after Albert.” Albert, the stolen paintings man you were following at the time.

You freeze in place, but you’re unable to react while the words float around your head trying to make sense. 

“That’s impossible.” You don’t sound nearly as dismissive as you should.

“They knew someone was going to steal from him, it was a set up for whoever it was.” There’s nothing in Wonwoo’s revelation that points to it being a lie, and it throws off everything you believed about that day. “They were going to torture the truth out of you. Find out who you work for.”

“But how?” You’re always careful, always follow the rules, always make sure to blend in the background. Never, in all the years you’ve been doing this, were you discovered. If they knew, someone must’ve snitched on your boss’ client.

“I don’t know, but the boss forced me to make a deal with him and pretend to help him out.” By the way Wonwoo pronounces ‘boss’, you know his uncle pulled the family card.

He lets you think in silence, waiting for whatever you choose to do with the new information.

On one hand, you don’t doubt he’s telling the truth about the deal. On the other hand, you can’t think of the reasoning behind why Wonwoo refused to tell you this the thousands of times he had the chance to. Or why he didn’t talk to you at the time to plan something together.

“Did he tell you not to help me?” How could his family only come up with a plan where you were the one who ended up with the short end of the stick? They made you believe it was your fault, didn’t call you for months after your recovery. It doesn’t make any sense.

“He said it could risk our entire family.” Ouch.

It’s no surprise that his family doesn’t consider you part of them. They never did. And you didn’t expect them to. But hearing the sentiment come out of Wonwoo’s mouth stings.

“I fought them until the last day.” Wonwoo continues, sensing that you need more details about his stance. “They made sure I had no other choice.”

You know what that means. Of course they threatened him. It was always blood over anything else until he refused to fulfill their whims, then, it stopped mattering that Wonwoo was blood too. You’ve seen it happen first hand, just not with you on the receiving end.

“I hate your fucking family.” You settle on saying. Nothing he’s never heard before, but something to imply you understand him, in a way. After all, regardless of the time you spent apart, you were by his side through most of the horrible things he had to do for them.

Wonwoo exhales deeply, a barely there smile at your acknowledgement.

“I’m glad you can finally get out.” You continue, letting your care for him show through your words.

“Me too.” His body relaxes, suddenly much closer to you than before. “I’m gonna miss you.”

The warmth radiating from him envelops you, so familiar and intimate, and your body instantly lightens despite the rush you’re both supposed to be in. And as he tilts his head down to look into your eyes, gaze soft after his seemingly small but heartfelt confession, you can’t avoid the ache in your heart anymore.

“I’m gonna miss you too.” You realize out loud, the hurt in your voice opening a cascade of repressed feelings, clouding your eyes with tears.

When Wonwoo’s arms wrap around you at the sight of your crumbling form, you don’t stop him as he holds you close to his chest. Feeling his heartbeat against your ear, overpowering the sudden change of air in your room, you decide to let go. You don’t cry, but instead let yourself be comforted by him, by his steady breath and strong arms tight around you.

You’ve been surviving without him, trying to mend the hole in your heart and with no way to get closure, with your memories of him stained by the sight of his face watching you from the truck as it drove away. But surviving isn’t living.

“I’m sorry.” Wonwoo’s words reverberate down his chest. “For everything.”

Even if both of you know an apology won’t fix the rift he caused in your relationship, you let yourself live in that moment. Not survive, but live the moment with him in your arms.

His chest rising and falling against your ear fades everything around you, leaving only you and him alone in the world. Maybe you're waiting for him to let go, or maybe you know he's waiting for you and you refuse to say goodbye, but neither of you dare to let go of the other, enjoying the comfort you once knew so well. How many times have you woken up in a cold sweat, wishing he was laying behind you on the bed, ready to hug you back to sleep, and now you have it.

As if he could hear your doubt, Wonwoo lets go of his grip, setting you free from his tight embrace, but you stay there, standing in front of him without any other thought. The poor lighting from the bedside lamp you always forget to turn off does no justice to Wonwoo’s features as he looks at you up and down.

It's unclear who crosses the line into the other's personal space first. And this time, when his plush lips mold against yours, you don’t control yourself, you don’t put a stop to his movements.

The ghost of his touch you’ve been failing to escape from, back with more passion, glueing you together.

Naturally as ever, Wonwoo wraps his arms around you once again, now to help you on your tiptoes to be even closer. A sigh escapes you as your chests press against one another, and your hands cup his jaw to kiss him harder.

His tongue traces the outline of your lower lip, and the months you spent deprived of him open the way for you to give into him. You let his tongue roll over yours as he deepens the kiss the way it has you melting against him. A whimper draws out of you, and his hunger for you physically arises.

You don’t waste any time, sneaking your hands under the fancy clothes that fit him too well, feeling the tense of his muscles directly. With the pad of his fingers, he starts slipping down the string of your dress down your shoulders, leaving a fiery trail under his touch.

Between the mess of clothes flying away and the tangled limbs looking to feel the other’s bare skin, the world outside the four walls surrounding you stops mattering as you stumble back and fall on the bed. Wonwoo’s hips fit where your legs meet, seeking for your touch everywhere he can.

The weight of his bare chest on yours causes a chain reaction inside you. He's always had a toned body to drool for, but being under him again, feeling all the new muscle he gained while away from you, it’s not long before he has you softly moaning into his mouth, grinding his hips against yours with something more than just lust.

“Are we really doing this?” He gasps, detaching his mouth from you to look at your reaction.

You shouldn’t. It's wrong from every angle possible. Crying on your ex's shoulder and then making out with him? That was the first strike. Having sex with your ex? Wrong again. Having sex when you should be escaping after stealing two valuable and expensive pieces of jewelry and information? So, very wrong. But doing something right has rarely been a part of your life.

You could get sentimental, say that right in that moment, every molecule in your body was screaming asking for him to make you his. But what ultimately comes out of you is, “don’t talk, or I’ll regret it.”

Wonwoo doesn't seem fazed by your retaliation and just nods, making you chase his mouth as he starts leaving kisses up your jaw. His warm breath against your neck mixed with his barely clothed groin stroking your core slowly has you swallowing hard, waiting for his next move. Why hasn't he taken off his underwear yet?

“You never complained about my talking before.” His voice, ten times lower than before, takes your ear by surprise.

“We're in a rush, Wonwoo.” His name comes out half a moan as his hands travel down to where your centers meet.

Your reactions widen the smirk you're just now realizing is plastered on his face, lowering his head down while his eyes tease yours from above your stomach.

“This one's new.” He notes, hooking his fingers on the strings of your panties as he starts slipping them off you, leaving you now completely bare and at his mercy.

“Had people to impress.” You lie, hoping to rile him up enough that he stops teasing you.

Before you have the chance to react, the tear of the fabric reaches your ears. He ripped them off. “Now no one else will ever see them.”

“Fuck!” Getting more turned on by his jealousy just escalated to the top of the list of things that shouldn’t be happening.

The big bed in the center of your room has more than enough space for you both, but Wonwoo shows off his strength by dragging you to the edge, sinking to his knees on the soft carpet on the floor to face your center properly.

With his hands groping their way up your thighs, his eyes savoring the view of your wet core, and your speeding heartbeat with anticipation, you're instantly under his spell, gasping at every touch he decides to give.

Playing with you has always been a favorite of his. Quickie or not, he always found the time to have you whimpering and begging for him.

Feeling his fingers softly tracing your lower lips, spreading the arousal he caused all around your most sensitive zone, not holding back on touching you where you most need him, but not applying enough pressure. He’s driving you crazy.

“You're so wet baby.” He's so entranced you realize he's not looking for an answer. “And it's all for me.”

In one of his endless rounds on your too needy core, you stop his fingers right at the center. You claw at his hands, and his hazy stare, mesmerized by his work with your wetness, finds its way to yours, eyes dark with lust, urging him to do something once and for all.

“I’m enjoying my time down here.” His eyes get lost again, but the teasing smirk growing on his face tells you everything.

“We don’t have time,” but oh how you wish you did, “Wonwoo, don’t p–”

Your inner walls spread apart as he plunges two fingers into you, successfully shutting you up. Your insides welcome him, wrapping around his familiar digits seeking for more, sucking him further inside until his knuckles get covered in the wetness messily spread in your lips.

Wonwoo knows when to curl his fingers to make you scream. When to twist, turn and retract his hand to have you whimpering for more. And your body gives him every reaction he needs to fuel his ego.

“See how needy you are for me?” He groans as he rises from the ground, towering over you, not forgetting to thrust his hand into you so deliberately hard you can’t even mumble a response. “No one could make you feel this good.”

“N-no,” his eyes darken at your broken response, “you’re the only one.”

And it’s true. No matter how many times you tried, no one ever touched you like Wonwoo did. No one cared about finding and stroking each spot you loved and focused on your pleasure. Hell, not even you understand how Wonwoo so easily finds his way inside you.

“I can’t believe I spent so much time away from you.” You rake your nails down his back, lowering his torso down until he’s pressed against you again, his fingers hitting hard inside you as he moans in your ear, loving how your walls tighten around him. “I’m gonna make you mine again.”

“I already am.” You’re saying everything that comes to mind, your filter long gone by now. “Wonwoo, I’m cl-”

The sentence gets cut short, a desperate moan echoing across the room as Wonwoo gets his other hand to work, playing with your clit as your walls quiver against his menacing fingers.

“Relax, baby.” His length pokes against your inner thigh, rock hard and ready for you to play with, but your brain can’t take another order. “I know.”

Everything combines and combusts at the flick of his finger against your clit. And he doesn’t stop. His hands thrusts hard inside you, your trembling legs and spasming walls losing control as he extends your orgasm to his liking.

“Fuck, baby.” He stops moving his hand, letting you ride out your orgasm as he marvels at the sight. You shouldn’t blush at his words, especially when he can feel your walls clamp and know the effect he has on you. “I didn’t know you missed me that much.”

You don’t give any of you time to figure out anything, sneaking your hand between your bodies and getting hold of his hard length trying to peek out of his boxers. Wonwoo graces you with a sweet groan, hips twitching against your hand, showing you how much he needs you too.

When he slides his hands off your warmth, you don’t waste any time and rush to get his damn underwear off. After thinking you’ll never get to have him again, you can’t wait to, for one last time.

He catches on to your eagerness, taking both your thighs in his hands to drag you even closer to the edge of the bed, spreading them apart so your entrance’s finally close to his erection. The shock at the remainder of his size is almost embarrassing, proudly standing against his abs. You’re staring in awe, and Wonwoo loves it.

He stands proudly before you, letting you eye him up and down, all while allowing his eyes to wander on your body too. “Good to know you still like what you see.”

“Shut up.” You chuckle as you wiggle down the last centimeter to line up with his length, your desire for him stronger than your need to preserve your ego.

It’s dirty, the way Wonwoo drags his fingers through your lips to collect your arousal before pumping himself. You know he notices the new wave of arousal at his touch, but he doesn’t tease.

As he leans down, his tip entering you slowly, neither of you care about the long groans you let out. He looks for your eyes as he caresses the side of your face, holding his body weight with his other shoulder planted by your side.

Your walls welcome him in as he splits you in half slowly, letting you feel every vein dragging along your walls. He bottoms out almost softly, grazing your deepest parts before snapping his hips back.

But he doesn't let the feeling of emptiness take over you, starting a pace of slow grinds and quickly sliding out that has your eyes rolling back, your nails digging in the flesh of his shoulders.

You want to squeeze your eyes shut, let the feeling of him filling you up take over you, but you can’t take your eyes off him. With his face so close, soft features analysing yours contrasting with the way your hips snap together, you’re compelled to watch only him.

Every thrust pushes him deeper and deeper, as if he was trying to mark you as his forever. Your legs barely wrap around his waist, going limp as you feel your orgasm approaching fast, quivering with every snap of his hips.

“Fuck, baby, you're trapping me.” You can feel how his pounding grows stronger with every passing second, your walls clamping hard around his giving him a hard task.

Still sensitive from his fingers, your body feels on fire. Wonwoo’s hands roam freely anywhere they want, fondling your tits and pinching your nipples until you scream, or holding your hips tight when he hits that spot inside you that has you shaking. Every touch of his feels raw on your skin, as if even the barest scratch of his nails can have you seeing stars.

“You were made for me.” Somehow, you manage to register his mumble as his hands travel down your body, holding onto your thighs for dear life as he accelerates his pace.

Marking your thighs with the shape of his hands has always been a favorite of his, and you don’t care that you’ll feel his grasp on you for the next few days.

The bed squeaks under you, the force of Wonwoo’s thrusts and your body bouncing on top of it making it shift, but the downstairs guests are not a priority for either of you.

Wonwoo’s hand lets go of one of your legs, falling limp to the side, as he begins circling his digits around your swollen clit. Your throat itches as you scream at his touch, shock and pleasure merging into one and dismantling any wish you had to be quiet, if there even was one.

Without warning, electricity flows from his body to yours, your second orgasm shattering in a million moans and curses Wonwoo fucks you through. Every limb on your body trembles as his pistoning girth stutters its pace inside you at your tightening walls.

His pulsing cock alerts you of his nearing orgasm, but he regains composure after you lost control, thrusting inside you with force again and chasing his own high as you quiver around him.

You’re drunk on him. His touch, his scent, his sounds are all you care about. Everywhere, everything is him. His cock reaches so deep inside you even your breathing’s being choked up with each pound.

Wonwoo holds himself up caging you in between his arms, his body failing as ropes of white coat your walls. The sweet chant of his groans so close to your ears does nothing to calm you down, your insides squeezing every last drop of his cum.

But even if he's done himself, he's not done with you.

After he slides out of you, with so much care you wouldn't think he was just splitting you in half a minute ago, you use all your remaining strength to keep your legs open for him. You know he loves to see his seed seeping out of you, like a work of art finally finished.

You stay there, his mesmerized eyes on your dripping core while you regulate your breathing to normal.

“Wonwoo…” Your half moan manages to draw his attention, and the look you give him is enough for him to stand up and fetch something to clean you up.

He's always been so gentle with you, cleaning up his mess and wrapping his arms around you after.

“I'm never going to forget you.” He whispers to your ear, with your back pressed against his heaving chest. Your naked bodies stick to each other like magnets, incapable of coming apart.

You know you should get up and leave the hotel as soon as possible, but leaving means also letting go of him. His arms cage you in between them as if he didn't want to leave either.

“Let's stay here a minute.” You mumble, half asleep as his warmth envelops you once again.

 

His family didn’t approve of his relationship with you. They never did. But Wonwoo didn't care about their opinions. Hell, he didn't even care about the “family business” everyone was so passionate about.

Wonwoo fought his entire adolescence to be left out of that life, for his uncle to let him live his life away from the constant danger. A highschool kid had no business joining armed robberies or stalking people to collect data. But he had no other place to go, and they provided food and shelter but made sure to let him know it wasn’t for free, even for family.

“Blood over anything else.” They'd say when he refused to join in on a job when they were “training” him. He couldn't argue with anyone, so he started looking for their approval. Maybe that way, they'd let him have more freedom.

When he met you, the new ninja one of his aunts managed to recruit, he was instantly under your spell. You helped him find his own ways to do the jobs, allowed him to set his own rules. And that just made him grow colder and colder with his family, until all he cared about was you. You helped him find the little freedom the job allowed to exist. The one his family tried so hard to bury.

When Wonwoo saw his uncle’s name on the caller ID the night he knew you were staking out your next target, a chill ran down his spine. It couldn’t mean anything good.

“If they don’t know who it is, then I can help her! Why would I take that man’s side? Just let me tell her!” He screamed to the phone, but the man on the other side wasn’t listening.

The plan was already sealed, and they just needed a pawn to carry it out. And who was more perfect than Wonwoo? Making him pay because of his resentment to his family, making you hate him so you'd leave him alone for once. It was all they always wanted.

Excuse after excuse was thrown his way. Reason after reason why the plan was the way it was and why he had to be the one to do it. Something about the importance of family, or whatever they said.

But he didn't care that those men were trying to find out his uncle's identity, it didn't even matter if they found out about his own identity. What finally made him care was you. If he didn't obey, you'd fall into the trap, and you'd be dead. Because of his family. Because of him.

So, he agreed. Knowing he'd never be able to tell you the truth. Knowing you'd hate him for the rest of his life. But at least, he could protect you.

That's why, that first night, he showed up at the empty bar with a distraction, so no one would realize you were the one stalking the underground art dealer.

That's why he made sure you'd fit right in at the fancy bar, contrasting with his dirty out of place clothes. He had to make the deal that night, but you couldn't look like you were together. He had to make sure you looked like a girl he swooned right there, another drunk person who happened to be there on the wrong night.

On your last date night, Wonwoo knew something was off. He realized you caught on to something. Because of yourself you did. Wonwoo couldn't lie to your face even if millions of dollars were promised to him.

But what could've he done? The deal was up and running, there was no backing down. He had to go on with it with the excuse that it was to save you.

And he did save you. From death at least.

Wonwoo's heart broke that day, in the passenger seat of that filthy truck, with your target rambling on about his deals and his gratefulness to him, all while his right hand tried to kick your ass. Stupid men didn't know everything was part of a plan.

The sight of your eyes as you watched him drive away got burned in the back of his eyelids like a curse. Forever haunting him.

With his family off his back, he tried reaching out to you. He found you again and again, and begged for your forgiveness like a stray dog, but you wouldn't hear him. And after weeks of trying, he really understood.

You were done with him. The one that showed him hope left. Because of him.

Your body jolts awake, hazy mind as your surroundings harshly begin to make sense. You have no idea when you fell asleep, or how much time passed since, but you can’t concentrate on finding out with all the noise. 

So much noise. 

Your ringtone. Your second phone’s ringtone. Wonwoo’s ringtone. The hotel’s phone. Everything’s ringing at the same time. 

Wonwoo’s body shifts next to yours, stirring in the bed until his arm wraps around your bare waist, holding you closer to him like it’s his second nature. It takes a second longer for your body to react to everything going on. 

“Wonwoo, something’s happening. Answer your phone.” You grab his hands closed tight around you in an intent to shake both your bodies and wake him up. A low hum is what you get as an answer. 

It pains you to drag yourself out of the warm bed, away from Wonwoo’s firm grip you so longed for. But it’s impossible to enjoy the recent developments if the incessant buzzing next to your ear doesn’t stop. 

Not much time could’ve passed since you two fell asleep, as the dark night sky is still in its full glory. It wasn’t the best decision to let each other’s warmths drift you to sleep right after you’ve finished a job.

As soon as you locate your phone and click the screen to accept the call, one of your boss’ bodyguards yells in your ear.

“You have to get out of there! Now!” The next mumbles that come out of his mouth, you barely register as your eyes connect with Wonwoo’s, his phone in his hand, probably hearing an identical order.

Every call disconnects after both of you tell your respective caller that you’re on your way. The messy room and your naked bodies tell otherwise.

For a second, you’re both frozen in place, listening closely for any suspicious sounds alerting you of any incoming danger. The silence is relieving for a second before you’re rushing to find your not fancy clothes scattered around the room.

Wonwoo, on the other hand, takes his time putting on every single clothing item.

By the time you’ve got dressed and grabbed your essentials so you can fly out of there, he’s barely put on his fancy pants he wore for the event and is buttoning up his shirt one by one.

“What are you waiting for? You have to go!” You can't comprehend why he's wasting the little time he has to finally escape and live his life as he always wanted, to… stare at you?

“Come with me.” He finally opens his mouth, hands dropping to his sides as he rounds the bed to stand in front of you.

“What?” Your question comes out as an incredulous chuckle.

“Run away with me! I'm being serious.” He takes your hands between his, like a promise, and leaves you speechless.

“I– Wh– You're crazy, Wonwoo, I can't.” You force yourself to take a step away from him, the only way you can think clearly.

“This is our chance! Don't you see it?” He screams in your face, smiling like a mad man.

“We got caught and you think that your family, who already hates me enough, is going to let me go?” You reason, but Wonwoo's now more focused on pacing around the room to try to make sense of everything.

“Exactly.” He clearly stopped listening to you at some point. “We got caught, which means my deal’s off. And I'm not going back.”

“If you still have the USB, wouldn’t he consider it?” As soon as you end your question, you know it’s pointless. Your boss is not exactly known for having mercy.

Wonwoo simply stares at you, eyes slightly closed and head tilted, another sign that it doesn’t work like that.

“Okay, I get it, don’t look at me like that.” You avoid his teasing eyes, trying to focus on grabbing your most important things and escape for once. “You’re still crazy.”

“Come with me,” stands in front of you and holds the sides of your face between his hands, “we’ll be out of the country before they can find us.”

The warmness in his gaze melts you right along with it. But what he’s asking is a much more meaningful commitment than just leaving the hotel with him. It’s a petition about how you’ll spend the rest of your life.

Maybe a fleeting life, never settling in a place before having to escape again, wouldn’t be so bad, if it’s with him. It was his family that got in between you two, and with them out of the equation, he’s still him, and you’re still you.

“Okay.” Your faces are so close he even hears your whisper.

A big smile grows on his face, beating the confusion as it drifts away, realizing that you just agreed with him. “Really?”

“Yes! I’ll go with you.” Wonwoo takes the chance to kiss you again, but as much as you don’t want him to let go, there’s a more pressing issue. “But we need to go right now.”

In the second it takes you to open your eyes after he disconnects your lips, you find him nodding as he collects the few things he still had scattered on the floor. Taking a look around, you realize there’s not enough time to clean up and pretend you were never there. You could grab your computer and phone, leaving no trace of the investigation you did on your target, but to whoever you’re running from, anything you leave behind will serve as clues.

“Do you have a lighter?” Wonwoo asks as he walks to the door, as if he read your mind.

“Yes… are you saying what I think you are?” It’s something you’ve done before. And the best way to get rid of unwanted evidence.

“Give me a few minutes to grab my stuff from my room, then we’ll light them both on fire.” He probably thought of that plan as soon as he answered the call. “Let’s meet downstairs.”

“Be careful, please.” If you blow your room up in flames before he’s out of his, he’ll be in trouble. “And quick.”

“I love it when you worry about me." The door’s barely open behind him, but there’s a lot more noise than when you two woke up. “Whatever happens, you just escape. I’ll find you.”

With that, Wonwoo runs out of the room, heading for the stairs at light speed. Your lips dry out as the seconds pass, fearing what could happen during the next few minutes, but you can’t be dramatic, there’s no time.

Behind you, the mess of your room awaits to be turned to ash. The bottles of alcohol inside the mini fridge you never touched call your name, ready to be burst against the carpeted floor and enlightened. But before doing anything, you need to decide what you can live without.

Your bags full of clothes are meaningless. Besides a black sweatshirt you quickly throw over your shoulders to cover yourself downstairs, no piece of fabric is worth risking your life. Changing into more comfortable clothes is out of the question, as you’ll draw more attention by not looking like everyone else at the event.

Outside the door, the beginning of a commotion makes itself known. It’s not on your floor, yet, but in any second it will be. Wonwoo comes to mind, a floor below you, closer to the sound of at least 10 men ready to hunt you down. The best thing you can do for him is create a distraction.

The one thing you realistically need is your primary phone, so you secure it in a small bag along with the emerald necklace. Any other device would just slow you down.

The fridge’s full of different types of alcohol, so you pop open every bottle there is and dump the liquid on the carpet, the bed, the curtains, and especially on the computer you’re forced to leave behind. It reeks so much of booze you feel dizzy until your nostrils get used to the smell.

As you stumble back and slam your door open for the last time, the faint screams of people downstairs alerts you that your warning was much more deep than your brain decided to understand.

Are you getting out of there because you wasted time sleeping with Wonwoo instead of escaping and your targets found out they were robbed? If that was the case, then you must’ve done a terrible job at hiding yourself from them. But that’s nearly impossible. Too many coincidences you have no time to think of.

You find the small lighter in your bag and flick the switch to see the orange flame erupt before your eyes. Good, it works, you’re not dead yet.

Throwing the ignitor across the room and down to the wet floor is easy. Running away from it with the heat coming right behind you isn't. The room explodes in flames just when you reach the stairs, suspiciously empty taking in account the mess you can hear from downstairs.

Step after step down, the floor below yours is too clear of smoke for your liking. Did Wonwoo not get the chance to do it? You don’t worry about that for long, but the answer might be worse.

Whines of pain echo through the hallway as you take the last steps down to Wonwoo’s floor. At least four different voices reach your ears hiding behind the wall. It’s like a vintage radio show, punch sounds repeatedly get through over the fire alarm and the screaming on the floors below. You could merge with all the people running away, pass as another scared guest, clueless as to what was happening.

Only your heart can’t allow you to leave without seeing what was happening to Wonwoo. His groans of pain are nowhere near as many as the other guys attacking him, but it’s a matter of time before they overwhelm him.

A peek over the wall confirms all you’ve been listening to. Wonwoo’s  room door was left open, but there’s no fire coming out of it. One guy’s already on the floor, unconscious against the wall with blood coming out of his lower lip. The other two have your backs facing you, taking turns attacking Wonwoo, but miserably failing.

You can’t take your eyes off the fight, one guy trying to recover from Wonwoo’s punches while the other swings and fails to land his fist on Wonwoo’s ribs. Like a scene out of a movie, he beats the two men until they’re laying on the floor, screaming in pain, incapable of getting up. But it is never as easy as it seems.

A new wave of three men make their way from the other hallway, tasked to finish what the first guys started. Wonwoo, not taken by surprise, with his bruised knuckles and bleeding eyebrow, is already ready for another fight.

When the new men realize the lifeless state of their fellow hired butchers, they stomp towards Wonwoo, who’s throwing the lighter into his room.

While one of them runs to check on the body closer to your hide spot, the other two begin throwing punches at Wonwoo, these ones managing to hit him more times, but not without receiving more in retaliation. Thud punches and broken bones are all you can hear, but you’ve hidden again, in case the man closer to you realizes Wownwoo had company all this time.

It’s the explosion that startles you out of the staircase.

The grey smoke covers the farthest part of the hallway, covering the two hitmen he was fighting, both injured on the floor, holding onto different parts of their bodies either the explosion or Wonwoo broke.

Your eyes connect with Wonwoo’s, and he manages to tilt his chin forward, the only way he can plead for you to escape, just before the last man stands up and faces him. Everything happens too fast.

You’re about to turn around and keep going down the stairs just like Wonwoo told you to do when you hear it. A gunshot. 

Then, a second freezes in time. Your head turns just when the body falls dead on the ground, revealing Wonwoo just behind him with a splatter of blood staining his face, and the gun in his hand still pointed ahead, blowing smoke. Your eyes connect again, a realization of what he did and you witnessed.

But time's not frozen, and one of the guys that was hiding behind the grey smoke follows Wonwoo's stare and sprints your way, just at the same time as the other one appears behind Wonwoo and wraps his arm around his neck.

You’re trained for this, to be thinking on your feet in case something unforeseen happens. The red fire extinguisher stands out on the side of the stairs you just went down from. Pretending to run up to escape from the man running your way, you snatch the extinguisher out of its place and blow the white smoke right in his face, disorienting him enough to swing the heavy metal right onto his hairless skull.

Before any more men appear out of nowhere, you jump over the railing and run downstairs, hoping Wonwoo’s strong enough to pull through the deadly mix of smoke.

Pushing through the big crowd formed on the bottom floor, you feel more in danger surrounded by all the guests and their judging eyes waiting to figure out if you're the one causing the mess to rat you out. Even if everyone is panicking, talking to each other trying to find out what happened and no one’s really looking at you. In all the chaos, no one looks at other people's dirty and messy clothes to analyze if they fit in.

Almost five whole minutes pass until the entrance door appears in your sight, surrounded by news anchors and their big cameras shooting to catch everything they can. Everyone closer to the door is either more preoccupied with being on live TV, or ready to run off the event and to a safe place.

Trying your best to avoid the cameras, hiding your face behind the hood of your sweatshirt and using men’s big bodies to cover the rest of you, the hotel front door gets closer and closer with each step. From the corner of your eye, a few feet to your right, you recognize at least four men that work for Wonwoo’s family, looking around trying to recognize faces in the crowd, so you run off in the opposite direction.

A black fence you didn’t perceive that first night at the hotel obstructs your view of the street, but a glimpse of a black hoodie similar to yours catches your attention running around the corner. You can’t hesitate, with the cameras going around and the surveillance team looking for you, escaping right that second is the only option.

You follow the figure without another thought, walking as fast as you can but trying not to get noticed, and see him getting inside a car you’ve never seen before and start the engine. From where you’re hiding, you can’t be seen from inside the car. But the car never drives off, like it’s waiting for someone.

“I thought you’d never come.” Wonwoo says as you pull the handle to open the passenger door.

With the engine running, Wonwoo changes the manual gear and drives the car away from the poorly lighted alleyway. 

“They were coming after me too, I had no other choice.” Your smile reveals your little lie, and he returns it as he interlocks your fingers together. “How did you know I was going to see you?”

From a distance, you can hear the fire siren arriving at the hotel, but you’re far enough that worrying about it is useless. All the mess, the robbery, the people chasing after you, it’s all gone. Already blocks away, the city lights and clear streets are like a breath of fresh air, the first minute of your new beginning with him. You’re both free. Finally.

“I told you I’d find you.”

note: i can't believe this is finally done!! thank you so so so much for reading, and to all the people who've been waiting since i posted the teaser months aho, thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

don't be shy and leave your thoughts! come yap in my inbox!

[hannieoftheyear]

CURSED COVEN [J.WW] I

A witch who's keeping centuries old secrets. A vampire who doesn't care about anything other than himself. An unconventional alliance that draws you both closer than you should be. But being good at keeping secrets comes with a price.

pairing: vampire!wonwoo x witch!reader

au/genre: supernatural au, magic au, forbidden romance, strangers to reluctant allies to lovers, angst, eventual smut.

word count: 12,8k

content warnings :blood, fucked up family dynamics, talking about death murder and sacrifices, implied killings, secrets, vampire feeding, thoughts of self-harm, threats.

note: hello! first order of business, thank you so much aeris @aeristudios for taking the time to read this over for me and reassuring me and supporting my crazies ily <3 my obsession with the vampire diaries has led me to this point! I had to write a vampire au! it's my calling!

this is part one! I'll post the second part on november! I promise!

THIS FIC IS FOR +18 READERS ONLY! MINORS CAUGHT INTERACTING WILL BE BLOCKED.

[series masterlist] ♡ check out my main masterlist ♡

read this post for a more detailed explanation of the lore and what inspired me to write this series!

I love to yap about tvd and this au, so, you're welcome to come scream in my inbox ♡

If you had to define your life with one sentence, the phrase “wrong place at the wrong time,” would be the most fitting, you think.

Whether by the eyes of reincarnation, fate, or the randomness of birth giving, there's no denying that whatever higher power made way for your birth on earth didn't care about your soul, it just needed a vessel to destroy.

Just one day. If you were born a day earlier, reality would be unthinkably better. You would've been just another normal newborn witch in the coven, learning mischievous spells with your friends and getting in trouble with the Wise Ones. But it couldn't happen that way. Life made sure of that. Otherwise, you wouldn't have been conceived.

“It's for the coven,” or “you should be honored to be a part of something so important,” your parents would say every time you'd ask them why they did it, in between sobs. It was hard, learning to live with it. But, little by little, day by day, you stopped caring, set on living the most you could before the time came.

The oh so powerful Moonlit Coven. The rulers of living magic for centuries, in charge of keeping it safe from the evil underworld. They wouldn't let anything happen to you before it was necessary. With a centuries old spell protecting you, nothing can kill you, yet, but can you be hurt? 

Doing the grimy dishes you were careless to not clean early in the morning before closing, you're tempted to test its workings. What could happen if you accidentally grabbed a fragile glass with excessive force and it broke in your hand? Would it hurt? Would you bleed? Would it alert your family? It's a recurring intrusive thought that you never let win.

After all the years of living carelessly, building ephemeral relationships and getting emotionally wounded after they inevitably fall apart, that's the one thing you've always been careful about.

Force field spells were the foundation of your teachings, and you overused the hell out of them until you mastered them. Hence now, admittedly, you're scared. Getting physically hurt is something you never experienced, and you avoid it at all cost.

Laying low was the most important promise you had to fulfill in order for the coven to let you live in Ever Burn.

You purposely chose a ghost town as far away from your coven as possible. If you started getting hurt and healing rapidly, filling the bar with the smell of your blood for nothing to be there after, it would draw too much attention.

The couple hundred people living in town were weary of you at first, and the reason was as clear as the purified water you kept under the bar. As soon as you entered the same bar you’re standing in, looking for a job and a place to stay, you could smell the underworld injected in every corner, which the working hours of the bar being from sunset to sunrise should've alerted you of.

Not only the bar has tons of regulars who are vampires and a few werewolves here and there, but the town as a whole. The feeling of hundreds of supernatural creatures living in one place gave you goosebumps. It was hard getting used to it at first, that constant chill running down your spine at the underworld energy, but now that most of the regulars warmed up to you, it became your new normal.

Regulars that in any second are going to come knock on the locked door asking why you haven't opened if the sun already set.

Walking to the entrance with the key in hand, you partly regret choosing to get a job. You could’ve lived on a paradise-like beach with the money from the Coven, free of supernatural elements. But you weren't willing to live off your family's money for any longer. Getting a low paying job like normal people seemed like the way to go.

For the most part, the bar is a decently neutral place. The clients don’t come to make a fuss or to have something—or someone, to eat. Instead, they get drunk and flirt with you knowing they’re at least a couple hundred years older than you.

The bartender course you took still proves to be the best investment you made. You love hearing all the gossip in town. It’s incredible what amounts of illegal things people—mostly vampires, because werewolves have a higher tolerance, admit to doing to the bartender when their inhibitions go away.

A cold breeze on the back of your neck puts your thoughts on hold as you get back behind the bar. Vampires. Judging by the hour, you can guess who’s coming in.

The door creaks open, revealing the same group of friends that come in every day like clockwork.

You put all the yearning for a life you will never have behind you and your best waitress smile. A group of vampires is easy to handle on your own. As long as you're polite but not too flirty, they'll stay out of your way. This group in particular never spares you more than a glance. 

From what you've gathered from sneakily listening to their conversations and from their drunken rants at 4 am, they're not murdering anyone in the plans they're whispering between themselves daily. Mostly keeping to the feed & erase process.

You’re walking forward to take their order when you feel it. There’s someone new with the two young looking vampires and their werewolf friend you’re used to seeing in the afternoons. When you lock eyes with him, blinding bleach blond hair and big eyes,  you both instantly feel it in your veins. He’s a witch too.

It's a millisecond where your mouth dries incomprehensibly quickly. The last thing you wanted was for every creature in town to learn you're a witch. Underworld creatures can't recognize someone from the living magic world, and you've been good at hiding it so far, even refraining from doing any dumb spells to make your tasks easier to do. Now, it could all be at risk.

“You’re a waitress now?” The werewolf, Mingyu, asks to the witch's side, managing to get your nervous system rolling again after the initial shock.

“Rob’s not here, yet.” You’re dry with your response. Small talk be damned for now.

The four guys exchange looks before the vampire with long hair speaks up. “We’ll wait for him, then.”

Normally, you'd think twice about why they'd be so adamant on wanting your boss to take their order, but at the moment, you don't trust yourself to be around this witch you've never seen before for any longer.

Why would he be hanging out with underworld creatures? It's an unspoken law that witches can't engage in relationships of any kind with the supernaturals. Every practicing witch knows that they mean nothing good, even the nice looking werewolves. Your kind always gets caught up in other supernatural creatures’ messes. And, of course, you always end up saving the day. That's why your Coven decided to live in a guarded community, away from any manipulating underworld people and keeping magic safe.

If they're together, there must be a plan of his interest happening.

From afar, the unknown witch doesn't seem to be as interested in you as you're with him. He listens closely to what the werewolf is telling the others. You can breathe, for now. It'll be best if you work while figuring out what he's doing, but not meddle in their business too much. It should be easy.

After Rob and the other waitress miraculously show up kind of on time for their schedules, you can relax a bit more. If the blond didn't say anything, you trust he doesn't want to expose you to anyone. You certainly trust him more than his companions.

As you pretend to organize the dishes you did before, making noise so the vampires don’t hear you, you whisper a spell to amplify your hearing. They’re usually funny to listen to—always loud while talking, but tonight, they’re muttering nonsense to themselves, talking about finding an unfamiliar stone. The witch is surely doing a protecting spell around them, because you’re only getting broken words that make little sense.

There's only one person from that group you ever spoke to outside of the bar. Not that you would trust him, but it could be possible to get information from him.

Hansol bumped into you outside the local library a few weeks ago. It was your day off, and when he recognized you, you nearly cast a spell to make him pass out and give you time to run away. But he didn't seem to care much about you as a whole.

You sat together at an illuminated corner and drank a cup of coffee in silence as you read your respective books. You'd enchanted the 'History of Covens' book you were holding to appear as if you were reading a common romance novel. He stared at you every now and then, and you had to pretend you weren't trying to figure out why he was reading a town history book if he's a thousand years old vampire.

"Memory failing you?" You asked after he caught you reading the title.

"Just doing some research." He shrugged.

"I'm sure you lived through everything you're reading about."

You didn't care if he saw through the uninterested persona you tried to put up. You mastered the acting of looking clueless. If he tried to erase your memory, you'd be okay.

"Reliving the old times, then," he joked, and you realized he wasn't going to give you more. Or at least he thought he didn't give you anything to work with.

It could be all connected. The new witch, the sudden history lesson, their need for your boss and a private place to chat. But dwelling on it for longer would be a waste of time. The place gets more crowded every second that passes, and the line of clients waiting for you to tend the bar increases with it.

"You're new here," a low voice directs at you, sitting in the farthest stool at the corner of your bar.

You stay focused on making the green drink Rob ordered to take to a table before locking himself and the others you were watching in his office.

All this time and you never saw anyone but him going in there. He always kept the key in his pockets, with his hand never uncovering the opening. Rob knew everyone in town, but for him to trust a few random men to go in there for hours, it means something. Something that draws you in, calls you to uncover.

"I've been here for a while," you respond without retrieving your eyes from the office door and leaving the drink with the correct client.

The person chuckles, waiting for you to come back from the table unfortunately too close to the bar. "I didn't know they hired witches around here."

Your neck cracks from how fast you turn your head to finally take a look at the stranger.

He's sipping on a whiskey you don't remember pouring, with a mocking smirk that narrows your eyes. You haven't seen him in the time you've been in town. You'd remember the stereotypical leather jacket he's wearing.

"They don't," you assert.

A quick glance around the room serves to calm your nerves. It's too late in the night, or early in the morning, for any vampire to be sober enough to assimilate your conversation. The 180 your head did at his accusation may have put you on the spot, but a bump on the road has never hindered your persuasion tactics before. It's just one annoying vampire against you.

"I'm sure Rob would love to know more about your background then," the stranger challenges.

You let out a loud chuckle at his empty threat. "You don't know Rob."

"I know everyone here." He gulps down the rest of his drink without getting his eyes off yours.

There are two possible options on why this emo vampire is so intent on getting you. Whichever it is, only one thing's for certain. You're not falling into his trap before knowing his identity and what he's looking for.

Racking your brain for any possible memory of encountering him is pointless. You remember everyone that comes even a step close to you. One can never be too careful, you learned.

"Not everyone. I've never seen you here."

He smirks again. "Few years ahead of you, sweets."

You just roll your eyes. He's clearly not going to give you any meaningful information. Why waste your time? He's just another already drunk vampire trying to mess with you.

"You're not getting a tip with that attitude," he continues, clearly not done with the bothering session. "Is this how you treat your clients?"

"You're not my client," you scoff. "I never served you."

He shakes his empty drink at you, the ice clicking against the glass enhancing his mocking smirk. A white fang claws on his bottom lip, reminding you what he is. You need to be careful. Revealing your identity could endanger the last few weeks you have ahead in town.

"You must've done your fast running thing and served yourself while I was busy."

"Sure, let's say I did." His stare stays on you as you surveil the office door once more.

It's as silent on the other side of the door as it was when they got in. You're sure if it opened, clouds of white smoke would fly away. A hard to master, but ultimately the most efficient way to turn away any prying ears.

"Well, don't do it again. I won't hesitate to stab you."

"So threatening!"

You watch as he leaves a couple of bills on the counter. At least he pays for what he has.

"Anything else I can do for you?" You portray a smile that both of you know it's just politely fake.

From the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of Hansol leaving your boss' office, with his hands in his pockets and heading decidedly to get out the door. His empty eyes catch yours in an instant, but he gives you no time to interpret what it means.

"How about a little locating spell?"

The words fly out of his mouth before you get the chance to shut him up. It's of little importance to him if the one thing important to you gets aired out in the open. Vampires… they only care about their business, no matter who they hurt in the process.

"And why would I help you?"

"If you don't want everyone in town to find out what you are, you will."

"You vampires and your incapability to get someone's help without blackmailing."

Admittedly, deep within you there's an insatiable curiosity that wants nothing more than to find out what the stranger is hiding. What he's after so secretly. Why he'd desperately track down a witch that knows nothing of him.

"Just need some witchy woo-hoo and we'll be done. Trust me, the last thing I want is to get involved in this godforsaken town's gossip."

"How do I know you'll hold your end of the deal?"

"I'm not planning to stay here for long." He looks smug, aware that was your way of accepting. "I'll be out of here as soon as I find what I need."

"I'm assuming you're not telling me what you need this object for, am I right?"

"You are very much correct."

Weighing your chances, you come to realize there's no need for you to follow coven rules anymore. The path formed behind you, filled with magic laws and worrisome threats, doesn't affect you as long as you're away from that life. And you can't die at the hands of anyone that isn't one of the Wise Ones.

This plan you're being sucked into might be the most entertaining thing you've been a part of in a while. Following implicit norms when nothing in this world can hurt you is foolish. You chose the way to spend the last of your life, to live freely. You always choose for yourself and make mistakes. Whatever this deal brings you, it wouldn't be worse than your prescribed fate.

"Thursday's my day off," you mention after some thought. "But I need to know more about you before agreeing to any of this."

The vampire smirks, once more, analyzing your figure up and down as you pretend to work. The bar has been oddly calm since he came onto you, but something tells you if you give him your full attention it can result in something disastrous.

"Call me Wonwoo," he extends his hand over the bar. You shake it with doubt, but knowing he won't relent. "I'll find you on Thursday."

Your boss' office door opens once more, letting out the rest of the group one by one. In the second your eyes stray to catch the men leaving, Wonwoo vanishes from his seat and into the night.

Just under an hour for the sun to fully come out, every client leaves in different states, be it angry, sad or quiet drunk or hungover. Rob joins you during the closing tasks after your other coworker ends her shift.

Your lips itch to ask Rob about the urgent meeting, about this strange vampire that claims to know him but disappears at the sight of him. For the first time in a long time, your mind wanders around this mystery instead of the sadness of your life. With purpose.

"Another round?"

Every once in a while, you find yourself pouring coffee instead of the dirtiest alcohol concoctions the supernaturals order, to feel something other than the dread of being alive for centuries.

"Thank you," Hansol replies without looking up from his ink-stained journal.

You fill his mug with black coffee, taking another look at the empty seats around him. His friends didn't come in with him tonight, and for once, he didn't have a drop of liquid that wasn't the bitter coffee your dirty machine pours.

"Alone tonight?" Your curiosity wins as you play the friendly waitress.

He rests his chin in the pale palm of his hand, not bothering to cover the writings he's been staring at with confusion since he sat down many hours ago. You read them shamelessly, recognizing the language most common witch spells use since the rise of earth magic.

"They got busy, but I needed the quiet," he explains.

Hansol, from what you've gathered, doesn't seem as vicious as the rest of the vampires you're so used to serving. Where others don't care to show up with blood stained clothes from their victims, Hansol always looks as if the thirst for blood doesn't trouble him. Or at least he cleans up after feeding.

It's odd that he surrounds himself with friends like that. They tend to spend nights at the bar telling stories about their latest catch, what lies they got in their head after feeding off their blood, all while cackling at themselves. All except for him. Of course, your perspective is skewed by simply being the bartender and watching them only during their drunk hours. He could be as in need for blood at all costs as the rest of them and you'd never know.

"I can tell Rob you're here," you intend to pry out, knowing your boss hasn't shown up all night.

He stares back at you, expressionless. "No worries."

You smile politely, slowly heading back to your station in case any vampire near passing out orders another drink. As the bar's motto says: no one is out of their mind enough if they still need something to drink. Or something like that Rob told you when he hired you. And, as you couldn't care less about vampires' well being, you serve them everything they ask.

"Actually, can I ask you a question?" You turn around at the sound of his unsure voice, which he takes as a way of agreeing. "Come, sit."

"I shouldn't." You look at the bar full of customers with a chill running down your spine, but he shrugs.

"Do they look like they'll be needing you for anything?"

Of course, he's right. Rob's nowhere to be found and the other waitress finished her shift three hours ago. There isn't anything else to do, and you have the slight suspicion that Hansol won't let you go that easily.

"I don't think I can be of much help," you gulp.

"You don't know what I'm asking you, yet." Hansol's face is void of any emotion. And that might be scarier than him being a blood-sucker.

His eyes, dark reddish brown, scan your trembling form as you sit down. There's no knowledge on vampires being able to sense people's emotions –if they were, your coven would've been the firsts ones to know– but, for a second, you fear he's able to smell your reluctance to talk, hear your heart pumping blood faster through your veins.

"You've been here for a few months already," he asserts. It's not a question, but you nod regardless. "Most human girls don't last this long here."

"Well, I'm careful," you shrug. "I knew where I was getting myself into."

"You did?" His brow lifts, changing his expression for the first time all night. "You don't seem like one of the crazies obsessed with us."

"Didn't say I was a fan, only that I know what goes on."

Hansol nods, amused by your answer.

"Is your questioning done? I can't be seen sitting if Rob leaves his office," you lie again. You've perfected the technique after so many years. Your heart stammers the same, telling a lie or walking two steps. Even less than.

"If you know so much about us, I assume you know we can't walk outside during the day."

This is the time to downplay your knowledge, at least a tad bit. You can't know too little, but knowing too much is also dangerous. Say something true while appearing clueless to everything else.

"Yeah, that's why the bar opens only after sundown."

"Well, there's something I need, but can only be retrieved at midday," he explains, still analyzing every one of your moves. "I wouldn't request anything from anyone normally, but Rob said I could trust you."

Damn Rob. "I'm not sure I'm the best fit for whatever you need."

"It's not dangerous," Hansol explains.

He might not notice, even with his vampire abilities and otherworldly senses, but the wind outside picks up with every word of his, the floor boards creak louder under a drunk man's walk, and every one of your veins scorches with warnings. The earth is showing you the signs, and it's your choice to listen to them or not.

"You know nothing about me." It's not a question, but Hansol nods. "Why are you getting me involved?"

"You won't get involved," he says, beginning to be exasperated by your lack of commitment. "Your help will remain a secret, only if you get me what I need."

Hansol seems not to know your true identity. Whatever the reasoning is behind asking for your help, it doesn't have to do with your powers. It could be true, that he simply needs someone able to walk under the sun and prefers it being a stranger. You'd prefer him not revealing how much you know about the town, helping you not to draw any more attention from hungry vampires.

"No one can know I helped you, nor that I'm aware of what happens in town," you whisper, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

"My lips are sealed," he promises, and you have no other choice but to trust him.

"So? Are you telling me where it is? How does it look like?"

Hansol surveys the obscure bar, as if now realizing you aren't alone, before flipping pages of the book-looking journal sitting on the table. The words written in every page he's passing, you know by memory. That exact witch book is no stranger to you, each visible crease and mark were made by your own desperate hands.

Near the end, on the pages you only got through on your most hopeful days, he carefully takes notice of everything drawn on them, until he finds what he was looking for.

"This." Hansol's finger taps on one of the few colorful drawings ever found on a magic journal. A ruby stone with a disc shape you've never seen before.

"That thing?"

"Yes."

The image isn't new to you, but the rock has so little importance within the magic you practice, you barely pay attention to it on your routine check ups. There's a tiny description under it, but nothing of use. Your little care of it tenses Hansol's jaw muscles. Was he hoping for more of a reaction?

"Okay, no need to go all dark on me." You roll your eyes. "Where can I find it?"

The taste of the bitter tea remains on your tongue as you wake up from your nap. Even after weeks of drinking the same concoction to give your body and mind sufficient energy, you haven't gotten used to the lingering taste, or found a solution for it. It's a small price to pay to be able to endure sleep for so little hours. A nap after drinking it activates the spell drawn in the tea leaves, and it allows you to spend the night working and the morning investigating.

How Wonwoo found out about you is still unknown. You've been careful all around town not to show even a sliver of your capabilities. With your neighbors thinking you're merely a curious human learning about the underworld, like many before you, it's not a hard part to sell, but something tipped him off. You must’ve done something wrong.

From your window, you see the sun beginning  to hide behind the horizon, indicating your manipulator's about to show up and demand the locating spell he wants.

A vampire tracking down a witch for selfish reasons is almost as common as killing a human to feed off their blood. It comes inherently with becoming a blood-sucker, dragging everyone down with them. The thing is, under the nonchalant attitude and easiness to manipulate you into helping, stands a desperate vampire in need of something. He didn't just ask you, he found out about you, somehow, and disappeared at the sight of another witch. 

Wonwoo's hiding something from the people in the town. People he claims to know.

A knock on your door takes you out of your thoughts. The darkness of your room, only illuminated by the single candle you maintain on all hours, gives the clues necessary to realize who it is.

"How did you know where I'm staying?" You ask a grinning Wonwoo as you open the door.

He lets himself in with a chuckle and doesn't answer, his eyes going over every corner as if it would give him more information about you.

The Coven would freak out if they found out you're letting a stalker vampire into your life, or worse, into your room. If this would've happened years ago when you were entering your rebel phase, you'd be praying to the universe non-stop. But you learned, through making mistakes and trusting the wrong people, how to do what you want, how to play around with strangers, without consequences.

Wonwoo's not as sleek as he thinks he is. If he thinks he tracked down any witch, he's going to find out just how mistaken he is.

"Have everything you need?" He questions at the sight of your empty abode.

From your awaiting past life, you weren't sentimental enough to bring anything that would remind you of it. It's enough with fate creeping behind you at every step.

"I don't need much, just information about the thing you want," you shrug, trying to pry anything you can out of him.

"Don't you need those weird leaves and fire and stuff?"

So, he knows about spells other Covens around the world perform. Not bad from a vampire of his age. And he doesn't know what kind of magic you perform, so it's unlikely he knows to which Coven you belong.

"If you need my help, then you'll have to trust me."

"I could get any witch to do this. Don't test me."

"Then why didn't you?" You probe. "I'm sure you know plenty of other witches here in your hometown who you trust more than a stranger."

Wonwoo catches your defiance, glaring you up and down. You realize you've been keeping a large distance between you when he takes a step forward and crosses the line you've drawn.

"You're good," he smirks. "I see the character you're playing, prying information out of  me thinking I don't notice. It's not gonna work on me, love."

Vampires are the coldest of creatures. Warm blood doesn't run through their veins, they don't sweat, their bodies don't work normally. If it were any other creature before you, even from the underworld as well, you'd feel their bodily heat at the distance Wonwoo's standing at. But he's as cold as ice, so close to your form you fear it's contagious.

"I'm just curious about how and why you came to me." You don't let him scare you. "Especially when your brother's here working with another witch."

"Hmm—" Instead of him taking you more seriously, his smirk widens, amused. "Smarty did some research."

"Like I said, curious," you shrug.

Neither of you take a step away, challenging each other without taking your eyes of the other. One way or another, you'll get what you want from him. Thinking you were an easy catch was his first mistake. Giving in to his threats, he'll soon find out it has nothing to do with him.

"My little brother and I," he begins, "haven't been on the best terms."

"You've been following him around for decades."

"Let's just say he has something I want, but I can't ask him for it." He's vague with what he gives, but each word clings to your mind like a bug. "Is that enough for you?"

"This object you want me to find, is that it?"

Brothers who hate each other but can't seem to get enough of the other. Wonwoo probably doesn't know his brother is aware of his every move, constantly tracking him as well. Blood or no blood rushing through their system, they're connected no matter what.

"It's not really, but it'll help." Wonwoo crosses his arms, doubting you again as he takes another look at your desk behind you. "All the witches I've seen do spells a different way."

"Then, you haven't seen witches like me," you answer with pride. "Now talk. Describe the thing or I won't get even close."

"How do I know it's going to work and you're not scamming me?"

"Scamming you out of what? Are you paying me?"

"Your payment is a nice long life in secrecy." Wonwoo rolls his eyes. "Need proof, witch."

"Okay, damn!" You sit on the desk, dust blowing over the clutter of the few things you kept. "Then, tell me about something you do know where it is. You'll see."

Wonwoo stares and stares, skepticism showing all over his expression. You let the silence speak for itself, arguing pointless.

He relaxes his posture, slipping his hands into the leather pockets of his jacket. "A bright pink lighter with a tongue sticker."

"Classy."

Wonwoo's chuckle reaches your ear as you turn around, fluttering your eyes closed. His ever-chilling presence does little to calm your nervous system, a technique you long mastered but have trouble presenting when the very person you're supposed to be concentrating on is the same as the threatening force driving your decisions.

You focus on the smell of the wind slipping through the window, moist and salty, surrounding both forms in the room. Wonwoo's lungs fill with the very same air you connect with, his underworld magic mixing with the earth that gave you life and reaching the deepest parts of your brain as you seek what he's after in your mind.

Whispering passage after passage of the spell you know by heart, the picture being painted on your eyelids becomes full with color with every word. The bright pink takes form on the center, slowly, surrounded by a dark blackness and a smudge of pale brown. But the dubious sight is not to worry, as every one of your five senses work in unison to find what is needed.

Its surroundings ruffle with a wind-like shake, and the pale brown moves closer to the small pink plastic object. It's silent, the sight that becomes clearer the more you let it live, only a gush of familiar wind as a clue.

"It's in your right pocket." Your voice sounds full again.

"Even with direction accuracy!" Wonwoo reveals the lighter before he claps his hands together in irony. You see it all happen in your mind. "I'm impressed."

"Do you trust me now?" You don't bother to open your eyes and look at him.

The longer a spell took, greater the danger of a decay in quality of your next sighting.  If you tune out of it, it'll be hard to gain the energy back. The test was a needed waste, but your focus will have to be placed on the object and not so much on its surroundings now.

"Trust is a very big word," he smirks with the blurt of the joke. "I'll trust you when you direct me to what I  actually want."

"Then, I'm going to need more than the color this time. Tell me something about what you're looking for, a clue about who it belongs to, if you know. Or what magic it uses. Anything."

Your eyes keep closed, focused on the moon, bright on the dark blue sky, and the cold light it casts over the town. Wonwoo steps closer behind you, the zip of his jacket grazing your right shoulder.

His curious breath fans over the top of your head as he speaks, "It's a dark red rock with eroded edges."

The familiar description accelerates your heart, your interest piqued. Such a coveted rock, laying somewhere only you'll find out. You have no knowledge of what it can do, what promises it made to these two vampires who, unknowingly, both requested your help.

"I need more, vampire, common."

"It's been lost for decades, the last owner long gone by now." His mocking tone disappears with each word as he finally shares meaningful information. "It is said that it was from a witch who could communicate with the underworld."

Wonwoo's dark magic electrifies your senses, connecting with the earthly whispers leaving your mouth. Your mind travels between wood cabins in town, across every conversation being had between magical creatures. Blurring images paint your eyelids once more, dark green, gray and dry leaves being stomped over.

"I have no clue who put it there, wherever it is, but the legend says the witch was on her way to hide it before she disappeared."

A window to the underworld, locked by a key in the form of a ruby stone. The smell of the mixed magic systems prickles at your nose the closer you get. Dark and moist, you hear the wind making way between trees, tall leaves ruffling against one another the taller they get.

It's impossible not to miss, even with your limited magic, the aura embedded in the area where earth and underworld collide. The gray shape, a cave deep inside the forest, glows in the distance, but you can't go further. A barrier within you not letting you any closer.

"There's a cave in the forest by the apothecary." Adjusting to the warm light it's difficult, and you find Wonwoo hasn't moved from behind you. "I couldn't get closer, but it's definitely there."

"Are you sure?" He asks, eyeing the wide open window you used to let your spirit through.

"Yes, I'm sure. Underworld magic looks different to me than it does you. It's there, I saw it."

 "I've been there in person and it's empty." Wonwoo shakes his head with a sigh.

You can't control the glare you throw his way. "You told me you had no idea where it could be."

"Why don't you do the thing with the map?" He ignores you, scanning your room in search of what he believes you need.

"It can't work if I don't use something belonging to its owner." His brewing desperation reeks of anger, not at you, but you can't help but feel at the receiving end of it. "Besides, it'd just show me what I just saw."

"You have no idea what you're doing." He's deaf to your explanations. "It has to be somewhere else."

Wonwoo paces back and forth, considering his options while you're careful to explain how your magic works. But it's as if you weren't there, a mere object he's using to get what he wants, not someone who deserves his respect. As he stares at the floor, unfocused and unfearing, only one option comes to mind.

His cold, dark blood running through his lifeless veins is easy to get a hold of. Another way of protecting you against threatening vampires you were taught early in life. You concentrate on the flow of blood up his body, your energy flying from your mind to his, engorging one of the veins inside his brain and making it explode.

The vampire, all mighty and resistant, falls to his knees with a scream, his hands gripping the sides of his head as if to control the pain. You repeat the process over and over. His powers heal the internal wound and you pop it again.

"Answer my fucking question," you demand after the tenth spell in a row. "How did you know?"

"I got a lead a few months ago and it turned out to be fake," Wonwoo moans out, pain slowly fading as he straightens back up. "Or at least that's what I thought then."

You cross your arms, unapologetic under his seething eyes. "So, you trust what I saw?"

"You make it hard not to."

"I'm going to make one thing clear, blood-sucker." You take a step forward, invading his personal space just like he did before. "I might be helping you because you threatened me, but I'm not letting you step over me again. You're getting that rock and then you're getting the hell away from me and this town, got it?"

"You talk a lot of big words," he smirks, unflinching.

"I'm not scared of your underworld kind," you spit out. "The second I was able to do magic I was taught how to defeat you. You might be irresistible to time, but you're not immortal."

"You think I'm irresistible?" He smirks, but not for long as you pop one of his veins again. "Fine! Fine! Stop with that! You won't see me again after we get it."

"We? You know where it is, you can get it yourself."

"Nope! You're coming with me and you'll see just how empty that cave is."

When the sun comes down and darkness reigns over the town of Ever Burn, every creature comes out of hiding and dances their way through the shadows, living free of judgement and fear.

On the nights when you're not needed at the bar, avoiding the empty streets and the groups of vampires eager to go out, you hide out in the deepest parts of the library, going over most of their available catalogue. Tonight is the odd one out.

Wonwoo sneaks you around the alleyways, he himself also avoids being seen. The smell of midnight dew and wet grass fills your senses the closer you get to where your vision showed you. The apothecary's worker waves her hand through the window as she sees you passing by, her gaze narrowing on Wonwoo a second too long before you return the greeting. He grabs your arm and forces you to walk faster.

"Does she know you?" You shake your arm off his hold.

"Who?" Wonwoo pretends to have not noticed the glow from inside the shop and looks forward to the tree line ahead.

The view in front kick starts a chill going down your spine. Alluringly familiar and as unknown as any place you've never set foot in, you could walk along the path with your eyes closed, following the images you saw painted on your eyelids earlier.

You point back to the store, now meters behind you as the trees grow closer. "Abby, the owner."

"We've been acquainted," Wonwoo gulps down a smirk after you both step into the tall trees. No going back now.

"Ew!"

"Don't be mean to her!" Wonwoo lays his hand on his chest, feigning being offended. "She used to be in great shape."

"I mean you!" Unfortunately, you chuckle as you say, "I'm going to puke! Poor Abby."

"She was the one who danced her way to my bed." Wonwoo swooshes his way ahead of you, giving you a bow with zero courtesy.

"Imagining you dancing is way worse, actually." You push him by the shoulder, and he budges out of your way with not much resistance. "What did you do to such an intelligent and hard-working woman to get her to be interested in you, huh?

You leave him chuckling behind and point your flashlight forward to scan for any clues. Alive with nature, the forest seems void of any life. Even animals seem to stray away from the parts close to town. Vampires in need of feeding are a danger to every life form.

From the blurry rendering, you can't decipher any particular spots on the ground or odd-shaped tree branches, but you're sure of what you felt. It was a warm glow calling for you, illuminating the way for it to be found.

There's no light source other than your flashlight, with Wonwoo being able to see in the dark, but you can almost feel the different temperatures on the way.

"It's this way," you remind Wonwoo, who's whistling an old Christmas carol and kicking rocks to the sides. "Are you always this loud?"

"Only when I'm asked to," he jokes. You give him an aneurysm in his brain and pop it again. "Stop! I'm bored! And this isn't the way I remember."

You stop on your tracks to sense the energy, just in case. Wonwoo crashes into you, a head taller and paying attention for any danger. This is where the spell took you, you're sure.

"You said you were at a cave near here." You move on, walking in between thick trees, searching for the source of warmth.

"It wasn't as shallow in the woods," Wonwoo explains, exasperated.

"Maybe your head can't handle having speed and a sense of direction at the same time. I know it's around here."

"Hey, witch, I didn't say anything!" Wonwoo throws his hands in the air in his defense, but, already done with him after being alone for over two hours, you ignore him and keep looking. "If you don't get us there in the next ten minutes, I'm leaving you alone here and finding someone who actually knows what they're—Whoa!"

The ground shakes underneath your feet, wind picking up and rustling the tree leaves as the earth caves in and swallows you whole.

For a few seconds, you feel nothing under you as darkness envelops you. You crash onto solid ground, damp dirt staining your clothes and getting under your nails. The fall will grow painful bruises along your legs, but you stretch and stand up as best as you can regardless. 

Wonwoo screams your name in the distance, above you by at least three meters. His head appears on the hole you fell from, an oddly perfect circular shape that gave in under your weight.

"I'm fine, but you better figure out how to get me out of here!" You shine your flashlight over the walls, a tingling sensation on the back of your neck urging you to do so.

"You're bleeding, I can smell it from here," he asserts with confidence.

"Ow, are you worried about me?"

You feel nothing if not sore, except for the warm liquid dripping down your arm. He was right, you are bleeding, but your arm is numb to any pain. If Wonwoo hadn't smelled it, if you hadn't bothered to check, it would almost be as if nothing happened. So, this is what the protection spell is like.

"I'm worried about not finding my rock."

Wonwoo drops down into the cave with you, examining you the second he stabilizes himself. The skin around your left arm is covered with reddish smudges and dripping scarlet down to the soil below. The wound is pulsing, throbbing even, but it's painless. If you concentrate on the rugged flesh, you can feel a burning sensation, but it's so faint it could be your imagination. Without a word, he bites down the veins on his left wrist and urges you to drink from it.

"I'm not doing that, weirdo."

"You'll heal faster." Drips of cold vampire blood paint your lips before you gather the strength to push Wonwoo's arm away. "Stubborn fucking witches," he mutters.

"I'll be fine! I don't need your disgusting—" you're left wordless as you check where the wound was just located.

Wonwoo shuts up instantly as well. You both stare at your arm, a mix of dirt and blood covering your skin from shoulder down to your nails, but the open cut is nowhere in sight. You draw a circle and your muscles move like normal. Like there wasn't just a deep cut bleeding down your arm.

"You know your healing spells well," Wonwoo compliments, his interest already lost to your surroundings.

It must be another of the doings of the protection you were given at birth. No other explanation comes to mind other than it being the proof you've been looking for. Too much of a coward to do it yourself, you had to get tangled with a vampire and fall meters deep in the middle of the woods for nature to show you the makings of your destiny.

The faint burning on your arm disappears with the cut, but the warmness guiding you along the woods gets stronger. Wonwoo, not bothering to communicate what he does, goes into a tunnel just behind where you fell. Every step, the temperature rises more and more, and everything starts looking, feeling, too familiar.

They weren't leaves crushing under your feet that you heard, it was water, slipping between broken rocks at the bottom of the pit you fell into. The green wasn't bushes or trees, it was alive, bright moss covering the walls that glowed under the led light.

No more than one step ahead, Wonwoo stares at everything in awe, and you can't resist the irony. "I'm assuming this isn't the cave you checked out."

He rolls your eyes at your teasing and continues searching for what he's been looking for.

It's close. Intoxicatingly powerful, the mixed magics colliding in a bundle of energy flood up your senses. You can smell it, hear it, even touch the difference in spirit. It should be worrisome, that an object so much like the underworld sits so peacefully in your world, connecting the two.

"Do you see it anywhere?" Wonwoo interrupts your thoughts.

"I would if you stopped bothering me," you reply with your eyes closed.

You kneel on the ground, your hands against the dusty mixture of dirt and stone, feeling for any clue. The tips of your every finger tingle with energy, increasing the more you move ahead in search for it.

You crawl on the rubble, uncaring about how foolish you look. Everything's dark and wet, the floor and the cold walls you're budging against and the underworld magic exuding from pores all around you, but you follow the image on your mind, more sure of it than you were of anything the spell ever showed you. More intrigued.

The feeling of a new hard material under your hands shoots your eyes open. A brownish wooden box with a yellow glow all around. It's hot to the touch, electrifying, so different from the ambiance it's sitting in you doubt it was purposely placed there.

Against everything you've ever been taught, against the laws of the living world and against the rules of earth magic, you unlock the leather that shuts the box closed and take a look inside.

Blinding red light emerges from the opening, but before you get the chance to slip your hand inside and feel what's calling to you, a gush of wind startles you and the heavy case vanishes from your hold.

"Don't steal from me, now."

Wonwoo stands tall just steps before you, unaffected by the rays the rock expels. He examines what was just in your hands, the box just as newly discovered to him as it was to you. Yet, he refuses to act like he doesn't know something. He reaches for the stone sitting inside with no fear.

"Be careful of—" you begin to warn him about the jump in temperature, but it doesn't seem to affect him.

"This thing?" Wonwoo takes the ruby stone, now opaque as the light dimmed down at his touch, and inspects it. It's so much smaller than you imagined, almond shaped and blood red. "This is what everyone has been searching for centuries?"

"Everyone?" You ask, as you've never heard of the stone or what it is said it can do.

Now that the rock it's out of its confinements, the warmth all around drops back to normal, as if it never changed. You shiver at the switch, eyes focused on understanding what could Wonwoo be thinking as you get up.

"For a witch, you seem to know very little about your folklore."

"It's because I don't care about it," you lie. It could be convincing, according to how he sees you spend your life. "I stay away from underworld business."

"Well, since you asked so politely," Wonwoo's words are laced with irony, "it helped an old witch communicate through the barrier, but it wasn't the only thing she used. This should be enough to find them all."

"What do you want with the underworld?" It's not likely that he would share even more information with you, but every reaction counts.

"Is it wrong to want to know my birth place?" Wonwoo closes the box, confining the ruby once again.

"Never met one of you who wanted that." Your curiosity doesn't cease at his lack of an answer. On the contrary, his avoidance of the truth only makes you crave it more.

"You'd be surprised." He raises his eyebrows, not bothering to look your way.

You eye him as he walks away, mind elsewhere. He doesn't need you anymore. His wide back you wouldn't be able to miss retraces your path, and you follow him, drained steps, through the chamber until the hole you fell from stares down at you again.

The veins running through your body tingle in remembrance of how it felt to hold the ruby stone so close. It felt almost… yours. As if it wasn't the spell you performed that showed you the way, but the stone. It was unique, but far from troubling. Familiar.

"How are you planning to help me up?" You ask, seeing him ready to jump out of the hidden cave.

Wonwoo glares back, as if he'd forgotten you were there as soon as he lay his fingers on what he was looking for. Wheels turn behind his empty eyes, so gray and lifeless they appear incapable of transmitting emotions.

"Can't you do some of that witchy woo-hoo and get up?"

"You've run me dry," you answer, and his raise of eyebrows makes your eyes roll. "There's a limit to how much time I can do spells. I've been using magic for the past two hours, I need a second to recharge."

"You can wait it out here," he nods in a smirk, a show of his boastful ego.

Despite your tiredness, you find a sliver of energy left along your spent muscles. In a matter of seconds, weak electricity runs through your veins and Wonwoo's gripping at the sides of his head again, feeling his veins pop with your last efforts.

"How come you can do that?"

"It doesn't take much," you shrug, taking the chance at Wonwoo's frozen stand and marching towards him.

"I can never understand you wizards," he shakes his head.

"Witches," you correct. "For me to jump that high, I'd need to manipulate not only the ground down here, but also the air outside to hold me, and I just spent hours tracking this for you. Now you get me out."

Wonwoo sighs again, but for someone who claims to care so little, he still asks a bunch of questions. "Aren't you supposed to be mega powerful, blood oath to the earth and all? Just eat something."

"What? Grass? Or are you bringing me dinner?" Ignoring his grunts, you step in front of him, forcing him to look your way, to not leave you behind.

From the corner of your eye you catch Wonwoo's arm tucking behind his back, the coveted box now hidden behind his icy body. However, no matter how many walls there are between you and the stone, its warmth manages to envelop your body ever so slightly, tingling each of your senses. You can't lose it. Not now.

Wonwoo straightens before you, his thinking expression morphing into something not quite nice. Amused at what races through his mind.

"Hold tight."

You scoff, the unbelievable thing he's asking of you leaving you wordless. "You're joking, right?" 

"I can't pull you up from that high," Wonwoo points to the cave ceiling as if it was obvious. "My arm doesn't stretch kilometers long."

You glare back, face almost morphing into a constant state of exasperated glaring his way. "It's not that high."

"What shouldn't be that high are your expectations, witch," he spits out. "Why do you think you have the right to ask me for anything? I got what I wanted and I'm leaving."

"Then, why are you still here?"

"Ugh,"he gets a better hold of the box and prepares to jump. "Better hope you don't cross paths with me again."

Wonwoo squints at the circle of sky above, considering one last time the ideal way to get through it. Your ears pick up the faintest ringing sound, screaming for help. There's no time to understand what it means, only a second where Wonwoo hisses at the box and fixes his grip so as to not touch the metal seal. It's getting hot again. Just like when it was calling to you.

The need to have the ruby stone skyrockets, overpowering your witch boundaries and all that you were ever taught. Your eardrums pulse in unison with the ringing, connected by the rhythm and your lungs screaming for air. It's both suffocating and relieving, knowing how to stop it but being so afraid to do so.

You'd never forgive yourself if you let the ruby go. Somewhere along the tracking spells and your touch over the box, you felt a connection, a reason to give to all your void past and short future. You're not scared of anything, you never were after learning what you were born to do, nothing's stopping you from following this hunch. This energy boils the blood running through your fearless veins, a purpose brewing deep besides the one thing you were fated to accomplish. How could you let it go?

"Wait!" You manage to scream out and prevent Wonwoo from leaping.

"What now?" Against his better judgment, his arms drop and he stays down. He lowers his jaw for the last time, furrowed eyebrows at your sudden concern.

You take it as an agreement, his previous offer still stands. "Just don't touch me," your hands raise in warning before you wrap them around his neck.

"Hard to do if you're hanging on for life, little mage."

Wonwoo chuckles seeing your bodies so close together. Hard to think he finds the touch of another woman simply funny, but maybe him thinking you're scared can be advantageous.

"You can't be trusted!" Your voice shakes, and you look around to avoid his stare. "I'm making sure you get me to high ground."

"'Cause I'm such a bad vampire, yeah, yeah, just hold tight before I regret it."

His cold arm sneaks around your waist, keeping you further against him so as to not lose balance. He needs not more strength, vampire powers provide him with plenty, but he secures you regardless, in case your little trust on him falters on the jump and he has to hold on to you without you holding on.

You take a deep breath, adjusting to the idea of letting someone else help you out of a situation. A once in a lifetime occurrence, since you never allowed the Coven to come close to you in a moment of need. Never.

Wonwoo flexes his legs as he prepares to jump, with one last look at you sporting a smug smirk before a gush of cold dustless air envelops you both and your nose fills with the smell of dew covered tree leaves. It's so quick, you feel the ground beneath your feet again before even taking a breath.

"That was quick," you joke, masking your little care for his powers with your eyes going wide.

You stumble against a thick tree, the coarse wood digging against your palms and feeding you with little energy. You take a deep breath, feeling it run through your veins, so quickly you realize how spent you were.

"If you're getting sick you better go hide behind that tree. Do not want to see that." Wonwoo dusts himself off after checking in on you. It worked.

You disguise a forming smirk pretending to cool down your face with your hands. "Don't be so full of yourself," your eyes roll before walking ahead of him. "I'm fine."

"A little jump puts out a witch, whoa, I should write this down."

"Do you want me to show you your weaknesses again, old man? I can do it no problem."

"Thank you for asking, but no, I don't think I need that." Wonwoo turns around in his walk over the same path you took earlier, his leather-covered back no longer facing you as he walks backwards. "And I'm not old."

"The years might be getting to your head, but for normal people half a century is old."

"That's where you're wrong." His pace slows, matching your speed and spreading his arms wide. "My life just started! Every day that I don't age is a day where I'm more free than ever."

"Finding that rock got to your head," you chuckle.

"Maybe, but this thing," he shakes the box on your face, "this just got me one step further to true freedom."

Freedom is a concept you've lived away from your entire life. Even now, in a town in the middle of nowhere, responsibilities chase you every waking hour.  No matter how little you care, how many things you accomplish in the meantime, everything will inevitably come to an end. You understood that from a very young age.

Which is why you're getting in the middle of vampires going after the same object. Figuring out what they're after when they trust you so blindly. What is it if not another way to entertain your gray life as time inevitably passes?

"Will you tell me why you want it? It's just a rock with a pretty color."

Wonwoo thinks about his answer for a second, his fingers twirling around the lock holding the stone's confinement closed. There's no reason he'd want to tell you, a well kept secret until now couldn't be easy to keep under wraps just to undo it the second he can finally begin.

"I don't plan on seeing anyone from here ever again after this," he starts, testing the waters. "So, let's just say, it will give me what every vampire wants."

"That's bullshit, you creatures are after anything and everything." You follow behind him, skipping skew branches and being wary of wandering supernaturals. "Satiating your thirst can't be what you're after. You love the hunt."

"You have to think deeper," he doesn't deny the latter statement. "We used to be the most powerful creatures standing, but we now have things holding us back."

"That's how the Earth keeps the balance." Every lecture on the History of Magic comes rushing in, strings of words burned on your brain from beginning to end.

Centuries ago, witches were hunted for sport, terrorized into hiding by the underworld creatures. They were unstoppable, driving the planet into decay with their sacrilegious lifestyle. Human population reduced their numbers year after year, stories of bloody serial killers that left no trace behind flooded the news; the smell of blood and rot was embedded on every corner. Witches had to be resourceful and careful in their practicing. They couldn't be found, heard, seen, smelled.

In the depths of the desert, the Moonlit Coven promised a new beginning, a new life for all who believed in them and their knowledge of the villainous creatures. They found their way into the underworld, convincing their rulers that, if they wanted to keep their race alive, their behavior of destroying their life force wouldn't suffice. A pact was born.

The planet was divided then, Earth and Underworld became separate energy sources. The underworld closed its access to above, and its creatures would each have a life-threatening weakness that would slow down the massacre. Vampires became allergic to the sun, werewolves lost their control to turn to the phases of the moon. In return, the Moonlit Coven allowed them to stay on earth and not banish them to their birth place.

"I don't care for the balance," Wonwoo whispers between the spying trees, "I want my freedom."

Dry branches crack under his stealthy feet, putting an end to voicing his wants. You couldn't expect him to be open, no supernatural ever is. They shut out at any minimal concern, untrusting of anything remotely different from them. You can't complain, you have been taught to do the same. But underneath the individualism, there was always a sense of belonging with every species. You escaped from your Coven, but you relate more to them than to a lone vampire. Wonwoo doesn't seem to have that sense of community.

"Only yours?" You dare to ask, curious about his unapologetic selfishness. But his attention has moved on from your questioning already.

"Doesn't everyone want that?" You probe again, only to be met with an icy finger against your lips.

Wonwoo traps you against the closest tree, sealing your mouth shut as his eyes go over every inch of space that surrounds you. You realize then, it wasn't him that made the noise just now, and it wasn't you either. The forest is a common hunting ground for any supernatural, and you haven't been weary of attracting unwanted attention.

Your heart rate picks up against Wonwoo’s unbothered chest, too close on a too dangerous space. Not a ray of light finds you inside the woods, and with no chance of whispering any spell, you depend solely on the vampire's ability.

His stare finds yours, a silent conversation between a roll of his eyes and the quirk of your eyebrows. Little you know about what's going on in his mind, he has a plan, that's for sure. You can't trust a vampire, he will protect his sacred object before a disposable witch. But his hands keep you in place, out of sight from the threat.

With a new swoosh of wind, you feel watched, closely, but barely a sound reaches your ears.

Both of your breaths synchronize as you wait for your tracker to slip again. Your eyes close, an attempt at sharpening your hearing for anything out of the ordinary. Wonwoo's hold on you persists, making sure nothing you do gets you in trouble.

Why isn't he moving? He could sprint and surprise whoever is here, rip them apart in warning for any others who might want to follow them, others who are after the very stone you feel pumping heat between your chest and Wonwoo's. He must be waiting. A good hunter knows not to precipitate, to wait for the best moment to attack, to let the opponent feel they have the advantage before attacking.

The tense moment switches quickly, before your mind catches up. In a second, your hands drop with a new weight. The brown box is with you again. Wonwoo is nowhere to be seen.

Grunts and thuds echo against the walls of trees, close to your hiding spot but far enough so you can't see the quarrel. Energy concentrates on your hands, the ringing in your ears coming back now that you’re alone with the stone. Whatever goes on outside the ringing’s reach takes a secondary role.

The irresistible need to touch the stone, to give in to its calling, finally wins. Coursing through your veins, you feed off of the familiar warmth expelling from the small ruby, its polish soft under your fingers.

The red shimmer contradicts its coldness. It’s not alive, it can’t be, but the mix of Earth and Underworld magic fuels you like no other. Your lungs fill with air, your body accustoming to the new.

How have you never heard of this before? A unique drive sets within your body, a richer, stronger magic you're certain no witch has ever felt. Your kind could rule the world if everyone grew as powerful as you feel at the moment, for real this time. No hiding, no falling for the supernaturals’ threats and feigning submission. You could be free.

But there's no such thing as freedom. Consequences reach those who abuse earth magic, those who tamper with the balance and scheme their way up the ladder. Maybe the warnings about this stone never reached the Coven because no one survived its use. Though, it's too late to worry about the unknown.

A few steps behind, the fight ceases, only deep breaths and wind rustling leaves cutting through the silence. But, it is not entirely quiet. If you concentrate, shallow and strained breaths sound over the drying leaves.

“Where is it?” A female voice asks. Rugged, urged.

“No idea,” Wonwoo struggles to answer.

Whispering few words, your sight travels not far, and you see it happen in your mind. A pale red-headed woman has a hand on Wonwoo's throat while the rest of her limbs trap him against the ground. He doesn't fight back, he can't.

“These woods aren’t for sight-seeing,” she continues. “I hope you didn’t steal from me.”

“I have nothing that belongs to you,” Wonwoo snarks back.

Taking one step forward in their general direction, your feet betray you and erupt the faintest noise against the dry branches, but loud enough for an older vampire to hear. The woman’s head snaps up, the quickest glance around the woods with powers you fear you may not know.

You freeze, the strange magic coursing through your system on alert as well, but you’re not afraid. A sense of security takes the wheel, upstaging any other possible feelings. The magic follows your wants, making you invisible to the vampire’s sight. Her worried eyes go over you, unaware of your frozen form, before they go back to warn Wonwoo.

“I’ll make sure you don’t get your hands on my key.” the last word you hear as an echo.

Wary of other possible unwanted seekers, you rush to his aid. Wonwoo struggles to get up after the woman flees, evidence of the imbalance of power between vampires of different ages.

“Who was that?”

“You thought I was the only one after that?” He points to the box, still on your hands and pulsing with energy only you can feel. “There’s your answer.”

“You need help.” Assessing him from up close, you realize the fight must’ve been rougher than you heard. For how much time were you hiding?

“I don’t.” Wonwoo stands up, grouting with every step he takes away from you and trying to get back to the way to take you back.

“She got you pretty good, I can help.”

Scratch marks go all the way up his arms, now naked with the leather sleeves nowhere to be seen. Wonwoo isn’t healing, which means she was ready to hurt whoever came on her path, whatever kind of supernatural she came across.

At your insistence, he approaches one last time, personal space not a thing for him.

“I don’t want any kind of witchy magic on me, got it?” His breath against your face mirrors the cold wind, but you stand your ground.

“You love being a vampire, don't you.” He won't let you heal him. He hates earth magic.

“As much as you love being a witch.” He got the double meaning of your question. You both despise the other's world, want it as far away as possible. “Now give me my rock and let’s head back.”

The walk back to the bar poses no threat. With only one hour left of moonlight, the town seems almost empty. No lights on inside the tiny houses, a few drunken creatures struggling to stand up straight on the street, and the few brave humans beginning their day.

You know the schedule by heart already, and it's easy to assume that the bar will have a similar late-night atmosphere.

Wonwoo looks, for the first time since you met him 48 hours ago, scared. While you move forward, with your eyes facing front and only caring about going home, he silently focuses on your surroundings.

You should be glad he shut up for once, but his clear nervousness shines a new light on the situation.

“You didn't know she was looking for it, did you?”

“Why do you think I know her?"

You throw a glare his way and he shrugs. “I heard you guys. It didn't seem like two strangers talking.”

“I wouldn’t say I know her,” he starts, and you pop one of his blood vessels again. “The woods recharged you or some shit? Stop! We're not close, but we've been looking for the same rock for ages. I didn't think he had the same leads as me. That's all!”

“What does she want it for?”

“We didn't have time to have a heart to heart.”

Admittedly, it was a dumb question. Whatever it does besides communicating with the underworld, that alone is enough for these creatures to want it. An undiscovered source of knowledge and the chance to see the world where they originated from isn't something vampires would ignore.

“Does she know why you want it?” You question again. He'll slip eventually.

“She wouldn't be alive if she did.”

“Do you think she's onto you, then? I don't want another one of you on my back.”

Wonwoo groans, “you have a lot of questions.”

“You put me in the middle of this mess!”

“There is no mess, there's no way she knows I was with someone. You were invisible back there.”

Not far, you catch a glimpse of the bar's led sign, still on.

“You won't tell anyone what I am, right?” You ignore the way his tone switched talking about what you did in the woods. Still unsure of how that worked, you can't stomach explaining your gut feeling to this vampire.

“Your secret's safe with me, little mage.”

“Rob can't know about this. I'm serious, he'll kick me out.”

You stop just by the door you closed so many times at this same hour. He needs to get your reasoning. This isn't just another deal, not for you.

Wonwoo tries to get the doorknob, but you block him with your body. He tenses his shoulders before relaxing into his posture, his eyes going from the door down to yours.

“The Rob I know wouldn't do that,” he says, trying to calm you down.

“He said he didn't want any more magic creatures working for him!”

“He's just being dramatic! If you don't use your powers to slack off you'll be fine.”

His annoying voice is oddly calming, his reasoning somehow makes sense. You don't have much time ahead to work for Rob, he would understand. You've never used your powers in front of customers.

You move out of the way, now more relaxed, and let Wonwoo step inside the empty bar. The first rays of sun will begin illuminating the sky in less than an hour, so he should be getting back after you terminate your deal.

But, before any of you can get what you want, you hear him muttering a curse.

“What happ—” one step inside the place you thought was safe, and the issue presents itself.

Four men stare you and Wonwoo down, with their arms crossed like they were waiting for you. Hansol's eyes fall on your hands, or more specifically, the brown box that holds what he was searching for. You lock eyes with the blond witch you saw days ago, a light smirk adorning his face. The suffocating silence does nothing to help your distress.

“Brother! So good to see you!” Wonwoo opens his arms and walks towards Hansol.

The younger vampire's eyes stop him in his tracks, making Wonwoo's act fall flat.

“I didn't know you were back in town,” he simply replies.

“I came by a few days ago and made friends with your very nice waitress! Good hiring Rob!” He turns to your boss and lightly bumps his shoulder, but the man's expression doesn't change.

“Don't play dumb, Wonwoo. I know what you were doing out there.” Hansol's stare goes back to you, a shimmer of disappointment flashing through it before speaking to you, “Is that the rock I asked you for?”

“I—” Your eyes stammer back to Wonwoo.

But he's not looking at you, rather, he's in a staring competition with the rest of the group. “My rock, you mean.”

“It's not anyone's rock,” the witch says, his voice exactly what you'd expect from him. Then, he finally directs his words at you. “How did he get you to help him?”

You take his challenge, walking up to them, leaving the frozen state you adopted the second you entered the bar. “How did they get you to help them?”

“Okay, okay,” Wonwoo gets between you two, “we can work this out.”

“I told you we could work together years ago,” Hansol retorts, words almost spitting out of his mouth in disdain.

“People change!” When Wonwoo sees no one moving from their spots, the wheels behind his eyes start working again. “Why don't you give me the rock,” he asks you, “and then we can talk about this, huh?”

“You're not touching that box.” After what feels like hours, the werewolf, Mingyu, talks.

“Okay, wolfie, no need to bark at me.”

They talk between themselves, their past more complicated than you thought at first. You'd listen to them, think of a way to get out of town and never return, but a cold stare forbids you from it.

Hansol rests his hip against one of the bigger tables at the bar, eyes never leaving the box you're holding. The intensity of his gaze is worrying. He seemed calmer the day he asked for your help, shrugging and going over the plan as many times as you needed, but now that he's closer to getting it, he seemed as desperate as Wonwoo.

When he straightens and walks up to you, you prepare the countless spells you know to force him to step back as needed. But with every step, his challenging demeanor fades.

“I'll put it on the table where everyone can see it,” he explains, his hands hovering over the brown case that appears to hold the secrets of the entire universe.

You let him take it, feeling Wonwoo's fiery gaze on your side. Everyone loses focus on their conversations and observe Hansol placing the confined rock on the table. Surrounded by creatures who would kill to have it, it looks so harmless, so nothing.

“Can we talk?” Hansol materializes in front of you, his cautious eyes masked by his voice, calm again. “I need to tell you some things you deserve to know, and you have a lot of explaining to do.”

hiiiii!! omg I can't believe I'm finally posting this!!

i apologize for not doing it sooner, i have no excuses :( but I hope you enjoyed! I'll try to update on november, i swear!

[chocosvt]

HER | epilogue (m).

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo knew what it was like to meet your parents - a total shit show. unfortunately, he doesn't have the best rapport with his family, either. but you're already in seoul, changwon is just one car ride away, and you need to wear your new wardrobe somewhere.

pairing: fem!reader x wonwoo

word count: 10.1k

genres/tropes: meeting parents for the first time, angst, emotional soup, comfort, smut

(!) warnings: tense family dynamics, arguing, reader throws up - likely more but it's pretty light in terms of my usual angst xD

✧✎ a/n: this is the epilogue i vaguely mentioned releasing for my wonwoo series, HER, posted summer 2024 :D consequently 🤓☝️ i will say it's important to have read the series first bc inevitablyyy the epilogue references back to the series. who woulda thunk.

this kinda sprung abt unexpectedly but i needed a teensy break from my seungcheol fic which hahahahah is NOWHERE NEAR DONE but i'm steadily chipping away at it (not really).

AS ALWAYS, one thing you need for this raggedy ass blog is patience and for that - my meandering, dilly-dallying self thx you!

PLEASE NOTE: bolded text implies the characters are conversing in korean! just like the og series!

❤️ LASTLY - GIVING BACK ❤️

as it is the holidays, and in the merry fairy spirit of generosity, i am including a donation aspect to this fic, similar to ghost ride! for every comment this fic receives (including comments in reblogs obvs) from today to dec 31st, i will make a $1 donation to The Ottawa Mission! during this time period, the mission matches ur donation!

i've seen firsthand how rapidly disseminating the homeless population has become in ott. donations help the campaign continue to provide support, resources, and shelter to the homeless!

ty everyone <3 🎊

When Wonwoo saw his older brother standing across the expanse of bright, sinisterly white airport, a part of him caught fire like a sleeve held too close to a candlestick. Bohyuk, already grinning without end (a perfected grin at that) as Wonwoo maneuvered his way between the crowds, hauling along his single, practical suitcase meanwhile his arms burned with the strength of also carrying your numerous bags. But he wouldn’t complain. You were slicing through the airport like you owned it, your brisk, intentional walk the same kind of perfect as his brother’s smile.

You reached Bohyuk, then paused, staring over your shoulder in demanding question until your eyes stuck to the diligent boyfriend readjusting a backpack slipping off his shoulder.

“Wonwoo!” you called, waving him over.

He wanted to drop all the bags to the floor the second he joined you, his arms continuing to ache. Bohyuk was still smiling—more of a smirk, now—when you helped Wonwoo untangle all the dangling weight, arranging the bags around your feet in that typical prim nature. Quickly, you dusted his hair off, like you were attempting to make him presentable to meet his own brother. Like Bohyuk hadn’t been the one to give Wonwoo a haircut in their aunt’s washroom when they were children. A haircut that resulted in Wonwoo’s entire head getting a rabid-looking chainsawed buzzcut.

Wonwoo sighed. “Stop smiling.”

And Bohyuk grabbed him, pulled him in tight with a guttural slap on the back that caused Wonwoo to cough up half an oatmeal cookie he ate on the plane. The embrace was awkward at first, but then Wonwoo started to relax. He could hear the passing flitters of his birth language. Recognize his brother’s heartbeat. Smell the faintest tinges of a native Korean dish lingering on Bohyuk’s clothes.

His brother’s big hand immediately ruffled the hair that you had just brushed into place. “A face I thought I would only see over screens for the rest of my life,” Bohyuk hummed, at last giving Wonwoo some space. “Good to see you.” He then proceeded to eye you, surrounded by bags, waiting calmly for your introduction.

You had been practicing your Korean quite piously. It frustrated you, turned your mouth in circles, had you jumping up and down on his bed, screaming at your language app like there was someone underneath your phone screen cowering in peril for making the lesson too confusing. But you stuck with it, Wonwoo doing his best to teach you what mattered and not all the complicated frills.

Bohyuk smiled when your pronunciation was just right.

“Very good,” he commended, firmly shaking your hand. “Lots of practice here. Has my brother been a pleasant teacher?”

You nibbled your lip for a moment. Bohyuk repeated himself and your face lit up. “Oh! Yes! He is a good teacher!” you replied, bobbing on your heels, clearly a bit proud you understood.

Bohyuk laughed. He then bent down, gathering your bags. “Great. You can tell me how he really is in English.”

Although his older brother still carried a thicker accent, he was pretty well-versed in English as a second language. Wonwoo had almost lost his accent entirely at that point, although it slipped out between particular words on occasion, or during jumbled, heated arguments (often, with you), over stupid things. “My family always played stacking! It makes the game more fun!” – “Fun? I don’t wanna have the entire deck in my fucking hand after five minutes.” – “Then be more skilled!” – “It’s chance. Not skill.” – “That’s exactly what an unskilled person would say.”

You and Wonwoo followed Bohyuk toward the exit. He felt your hand nudge his and he promptly interlaced your fingers.

“Well?” Your eyebrows wriggled. “Are you feeling alright?”

Wonwoo nodded. “Yeah.”

“He seemed happy to see you.”

“I’m sure he’s missed bullying me.” He couldn’t help but deflect from the intimate moment, tonguing the inside of his cheek.

“Don’t deflect.”

How acute.

Wonwoo sighed. “I know he’s happy. We’ve talked a lot on the phone about things. He’ll dig into me more later. He’s surgical.”

You squeezed his hand, always the gentle cue to rewire his mind from being cynical to human. “He cares,” you pitted tenderly.

For the first week, Wonwoo and you were staying with his older brother and wife, Nari, at their chic, top-floor, two-level penthouse amongst a lavish hub in Seoul.

They both made good money, the kind that earned them gaping glass windows, a kitchen fit for an entire brigade of chefs, silk-sheeted bedrooms, and a washroom with a large enough counter that you physically gasped upon peeking inside. Dinner was on them, Bohyuk insisted, and the fragrant smells of fresh spring onion, roasted sesame oil, and steaming salmon pulled the travel sickness straight from his stomach and replaced it with hunger.

You relaxed on the bed, toes twiddling, taking in the room, while Wonwoo zipped open his suitcase, pulling out his laptop.

“Nari is so kind. Did you see the hot towel she gave me?”

He nodded, unwinding his charger. “She loves having people over. I think they haven’t had guests in a while.” Reaching under the desk, he plugged his block into the outlet. “And, uh…” Wonwoo grunted, attempting not to bang his head. “Via my passing anecdotes of you, they may possibly have the impression you’re… high maintenance.” Wonwoo was back on his feet, about to grimace.

But your lips were pursed, and you merely shrugged. “I am.”

“I know you are.”

“Why did you say it like it’s a bad thing?”

“It’s not,” Wonwoo responded, wandering back to his suitcase and pulling out a camera you had bought him. “It’s just different to what Jeanie was like. I think I was giving them a little whiplash.”

“Well, I’m glad they know,” you declared, clucking. “That’s why I got a hot towel and you didn’t.” He watched in amusement as your tongue poked out at him, your foot toeing his arm. “Loser.”

“Say cheese,” Wonwoo said, bringing the camera to his eye, taking a brief second to focus the lens. The shutter snapped. “Great. I now have a photo of your beautiful smile right after degrading me.”

“Degrading men makes me smile. And you like it.”

“Why don’t you see if Nari needs any help with dinner?”

“Why? Because I’m a woman? And women belong in the kitchen?” you teased, beginning to shuffle off the bed, unhurried.

“Please go ask.”

“Now you’re bossing me around. I’m not your doormat.”

He stuck a kiss to your cheek on your way past him. “Thanks.”

Although you had left the bedroom, Bohyuk replaced your presence a few minutes later. He waltzed toward Wonwoo, his slicked hair not moved an inch, hands tucked into the pockets on his ironed pants, white t-shirt sculpted to his torso in a way that wouldn’t work for anybody else but him. Bohyuk was always so put-together. It was like he came that way, straight from a manufactured box. That had always consistently annoyed Wonwoo because on the contrary he felt as though he came disassembled and had spent his entire life looking for his own instructions. But Bohyuk was his brother, and despite their arguments, their differences, petty squabbles, he was once the steadfast compass Wonwoo took guidance from.

“Still shoving everything into one suitcase?” Bohyuk humoured. “You’re here for more than a month, you know.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “I don’t wear that many things.”

“You’ve always been quite minimalist.”

He pulled out a tiny toiletries bag. “Mom’s ways.”

“It’s great that you’re here,” Bohyuk said, staring at his younger brother with a sunny warmth Wonwoo pretended not to feel.

“Yeah.”

“Means you’re healing.”

Wonwoo scoffed, smirked a little. “Shut up, Bohyuk.”

He moved past the tender insult in a heartbeat. “I was so worried about you over there, even when you were staying with Uncle Geom. Even when you became so capable, I still couldn’t stop worrying. I would try to call you, even though I knew you wouldn’t answer, because at least you’d decline me and I’d have some semblance you were managing. Now you’re here. Not just a name.”

Wonwoo flipped his suitcase shut, rubbing into his eye so that his brother became uncoordinated stars. “You’ve told me this already, over the phone,” he sighed cumbersomely. “I know, Bohyuk.”

“But I wanted to say it to your face,” he affirmed. “Your stupid, silly, oddly mature little face,” Bohyuk started teasing, reaching out to pinch Wonwoo’s slender cheek. “Not as much fat here.”

Consequently, Wonwoo swatted his hand away.

 “I can see you’re trying,” Bohyuk noticed. “Not hiding. Not pretending. Not dipping in your toe and calling it quits. You’re trying.”

Wonwoo nodded, hoping he wouldn’t flush. Bohyuk’s compliments were always purposeful. There wasn’t any gaudiness, or flattering. He could deconstruct the one thing you wanted to hear and roll it out at your feet before you even took stock. Wonwoo could feel his smile flickering. He promptly rubbed the back of his neck and let the smile take over despite his coyness; his way of thanking Bohyuk without forcing awkward, stilted acceptance from his teeth.

“I’m looking forward to understanding more about this eclectic girlfriend of yours who was walking through the airport like a runway,” Bohyuk pointed out, not bothering to minimize his smirk. “She has presence. I like that.” Glancing at his glitzy watch, Bohyuk proceeded to mumble about checking on dinner. Before he left Wonwoo to continue sorting through his suitcase, he paused at the door, tapped the frame. “By the way, upstairs is more soundproof than you think. Take that as you will.”

Nari certainly hadn’t skimped on the cooking. The dining table was intricately organized; an assortment of dishes that were colourful, steaming, and painfully familiar to Wonwoo in a way that almost made him teary-eyed as he pulled out his seat next to yours.

She had prongs in her hand, pointing out every dish, some not as cultural compared to the hearty budae jjigae stew, others a little easier to palate for a newcomer, such as the geotjeori that Bohyuk was already eyeing. There was a sweet salmon dish. Classic mashed potatoes. Glistening pork dumplings. Wonwoo felt like he was at the forefront of a personalized buffet and his appetite-dappled-homesickness was pulling all the strings. Still, he collected your plate and served you first, making sure to explain everything a little more thoroughly in his hushed English while Nari and Bohyuk began filling their plates. Of course, you were willing to try everything.

Upon Wonwoo’s first bite of warm stew, he melted back in his chair, tempted to moan because the flavours were destined bliss on his tongue and his body felt the immediate surge of comfort. Bohyuk was smiling at him, watching, knowing his brother like a fingerprint.

“Fuck me. Oh, fuck.”

Everyone paused in their slurping and chewing.

Your eyes widened subtly. “Oh, sorry. Um—this here—I can’t remember the name. It’s just really good. Pardon my language.”

Bohyuk laughed, exchanged a tender glance with Nari as she shook her head in amusement and went back to her spicy noodles.

“It’s a dumpling soup,” Bohyuk added.

You nodded. “It’s delicious.”

“Do you drink wine?”

As if you weren’t sated enough, you grinned. “I do.”

“Perfect,” Bohyuk said, excusing himself from the table. “I’ll grab some. We have a friend who makes their own wine, actually. We were sent this new flavour.” He opened the double-doored fridge and pulled out a chilled white bottle. “Oh, strawberry mango. Does that sound good? Honey, have you tried this one yet?”

Nari shook her head.

Bohyuk fetched everyone glasses.

“Oh, Wonwoo, are you drinking?” his brother asked upon pausing the perspiring bottle just above his crystal.

“I won’t have any right now.”

“Tea, Wonwoo?” Nari questioned; her expression thoughtful, considerate, always attentive. “I can make green tea.”

“No need. We can finish eating first.”

Dinner was everything Wonwoo needed. It wasn’t too conversation heavy, which he was thankful for. He just wanted to stuff his face with childhood delicacies and not have to worry about threading together his entire story since leaving Korea. Still, there were some questions every now and then, mostly directed at the newcomer, you, already on your second wine glass, your plate a decorated mess, your leg twitching with the urge to pull it up onto the seat and tear the food apart with your hands—or as Wonwoo called it—“goblin mode”—when you were at your most comfortable.

Bohyuk would have loved it.

Nari, however, was a bit more buttoned-up.

Everyone did their part in washing dishes, putting containers away, and wiping down the table after supper was done. Rather than a late night, there was an unspoken decision to turn in early, a general sense of fullness, laziness, deep in the atmosphere like a thick snow.

Wonwoo poked back into the upstairs bedroom. You were fanned out over the seafoam sheets, one of your clay face masks brushed to your skin, fitted in a pink headband to keep your hair away.

“I’m about to go comatose,” you muttered, fighting a yawn.

“It’s possible you ate more than Bohyuk.”

“I think he was avoiding the potatoes for me.”

He chuckled, coming to sit next to your ankle, still fixed with a delicate bracelet you forgot to remove. “Well, Nari makes excellent mashed potatoes. But I think he’s cutting back on starch.”

“It was all so good,” you hummed.

Wonwoo nodded, sliding the bracelet off your ankle. “It was.”

Settling an arm behind your head, you peeked down at him, the beginnings of a faint smile wrinkling under the clay mask. “You looked happy… really happy,” you murmured. “I’m glad we’re here.”

He shifted your ankle into his lap, began to rub the sole of your foot with firm movements from his thumbs. “Me too,” Wonwoo agreed, enjoying the manner in which your body mellowed even further. “I’m glad you came with me. It takes some of the pressure off, you know? There’s another person. Way more interesting than me.”

You giggled, wriggled your toes. “No problem.”

“They like you,” he decided to assure.

You shrugged. “Bohyuk does.”

“There’s just more of a language barrier with Nari,” he reasoned, pressing along a sinewy groove of your bare foot that made your chest arch in delight. “Her English is around the level of your Korean. And you’re quite bold. She’s not exactly like that, so it’s something you have to give some time.” Wonwoo then leaned forward, close to your face, studying the wide, observant wells of your eyes before softly brushing his lips to yours. “You’re doing great.”

“Thanks,” you whispered, placing a hand to his cheek and running your thumb just under his glasses. “I should wash this off.”

He smiled, giving you space to squirm off the bed.

The week to follow was a whirlwind for Wonwoo, although he already knew you would be keen to explore as opposed to staying most days in at his brother’s penthouse. He brought a book to read during his downtime. Since he stepped foot in Seoul, into his brother’s opulent, twinkling home, Wonwoo hadn’t read more than ten goddamn pages.

Nonetheless, he still brought the novel everywhere he went, hoping he could be afforded just one paragraph.

He was in and out of shopping centres, cosmetic shops, shoe stores, cafés, and tourist attractions as though he were tethered to your hip, but you needed somebody to hold your bag, help you slide into heels, give you advice on which perfume smelled best even when his head was an aching hurricane of rose and vanilla and hibiscus and sandalwood. You needed someone to take your photograph. Carry even more shopping bags. Buy your lunch. Help translate ingredient lists. Turn you in the right direction. Fetch your credit card.

Wonwoo spotted Bohyuk seated outside a clothing store you were currently surfing, guarding your hoard of bags while drinking leisurely from his coffee. At last, you had dismissed him, because evidently, he was not educated enough on the nature of cool versus warm tones, gold versus silver, summer versus winter, and whatever the hell that amounted to when choosing a halter top. The salesclerk helping you could speak English, anyway. He wasn’t really needed.

He slipped into the chair adjacent to his brother’s.

“Does she want to return something?” Bohyuk asked.

“No. Apparently I don’t know anything about colours,” Wonwoo sighed, feeling ever so slightly bitter.

“Oh—” Bohyuk grunted, setting down the book he brought with him and folding his slim reading glasses into a pocket on his t-shirt, “—cool versus warm?”

“Why does everyone know about this but me?”

“I didn’t know either until I met Nari. She used to work in retail. Knew a lot about that colour-matching stuff.”

Upon eying his older brother’s coffee, Bohyuk nudged it toward him. The flavour was slightly sweet, caramel-like, akin to something you would enjoy. Wonwoo preferred his coffees straight. Still, he needed the caffeine. The mall was desiccating his energy.

“No need to be hard on yourself,” Bohyuk reassured, swiping a hand along the clean groove of his gelled hair. “You’ve been quite submissive to all her whims this week.”

Wonwoo scooted the coffee away. “I like helping her.”

“You’re something like an unpaid personal assistant,” his brother humoured, leaning forward on his elbows, meaning to impose his younger brother in a way he knew would irk him.

But Wonwoo shrugged, uninterested, tired.

“Not the reaction I was expecting,” Bohyuk chuckled.

“Because I know what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?”

Wonwoo proceeded to throw Bohyuk a dry, coarse look.

His older brother smirked; lip pursed. “It’s nice that you’re not so defensive. There was once a time I’d say something far less provocative and you'd nearly be at my throat."

“I’m well aware.”

“You know how much worse it will be with Mom.”

At that, Wonwoo tensed. With you keeping him busy all week, such thoughts only skimmed the surface of his ruminating without ever puncturing. But now there was a lapse. Now Wonwoo was remembering how straightforward his mother could be, a knife that always hit its target no matter the angle it was thrown from. He still felt the sharp winces in his spine from some of her previous comments—mostly judgements about his decisions, comparisons to his successful older brother who ‘didn’t need to go grovelling somewhere afar because he knew where home was’, how Wonwoo’s apathetic pallid was laziness, never depression—and he felt the nail of his index finger automatically push against the scar on his thumb.

Wonwoo exhaled, scratched his head. “I know.”

“But I’ll be there,” Bohyuk mollified, softening his expression. “She thinks your defensiveness has always been proof she’s right. You can’t give her that. I think, honestly, what she wants is for you to stand up to her, show her you’re confident and trying. Otherwise she’ll just peck and peck. And…” Bohyuk glanced across the mall, toward the store you were now leaving with a tiny bag hanging from your wrist. “You know she’ll have something to say about her.”

Wonwoo started bouncing his knee. “I know.”

“Hey, hey—guess what?!” you squeaked, throwing yourself into another chair at the table. “I got the perfect halter top! That lady really knew a lot about colours. She had this sheet, full of swatches, and she damn near gave me a full consultation for free!”

Bohyuk nursed his coffee. “Colour-matching is big here.”

“Seems so. Hey—where did you get that drink?”

He pointed down the mall. “There’s a small café.”

“Really? Is yours good?”

“Try it,” Bohyuk said, passing you his now communal cup.

After an inspecting, throaty sip, you nodded. “I love that.”

“I can get you one.”

“Really? Okay. That would be awesome. Thank you.”

Bohyuk offered you a polite, dazzling smile, then tucking his book away into his favourite cross-body bag before leaving you alone.

You glanced at Wonwoo. “You okay? I noticed your leg.”

“Just trying to keep myself awake,” Wonwoo hummed. He didn’t quite feel like bringing up the tribulations with his mother amidst the noisy mall. “Sorry that I couldn’t help out in there.”

He felt your soft, smooth hand settle over his. “You don’t have to apologize for that. I figured you needed a moment anyway when you almost walked straight into a mannequin and didn’t notice.”

Wonwoo smiled a little, shaking his head.

You scooted your chair in closer, your knee pushing purposefully into his under the table. “Once Bohyuk grabs my coffee, we’ll head back. I promise no shopping or wandering tomorrow.”

“No, you don’t need to promise that,” Wonwoo chuckled, wrapping his finger around yours. “I want you to get the most out of this trip; do whatever makes you feel happy.”

“Yes, shopping obsessively and bossing you around does make me happy,” you agreed, nodding factually. “But when it’s just us, I’m even happier.” The hand slipped from over his and found Wonwoo’s knee instead, fingers squeezing, a shiver lingering along his neck.

He smiled at you, loving how lissomly you made the world around him fall away until the ache in his head flurried.

 “I can’t wait to see the top,” Wonwoo murmured, flirtatiously pushing his knee into yours. “You’ll have to show me tonight.”

“Just the top?”

He shrugged; a bit cocky. “Up to your discretion.”

As promised, the next day was lazy.

Neither of you set an alarm. There was no urgency to wake up early and cram the day with costly adventuring and sightseeing.

Yesterday’s shopping bags swarmed your side of the room.

The bedsheets were a tangled, sloppy mess. Wonwoo was just coming to, feeling the spry behind his eyelids, faintly overhearing your muttered, unconscious ramblings that drifted in and out of sensible. He rolled onto his other side, sliding his arms deep underneath the cool, silk pillow, and enjoyed observing the bare curve of your exposed back. The sleep talk never really bothered him. He liked listening to the odd drawls that your sluggish mind somehow managed to communicate, even when you were impossibly asleep.

“Not that… no… not… I want it there… not that…”

Wonwoo rubbed into his eye, half-smiling.

“There… when you go over, it’s not there. Please.”

It rarely made sense.

“I’m going… turn it off, then tell me to go.”

Sometimes he would try to interpret. Give your unconscious ramblings a real story. You were never aware of what you said. The sleepy haze of your morning discussions always spread with laughter as you brayed in disbelief at his retellings—“I did not say that! You stupid liar!”—followed by a pillow smacked ungraciously against his face. Nonetheless, it turned Wonwoo’s general lacklustre for mornings into something ineffably fond. A moment of hearing your groggy voice, feeling your skin warm and rubbing against his, smelling your soap. It was poetic. Love sharpened to a point, but still soft. Wonwoo reached for his glasses, giving your frame pronunciation. When you didn’t set an alarm, you could sleep well past lunch. There was no indication you were going to wake up.

Wonwoo decided to leave you be, parting ways from the bed with a chaste kiss to your shoulder. He got dressed, picking up discarded clothes from the night before, at last sliding into an oversized quarter-zip that smelled more like your signature strawberry scent than his own cologne. Down in the kitchen, Nari was already preparing breakfast. She was typically the first one awake, of the same productive, neat, steady nature as Bohyuk.

“Need any help?” Wonwoo queried, his voice still hoarse.

She turned, baring her seraphic smile. “Sure.”

He helped Nari cut some vegetables for an omelette. There was already coffee brewing, a nutty dark roast, and the smell stuck comfortingly in his nose. A few minutes later, she slid him a mug.

“Thanks.”

Nari had a quaint, fragile-looking cup in her hand, stirring around a teabag. “I can’t believe this week is almost over.”

He pushed aside some chives with his knife. “Yeah.”

“I really do hope the two of you have enjoyed your stay. We’ve been looking forward to it all summer.”

Wonwoo smiled, briefly adjusting his glasses before chopping a pepper. “It’s been amazing, Nari. We’re so grateful.”

She nodded, accepting the compliment, although her fingers rubbed together for a moment, a bit stiff. “Has she been enjoying her stay, too? I can’t read her very well. I suppose it’s the language barrier. She’s been out of the house so much.”

He decided to put the knife down, figuring this conversation might spring up when you weren’t around. “I can assure you she’s been enjoying her stay, Nari,” Wonwoo laughed. “I promise you. It’s not often we get to be this downtown in Seoul, and there’s a lot she wanted to do and see. But she’s very grateful. Just like I am.” He swung his coffee closer, blowing at the steam and appreciating that first careful sip.

Nari nodded, seeming at ease. “Thank you, Wonwoo.”

After eating breakfast together, admiring the Seoul cityscape, and catching up on some Bohyuk lore he probably shouldn't know, Nari at last sent Wonwoo upstairs with some sort of fruity green tea she brewed especially for you. But when he pushed open the bedroom door, wondering if he should wake you, he was abruptly caught off guard by your hushed, tentative crying, the bedsheets pulled into a large lump over your lap. Wonwoo hurried to your side of the bed, leaving the hot tea next to your water bottle on the nightstand.

“What’s wrong?” he urged you in a gentle tone, leaning in close and instinctively reaching for your damp, blotchy cheek.

You huffed, shoulders limp. “I’m fucking nervous.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo murmured. “About what?”

Another big, quivering huff. You met his eyes, and there was a vulnerable, sensitive energy he seldom saw from you. “About meeting your parents,” you confessed, another tear hitting his hand. He stroked it away, listened to your congested fears. “I’m afraid they’ll think I’m terrible for you. That my Korean isn’t good enough. I thought I was doing well but I can hardly hold a conversation with Nari. And they’ll probably think I’m so materialistic and shallow. I mean, look at all the fucking shit I have to bring to Changwon—” you flung out a hand toward the cluttered shopping bags, “—I look like a gold digger! And what if I say something stupid? Or do something stupid? I don’t want to give them any reason that I’m not good enough for you, but I’m so fucking scared I’ll do it anyway, Wonwoo.”

You shook your head and leaned over, losing the warmth of his hand against your supple cheek. “It’s making me think back to my mom, you know. How everything had to be so perfect. How much it tormented me. And I want to be myself. I want to be honest with your parents. But what if they hate that? What if they don’t like the fake me or the real me? Then what? I’m just fucking screwed, aren’t I?”

Wonwoo squeezed beside you on the bed.

“Come here,” he whispered.

Although you were hesitant, rigid with worry and the looming uncertainty of the Changwon trip, you were never any good at neglecting his touch. Gradually, you unwound. You climbed into his lap, reached an arm around his neck, felt the thick fleece of his blue quarter-zip especially fluffy against your bare skin. Wonwoo held you close, one hand settled on your knee with familiar steadiness.

“My dad’s pretty mellow,” he sighed. “My mom isn’t the easiest to win over. She’s got teeth. But do you remember what I said to you when you were freaking out at your family dinner last year?”

Sniffling, you nodded. “I’m not going to abandon you.”

Wonwoo gripped your knee. “Exactly. Nothing’s changed.”

“I know…” you mumbled in begrudging acceptance. “But my own family doesn’t even like me that much. I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to do if your family doesn’t like me either.”

“Bohyuk and Nari are my family, too,” he chuckled. “They like you. They’ll be on your side. Whatever happens, you’ve got us.”

“Yeah… I guess.”

He kissed your forehead sweetly in the centre. “Okay?”

You nuzzled into his neck, finding the crux of an attractive musk that dilated your chest with stillness. At last, your shoulders unpinned.

“Okay.”

“Nari made tea for you, by the way.”

“She did?” you perked up; your breath warm on his skin.

“Yeah. Green tea. Pomegranate or mango or something.” He helped hand you the mug from the nightstand, tucking some matted hairs away from your forehead and cheeks as you took a tiny sip.

During the drive to Changwon, you were quieter than usual, keeping your hands tucked together in the lap of your floral white sundress. Bohyuk was driving with his window down, Nari beside him in the passenger seat, eating chopped dragon fruit using a toothpick, her hair occasionally fluttering amongst the stronger gusts of a summer breeze. Wonwoo had his book. It was a good opportunity to read, but his mind couldn’t have been less interested. Every time your shoulders rose, every time you scratched your face, every time you toyed with the heel of your sandal, Wonwoo’s concern was blistering.

Although he tried not to make it obvious.

He would mostly side-eye you, or give you a proper glance and a stupid, smudgy little smile that you blinked weirdly at because why the hell are you staring at me like a Cabbage Patch Doll?

Then his phone buzzed.

A text message from you: i’m okay stop staring

His reply: 👎

“Any places you two will be visiting, hm?” Bohyuk asked from the front seat, his steely designer sunglasses glinting in the rear-view.

Wonwoo shrugged. “The waterpark, maybe.”

“It’s closed now, you know.”

You scratched your nose again, ankle bobbing. “Like no one’s ever trespassed before.” He could sense an undertone of impatience.

Bohyuk guffawed. “True. Don’t say that to our Mom, though.”

“There’s lots of lovely parks,” Nari added. “There’s a hot spring, isn’t there, dear? And you took me to Yeojwacheon Romance Bridge on my first visit.”

“Lots of beautiful parks,” Bohyuk agreed, catching his brother’s eye in the mirror. “They’ll manage just fine.”

However, the closer everyone came to Wonwoo and Bohyuk’s childhood home amongst the rural greenery of Changwon, the stranger you started to act. You had rolled down your window, practically gulping in the wind as it came scything through, clinging to the verdant smell of the creeks, the sun-warmed dirt kicked up by Bohyuk’s SUV, the late blossoms losing their colour. Nari kept eying you. Bohyuk offered you water at least three separate times. Wonwoo knew you didn’t want to be bothered, so he sucked back his worry.

Less than a kilometer from his parents’ house, however, you inexorably cracked, suddenly imploring Bohyuk to pull over along the bush-stippled road. The second the car stopped, you damn near kicked open the heavy door, rushing off behind a tree.

“God—is she okay?” Nari warbled, cupping her mouth.

Bohyuk gripped the steering wheel hard. “I noticed she was looking pretty ill about half an hour ago. Poor thing.”

A moment later, you stepped away from the tree, the back of your hand wiping winsomely against your mouth, your skin shining with perspiration when you returned under the August sun.

“Don’t say anything,” Wonwoo warned sharply. “Bo, give me the water.” His brother stuck the bottle backward.

You gripped the car door left ajar.

“Here,” Wonwoo offered.

Without a word, you snatched the plastic bottle from his hand, tore the cap off, and took a large swig that filled your cheeks.

Then you turned around and spat it all out.

Another wipe of your mouth. A very feeble, “thanks.”

You settled back into the car, the door pulled shut.

“Fuck. Anyone have gum?”

Bohyuk passed you a container of mints.

Not a word was said until Wonwoo and Bohyuk were home.

It was all a bit incongruous, to stand in the poorly lit, slim entryway of a home he had nearly exiled, feeling like he didn’t quite belong despite the surging memories that proved otherwise. That one stained, foggy photograph of his maternal great-great grandparents hadn’t moved from the wall. His mother’s slippers were even more worn than he remembered, the heels somehow flatter than paper. Even the air persisted to smell the same: like a plain wax candle melted down to a glossy lump, washed starch, and an aged oil his mother rubbed on her hands every morning.

Their single washroom was tinier to Wonwoo. His head was half cut-off in the mirror above the sink. The kitchen hadn’t experienced this many bodies tightly minnowing around each other since a childhood Christmas party. Nari and Bohyuk weren’t staying for more than a few days. They had important jobs in Seoul. True professionals. No time to avoid work and make people wait.

“My beautiful, handsome sons!” his mother had professed, practically squishing Wonwoo and Bohyuk’s heads together as she kissed each of their cheeks. “And my effortlessly gorgeous Nari!” Another hug to her only daughter-in-law.

“Nice to see you didn’t forget us,” Wonwoo’s father hummed amidst their more personal embrace in the living room, his body feeling bonier, thinner, and yet Wonwoo hugged him tighter anyway, grateful to hear that dry, familiar rasp in his ear.

You introduced yourself to Wonwoo’s father first. He was immensely pleased, smiling wide the entire time, gripping both your hands in his and offering a fairly steep bow despite his knotty back.

“Welcome to our home. It’s not much, but anything we can do to accommodate you, please let us know.”

Wonwoo briefly translated for you.

All you could earnestly repeat were cheerful thank you’s.

There was much settling to do. Spaces to figure out. As children, Wonwoo and Bohyuk shared a single bedroom at the end of a hallway, but as they grew older, more defiant, keen for individualism and independence, Wonwoo moved upstairs into a sun-baked room with a slanted ceiling that had once been a storage space.

He took you inside.

Thankfully his father had installed an air conditioning unit just outside the window a month before the trip. Unlike the brutal, sweltering summer days of his childhood spent wriggling around in his own sweat, the space was much cooler. It seemed some stray boxes had been moved back into the room, piled up in a corner.

However, not much of Wonwoo remained inside.

Nothing but a crude, crayon drawing of his old cat.

You dumped yourself onto the creaky bed.

He sat beside you. “Feeling any better?”

“I don’t know…” you muttered, thumbs massaging underneath your eyebrows. “I mean, your Dad seemed to really like me. He looked super happy I’m here. But your Mom has hardly breathed my way. She was all over Nari. I wanted to introduce myself but she was so busy helping us move shit from the car.”

Wonwoo huffed, amused. “She hustles.” He then settled his hand onto your thigh, breathed in the room’s coolness and your sweet, peachy sunblock. “I’m sure she wants to talk to you. I know she does, actually. There’s always a moment. She waits for it.”

“Yeah…” you sighed; cheek slumped on his shoulder. “Sorry I was being so moody during the car ride. I was trying to talk myself down but that somehow only made my nerves expand.”

“I get it,” Wonwoo said with an easy smile. “I sorta felt the same when I was meeting your parents. I snapped a little at Vernon.”

You splintered into laughter. “What is it about meeting parents that makes us fucking demonic? They’re just people, really, like us. Albeit people we’re trying to impress, but still people. My mom has a goddamn DUI. Who cares about impressing her?”

Wonwoo’s grin pressed against the crown of your head, still a bit warm with lingering nausea, his fingers wrapping thick around your inner thigh. “I know. It’s cruel, isn’t it? But I couldn’t even be bothered to care if you don’t impress them. I’m fucking impressed by you.” He nuzzled a kiss to your temple, started to chuckle. “Was it weird that you made throwing up stomach acid look attractive?”

“No. Not at all. Hey—should I go goblin mode at dinner tonight?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“Alright... now you’re just setting me up for failure.”

He shrugged, his fingers dancing along your spine. “Failing in front of my parents is nothing I haven’t already done. Go ahead.”

Dinner was almost over. Plates were rather bare, nothing but streaks of sauces, clean bones, and crumpled wrappers from the chilled plantain tarts Wonwoo’s mother prepared. The conversation started loud and animated, then slowly peddled into a languorous lull the more people ate. Subsequently, amongst the slaked silence, his mother at last let her eyes fall over you for more than a thin moment and she offered a smile bereft of the softness everyone else received.

She said your name in an inquisitive, accented coo.

At once you snapped into complete alertness, distracted from licking some sauce off your finger. You straightened, looked calm.

“What’s your family like?”

You blinked. Wonwoo knew you understood the question but the moment was so sudden that the words were strictly foreign.

Bohyuk murmured a translation into your ear and Wonwoo almost glared at him for not giving your brain the chance to click.

“Uh… selfish, I think. And opportunistic. Which I guess might fall under the category of selfish. Childish, too. Rarely organized, although from the outside that sounds unbelievable. I don’t really enjoy being around them, and they don’t like being around me, so we haven’t spoken a lot. But… it’s right. I can’t give in because then I would be enabling everything. How they treat me. Uh, yeah.”

Immediately, Bohyuk’s eyes were beading into his younger brother with an unspoken question of are you actually going to translate that? Wonwoo returned his brother a simplistic half-shrug.

He translated every word, as precise as possible.

His father nodded along, his face attentive but sympathetic.

“It seems like you don’t communicate well,” his mother was quick to reply. “Wonwoo knows about that,” she said, lifting up a wrinkled finger and slightly pointing across the table at her son with a deceivingly kindred look. “I can see your connection.”

Bohyuk shot Wonwoo another hard glance, the type of subtle, non-verbal conversing only siblings could master: don’t get defensive.

“I can be like that,” Wonwoo hummed, only mildly accepting to keep the conversational flow in favour. He translated for you: “She says you must not communicate well.”

“Oh? With my parents? Not at all,” you nearly bellowed. “But it’s not due to ineptitude on my part. I am a good communicator, actually. Maybe it’s weird to say about yourself, but I do wear my heart on my sleeve. But my parents are so… unyielding. They can’t possibly stomach making a mistake, saying the wrong thing, having their shortcomings pointed out. It’s suddenly an attack. And I can communicate well all I want, but if they don’t hear me… then why should I waste my effort on them? I have a life of my own. Goals of my own. Family’s important. But it’s not my only value.”

Bohyuk pursed his lip, nodded, as if to say good answer.

While Wonwoo translated your response, his mother’s eyes drew slimmer, never straying from the newcomer her youngest, misguided son brought to her home. It was a needling stare he was familiar with, the kind that felt like an insatiable itch you writhed to scratch but could not because the itch would only burn back worse.

“Then what are your values?”

Wonwoo translated.

“I value individualism. Courage. Freedom. Authenticity. I value your son,” you added, and Wonwoo’s lips twitched with the urge to smile. “His patience, determination, and reliability.”

He began to translate, although his mother cut through, keeping you focused under her silver fox-like stare. “What kind of life are you planning to live with my son? He’s always suffered from a lack of clear direction. He won’t thrive with someone who lives too nonsensically.”

Bohyuk was sedating Wonwoo from a trenchant reply with his stern gaze. Settle. You know what she’s going after. Don’t bite yet.

So he swallowed, translated for his mother with diligence.

You glanced sharply at Wonwoo, and then back at his mother, clearly attuned to the backhanded slipperiness of her question.

“A fucking good one,” you answered in exasperation, a fist curled up like a rock in your lap. “A happy one. I love him. I’d do anything for him.” Your eyes were now of the same tactful knives as his mother. “Would you?” you dared ask, furrowing your brow.

There was a palpably sticky silence.

Something in Wonwoo’s gut told him he didn’t need to translate what you had said. It was Bohyuk who cleared his throat, stood from his seat, and started collecting dishes.

“It’s been a long day. Lots of travel,” he mitigated with his usual smile, attempting to push ease into the pressure, just one more hairsbreadth from a landslide. “I think it’s biting nerves. Mom, I’ll help you clean with Wonwoo, okay?”

At that, she nodded.

Nari was already up, gesturing for you to follow her because the length of your fuse was already short and the cutting remarks from a cynical, testing parent did nothing but singe its length.

When it was just Wonwoo, Bohyuk, and their mother alone in the kitchen, a molasses sunset staining through the windows, the conversation kicked up again. Bohyuk was stood at the sink, scrubbing and rinsing soapy dishes, meanwhile Wonwoo helped his mother wipe down the table.

He breathed out, relaxed his jaw.

“You don’t like her.”

His mother chuckled. “Wonwoo, I know the kind of woman she is. I've been watching closely all day. She will make everything harder for you.”

“We’ve been dating for almost a year, Mom.”

“Should it last longer than that, I’ll be surprised.”

Bohyuk called out from the sink, placing another plate into the dry-wrack. “Mom, you’ve had one conversation with her, okay? And you were slighting her the entire time.”

“She’s lightning in a bottle,” she reasoned, rubbing a particular spot on the table with unceasing vigour. “And not in a good way. Wonwoo, I want the best for you. I want someone who has a strong, clear vision of their future. Keep you in line. So you don’t get upset again. But with this girl, her bruteness, her dangerous flare, that temper. She’ll knock you right over. We’d never hear from you again.”

Wonwoo scoffed.

Bohyuk took off his rubber gloves, carefully ready to be his brother’s armour, to stop him from getting bulldozed.

However, Wonwoo shook his head, and Bohyuk paused.

“Mom, you know why you’re saying this? You don’t understand her because you don’t understand me.”

She merely grunted, walking over to the kitchen countertop, cleaning up the messy splashes of water by the sink.

Wonwoo continued. “You make me out to be something tragic and frail. And at one point, I was like that. But I’m far away from that now. I’m here to try and repatch our relationship and have you meet the girl who’s the biggest reason for my growth, but you’re shunning her. You’re treating me like I’m the same kid. How come I’m the one whose done all this reflection, stretched myself so thin to understand you, but you just… can’t do the same? Why is that so hard to ask? Why can’t you bother to meet your son halfway?” He slicked a hand along his hair, then folded his arms, chewed his lip with the itch to let his emotion bubble over. But he folded it down, remembered his purpose. “I’m going out there to spend time with my girlfriend.” Wonwoo was on the verge of slipping out the room, but he fixed his hand on the threshold. “If you won’t give us any grace, we can be gone by tomorrow. It’s your choice.”

He then left Bohyuk alone in the kitchen with their mother. She was still rubbing the countertop, although the spot was already bone-dry.

Neither you nor Wonwoo slept well that night, and it certainly wasn’t because his bed was a puny twin abrasively creaking upon the slightest movement, although such factors certainly hadn’t helped.

You were both restive, holding onto the uncomfortable vestiges of supper and the laconic evening that followed.

Wonwoo’s mother hadn’t joined the rest of the family in the living room for an old movie courtesy of his father’s collection. Instead, she traipsed off to her room where she kept the door open the smallest degree, probably knitting or reading or occupying herself with any task that might distract her from the fact her typically downcast, desultory son had finally put his foot down. Before bed, as Wonwoo brushed his teeth, his had father pulled him aside for a quiet conversation about how: you know she wants the best for you; she’s still feeling hurt by your departure all those years ago and tonight she can’t help but let it show.

Rather than accepting face value, Wonwoo could only shrug.

At a certain point Dad, it can’t be my problem anymore.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure what the time was. There was no clock apart from your phones charging on the windowsill behind him. His arm had gone numb an hour ago from the weight of your warm body.

He breathed in, “I’m sorry.”

You wriggled, and the bed creaked.

“There’s nothing to apologize for…” your murmur was half-swallowed by the pillow. “M’not mad at you. I’m proud.”

Wonwoo stared at the back of your head, an inky silhouette in the juvenile bedroom. “We won’t stay if she can’t give us a chance.”

The bed heaved dramatically. You had shifted your body around to face him, and he could ever so slightly trace the glossy whites of your eyes. “Your parents feel different than mine…” you said. “And I think there’s something deep in your Mom that wants to drop the toughness. I can see it. Through the guise of whatever she has going on. Her love for you is just too strong. I think she’ll realize it.”

Gradually, his vision began to adjust, and your expression was clearer, starker than the bedroom's shapeless shadows. “She hasn’t seen me in forever. I suppose it’s a clusterfuck of feelings.”

“You were one way when you left and now, you’re something completely different. You showed her that and she felt it.”

He sighed, shaking his head a little. “I wish she would just project all her bullshit onto me instead of you… I wish my parents could somehow heal the wounds from your parents, be this perfect little nook, you know? I hate that it’s more alienation.”

There was a fragile, sweet smile that graced your face. A hand reached out, brushing against Wonwoo’s cheek. “Hey—in a perfect fucking world—we wouldn’t have been this screwed up, and we wouldn’t have ever found each other. I don’t want that,” you clucked, running your fingers in a tender sweep along his jaw. “I want this version. I would choose it every time.” With a simple stretch forward, your mouth slotted against his and Wonwoo smiled quite foolishly into a kiss that was still reminiscent of your melon lip balm.

He proceeded to pull his phone off the windowsill to check the time. The screen was bright and stinging, although through his abrupt squinting he noticed it was just past two in the morning. Everyone should be sleeping, unless they were still chewing the gritty atmosphere and drinking the bleeding awkwardness of supper like you were. Contrarily, however, Wonwoo didn’t particularly care.

“You bored?” he asked.

Resting your cheek against your fist, you shrugged. “I guess.”

His arm was finally loose from underneath your hip and the rush of needled prickling was beginning to subside. Wonwoo pulled his glasses off the sill and the room took more shape than just ebbing blobs. You hadn’t stopped gazing at him, waiting for the ball to drop.

He bit his inner cheek. “Wanna ride me?”

The request had you sitting up, leaning on your arm instead of a lazy elbow, eyes narrowed at the boy through the indigo.

You scoffed. “In this fucking loud insufferably creaky bed?”

“Uh… yeah?”

There was less than a second of contemplation.

“Sure.”

It was a rather perfect storm—stress, family, travel, and an upstairs bed that would most certainly betray any indication of movement—one that Wonwoo was surely grateful for in the strangest way. There was something about your kisses that shut off the world, almost like a mental remote control. There was something about the tender warmth of your thighs bracketing his hips that plucked an electric cord deep in his gut, something about your circular, smooth, perfectly sensual grooves against his erection that made him want to become more than just pathetic. The bed creaked. Scraped. Sounded like it might buckle apart into pieces every time your hips undulated.

But it didn’t matter.

Wonwoo had you close. He had your long t-shirt pulled up and over your head. His hand desperately scratched the wall for the shutter string so he could slant them open and allow the beautiful glow of late summer moonlight to ignite your bare skin.

There was no thinking involved—only carnality—as his head practically thunked forward into your soft breasts, eagerly inhaling the faint scent of your day’s perfume and hearing your heartbeat.

You giggled, always eager to be the seductress, helping push your breasts against your simpering boyfriend’s face. His mouth strayed and his tongue licked, the hard, cold edges of his glasses somewhat biting but not nearly enough to care. He always wanted to see you. Every inch. Every crease and fold. A nipple was deep in his mouth, fingers captured around your other breast and squeezing relentlessly. Wonwoo didn’t understand how he could have you on his tongue and between his teeth. Sometimes it still didn’t feel real. A cruel dream he hadn’t woken up from yet. He might die if he did.

“Enjoying yourself?” you teased as Wonwoo suckled his way across the expanse of your chest to tongue your other pert nipple.

“Mmm,” was all he could grunt, too concentrated to speak.

Something about his desperation, his neediness, he knew, always made you fawn. Your doting fingers came to brush away his satin-black tresses while he purred in throaty satisfaction around your stimulated breast. Every sweep of your fingers was akin to a magic wand, alighting his scalp, neck, and spine with shivers.

“You’re such a good boy…” you breathed unsteadily into the moonlit room, enjoying the sensation of his heated palms sliding along your bare back. “Always make me feel so damn good.”

“Inside now?” Wonwoo whispered into your ear, his breath warm and damp, his mouth so close, so soft, against your skin.

Your fingers combed through his hair again, purposeful with their every tug and graze. “Want me to ride you, sweetie?”

His tone was huskier, fractured at the edges. “Please.”

Upon biting your lip, you murmured, “please, what?”

“I want to feel your pussy wrapped around my cock, how fucking perfectly you grip every inch,” Wonwoo groaned, his thumbs digging at your hips. He had never surmised himself to be very submissive, especially not when he was dating Jeanie. Then, his words were few and far between. But you were a domineering livewire, sometimes punishing, sometimes sweet, or an infuriatingly arousing mix of both that he couldn’t help but writhe for.

Consequently, your giggle proceeded to flutter around the room like a windchime. “You’re so fucking pathetic.”

His length pulsed stiffly underneath his sweatpants.

You then cupped his dazed face in your hands, grasped his cheeks tight, leaned in close, your lips just ghosting his in a way that made his adam’s apple tense. “Will you lay here nice and pretty for me while I fuck myself on this desperate cock of yours?”

Wonwoo swallowed tight. “Y-Yes.”

As he leaned into the rather thin, inadequate pillow propped against the wall, you gave his cheek a loving caress. “Good boy.”

In fact, maybe you should have been a bit more cognizant of Wonwoo’s frail childhood bed. But you were fierce, hungry, and your every wicked slap down to the base of his exhausted length was a ruthless pressure that tested the bedframe. It’s not like Wonwoo had any idea the top right bed leg was going to snap—not with your breasts shimmering and bouncing so hypnotizingly, your hair a sweaty, matted mess, your thighs inadvertently trembling and clenching hard whenever you managed to hit the sweet spot, tired breaths escaping your mouth with each effort to milk him dry.

“FF-Fuck, Wonwoo—m’gonna cum s-so fuckin’ hard!” you cried, nails stinging along his chest. Another powerful slap enveloped his erection deep inside and you careened, gasping in a way that could almost sound painful, as he felt your muscle undeniably furl and a gush of something liquid leak from between your bodies.

Snap!

The bed tilted ever so slightly.

Yet neither of you noticed.

He caught your body in his arms. The slipperiness of your sweat was sticky, uncomfortable, but Wonwoo only pressed you closer into his chest, breathing the sex-soaked humidity thick in the air.

“God…” you croaked a few minutes later. “So fucking good...”

Wonwoo smiled against your forehead. “You’re insane.” Then his hand smoothed over your tangled, frizzed hair. “Fuck. I love you.”

With what little strength you had left, you raised the weight of your shaking head and just managed to half-plant your lips against his mouth. “Love you too, baby,” you sighed, inevitable tire creeping in. “Didn’t realize I was holding onto all that stress. Sorry.”

He smirked. “I like when you use me, my love.”  

“Hey—what was that sound, by the way. Did you hear it?”

Wonwoo kissed his teeth. “Uh… yeah. You broke the bed.”

“Me?!”

“I mean—we—us,” he amended, chuckling nervously.

While Wonwoo and you slept upstairs, the rest of the family awoke one by one. There was breakfast, a sunny walk throughout the neighbourhood, visiting little nostalgic landmarks: the cobble well that Bohyuk lost his first paycheck down during a windy day; the shrunken creek where the brothers used to catch frogs; a rotting gazebo in a forgotten park, once the place of numerous birthdays.

Morning melted into late afternoon.

Bohyuk and Nari went out shopping in order to handle dinner for that evening. Wonwoo’s father took his daily nap lazed along the living room couch while his mother watched the fat bumblebees sway drunkenly from flower to flower in her tiny garden.

His bedroom shutters rattled against a gentle breeze, fragrant with pollen, and Wonwoo’s eyes creaked open in reluctance. Light glowed through the slants, bathed his bedroom, reintroduced him to dusty shelves, your assortment of bags, and the miscellaneous stack of boxes propped in the corner. His mouth felt dry. When he rubbed his head, he thought his hair must be a stubborn, rumpled mess.

Then Wonwoo glanced down to the weight steady against his shoulder, thinking you might still be sleeping, except your eyes were already open and twinkling.

He attempted to wriggle, remember his limbs.

“And for how long have you been ogling me?” Wonwoo questioned, his voice hoarse from the thickness of sleep.

Your finger tapped a bruise on his collarbone. “Not long. I think your mom is sitting outside. I heard her sneeze.”

“Oh, yeah. Her patented Garden Time.” His head flopped toward the window. Though the stained shutters, he could visualize lines of a bright, cloudless sky, perhaps the purest blue he had seen.

You whispered against his neck, “it’s past noon.”

“Fucking Christ—really?”

Then you snorted. “Yeah.”

He scrunched his nose. “Surprised we didn’t get woken up.”

“Well,” you huffed, pushing up onto your arm and staring down at Wonwoo from between fluttering lashes, “we weren’t exactly quiet and behaved.” The tip of your finger traced a scratch on his chest, carved by your nail the night before. “I don’t blame them.”

“God—” he smeared hands down his face, bumping off his glasses such that they slid onto the covers, “—why did we do that?”

“If it wasn’t last night, then probably tonight.” You shrugged.

Wonwoo chuckled in disbelief. “No wonder they left us alone.”

You leaned down, your nose hovering above his, breath a skittish willow’s tickle against his lips. “Are you saying you regret it?”

He kissed you. “No. We’re stuck here for quite a while. I guess they should get used to it. Not that I’ll be any less embarrassed.”

“You’re so cute,” you giggled, grabbing firmly onto his jaw and shaking it as though he was your pet. “Not their fault their son likes to be mercilessly dominated by none other than myself.” Picking up his glasses, you carefully nudged them back onto his face. “Or maybe it is? Because, you know, butterfly effect and all that.” You then stretched, arms curving high into the sunlit air, your chest arching forward with a gentle groan, and Wonwoo thought you could be a goddess worthy of immortalization into the finest marble.

“Hey, mind passing me the camera?” he asked.

You pulled the compact Nikon off the windowsill and handed it to him. He removed the lens cap and turned the camera on, then fiddled with some of the settings to help mend the glaring lighting.

“Spotted something worth taking a picture of?” you couldn't help but lilt knowingly while staring down the lens, your fierce eyes pinning his through the tiny screen.

Wonwoo smiled. “Care to pose for me?”

“Pose how, exactly, Mr. Photographer?” You leaned closer toward the camera, your smirk no less than sinful and your tone a slithering, smooth snake. “I'm capable of many poses, you know?”

“Raise your arms again, like when you were stretching," he decided to instruct, willfully ignoring the jarring spike in his heartbeat.

You followed his request, somehow managing to enhance your radiance and beauty in a manner Wonwoo couldn't possibly calculate while he snapped a few photos, trying not to get lost in where he was subsequently aiming the camera.

“Beautiful,” Wonwoo hummed. “Thanks.”

“Can I try?”

He shrugged, passing you the Nikon.

You quickly swung an arm around his neck, tugged him into your bare, sun-warmed skin, and held the pose of a kiss being pressed against his cheek. Wonwoo's skin crawled with heat and he couldn't help the slightly dazed, star-spotted look he must have been giving the camera. But his feelings for you were impossible to ignore or deny or reshape in any way. He shyly readjusted his glasses as you handed him back the camera, any ounce of dialogue caught in his windpipe.

“Should we eat?” you groaned. “I'm feeling ravenous.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat with an obvious cough. “Sure.”

The kitchen was bright and quiet. Wonwoo’s father was still napping on the couch, completely oblivious to the noisy squeaking of the wooden stairway. You were back in one of Wonwoo’s oversized shirts that you pestered him to pack. Leftover fruit was sitting in the fridge and some dried pieces of silver-looking fish were left out on a napkin.

“Not much,” Wonwoo sighed. “We can always go out.”

“If I don’t eat before going out, you’re going to be very miserable and upset,” you warned while pulling out a chair at the dinner table, sitting with your foot curled up on the edge.

That wasn’t a lesson he cared to relearn.

“Where’s Bohyuk and Nari?” you wondered, yawning.

“Dunno.”

When Wonwoo closed the fridge door, he was surprised to see his mother standing on the other side, dressed in her favourite lounge dress and his father’s old fisherman’s hat to help keep the sun off her face. At first, he was frozen. There was a stick lodged in his throat. But she didn’t carry the same toughness in her small shoulders, nor the stubborn glint in her grey eyes. She was smiling a little, perhaps nervous, and Wonwoo noticed an envelope in her hand.

“Bohyuk and Nari are shopping,” she said. “They should be back soon. I have dumplings in the freezer I can reheat if you’re hungry.” Wonwoo glanced at you briefly from across the kitchen as his mother took the dumplings out. “These ones here. There’s some honey sauce in the fridge.”

“That sounds good,” Wonwoo replied. “What’s that?” He then pointed to the envelope she placed on the countertop.

“Will you get a pan ready for me, Wonwoo?”

“Sure,” he complied, swallowing uncertainly.

While he dug a scraped-up pan out from the crowded cupboard, he watched peripherally as his mother approached you, holding the white envelope close to her bodice. Once he clanged the pan onto the stove and started the clicking gas, Wonwoo quickly moved to stand behind the chair you were crouched on.

He watched his mother extend the envelope to you.

“Please, take this,” she offered, smiling. “I’m sorry.”

You blinked. Rubbed your lips together. But when you accepted the envelope, Wonwoo could see that both your names were written across its surface with an elegant, practiced cursive.

“I asked Bohyuk to help me translate a lot into English,” she added, her tiny, wrinkled hands wringing together and some part of Wonwoo hated to see her this nervous, doubtful. “I wanted you both to be able to read it simultaneously. It doesn’t need to be opened now. Whatever you want to do.” Tentatively, her hand settled on your shoulder. “Please accept my apology,” she entreated of you, her smile worrisome but earnest. “And welcome to our family.”

Wonwoo’s heartbeat was hot lead in his throat.

He thumbed the back of the kitchen chair.

You returned a gentle smile, a polite dip of the head. “Thank you.”

His mother then reached out, brushing Wonwoo’s cheek in that solacing, careful manner, her old way of saying goodbye to both him and his brother before they would leave the house for school. The touch was more than just nostalgia. It felt like acceptance. He wished it hadn’t been so painful getting to this point, but he remembered what you told him the night before—your rejection of a perfect world if it meant you could be together—and that eased his soul.

“I’ll get the dumplings ready,” his mother said.

Wonwoo pulled out a chair for himself at the dinner table, enjoying the smitten smile you angled his way. There was a notable wateriness lining your eyes, and Wonwoo wondered if his mother’s apology and acceptance might possibly mean even more to you.

As long as you were loved.

That was all he really cared for.

[aeristudios]

Through The Haze: I

𓆩♡𓆪 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You're the star of Neo City Nights, the hottest nightclub in the city. Your voice brings in people from all over, including the handsome stranger Seokmin who you can't stay away from. Too bad you don't remember him from your past life, before the accident that changed your life forever. 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: estranged boyfriend!seokmin x f.reader 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, smut, fluff, thriller, cyberpunk au, lovers to exes au, 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! smoking, drinking, violence (fights, shootings, murder, blood, weapons, manhandling, injuries), memory loss, mention of drugs, corruption, criminal activity, sexual explicit content including: kissing, fingering, clit stimulation, oral (f. receiving) 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 9.7K 𓆩♡𓆪 𝐀𝐍: This is apart of the Cyberpunk: Reload collab hosted by @studiosvt! This is part 1 of 3 (the parts posting is TBD). Thank you to @hannieoftheyear and @yoongihan for looking at this for me! The lyrics mentioned are for the songs "I Feel Love" by Donna Summer and "Future Lovers" by Madonna.

𓆩♡𓆪 playlist 𓆩♡𓆪

Ooh, it's so good, it's so good, It's so good, it's so good It's so good

Your voice has everyone in a trance, their eyes fixed on you through the purple haze of smoke and flickering lights. The bass vibrates your bones as the music flows through you as if it were made for you, your dress accentuating your hips as you dance with a subtle seductiveness that keeps everyone coming back. Your hair flows effortlessly, catching the glow of neon, and your makeup is flawless, commanding attention.

Ooh, I feel love, I feel love I feel love, I feel love I feel love

You lick your lips, a smirk on your face as your confidence grows.

I feel love I feel love I feel love

You know you are killing it, stepping off the stage and sitting in a patron’s lap as your soulful, rich voice seduces her further. You see it in her eyes, a hidden, curious flame you might be interested in unlocking at the end of the night.

Ooh, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in love I'm in love

Her eyes watch you intently as your finger brushes her chin, trailing flirtatiously to her lips painted a shade of plum. With a wink, you rise from her lap, sashaying across the floor as you sing your heart out. The drink you had before you stepped on stage is slowly kicking in, easing the nerves you felt earlier. You feel a strange pull, magnetic and charismatic, as the crowd's energy bends around you. The main attraction at Neo City Night Club has never looked better, and you love every bit of it.

Not too bad for a woman who doesn’t remember two years of her life.

Ooh, fall and free, fall and free Fall and free, fall and free Fall and free

Your accident made news all over the city, the scandal of a promising club singer robbed of her memories overshadowing the ongoing murders haunting the darkest corners. As far as you know, you slipped and fell during a robbery gone wrong, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You woke up at Neo City Memorial Hospital with your head wrapped in bandages and swollen, black eyes. Your mother prayed in front of a holographic Bible, clutching her Rosary tightly, while your father stared blankly out the window, lost in thought. It was the worst day of your life that you can remember, and it lingers in your mind.

So it’s no surprise that people from all over would come to see this mysterious person with a great voice and missing patches of her life put on a performance, because that’s what this city lives and breathes on. Scandals, violence, and sex mixed in between. You’ve figured out your role, and you play it well—it’s the only way you can survive.

I feel love I feel love I feel love

The beat fades out as you’re back on stage, the purple lights shifting slightly and shining on you, the enigma. Claps and cheers erupt in the club, and you let yourself bask in it all as the velvet curtains close. Buzzing from the energy of the crowd, you stand there rooted in place, your eyes closed as you hear them chant ENCORE! ENCORE! ENCORE! The buzz you get from this can never be replicated, no matter how much kosmi dust you snort. 

“Well done, gorgeous.”

Turning around, you face your boss, Cado, who walks towards you, clapping his hands. Your buzz drops like a free fall.

“Just doing my job, boss,” you sarcastically salute, the energy in the room shifting to something colder. It’s no surprise your boss is attracted to you, and you don’t miss the way he gazes over your body as something to possess rather than something to behold. He’s offered many times to get you to do “work” on the side for him, but you never budged. Maybe it’s worked on others, but not you. You don’t shit where you eat.

He’s unfortunately a conventionally attractive man, with a jawline sculpted by a god and dark, seductive brown eyes you can get trapped in. Cado takes good care of his body, bragging about how much he works out and sometimes flexing his arms or flashing his abs. All he talks about is himself and his money; it doesn’t impress you.

“You know my offer still stands, if you are looking for extra work,” Cado offers, a glint of mischievousness in his eyes.

Giving him a slow once-over, you snort. “I don’t need the extra money. You know that,” you scoff. “I’m sure one of the waitresses might.”

You walk away before he can say another word, exiting the side stage and heading to the bar. The need for a stiff drink is strong as ever, craving a shot of Sunshine Mist that’ll burn your throat and numb you in the best way. You only put up with Cado’s advances because this club feels familiar to you, even though you don't remember working here before. The nice guy facade he tried to put on at first, you saw through that early on. You see him for who he is, and you’ve made it clear every chance you get.

Holding your fingers up towards the bartender, Chan, you take a seat on the stool as the lively chatter and studio music fade into the background. Your head bobs lightly, your fingers drumming on the counter as you wait for your drink.

“Rough night?” Chan asks, twirling the cocktail shaker.

“Eh, just Cado being Cado,” you quip.

“My condolences,” he chuckles, sliding the shot towards you.

You snort, grabbing the glass and throwing it back. It gives you an almost therapeutic burn, instantly putting you at ease. Sunshine Mist is one of the strongest drinks concocted, and while not everyone can stand its aftereffects, it’s your preferred drink here, especially when dealing with the likes of Cado. For a moment, everything softens, and your buzz has returned, leaving your skin tingling all over.

“Mind if I join you?”

You turn towards an unfairly attractive stranger standing beside you, staring at him blankly before realizing you were. His dark hair falls across his forehead, his smile bright enough to rival the neon lights flooding the club. He definitely doesn’t fit this crowd, and you don’t recall ever seeing him, but you are not a stranger to unusual occurrences.

You gesture towards the stool next to you, and he follows your lead, scooting his seat closer to you.

Chan gives him a measured look. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have the same thing she’s having,” the stranger responds, tapping his watch and revealing a digicard. “And put hers on my tab.”

“Thank you,” you say, the curves of your mouth twitching.

“You’re welcome, gorgeous.”

Your eyebrows lift, followed by a silvery laugh. Studying him more carefully, you can’t help but notice the shape of his eyes, the curve of his smile, the timbre of his voice. A flutter of butterflies invades your stomach; you shake your head as the heat creeps up your neck.

“So, what’s the catch?”

It’s his turn to lift his brow. “Catch?”

Sitting up straighter, you throw him a look. “You bought me a drink, which is greatly appreciated, but I have the feeling that you didn’t come over here to take a shot with me.”

You can’t help but notice the way his eyes twinkle when he laughs. “Okay, you caught me,” he says, raising his hands. “I just wanted to tell you I liked your performance.”

You stare at him blankly, and then you laugh. “That’s it?” You flash him a smile. “I’m almost disappointed.”

“Give me time.”

Chan slides the drink over to the stranger, who catches the rim with the tips of his fingers. The veins on his hands pop suddenly, and you shake away the thoughts that are creeping into your head. He thanks Chan as he takes his shot, shooting it back in the same manner you did. The burning liquor doesn't faze him at all, and you sit there impressed.

“Seokmin.”

Your brows knit together. “Excuse me?”

He pulls out his hand to shake. “My name is Seokmin.”

You giggle, realizing he was introducing himself. “Nice to meet you,” you say, shaking his hand in return. “My name is—”

“I know who you are,” he says smoothly. His hand is warm and soft, and you can’t shake this sensation in your chest. You gaze at each other, your body feeling drawn to him, as if magnetism is pushing you together. Your hand is still in his, and you are in no hurry to let it go.

“I’m sorry, I have to ask,” you say suddenly. “But have we met before?”

Seokmin falters slightly before regaining his composure, slowly taking his hand from yours. “I—”

“Hey, boss wants us to go over the set list for tomorrow night.”

Your manager, nicknamed Snake-Eyes, appears from behind, holding a holographic tablet with a floating stylus. Looking past your manager, you eye Cado towards the back, watching you intently with a cigarette in his mouth. Of course, he wants to talk about it now, of all the times.

Glancing back at Seokmin, you let out a small sigh, your mood soured once again thanks to your boss. “I’m sorry we have to cut this short,” you say. “Maybe I’ll see you again?”

“Maybe,” Seokmin smiles softly, sending more butterflies to your stomach.

He gives you a hand to slide off the stool, his cologne appealing to your nose. It smells familiar, and you can’t pinpoint where it’s from. Maybe it’s something you came across in the years you can’t remember. Lucky you.

You start to walk away, but something tells you to turn around, and you find him still standing in place, watching you walk away. “Don’t be a stranger?”

He smiles. “Don’t worry, love. You’ll be seeing more of me.”

For some reason, those words resonate with you for the rest of the night.

Seokmin steps out into the wet night, lighting a cigarette from the corner of his mouth. The petrichor is fresh and calming as he deeply inhales, letting the enhanced tobacco burn his throat. It’s past two a.m., and the city is still alive, with no sign of slowing down. Neon lights and advertisements are shoved in his face at every corner, drug paraphernalia in the streets, and people coming from all directions looking for adventure. He remembers when he was that carefree and full of life, looking forward to the next day and many after. But so much has changed, and it feels like a distant memory, a whole lifetime ago.

Seokmin takes another puff as he watches on, lost in the thoughts that have been tormenting him for the past two years. He came to the club to find peace, to get answers to the darkness in his soul and the mystery that refuses to rest in his mind. Seokmin sought a reprieve that can only be cured by one, and when he watched you perform for the crowd, with the light shining on you like the star you are, it made him sadder. You don’t remember him, or your past life together, and every day it gets harder to bear. You are the light of his life, the one thing that has kept him alive, and he is determined to help you remember him, or at least, know the truth.

The authorities say it was an accident. Sure, like he will believe a fall like that will leave you on the brink of death with black eyes, broken ribs, and needing surgery. Seokmin has been a private investigator for many years and has seen a lot of shit, and the insult to his intelligence is laughable. He’s mentioned it to your parents, but they practically threatened to call the police if he came on their property again. The reaction didn’t surprise him much—your parents never thought he was good enough for you anyway.

They never told you about Seokmin and your life together. Your father is a very powerful man, and he had every trace of you and him wiped out of digital existence. It’s almost amusing the lengths he went through to erase Seokmin from your life. But what’s cruelly ironic is that he cannot take Seokmin’s memories away from him. It’s what helps Seokmin sleep at night.

There were many times he sat in the dark, in the apartment that you shared, and thought about barging into the hospital room or the club and telling you the full truth, hoping it would trigger something. But he can’t tell you anything he doesn’t know himself. How were you hurt? Who would do this to you? Why were you targeted? These are questions that have been wrestling in his mind with little to no answers, and forcing the truth on you wouldn’t serve you any better.

But being in your orbit again, hearing your voice and seeing the warmth in your eyes, renewed something in Seokmin’s spirit. He’s more determined than ever to uncover the truth and secure the justice you deserve. To bring you home.

God help anyone who tries to get in Seokmin’s way.

“Hi, baby.”

The voice is a low, honeyed murmur that makes you smile. A kiss is planted on your shoulder in a haze, and your body automatically eases. You reach back, blindly massaging the head of the hidden person as you watch the sun rise in an apartment. He feels familiar, as if you’ve known him for some time, even though you can't see his face.

“Have you been to sleep yet?”

You shake your head, a peaceful smile on your lips as sunlight rises over the horizon. It’s the first time you have seen the sun in days because of the rain, and you're too wired to sleep, thanks to the cup of coffee you had when you came home. “I just wanted to see this—the sun rise,” you explain. “There aren’t enough artificial sun rooms that can compare to the real thing.”

“Mmm,” he hums in agreement. “You are right about that, baby.”

He shifts, placing a lingering kiss beneath your earlobe. A moan escapes your lips as tingles spread throughout your body. His hands are warm, comforting as they grab your waist, pulling you closer to him. His cologne is pleasing, its scent unlike any of the synthetic materials made in factories throughout the city. It’s fresh and comforting, like vanilla, with a hint of aromatic spice. More kisses trail down your neck, his soft lips each imprinting electric and hard to ignore. Your nipples harden at his sensuality, your skin suddenly feeling hot and in need of more touch.

“I’m supposed to be watching the sunrise.” Your protest is weak with little effort. The hidden figure smirks against your skin, a low chuckle booming through his throat. “Not funny,” you sigh.

You turn to face him, kissing him with your eyes closed, allowing your body and mind to give yourself to him completely. His hands roam your body as if they know you, and your spirit isn’t disturbed—instead, your intuition tells you it’s okay, and he’s yours. Your shirt rises over your head, and you lean back into your pillows. Your blanket is caught in between your fingers, a tug of something metal caught in its snag. Raising your hand in the light reveals a ruby ring on a silver band, sitting perfectly on your ring finger.

“I fall in love with this ring every time I see it,” you sigh, the words flowing from your heart. “Good job, lover.”

You look up at him properly, trying to catch the shape of your stranger’s face. But it keeps slipping at the edges, the rays of light refusing to let you focus too hard. His presence, however, feels steady, familiar in a way your thoughts don’t know how to argue with.

“I missed you, you know,” he says, his hands cupping your face. He kisses you deeply, and you lose all feeling in your legs. “I could do this all day.”

You raise a brow, a smirk on your lips. “Technically, you can.”

“I could.” He lets out a silvery laugh. “But Seungcheol wouldn’t like that.”

You don’t know who he is, but somehow the name doesn’t seem foreign to you. Sitting up slightly, you cock your head to the side. “Well, tell Seungcheol you have plans and will be busy all day.”

“And what are those plans?” He asks, trailing his fingers along your shorts.

Despite his face being covered in a shroud of light, you know he’s staring at your body, ogling your breasts that were made just for him. Lifting slightly, you help yourself out of your shorts, revealing your bare center, and part your legs slightly, just for his view.

“Tell him you will be busy eating out your fiancé,” you half-joke, placing your foot on his shoulder.

He guffaws as he lays his head on your foot, massaging it. You don’t know why the words ‘fiancé’ came out of your mouth. You don’t even know who you are in bed with. It like deja vu, and you can’t explain it, but it feels right. This is where you are supposed to be.

“I don’t think I can tell him that, baby,” he breathes in between laughs. “I’ll think of something.”

His free hand spreads your legs apart further, dipping his fingers into your wet heat. You hiss at the contact, every nerve in your body on alert.

“You're soaked, baby,” he coos, his thumb rubbing against your clit. “Maybe I’ll tell Seungcheol there was a leak that needs fixing.”

You're buzzing, unfocused, enthralled with the pleasure he is giving you. “Mmhmm, sure.”

The stranger shuffles, spreading your legs wider as he lowers himself to your center. His tongue takes a long swipe without warning, leaving you clutching your sheets. He moans and grunts in your pussy, tasting and sucking you as you squirm in his hands, the haze you are in multiplying by the second. Lip smacking, slurping, and lewd moans fill the room, lifting you further on cloud nine.

“Fuck, I—” you sound pathetic, but the incessant need to cum in his mouth is greater. You try to pull yourself together, but the pleasure is too great, and you succumb to him completely. Tugging his hair, you ride the wave of his tongue, chasing your release until it washes over you suddenly, leaving you with a vision of white and shaky breath.

“I got you, baby,” he says smoothly. “Give me all of it.”

You let out a guttural moan that ripples through you, gushing in his mouth unabashedly. He doesn’t let up, licking you until there is nothing left, leaving a kiss on your pulsing clit that makes you shudder. You dissolve into the blanket, slowly coming down from your high. Lying there with half-sleepy eyes and a smile on your face, the sunlight shifting as it rises in the sky. You turn your head as your lover lifts his face, the sunlight no longer protecting him, revealing him at least.

“I love you.”

You jolt upright, your heart beating heavily, your vision blurry, beads of sweat forming on your forehead. He disappears, and you’re no longer in the dreamy haze of light; instead, the softness shifts cruelly into a large room of unnatural darkness. Your alarm clock is blaring on the walls, the constant chirping grating on your nerves.

“Maxima, I’m awake,” you croak to the virtual assistant.

It takes a moment for your vision to fully come back, replaying what just happened in your bed. You dismiss it as a dream, but it feels so real, like an unlocked memory calling to you. You glance down at your crotch, noticing the obvious wetness between your legs. Letting out a loud groan, you scoot to the edge of the bed, your head in your hands, trying to make sense of it all.

Seokmin.

He was the man of your dreams. You were in love, you were happy, and seemingly engaged. Your parents never mentioned you to him, and maybe it is all just a dream, but you still remember how your body reacted when you were near him, as if he were a familiar instead of a stranger. Or maybe it is all in your head—a fantasy constructed by a lonely brain.

But something tells you there is more to the story, and if you want your mind to rest, you will need answers.

Aug 02 2061. 

That was the day Seokmin’s life changed forever.

He remembers the day like it was yesterday. You two watched the sun rise together, made love, and he watched you fall asleep before he left for the day. He did not, in fact, tell Seungcheol you had a leak that needed fixing, but Seokmin promised he would spend the next day with you. He had it all worked out with Seungcheol, and he was so excited to come home to you that night, to tell you the good news and plan the day together, or do nothing at all. It didn’t matter as long as he was with you.

But when you didn’t come home, and the minutes turned into hours, he knew something was wrong. Seokmin checked your location and noticed it was headed towards the opposite end of the city. He rushed out of the apartment like a bat out of hell, following your signal until it came to an abrupt stop at Neo City Memorial. Seokmin pushed on the gas pedal as hard as he could, running every traffic light and evading law enforcement to get to you. Every fear he had came true that night—you were hurt almost beyond repair, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Bzzt! Bzzt! Bzzt!

Seokmin shakes his head slowly, taking himself out of that day and back to reality, in an apartment where the sun no longer shines, barren of the life and love you brought into it. His phone buzzes again, and he sighs, grabbing the phone and swiping the screen up. His colleague and friend, Wonwoo, has been helping him with his investigation, digging into records that are behind red tape and out of his reach. A large file was sent to Seokmin’s email, encrypted with a password that only he knows.

Vulpes.

Entering his password, he connects his phone to a projector as the files load, filled with contacts of people who were at the club the night you were hurt. Scrolling through the list, he recognizes some of the names: bigwigs, politicians, and gang leaders who contribute to the corruption of Neo City. Nothing out of the ordinary. His attention turns to the file that holds the video footage, the icon blinking in sequences of threes. Tapping on his screen, he sees the video display on his wall, the frame still focused on a back entrance. 

“Let’s do this,” Seokmin sighs before pressing play. 

The video is audioless, with heavy rain pouring from the sky, slightly obscuring the street camera's lens. Seokmin watches intently, his fingers drumming on his leg in anticipation, not wanting to miss anything amiss. Growing impatient, he fast-forwards the video, the minutes dragging on with little to no movement to the back entrance. Did Wonwoo make a mistake? Seokmin thinks to himself. Maybe this is the wrong vid—

At 2:03 am, the back entrance door swings open, with two large men carrying what appears to be a woman, who is twisting and turning wildly, trying to get loose. A light flashed on the figure, briefly but clearly enough, which gave Seokmin pause. The blue dress, one he has seen too many times, is on display, and a chill shoots up his spine. Rewinding slowly, he stops at the frame, his chest tightening at the frozen image before him.

It’s you.

Seokmin stares for far too long, almost unable to believe what he is seeing. You were being carried out and manhandled like you didn’t matter, as if there wasn’t anyone out there who loved you and wouldn’t care if you disappeared. His blood boils with anger as he hastily taps the screen to let the video continue. One of the guards made the mistake of letting go of one of your legs, and you used it to your advantage, kicking him in the chest. He fell back, losing his step and falling ass-first onto the wet pavement. The other guard had your arms pinned behind your back, and as hard as you wrangled, you couldn’t get out of his lock. Even without audio, Seokmin knows you were giving them a good verbal lashing, a look of rage on your delicate face that Seokmin has never seen.

“Atta’ girl,” Seokmin says out loud. At least you still fought back.

Seokmin’s smile vanishes quickly when the fallen guard rose from the ground, stumbling towards you furiously. His fist connected with your left cheek, stunning you into shock. Blow after blow, the man assaulted you, hitting every exposed area he could. Seokmin watched your body go limp, the glee in the guard’s eyes embedded in his head. The guard holding you said something to your assaulter, who stopped his onslaught with a look of satisfaction on his face. Seokmin watches on, his stomach in knots, the anger burning deeper in his gut. These men will never see the light of fucking day again.

You're dragged to a waiting vehicle, set aside the passenger door like some sort of rag doll, your chest rising and falling slowly, your face swollen and bloodied. A figure stepped out of the back entrance, the light catching him, and Seokmin recognized him: Cado. Seokmin always sensed he didn’t like him much, and it’s not lost on him how Cado looked like you with carnality in his eyes. Cado knew better than to try anything in front of him, though.

Cado hustled over to the car, raising his hands angrily and slapping the backs of the heads of the guards. Opening the back door, he motioned for your assaulter to put you in the car. As he grabbed your arms, it is as if you were brought to life, and as an act of defiance, you spat in his face. The light goes out suddenly, just for a few seconds, but when it comes back on, you are on the wet ground, rain pouring on your face, with blood pooling from your head. Cado was enraged, picking you up and shoving you unceremoniously in the car, shouting and pointing in the north direction. Both guards entered the car, driving off suddenly, and Cado re-enters the club, the door shutting swiftly behind him.

The video stops playing, and Seokmin stands there, rooted in place and stewing in rage. He couldn’t be there to protect you, and he had to watch you experience the worst day of your life, and indirectly his too. You were supposed to be married now and living happy lives, but instead, you are apart, and you don’t remember a any of it.

Swiping to a different screen, he presses Wonwoo’s contact, the phone ringing once before he answers.

“You saw the video?”

“No shit,” Seokmin scoffs. “I want those guards found—”

“I’m already ahead of you, Seokmin,” Wonwoo answers. “I’m going to send you this address for the one who did the most damage.”

“Do that, and tell Seungcheol to meet me there,” Seokmin instructs. “Things will get extremely messy.”

“Well. You weren’t exaggerating about the mess.”

Seungcheol walks into the blood-splattered small apartment, slapping on a pair of black gloves made of matte obsidian and seamless synthetic polymer that clings like a second skin. Built with tech that alters fingerprint texture, it makes the person who uses it basically untraceable.

“I take it they are still alive?” Seungcheol surmises, stepping over broken glass.

“Barely,” Seokmin mumbles. Kneeling, he turns the head of one of the guards, the assaulter, Scion, lifting a finger under his nose.

As soon as Seokmin retrieved the address from Wonwoo, he was there in no time. He could’ve waited for Seungcheol to do things the ‘right way’, but all Seokmin could see was you being beaten and thrown around. He could have granted them mercy, but why should he? They gave you less than that, and now you’re both paying the price.

Seokmin hears shuffling behind him, and he turns, watching Seungcheol drag the other guard, Brucus, into the bathroom. He quickly learned their life story from the information Wonwoo sent over. Brucus’s family all died in the war in the neighboring desert, Dismiscus, a decade ago, and Scion comes from a family of lowlifes who are either dead, in jail, or walking the streets.

Basically, nobody would miss them when Seokmin wipes them off the face of the planet.

The bathroom door opens, and Seunghcheol comes out, his nose crinkling at the protruding smell that is starting to fill the space. “I’m pretty sure that guy took his last breath in the tub,” Seungcheol comments, surveying the living room. “I didn’t see any stab wounds or gunshots. What did you use?”

Seokmin holds up his left hand, showing off a glove made of synthetic chromium. “My goal was to make sure he stopped breathing.”

“Goal met,” Seungcheol quips.

Seokmin turns his attention back to Scion, tapping his cheek with two slaps. “Wake up.”

Scion doesn’t stir, his chest rising and falling as if he is in a deep coma. Without a second thought, Seokmin lowers a fist to his ribs, hearing a bone-shattering crack that satisfies him. Scion’s eyes almost bulge out of his sockets, followed by a piercing howl that is quickly covered by Seokmin’s fist.

“This pain is nothing compared to what you gave her,” Seokmin grits his teeth. “Tighten the fuck up.” Crimson slowly coats Scion’s lips. Seokmin stands straight, observing the weak man in this state. “I’m going to ask you some questions, and you are going to tell me everything I need to know.”

Scion slowly raises his head, meeting your gaze for the first time. “I’ve…seen…you…club.” His mouth twitches, a slight smirk on his lips. “You come to see our Vixen.”

Seokmin clenches his jaw, anger stirring in his stomach and hardening from within. He referred to you by your stage name, a nickname Seokmin gave you, and it makes him want to wring Scion's neck. Seungcheol appears to his left, adjusting his gloves. “So you know why he’s here then.”

Letting out a weak scoff, he attempts to sit up but winces, sliding further down the carpet. “Let’s…not play games.”

Seokmin couldn’t agree more. “Aug 02 2061,” he began. “Why was she being carried out of the club?”

Scion attempts to sit up again, lifting off the ground until he is comfortable. He doesn’t answer, instead pulling a cigarette from his front pocket and slipping it into his mouth.

“You got a light?”

Seokmin and Seungcheol exchange annoyed looks, shaking their heads in unison. Seungcheol digs into his pocket, pulls out a lighter, and flicks the switch to ignite the flame. Seokmin is in his right mind to take that cigarette and shove it down his throat while it’s still lit.

Scion looks at you carefully, inhales deeply, and lets out a wet cough. “It was on the boss’s orders.”

Seokmin stares, his jaw ticking in annoyance. “Cado?”

He nods, taking another puff. “That’s the one.” Wiping his nose with his sleeve, he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the wall. “She saw something she wasn’t supposed to see.”

That catches Seokmin’s attention. “What wasn’t she supposed to see?”

A slow, evil grin is on his lips, followed by a chuckle. “Business. Stuff way above my pay grade.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” Seokmin grits his teeth.

Scion doesn’t answer, instead burning out the cigarette in his hand. Seokmin takes a good look at him, watching the color slowly drain from his face. A long white scar trails from his sea-green, baggy eye to the corner of his mouth, and he looked rugged, rough around the edges, with tattoos and more scars riddling his arms. It would scare the average person walking down the street, but one thing Seokmin has learned in life is that it doesn’t matter how tough you look if you can’t back it up.

“You still want to protect your boss in death? That’s almost admirable.” Seokmin reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a 9 mm silencer. Taking a deep breath, he points the gun at his head, his index finger steady on the trigger. “I suggest you think long and hard about your answer.”

Flashes of your face and your smile flood his mind. The woman he knows, the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with, was taken away from him cruelly. He will work day and night to get you back, and if a few brains have to be splattered on some walls, so be it.

“I’m not telling you shit—”

The gun goes off before Scion could finish his sentence, blood splattering on his face. Seokmin is numb, not bothered by the violence he had to inflict. He could do it ten times over and still wouldn’t satisfy him.

“Go, Seok,” Seungcheol commands, taking the weapon out of his hands. “I’ll clean up here.”

Seokmin nods, leaving without saying a word. He wasn’t concerned about the noise, since the apartment is in a shitty part of the city and everyone minds their own business. The rain starts to fall heavily from the sky, washing the blood off his face and his leather jacket. Seokmin stands there for a moment, soaking it all in, letting the memories of you dancing in the rain fill his mind. You were always carefree, a pretty bird in a city of terror, and he would give anything to have that back.

Climbing onto his motorcycle, he loads “I Feel Love” into his headphones and roars out of sight, the venom of vengeance consuming him whole.

You can’t stop thinking about Seokmin.

He encompasses every corner of your mind, the montage of your moment together fresh in your head. You seemed to be a couple in love, a familiarity that you somehow feel in your heart, and it bothers you. You don’t know who Seokmin is; you met him for the first time last week at the club. Why does it feel like you were meant to know him?

You gaze at your bare ring finger, rubbing it with your index finger as you're lost in thought. For the past few days, it has felt weird not having a ring there, and if you stare long enough, you imagine seeing an imprint of something that might have been there at one point. You don’t know.

“Is everything alright?”

Slowly coming out of your reverie, you glance at your mother, whose eyes mirror yours in color. “I’m fine,” you clear your throat, shaking your head. “Just a bit tired.”

You stab your fork lazily into your seared lemon trout, taking a small bite to appease your mother. You aren’t sure what your relationship was like during the years you were gone, but before then, she was barely a parent. You were raised by the various nannies that were employed in your home; your mother spent her time playing the perfect wife, and your father was hardly around. You were merely an afterthought unless there was an event that required the whole family to be together. Chin up and smile wide, your mother would dutifully remind you. You don’t want to embarrass your father or the company. Your name carries weight in Neo City, and your parents will protect it by all means, even making you a pawn whether you like it or not.

“Are you still working at that club?” Your mother grimaces. “I don’t know why you bother setting foot in that soiled establishment.”

“Because I like to sing, Mom, and being there lets me do that,” you respond, feeling slightly irritated. You glance at your father, who watches you carefully, his silence louder than anything your mother could say. Crossing your arms, you feel the erratic thump of your heart. “I know you guys are worried about me, but aside from a weird dream, I’m fine—”

“What dream?”

Your father’s voice is soft yet commanding, catching you off guard. He hasn’t talked much since you arrived, barely shown any interest in the daughter walking around with partial amnesia.

“It’s nothing really, Dad,” you dismiss it, shaking your head. “I doubt it means anything.”

“Tell me.”

Your eyes drift from your father to your plate, and you let out a quiet breath. Your finger taps on your leg, unease settling on your chest. If you say it out loud, it becomes real, this dream, that moment with Seokmin. You don’t know what to make of it, and it scares you, experiencing a level of intimacy with a stranger you only met once. But knowing your parents, they will not let it go, and you might as well rip the Band-Aid off now.

“I had a dream about someone who came into the club,” you start, running your fingers through your hair. “I don’t think I know him, but in the dream, it felt like I did. Like maybe I knew him before.”

“Oh?” Your mother’s eyes light up as she wipes her mouth with a napkin. “And you’re sure you don’t know him?”

“Yeah,” you shake your head. “This guy, Seokmin, I have never met him before—”

“Wait,” your father cuts in, raising his hand. “What did you say his name was again?”

‘Seokmin,” you confirm. Grabbing your glass of white wine, you take a sip, noticing his brow furrow with annoyance. “Do you know him, Dad?”

‘What?” Your dad slurs before shaking his head. “No, I don’t know him. I am just concerned about you having dreams about a stranger.” He smiles reassuringly, though it doesn’t match his eyes. “You are still taking your medication, right?”

You throw him an incredulous look and scoff. “Yes, I’m taking my medication!” you spit, rising from your seat. “How could you think that?”

“Well, hold on,” your mother leaps out of her seat, raising her hands. “Your father and I just want what’s best for you.” Her voice cracks at the end, tears welling in her eyes. “We almost lost you.”

You stare at your mother and father, the burning ember of anger brewing in your stomach slowly cooling off. There is something indescribable in your father’s eyes that leaves you uneasy, an ice-cold shiver spreading down your spine.

“It was just a dream,” your mother says. “I wouldn’t worry about it, okay?”

“Your mother is right,” your father agrees. “Sit down and finish dinner.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, but you don’t have any more will to fight with your family tonight. You do as you're told, slowly putting on your poker face as you finish your meal in silence. But something your gut tells you is more than just a dream, and even more sinister, your father might know something about it.

Two weeks. It’s been two weeks since Seokmin has seen you, and the distance physically aches. Not that he hasn’t wanted to, but he’s been busy, cracking heads and taking names—so to speak.

He’s gone through the list of names that were there the night you were hurt, and showed up to a few of those places, gathering all of the information he could get. Some gave it to him willingly; others were harder to convince. It didn’t matter how he got it done, as long as he got what he was looking for. Some survived to see another day; others weren’t so lucky.

Seokmin stares at his hands in the bathroom, his hands covered with dirt and dried-up blood, bruised knuckles that are turning into a nasty shade of purple. Turning on the warm water, he washes the blood away with a fluxus genorum soap he acquired from the Neo City black market, which specializes in rapidly healing most injuries. It was created by a scientist who wanted to cure humanity of their ailments, but the government had other plans. It’s said that the scientist refused, and the scientist suddenly went missing, presumed to be killed by the others of your very own Senator. Yet somehow, his creation can be accessed by certain means. Seokmin always found that interesting.

He unbuttons his shirt, revealing fading bruises he didn’t care to heal. In a way, Seokmin is addicted to the pain. It’s one of the few things that’s real to him; the feeling of a fist trying to crush his abdomen or a pole that swings wildly on his arm. It’s an adrenaline high that he is not trying to be cured from. It keeps him focused and guarded on his investigation to reveal the truth and set you free.

And bring you back to him.

Seokmin strips off the rest of his clothes, washes up quickly, and changes into jeans and a white long-sleeved shirt, then pairs them with his leather motorcycle jacket. He puts on the cologne you like, hoping it will stir your memory in some way. He reminisces about the first time you brought the bottle home and sprayed it on him without warning.

“Whoa there, baby. What did you put on me?”

“Your good luck charm,” you said cheekily, holding up a small yellow bottle.

“My good luck charm is standing in front of me,” Seokmin flirted, pulling you by your waist.

“Well, yes,” you agreed, pressing the bottle onto his chest. “But this will give you an extra boost. It smells good.”

Seokmin squinted, trying to detect any deceit. You loved to prank him, and even though he knew what you were doing before it happened, he let you do it anyway. Seeing the joy in your eyes, the warm laugh that bubbled from your throat gave him endorphins no one else could replicate.

"This isn’t some sort of joke, is it?” Seokmin murmured, his hand drifting lower to squeeze your derriere.

“Mm mm,” you shook your head. “No joke, baby. I bought this with you in mind, and I hope it makes you think of me.”

“I think of you all the time,” Seokmin chuckled, leaning in. “It doesn’t take much.”

“Good, my sunflower,” you nodded proudly. You spray his neck lightly, rubbing in the cologne with your fingers. “Now take me to bed.”

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Seokmin jolts himself back to the present, clutching the gun hidden in the back of his waistband. He wasn’t expecting anyone over, and aside from Seungcheol and Wonwoo, no one knows where he lives. He stalks towards the door, his heart racing, wondering if all of the bloodshed is catching up to him. Slowly looking into the peephole, he lets out a small breath of relief, followed by an annoyed scoff.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Seokmin unlocks the door, swinging it widely, facing the unwanted visitor.

“Silas.”

“Seokmin.”

The older man lets himself in, brushing his shoulder against Seokmin as a silent test to see if Seokmin will bite. He knows this type of man, the kind who gets a rise out of pushing buttons; they snap, and then the victim becomes the villain, fitting their narrative. Seokmin was almost always one step ahead of him, and he’s sure it's one of the many reasons he hates him.

“Yes, come in.’ he says under his breath, shutting the door.

“Why are you bothering her at the club?” Silas gets right to the point.

Seokmin gives him a slow, unimpressed once-over. “Because she’s my fiancée,” he answers bluntly. “That’s never going to change, no matter how you try to spin it.”

Silas snorts, surveying the space. “I think you need to get your head checked, boy. My daughter doesn’t and will not have anything to do with you.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Seokmin scoffs, holding eye contact. “Did you come all this way to puff out your chest? Or are you going to finally be the father she needs?”

Silas’s eyes narrow into menacing slits as he steps toward him, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You don’t know shit about what she needs.”

Seokmin lets out a short, dry laugh, feeling it deep in his gut. “Old man, I know way more than you think.” Stepping around him, he opens the door. “If that’s all you have to say.”

Silas does not invoke any fear in Seokmin’s heart. It doesn’t matter how many connections your father has; Seokmin will still find a way to take them down, and he’s doing alright so far.

Silas sneers, turning on his heel and storming down the hall. “You will regret this!” He barks over his shoulder.

“No, I won’t,” Seokmin yells back, slamming the door behind him.

The sound echoes through his apartment, and Seokmin lets out a long, drawn breath, relieving the tension in his abdomen. A visit from Silas is never a good thing, but it doesn’t deter him—it pushes him to dig even deeper to uncover the lies just beneath the surface. How did he know Seokmin was coming to the club? Aside from the obvious, why is Silas bothered by it?

A myriad of questions swirl in his head, his suspicions growing louder. Pulling out his phone, he presses the dial button and is immediately met with a voicemail. 

“Wonwoo. Look into Silas—yes, that Silas. I have a feeling this is bigger than we thought.”

I'm gonna tell you about love Let's forget your life Forget your problems Administration, bills and loads Come with me

You’re one with the rhythm, twirling in a sensual circle as you swing the mic in the air. There is a large attendance tonight, due to a convention in Neo City that brings nerds from all over the planet. You changed up your makeup at the last minute, going for a more divine look that brings out your eyes. Cado gave you shit for it, but you know what you’re doing, and it’s working; once again, everyone is at your mercy, their mouths partly open as you seduce the crowd with your voice.

Connect to the sky Future lovers ride their ambitions high, would you like to try? Let me be your guide, cut inside your pride Future lovers hide love inside their eyes

The red light sparkles on your dress, a tight, short number that accentuates your legs, paired with heels that are an accessory in their own right. Scanning the room, you let the vibrant energy take over, falling into a trance while you perform. Being on stage is truly your happy place, and there isn’t anywhere else you’d want to be.

As you sing, you’re drawn to a pair of warm brown eyes you could get lost in, a slow smile on his lips as he watches your every move. Excitement tingles through your body, and you keep your composure as you strut over to the man of your dreams.

Love controlled by time Future lovers shine for eternity in a world that's free Put away your past, love will never last If you're holding on to a dream that's gone I'm gonna tell you about love Would you like to try?

The final note lingers in the air, a shimmering vibration that seems to hold the entire room in an intoxicating suspension. As the crowd roars in applause, you wink at him, the shimmer of your makeup catching the strobe lights before you gracefully leave the stage.

Your heart is racing, but it’s not just because of the performance. Instead of heading to your dressing room, you detour to the floor, searching for him among all the bodies in colorful attire. You find your dream guy at the bar, ordering a drink with Chan. Despite the butterflies invading your stomach, you take a seat next to him.

“Hey, stranger,” you greet him with your signature low, sultry voice. “Thought I’d never see you again.”

“You did?” Seokmin responds, a gentle grin on his lips. “That just made my night.”

“I’m glad I could be of service.” You wink again. Feeling confident, you grab his hand, slide off your stool, and pull him along. “Walk with me?”

His hands feel the same as they did in your dream; warm, inviting, and safe. You notice the way his eyes dance as you lead him outside to your hideaway spot near the front entrance. You’re fully aware you’re acting recklessly, and you don’t really know Seokmin. For all you know, he could be a mass murderer. But despite all that, something in the back of your mind tells you it’s okay.

You stop in a tucked-away spot in the dimly lit alley, two patio chairs in front of an abandoned building. Streaks of magenta and cyan from the neon signs spread across the brick walls, alternating sides as the light adjusts according to its programming. No one else comes here, and you come here to think whenever the noise gets too loud. It’s your own little sanctuary, a small bit of peace that’s of your own making.

Seokmin digs into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pack of menthols and opening the carton toward you.

“Want one?”

You smile, taking one and slipping it between your lips. He lights it, his eyes not leaving yours, sending a jolt of sparks throughout your body.

“The man of my dreams,” you murmur as you exhale.

“Am I?” His eyes shift to something softer and unspoken, and you feel heat creep up on your neck.

“Figuratively speaking, of course,” you lie, inhaling deeply.

You exhale the smoke with a perfect ‘O’, watching it rise in the night air until it dissipates. You feel his eyes burning on you, and you don’t know what to say. You don’t know how to explain that you feel drawn to him, and it feels like you were meant to know him. You haven’t had another dream since then, and yet, Seokmin has been in the back of your mind with every thought. You tried shaking it away, meditating away, even sexing it away with someone you met at a bar that you knew you would never see again. Nothing has worked, and you are starting to feel you are truly fucked.

“So what do you do, Seokmin?” you ask, discarding the ash from the stick.

“I’m a private investigator,” he answers, taking a puff of his cigarette. “Been doing it for a while.”

“Yeah?” You say, amused. “So you probably have seen a lot of crazy things.”

“Something like that.”

A sly grin curves on his lips, making him more attractive. “I bet you handle yourself well.”

“I… do my best,” he alludes. “I’m still breathing.”

“You look good and alive to me,” you laugh, your nerves suddenly getting to you. Turning to the side, you slap your hand lightly on your head. This has never been you. You don’t tumble over your words or get tongue-tied over anything, especially men. And yet, Seokmin has you all over the place, stumbling over everything you thought you knew.

“So… what do you do when you’re not hypnotizing clubs or terrorizing your boss?”

You let out an embarrassing snicker, caught off guard by his statement. “What makes you think I terrorize my boss?”

Seokmin throws you a look, a twinkle in his eye as he raises a brow. “You perform like that on stage, and you tell me you aren’t driving your boss nuts?”

You almost choke on your cigarette, laughing. The nerves leave you as easy as they came. “Is it terrorizing or just knowing that I’m right?”

He shrugs with a smirk on his lips. “Touche.”

You shake your head playfully, putting out half of your cigarette. You aren’t really a smoker, but he offered, and you didn’t want to turn him down. Gazing at the sky, the two moons of the planet are full, in a shade of red that appears only once every millennium. How ironic that you are sharing it with the man of your dreams.

“I would ask if you come here often, but I think we know the answer to that,” you say, sauntering closer to him. “I never forget a face—brain injury aside.”

Seokmin bites his bottom lip, turning away slightly to hide a grin.

“It’s okay to laugh,” you encourage him. “My accident didn’t deprive me of my sense of humor, thank gods.”

He lets out a guffaw, his voice echoing off the walls of the alley. In the darkness, you see the light in his eyes, and it melts you. He's even more handsome than he was the first day you saw him.

“You… are funny,” Seokmin manages to say in between breaths. “Are you sure you don’t want to be a comedian?”

“Nah.” You scrunch your nose playfully. “I’d get bored.”

The time on the nearest building dings midnight, signaling your break being over. You don’t want to leave; you want to stay in this place and get to know him, figure out what makes him tick and why you can’t get him out of your head. Silence falls between you two, loud thoughts running through your mind, unsure of what to say next.

“So will you be coming back—”

“—Do you want to go out with me sometime?”

You stare at each other, the silence thick and charged with the kind of electricity that would raise your hair in the wind, followed by a lightning strike. A slow, playful smile curves on your lips as you lean in, the scent of his vanilla-and-spice cologne swirling around you, mixed with the sharp tang of menthols.

“You wanna go out with me?” you tease him. “How do you know I’m not a crazy person who takes their victims into dark alleys?”

Seokmin’s laugh is silvery, his foot itching closer to you, the warmth of his presence vibrating off you. “You’re a creative woman. I’m sure you could do better than that.”

You cock your head back in laughter, almost at a loss for words. “Touche.” Looking back towards the club, you turn to him again. “Walk me back?”

Seokmin holds out his arm to you, and you slip into it easily, like a fitted glove. The walk back is mostly quiet, aside from exchanging numbers and agreeing to see each other in two days. The neon lights dance on your skin, and the club's impending noise grows louder with each step. It’s like you're in your own bubble, existing with him with ease, feeling a sort of peace you didn’t know you needed.

When you reach the entrance, the bubble bursts as Cado leans against the doorframe, arms folded with irritation on his face. His eyes land on you two, his dark pupils narrowing into predatory splits.

“You’re late for your second set, Vixen,” Cado says with a smile that doesn’t match his eyes. “Let’s get you inside, gorgeous.”

He holds out his hand, but his gaze is on Seokmin, his poker face faltering with each second. You glance at Seokmin, who meets the gaze with an unimpressed stare, stepping back slightly to give you space.

“I’ll see you Friday, sunflower.”

You watch him walk away, disappearing into the night. Giddiness takes over; you wish you could leap forward two days. You feel Cado’s hands grip your upper arm, a tad too much pressure, making you wince. You’re ushered back inside, the thumping bass, the thick smoke, and expensive perfume irritating your nose.

“You don’t have to guide me to my dressing room,” you bite. “I’m not a child.”

“If only you knew the concept of time is money,” Cado snaps. “You have five minutes.”

You step into the dim light of your dressing room, the mirror reflecting your image in all of its glory. You quickly tousle your hair, adjust your dress and makeup, and touch your lips with a shade of red that would make the devil jealous. You were done in two minutes instead of five, rolling your eyes at Cado’s attitude earlier.

“I don’t know what his issue is,” you mutter to yourself. “I’m already done.”

Swinging the door open, you make your way to the stage, passing by the boss’s door, which is left slightly ajar.

“Yeah, she’s in the dressing room now… yes, I will keep an eye on her.”

You come to a halt, a chill coming down your spine. You may have lost part of your memory, but you aren’t naive—he is talking about you.

“Yeah… yeah… He was here again.”

Your heart starts to race, everything suddenly feeling heightened as you continue the conversation. Why is Cado so invested in you and who you keep your company with?

“Are you alright?”

You turn around suddenly, facing Chan, who is standing in the hallway, holding boxes of liquor, presumably to stock the bar. You blink, your ears burning from embarrassment and being caught red-handed.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you croak, clearing your throat. “I just have a slight headache, that’s all.”

“Oh, if you want, I can give you coltis powder later; that’ll clear it up.”

You give him a weak smile. “I would appreciate it, Chan.”

He nods and walks around you, going back to the bar. You pinch your nose, shaking your head as you let out a loud sigh. Fuck, that was close. Turning around, you see Cado’s door is now closed, ending any chance you had to hear more of the conversation. Disappointment starts to seep in like a leak, but you push it aside, realizing your five minutes are up and it’s time to get on stage. You put on your best poker face, going on stage to applause and cheers, your hands resting on the microphone as you begin your next set.

“Who’s ready for more?”

The crowd cheers.

Turning to your right, you meet the eyes of Cado, who watches you intently with an all-knowing look you can’t understand. You wink at him and begin your set, seemingly showing everyone all is right in the world.

But that’s the opposite of the truth, and it’s far from over.

Part 2 will be posted soon! Let me know what you think in the comments or reblogs <3

taglist: @livelaughloveseventeen @lovelylonelinesssvt @j3nnch3ls3a @shadowkoo @gyupremacy @woo-wonwoo @midariiii

[wqnwoos]

Everyone knows Seungcheol flirts his way through life. You’ve brushed him off so many times it's practically routine. He never pushes, so you've always taken it as harmless fun -- until something shifts, and you realise he's not as simple as you've convinced yourself he is.

⇢ pairing: choi seungcheol x f!reader ⇢ genre: fluff, angst, idiots to lovers ⇢ wc: approx. 10k ⇢ warnings: daycare worker reader, firefighter!cheol, alcohol consumption, mentions of fire, miscommunication, reader is a little mean 😭 ⇢ a/n: this is well WELL overdue because of. many reasons. so thank you so so soo much to the hosts of this collab for being so kind and understanding w extensions. it’s been a loooong time since ive been able to write but im so glad this is finally going out into the world 💗 ⇢ as part of the carat’s ridge collab hosted by @imnotshua @starlightkyeom @100vern

YOU’VE WORKED AT Little Pines for just under three years now, long enough that you don't flinch anymore when a four-year-old screams directly into your ear for reasons that will never be explained to you, long enough that you've got a favourite chair in the break room and a mug that says WORLD'S OKAYEST TEACHER that your coworker Jiwon got you as a joke two Christmases ago and that you now use every single day out of spite.

“You're doing the thing again,” Jiwon says, not looking up from where she's cutting a stack of construction paper into slightly uneven ovals that will eventually become, God willing, eggs.

“What thing?”

“You've been staring at the door since 7:40. It's currently 8:05. Taehyun's mom's going to walk through it any minute now and you're going to jump like she caught you doing something illegal.”

“I wasn't staring at the door.” You absolutely were staring at the door. 

“Okay.“ Jiwon holds up an oval that's more of a rhombus. “Do these look like chicken eggs to you?”

“They look like abstract art.”

She sticks her tongue out at you. “Okay, well, they're chicken eggs.”

Across the room, Soyeon — who technically works the front desk and has no real business in the classroom during the day, but wanders in anyway whenever she's got a free ten minutes — is refereeing a dispute over a single yellow crayon that has somehow become the most coveted object in the building. Two kids stand on either side of her, red-faced and furious, both absolutely certain of their claim.

“I had it first.”

“I had it first first.”

“There's no such thing as first first,” Soyeon says, with the weary patience of someone who's negotiated with cranky four year olds before breakfast and will again after lunch. “There are, however, eleven other yellow crayons in that bin. I checked.”

Neither kid finds this persuasive. You've learned, over three years, that most classroom diplomacy comes down to waiting people out rather than winning any actual argument, and sure enough, within ninety seconds both of them have abandoned the crayon entirely in favor of a much more interesting pile of dolls in the corner. Soyeon catches your eye over their heads and mouths good luck, and you give her a thumbs up you don't entirely feel yet as she disappears back to the office.

The door opens. It's Taehyun's mother, harried and talking rapidly about a meeting she's clearly already late for, depositing her son and his bag and a granola bar all in one motion before disappearing again in a cloud of strong perfume. Taehyun toddles toward the block corner without acknowledging either of you, which is, frankly, the daycare equivalent of a warm greeting.

You've got four kids in by 8:15, seven by 8:30, and by nine the whole room has that low hum of chaos that means the day's properly begun — someone building a tower, someone destroying a tower, someone crying about the tower's destruction with a passion. Chaewon, three going on forty, sits very seriously at the reading corner turning the pages of a picture book upside down and narrating it with complete confidence.

“That's not what it says,” you tell her, crouching down.

“I know,“ Chaewon says. “I made it better.”

You don't have a response to that, so you let her keep going.

By ten you've got the whole room moving through the usual currents — circle time, then centres, then the slow inevitable descent into midday crankiness over minor grievances that means it's almost snack time. You hand out orange slices and listen to a passionate, incoherent argument between two five-year-olds about whether dogs could, in principle, become doctors, a debate that resolves itself only when someone knocks over the entire bin of blocks and both parties get called away to help clean it up, already having forgotten what they were arguing about in the first place. 

This is the shape of your days, mostly. Small disasters, smaller triumphs, a lot of glitter you'll find in your hair for a week afterward. You do like it — the specific way you like something you didn't expect to love. You'd taken the job out of necessity two summers after a psychology degree that hadn't led anywhere near where you'd planned it would; you'd pictured a clinic, or a research post, or at the very least something with your name on a door, not a room full of glue sticks and orange peels. But somewhere in the middle of your first year you'd looked up from tying somebody's shoe and realised you weren't counting down to anything anymore. You like the kids, you like listening to their absolutely nonsensical debates, and okay, maybe the tantrums aren’t exactly a plus, but when they hand you a badly coloured apple or give the sweetest compliments about your outfit on any given day, your whole heart melts. You think about it sometimes — grad school, or moving away, but never with any real intensity. It could happen, someday, but for now, you’re happy exactly where you are.

Sunday dinner at your mom's is a fixed institution, always at the same table, same mismatched chairs, same argument, most weeks, about whether the good tablecloth is really necessary for a meal that will inevitably involve your younger sister spilling something on it. Agreeing to dinner once a week was one of your mother’s few stipulations when you decided to move out. And now Yuna's twenty-two and home for the summer between the end of her graphic design degree in another city and the beginning of whatever comes next, and she's currently interrogating you about your love life with the particular shamelessness only a younger sibling can manage.

“So nothing's happening with anyone,” she says, not a question.

You roll your eyes. “Correct.”

“Nothing at all. Zero activity.”

“I have a very rich inner life, Yuna, it doesn't all have to be romantic. Hobbies. Friends.”

“I didn't ask about your inner life, I asked if you're seeing anyone.“ Yuna reaches across the table for the rice without asking, which your mother allows only from her, a fact that has been a point of argument for roughly twenty years. “You have like, two friends anyway.”

Unfortunately, your younger sister is entirely correct. 

“I saw that lovely Choi boy last week, actually,” your mom says, entirely too casual about it, spooning more food onto your plate — which is her way of forcing you to stay in your seat. “He asked how you were doing. Very polite about it. He's always been polite, hasn’t he?”

You scoff. “He's flirting with the whole town, Mom, that's just what he does.”

“Mm,“ your mother says, which is not agreement, and also not disagreement, and is in fact the single most infuriating sound a mother can make. “He's been doing it a long time, though, hasn't he? Since you two were teenagers.”

“He asked her to proooom,” Yuna chips in, sing-song, and you promptly kick her under the table. “Ow! Mom!”

“That doesn't mean anything,” you say, over Yuna’s complaint.

“I didn't say it meant anything.” Your mother says it lightly, the way she says most things she actually means incredibly pointedly, a skill you're fairly sure you inherited directly from her and have spent years turning against her at this exact table. “I just think it's interesting that a man can ask about a woman for ten years and it doesn't mean anything, and a woman can turn him down for ten years and that doesn't mean anything either. Sounds like a lot of nothing happening for a very long time.”

“Can we talk about literally anything else,” you groan, rubbing a hand over your eyes. “In fact! We can talk about how Yuna still hasn't found a job,” you offer, and Yuna kicks you back under the table hard enough that you yelp, and your mother laughs, and the conversation moves on, mercifully, to safer ground — Yuna's job search, the neighbour's renovation, whether it's finally time to replace the good tablecloth — but you catch your mom looking at you once more over the course of the meal with an expression you don't examine too closely.

Here's the truth of it, if you're being honest, which you try not to be too often on this particular subject: Seungcheol's been flirting with you since roughly the ninth grade, in the low-grade, no-stakes way he’s never grown out of. But he also flirts with the guy at the post office. He flirts with Ms. Oh, who's sixty-one and unmarried and thinks he's a delight. He flirts with the bartender at the one good bar in town, who's engaged and finds it hilarious. It's not a thing you take personally, mostly, because it so clearly isn't personal — it's just the way it is with him, constant.

Except it's always felt a little more personal directed at you, and you've spent a lot of energy over the years making sure it never gets anywhere near landing. 

You remember the prom thing specifically, with a clarity that time hasn't done much to soften — him leaning against your locker two weeks before, hands in his pockets, asking with a shrug that was trying so hard to look like it didn't matter, and you turning him down before he'd even finished the sentence, because Kim Daeun had told you the week before that he'd asked three other girls the exact same way, and you weren't about to be a fourth. You'd found out later that wasn't true, that you'd actually been the only one he'd asked, but by then the pattern was already set, the reflex already built, and reflexes, you've learned, are a lot harder to unlearn than they are to learn in the first place. He hadn't argued, hadn't sulked, had just said “your loss” and grinned and gone off to ask someone else's opinion on which tie to wear instead, and you remember watching him walk away and feeling, underneath the relief, something that took you another decade to correctly identify as disappointment.

There was something else, too, that came later, and you think about it more than you'd like to admit, because by then you weren't the same girl who'd turned him down at a locker. You were two years into a psychology degree, home for a fortnight over the winter break, feeling like a slightly different person in your own hometown, the way you always did those first few days back, still half in seminar-mode, still analysing everything, including, apparently, yourself. You'd been walking back from your mum's when the sky opened properly, no warning, the kind of rain that soaks through in under a minute, and a car had pulled up alongside you with its window already rolling down before you'd even registered whose it was. Seungcheol in his brother's beat-up sedan, hair already damp from getting out to jog around and open the passenger door for you before you could say anything.

“Get in,” he'd said, entirely reasonable, entirely obvious, and you'd stood there on the curb, drenched, freezing, genuinely unable to think of a single sensible reason to say no, and said no anyway. You'd told him you didn't mind the walk, which was a lie so transparent you'd half expected him to call it, and he hadn't, had just looked at you for a second too long, rain running down from his long fringe onto his cheeks, before he'd said, “Alright,”  and driven off slowly. 

You'd spent the rest of that walk soaked through and furious with yourself in a way you didn't have language for yet, turning it over with the same detached, clinical curiosity you were being trained to turn on everything else that year — why did you say no, what did you think accepting would cost you — and never quite landing on an answer you liked. You remember thinking, absurdly, that you'd learned more about avoidant attachment that semester than you'd ever wanted to know, and that none of it had stopped you doing exactly what the textbook said you would.

You remember the coffee, more recently, and the movie, and the wedding — Soonyoung's cousin's wedding, the one he'd asked you to as a plus-one with an actual paper invitation he'd apparently gone to the trouble of getting an extra copy of, which you'd found both sweet and alarming in equal measure and you had turned down within about four seconds of seeing it, before you could think too hard about why your hands had gone a little unsteady holding it.

You expect it now. Seungcheol borderline flirts every time he sees you; occasionally he pushes his luck and asks you out, with enough time in between that you can’t call him insistent. 

Each time, you refuse it with the specific lightness of someone slamming a door gently enough that it doesn't look like she's slamming it. And each time he's taken it exactly the way he takes everything — with a grin, a shrug, a “your loss” tossed over his shoulder as he walks away completely unbothered, already on to the next joke, the next call, the next whatever. 

So you do the same — you don't examine it. You put it in the same drawer where you keep most things you don't want to look at directly, close it, and go back to your life.

The same week you have that pointed dinner with your mom, you see him at the grocery store — or rather, he sees you. It's a Wednesday, nothing special about it, and you're standing in the cereal aisle trying to decide whether you actually need a box of the good granola or whether that's just a symptom of grocery shopping hungry, when a voice behind you says, “You're gonna want the other kind.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, not even bothering to turn around. “I didn’t ask you, Seungcheol.”

“You didn't have to. You've been standing there for a full minute looking at that box.” Seungcheol's got a basket hooked over one arm, and the basket, when you glance at it, contains a box of protein bars, a carton of orange juice (with pulp, which, ew), and a single lime, which tells you absolutely nothing about what he's planning to cook tonight. “The one with the honey clusters. Trust me.”

“I don't take grocery advice from a man whose entire cart is a lime and protein bars.”

“It's a basket, not a cart, and I resent the implication that I don’t know how to grocery shop.” He leans against the shelf, unbothered, like he's got nowhere else to be — which, this being a Wednesday evening and him apparently off shift, he probably doesn't. “You still owe me an answer on Seokmin’s barbecue thing, by the way.”

“That was two years ago, Seungcheol.”

“I have a long memory.”

“You have a selective memory. You don't remember owing Soonyoung forty dollars, but you remember a barbecue invitation from two summers ago.”

“Different category of memory. One's debt. The other's an open wound.” He says it with a hand pressed dramatically to his chest, grinning, and you roll your eyes and put the honey clusters in your cart anyway, which he looks entirely too pleased about.

“Don't,” you say.

“Didn't say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was going to say I'm always right about cereal, but sure, put words in my mouth.“ He falls into step beside you as you push toward the dairy section, not because he needs anything there, you're fairly sure, but because this is also just how it goes, has gone, for as long as you can remember: running into each other in the produce aisle or outside the post office or at the one gas station, falling into the same easy rhythm you've had since you were teenagers — like the conversation never really stops, just pauses between sightings. “How's the daycare? Still winning?”

“Every day's a battle, but yes.”

“You could come to Seokmin’s barbecue this year. Renewing my invitation.”

“I'll think about it,” you say, which is what you always say, and he laughs like he already knows what that means, because he does, because you've been having some version of this exact exchange for the better part of a decade — him asking, lightly, for something, you deflecting, lightly, in return. Neither of you ever quite landing anywhere, both of you apparently fine with that. You part ways at the register, him with his lime and his orange juice and his protein bars, you with a cart full of things that will mostly go uneaten, and you don't think about it again until you're halfway through unpacking your groceries at home and realise you're smiling for no reason you can name.

It isn't all banter, though, and it would be doing the whole thing a disservice to pretend it is. There's a version of you two that has nothing to do with the game at all, that surfaces every so often, and you think about one particular evening more than you'd probably admit to anyone, including yourself.

You'd run into him at the diner on the edge of town, the one that's open too late and serves coffee that's either too strong or too watery. He'd been alone in a booth looking like a man who'd had a longer day than usual, sleeves shoved up, staring at a mug he wasn't drinking from. You'd almost kept walking.

“You look like you got hit by that truck of yours,”you'd said, sliding into the booth across from him without being invited, and his look of surprise when he saw you mirrored exactly how you’d felt at your own actions.

“Feels about right.” He hadn't tried to make a joke of it, which was how you knew it was serious. Seungcheol without a joke ready was rare. “There was a house fire. We got everyone out,” he adds quickly, “It’s just — the house. It’s fucked up. Like, it was a couple and their kids, and their dog, and they were — you know. Gutted. Crying and shit. The kids, especially.”

You hadn't said anything clever, because there wasn't anything clever to say, and you'd known enough not to try, from years of watching adults fumble around children in crisis and from a psychology degree that had, in fact, occasionally been useful. 

“You did everything you could,” you'd said eventually, quiet, as he rubbed his hands over his eyes. “I know that's going to sound like nothing to you right now, but it’s true.”

He'd looked up at you properly then, something unguarded in his face that had nothing to do with flirting, nothing to do with the bit — just a kind of tired gratitude that made you want to reach across the table and grab his hand. “They teach you that in your psych degree or what?” he'd asked, attempting for a smile.

You mirror the smile, with a small shrug of your own. “Turns out it's good for something besides making me insufferable at dinner parties.”

That had got a real laugh out of him, short and surprised, and the two of you had sat there for another hour talking about nothing that mattered and everything that did — his brother, your sister,the particular dread of watching a four-year-old take a deep breath right before they’re about to scream the place down. He'd asked you, at one point, about college and your degree — he’d never been to college, of course, and he’d listened to the whole thing like it was the most interesting thing anyone had said to him all week.

You remember thinking, driving home that night, that you liked him best like this, unshowy, unarmoured, asking real questions and actually waiting for the answers — and you remember being immediately furious with yourself for thinking it, and filing the whole evening away in the same drawer as everything else.

Minji's been your friend since third grade, and she's the one person you still talk to who's known you both — you and Seungcheol — long enough to have a real opinion on the whole situation, which she airs freely and often. Today it's as she’s doing her nails, a shade of red she's had you hold the bottle for while she does the other hand, sitting cross-legged on her grandmother's back porch with two iced coffees sweating rings onto the railing between you.

“I saw Seungcheol at the gas station Tuesday,” Minji says without preamble, not looking up from her hand. “He asked if I'd talked to you lately. Very smooth about it. Very casual.“

“He's like that with—”

“If you say 'he's like that with everyone' I'm going to put this nail polish in your hair.“ She caps the bottle, finally looks at you, and there's none of your mother's careful lightness in it, just Minji's usual bluntness, worn soft by nearly twenty years of friendship. “I've watched this specific bit for ten years. I watched it in high school, I watched it through your entire early twenties,and at some point, as your best friend, I have to ask: what exactly are you so afraid of?”

You don’t answer straight away, dropping your gaze to the coffee. You take a sip, fiddle with the straw between your teeth before you sigh, tilt your head back towards the clouds. “He’s not serious. It’s like a game to him.”

“Did someone tell you that or are you just making up your own conclusions?” She arches a perfectly shaped brow. “It’s been years, ___.”

“Yeah, years of playful flirting. There’s literally nothing serious behind it — I turn him down and he laughs, Minji. It’s a joke. We both know it’s a joke.”

“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like he’s been stuck on you since high school, and you’re too scared of yourself to even give him a chance.”

She always knows how to hit where it hurts, exactly when you need to be hit. Your mouth opens for a second, and then closes as you flounder for something to say. “He’s not stuck on me,” you say finally. “Seriously. We’ve both dated other people, in high school and after.”

“Don’t be purposefully obtuse, you know what I mean. He likes you.”

“Well, he’s never actually said that!”

“Purposefully. Obtuse.” She pokes your forehead after each word. “What are you protecting yourself from here?”

You close your mouth, silenced and sulking about it.

“Because it's not him,” she continues. “He'd catch you. He's been standing there with his arms out for a decade.”

“It's not that simple.”

“It's exactly that simple, you've just made it complicated on purpose because complicated is easier to dismiss than simple.“ She blows on her nails. “He likes you. You like him. It’s the simplest fucking thing ever.”

You don’t say anything, just scowl and sip your coffee. Your best friend is harsh on the best of days, and usually you like it — today, she’s said everything you don’t want to hear.

“Anyway. How's Chaewon? Is she still doing her pirate princess story?”

“She's added a supervillain.”

“Of course she has.” Minji grins, and the conversation slides, mercifully, sideways — into Minji's own things, a promotion she's up for, a guy she's seeing who she's not sure about — and you're grateful for it, for the reminder that your life has edges that don't touch Seungcheol at all, whole rooms of it that are just yours, just Minji's, just the ordinary unremarkable texture of having a friend since you were eight years old. But underneath the rest of the afternoon, everything Minji said keeps surfacing, quiet and insistently plaguing your thoughts.

It's a Tuesday, unremarkable in every way, when Ms. Oh — who owns and runs Little Pines — gathers the staff in the break room after the kids have gone home to go over the calendar for the next month.

“Also,“ she says, near the end, flipping a laminated sheet, “Fire Safety Day's the fourteenth. The station's sending a few of the firemen out to do the usual — stop, drop, roll, let the kids sit in the truck, the whole bit.”

“Cute,“ Soyeon says, refilling her coffee. “The kids’ll love it.”

“Who's coming?” Jiwon asks, because Jiwon asks things you'd rather she didn't, and you’re pretty sure she has a crush on one of Seungcheol’s coworkers, Wonwoo.

“Didn't say. Whoever's on rotation, I'd assume.” Ms. Oh moves on to the field trip permission slips, and you let out a breath you hadn't noticed you were holding, and tell yourself, very firmly, that it doesn't matter who's coming. It's a fire station. There are, by your count, eleven firefighters in this town. The odds are fine. The odds are completely fine. 

You avoid thinking about Choi Seungcheol for the rest of the day. Which is to say, you think about him constantly for the rest of the day.

The morning of the fourteenth arrives, and the kids are beyond excited. They’ve talking about it for a week — Chaewon's drawn what she insists is a fire truck and what everyone else agrees looks more like a very angry snail, and Taehyun's informed you three separate times, with the grave authority of a man delivering breaking news, that firemen have “actual axes.” You've got the kids lined up in the yard by ten, sunscreen reapplied, hats on, when the truck rolls up the gravel drive with the low satisfying rumble that makes every single child under the age of six lose their entire mind at once.

You see him before the truck's even fully stopped. Of course you do. He's hanging half out of the passenger side before it brakes, waving at the kids (who are adorably excited), and something in your chest does the thing it always does — a small, private, entirely inconvenient drop, like missing a stair in the dark.

Choi Seungcheol climbs down in his full gear, helmet under one arm, and crouches immediately to be at eye level with a cluster of four- and five-year-olds who are looking at him like he's personally invented fire trucks. “Who wants to sit in the driver's seat?” he sings, and the resulting scream from twelve small children could probably be heard three towns over.

He's good at this. You'll give him that, freely, the way you give him most things freely except the one thing he actually asks for. He crouches and jokes and lets Chaewon try on his helmet, which swallows her entire head, and gets down on the ground to show a rapt little semicircle of children how the hose attaches, and doesn't once break character even when Taehyun asks him, with total sincerity, whether he's ever fought a dragon. (“Couple times,” Seungcheol says. “Rough guys, dragons. Mostly it's the smoke.”)

The other two firefighters who've come with him, an older woman named Yerin and Soonyoung, who you’d also gone to high school with, do their parts fine, competent and pleasant and funny, but the kids gravitate to Seungcheol easily and instinctively.

You've managed, for a solid twenty minutes, to stay on the opposite side of the gaggle of kids, ostensibly ensuring Beomgyu keeps his hat on. It doesn't last. Around the time the kids are being herded toward the truck to take turns sitting behind the wheel, he peels off from the group and ambles over, helmet tucked under his arm, looking entirely too good for someone who's just spent twenty minutes being climbed on by preschoolers.

“You've got glitter on your face,” he says, by way of hello.

“I always have glitter on my face. It's basically work uniform at this point.”

“It's a good look on you.” He says it easily, the same way he says everything, but his eyes do a quick pass over you before landing back on your face with that brief dimpled smile, and you hate — hate — the small flicker of warmth that swells in your stomach.

“You didn't have to come,” you say, which isn't true, since he clearly did have to come, it's his job, but it's the fastest thing you can think to say that isn't I hoped you wouldn't and also knew you would.

“Somebody's gotta protect this town's youth from the dangers of unattended candles,“ he says solemnly. “It's a calling.“

“Right. Noble.” You pause. “They’re four, by the way.”

“Extremely noble. You should be nicer to me. I'm basically a public servant.”

“I'm always nice to you.”

“You're the meanest person I know,“ he says, delighted, “and I mean that as a compliment to your commitment.”

“Anyway,” he says, looking over to the truck. “The kids are gonna want to come to the station. We usually do that — let them see where the trucks live and everything. I can set it up with your boss if that's alright with you.”

“Sure,” you say, half-listening, half-watching the kids. You’re pretty sure Beomgyu and Yeonjun are going to trip, chasing each other like that. “Whatever's easiest.”

“You'll come too, right? Chaperone duty?”

“That's generally how field trips work, yes.” 

“Good.” He says it satisfied, like it matters, and for just a second something honest surfaces under the joking — you catch it before he tucks it away again, the way you sometimes do, a flash of something steadier than the bit usually allows.

And then, before you can examine that, Chaewon comes sprinting over demanding to know if the truck can go faster than a police car, and he's gone again, crouched down explaining horsepower to a three-year-old with the same total sincerity he used on the dragon question, and you stand there for a second longer than you mean to, watching him, before you make yourself go help Yerin with the hose demonstration instead.

By the time the truck pulls away an hour later, every single kid in the yard is talking about the fire station visit like it's the moon landing. You've got a feeling you won't hear the end of it for a while.

You don't hear the end of it for a while.

For the better part of two weeks, the fire station visit's the single principle of every conversation the four-year-olds have. Taehyun draws the truck again, several times, with increasing and alarming detail about the axes. Chaewon stages an elaborate reenactment during free play in which she plays “the fireman” and assigns you the role of “the person who has to be saved,” which you accept with as much dignity as you can muster while lying on the carpet pretending to be unconscious as a group of kids tug at your legs. Jiwon, of course, finds the whole thing extremely funny.

The days have a way of absorbing whatever's going on with you and continuing regardless, which is, most of the time, a mercy. Circle time happens. Snack time happens. A minor crisis occurs when it's discovered that the class hamster, Mr. Biscuit, has gotten loose sometime overnight, and he's eventually located, after forty tense minutes and one very dramatic search party. Chaewon had refused to take part in said search party, and had instead spent the entire time in the reading corner, insisting Mr. Biscuit would “come back when he was ready,” which, infuriatingly, turns out to be correct.

You also go back to your evenings, which have nothing to do with any of it — a phone call with Yuna where she vents about her job search, an afternoon spent helping Minji repaint her spare room, a Sunday at your mom's where the subject of Seungcheol does not come up even once, a small mercy you're grateful for and slightly suspicious of. Life, in other words, keeps being a whole life, most of which has nothing to do with him at all, which is the thing you keep having to remind yourself of whenever it starts to feel otherwise.

Friday nights, when you're not too wrecked from the week, you go to the bar with Minji and Jimin and a few other friends, because it's the only bar in town worth it. It's not a big fancy place, with its low light,  jukebox, and pool table with a wobble in one of the left legs, but it’s the only place to go, really, unless you want to make the drive into the city.

Minji drags you along after a week of promotion nerves and you go willingly enough. The place is familiar enough to be comfortable even after the tiring week you’ve had, but you’re not really looking to drink too much tonight. 

You've had a few sips of a cocktail by the time the door opens and a loud group of off-duty firefighters spills in, mid-laugh, and naturally, Seungcheol's in the middle of it. He’s saying something that's got Soonyoung doubled over, and you feel the familiar lurch of oh, here we go before you've even fully processed that he's clocked you across the room.

“Oh, this'll be good,” Minji murmurs into her drink, and you kick her under the table, which only makes her grin wider. 

You run into him often, at this bar, so seeing him isn’t really a surprise in itself. He grins at you as he and his friends make their way first to the pool table, and you return the gesture with an awkward nod, and somehow almost drop your drink in the process. 

It’s maybe forty five minutes later that he actually comes over to you. He always does, at least once when you run into each other like this, always comes to say hi, which usually leads into some kind of line.

He waves Dohyun, the bartender, over and orders a whiskey on the rocks, and for a while you just talk, as the ice in his drink melts. Easy, unimportant things, the kind of conversation that happens naturally between two people who've known each other long enough that silence isn't awkward, just comfortable. He tells you about a call they had that week, a cat stuck in a drainpipe that took forty-five minutes and drew a crowd. You tell him about Chaewon's ongoing crusade against the concept of naptime, which makes him laugh so hard he has to put his drink down, not that he’s drank much of it. Somewhere in there Minji peels off to go play pool with Jiwon and Soonyoung, throwing you one loaded look over her shoulder on the way that you very deliberately ignore.

Somehow, the two of you have drifted from the bar itself to a booth in the back corner, and Jiwon's gone home with a wave you barely registered, and Minji's deep in a game of pool she's losing badly and loudly to Soonyoung, and you're sitting closer to him than you were an hour ago without being able to say exactly when that happened. He's telling you something about his brother’s wedding, some story about a groomsman and a dropped ring you're only half following because you've gotten distracted by the way he laughs at his own joke before he even finishes it, the way his hand's landed, at some point, loosely on the back of the booth behind your shoulders, close enough that you can feel the warmth of it without him actually touching you.

“You're not listening,” he says, not offended, just observing.

“I'm listening.”

“What'd I just say?”

“Something about a ring.“

“Close enough.“ He's looking at you in a way that feels different from the usual — like he's forgotten, for a second, to be charming about it. “You've got that look.“

“What look?”

“You’re totally zoning out. That look.”

You snort, aiming for humour. “I'm always zoning out around you.“

“I know,” he says, and there's something in his voice, something almost fond and almost sad at once, so much that it makes your levity fall flat and for a moment neither of you says anything at all. Then he smiles, “You always zone out anyway, though. I remember from school.”

“Please.”

“It’s true! I remember it happening in history class and Miss Lee had to snap her fingers in front of your face!”

Heat crawls up your face. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember that! That was in my first week, too, I nearly cried.”

“I remember,” he smiles. “Everyone was talking about the new girl who just moved to town and that was the first time I saw you.”

It's strange, the way ten years can gather themselves into a single quiet second like that — all of it sitting there in the space between his face and yours, close enough now that you can count his eyelashes if you wanted to, which you don't let yourself do, except you do anyway. You think, distantly, of Minji on the porch — he's been standing there with his arms out for a decade — and your mother at the dinner table — sounds like a lot of nothing happening for a very long time — and something in you that's held itself very carefully closed for a very long time simply, without your permission, stops holding.

He leans in, slow enough that you have every opportunity to move. You don't take it.

The kiss, when it happens, isn't clumsy at all, not at first — it's slow, almost unbearably so, like he's been waiting so long for it he's decided to actually take his time now that he's got it, one hand coming up to your jaw so lightly it's almost a question, and you answer it by leaning further in, by letting your hand find the front of his shirt and hold on, and you kiss him back like you mean it, because you do. Then his other hand finds your waist and yours finds the back of his neck and the two of you shift closer in the booth and it turns into something hungrier, less careful.

Somewhere in the bar, distantly, you hear Minji whoop, and you don't even have it in you to be embarrassed.

Then your brain catches up with the rest of you, the way it always eventually does, and you pull back, breathing hard like you've run somewhere. Seungcheol looks a little wrecked, the same way you feel, his hair mussed and his lips a little swollen, and you guess you must look something similar.

“I—” you start, and don't finish, because you don't actually know what comes next. 

“Hey,” he says, low, steady, not moving away, his thumb still resting at your jaw like he’s catching up to the fact that you're pulling out of it. “It's okay, just — ”

“I shouldn't have — ” You're already reaching for your bag, your keys, anything to hold onto that isn't him. “I think I had too much to drink.“

“You didn’t even finish your cocktail,” he says, and he's not smiling now, which is somehow worse than if he had been. “Can we just — talk for a second? I've been wanting to say something for a while, and I know the timing's not— ”

“Cheol, I’m sorry — I — I really think I should go,” you’re fumbling with your bag and your words at the same time.

“I'm not trying to freak you out.” He says it gently, both hands visible now, like he's talking someone down off a ledge, which, you suppose, isn't entirely inaccurate. And his voice speeds up a little, because you’re still gathering your things and avoiding his gaze and it’s his turn to trip over his words: “I just — I like you. Like, actually. I know it's always been the bit, with us, and that's fine, that's — I get why. But I'm not messing around right now. I want you to know that. Can we just talk for a se—?” And he cuts himself off, because you’re standing up.

It's the most honest he's ever been with you, stripped clean of the performance, and it terrifies you in a way you don't have language for at eleven-thirty on a Friday with your pulse still loud in your ears. “Please,” he says, softly, so softly, and his hand brushes against yours, feather-soft. You make the mistake of looking, and he’s gazing up at you from the booth, his eyes pleading and brown and warm and serious.

“I have work in the morning,“ you say, which is a lie, and you both know it's a lie, it’s a fuckin Saturday, but he lets you have it anyway, some tired resignation moving through his face.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay. Get home safe.”

Minji catches you by the door, pool cue still in hand, all the teasing gone out of her face the second she sees yours. “Hey,” she says, softer than you've heard her all night. “You good?”

“I don't know,” you say honestly, and she doesn't push, just squeezes your arm once and tells you she'll call a cab for both of you, and you let her, grateful, not for the first time, that she's known you long enough to know exactly when not to push.

You don't remember much of the ride home. Your hands are shaking slightly as you find your keys at your own front door, and you don't look back toward the bar even once, and you lie awake for a long time afterward turning the whole thing over and over in your head like a stone you can't put down, unable to decide which part scares you more — that he said it, or that some traitorous, long-buried part of you wanted to say something back.

You don't see him again for eleven days, which you know because you count, which you're furious with yourself for doing.

Life continues in the meantime, because it does that, indifferent to the small personal catastrophes you're nursing. There are snacks to portion out and scraped knees to bandage and an entire day on the letter Q that takes far longer than it has any right to. Chaewon's fireman reenactments continue unabated, blessedly innocent of the fact that you now flinch slightly every time she mentions the word. Jiwon notices you're off but, for once, has the mercy not to push, which you appreciate more than you tell her.

Sunday dinner happens in the middle of the eleven days, and you spend most of it pushing rice around your plate while your mother and Yuna talk around you, until your mother, halfway through clearing the table, pauses behind your chair and rests a hand briefly on your shoulder. Not asking anything, just letting you know she's noticed, which somehow makes it harder to hold together than if she'd asked directly. Minji calls twice and you let both calls go to voicemail, not because you don't want to talk to her but because you know exactly what she'll say, and you're not ready yet to hear it out loud, even though some louder part of you already knows she'd be right.

The field trip to the fire station is scheduled for the Thursday of that second week, and you've spent a genuinely humiliating amount of effort trying to get out of it. You ask Jiwon, with what you hope is believable casualness, if there’s any possible way Ms Oh would let you skip it and take a parent chaperone instead. She looks at you like you've suggested trading a kidney.

“Absolutely not. Do you know Ms Oh? No. You're going.”

You haven't been able to think of a version of the truth small enough to hand her, so you let it drop, and here you are on Thursday morning, herding twelve overexcited kids onto a rented minibus with the specific dread of someone walking toward a conversation she's been dodging for a week and a half.

The station's a squat brick building on the edge of downtown, garage doors up, two trucks gleaming in the shade, and the kids lose their minds the second the bus door opens. You busy yourself with headcounts and hand-holding, buying yourself as much time as you reasonably can before you have to actually look at him.

When you do, it isn't what you expect, and somehow that's worse.

Seungcheol is polite. That's the word for it, the only word, and it lands like a slap precisely because it's so foreign coming from him. He greets the kids with the same warmth as before — you'll give him that, he never once lets it touch them — crouching down, letting them climb the truck, patiently explaining the same things he explained a month ago in the daycare yard. 

There's one second, early on, when he glances up and catches your eye across the garage and something almost warm flickers there on instinct, old habit, ten years of muscle memory — before he seems to remember, visibly, and shuts it down, his face resetting into something careful before he looks away again. You watch it happen and wish, immediately, that you hadn't seen it. But mostly, for the rest of the hour, there's none of the usual spark in his eyes when they pass over you, none of the teasing, none of the warmth that's always, always been there even when you were actively trying to shut it down. He nods at you once, says “morning,“ in a tone you've never heard him use on you before and then turns his attention fully to the kids and doesn't look at you again for the better part of an hour.

It should be a relief. Instead, it fucking stings.

Yerin gives the group tour of the trucks. Soonyoung lets three kids at a time try on a real helmet. Seungcheol does his part competently, kindly, and entirely at arm's length from you, and when the visit wraps up and the kids are being herded back toward the bus in a loose, sunscreen-smelling parade, you find yourself hanging back at the garage door while Jiwon does the headcount, because you can't make yourself walk away without saying something, even though you have no idea what the something is.

“Hey,” you say, inadequately.

He's coiling a length of hose that doesn't especially need coiling. “Hey,” he says, not looking up. “Kids have a good time?”

“They loved it. You're good with them.” 

“Yeah, well.” He sets the hose down, finally looks at you, and his face is doing the thing it's been doing all morning — pleasant and closed-off.

“Seungcheol—”

“You should get back to the bus,” he says, not unkindly, which somehow makes it land harder than if he'd been sharp about it. “Don't want to lose a kid on my watch.”

It's a joke, technically, the shape of one, but it comes out flat, missing the thing that always makes his jokes land — that easy, unbothered warmth. You realise, standing there in the wide mouth of the garage with the smell of diesel and rubber hose around you, that you've finally managed it. 

“Okay,” you say, because you can't think of anything else, and you turn and walk back to the bus, and don't let yourself look back at the garage until you're sure the kids can't see your face. You spend the entire drive back with a thick lump in your throat and something burning behind your eyes.

You don't sleep well that night, or the two after it. Your brain keeps circling back to the same three minutes in a garage no matter what you try to distract it with. You go through the motions of your days competently enough — nobody at Little Pines seems to notice anything beyond your slightly quieter mood, which you blame on being tired — but underneath the surface you're doing the thing you've always been careful never to do where he's concerned: you're actually thinking about it. 

You skip Friday at the bar that week, and the one after, telling Jiwon and Soyeon you're just tired, which is half true. Minji shows up at your apartment uninvited the same night with a bag of takeout and an expression that says she's done waiting for you to call her back, and you let her in because you don't have it in you to pretend anymore, not to her.

“Okay,” Minji says, setting the containers out on your coffee table like she's settling in for a long negotiation, which, you suspect, she is. “Talk. All of it. I already know something happened at the bar, I was there for the whoop-worthy part, I just don't know the rest.”

So you tell her. All of it — the kiss, what he said after, the eleven days, the garage, the way his face had gone so carefully closed you almost hadn't recognised him. Minji listens without interrupting, which for Minji is its own kind of remarkable, and when you finally run out of words she doesn't say I told you so, which you'd braced for, and which you almost wish she had, because instead she just looks at you, steady and a little sad on your behalf, and says, “You know what you have to do.”

“I know what I have to do.”

“So why haven't you done it yet.”

“Because I've never actually done this before,” you admit, and it's the truest thing you've said out loud in two weeks. “Turning him down, that I know how to do. That's years of practice. I don't know how to do the other thing.“

“Nobody knows how to do the other thing,” Minji says, not unkindly. “You just do it anyway.”

You think about the ten years of it, after she leaves, sitting alone with the takeout containers cooling on your table — the prom, the rain, the coffee you never got, the wedding you didn't go to as anyone's plus-one, every single time you took the easy warm shape of his affection and handed it back to him like something you couldn't use. 

You think about how none of it ever once made him flinch, how you told yourself that meant it didn't matter to him, when really (you can see it now, uncomfortably clearly) it probably meant the opposite. It meant he’d turned the flirting into a joke on purpose, so a no from you never actually cost him anything. But then — keeping it up, over and over, for years, because some idiotic, hopeful part of him had apparently decided you were worth that particular patience.

And you'd spent that same decade telling yourself it was nothing more than a bit, because the alternative — that it wasn't nothing, that it never had been, and that you might actually want it back — was a door you weren't ready to open.

By Sunday you’ve waded into your thoughts deep enough that you can't ignore it anymore. You sit on your kitchen counter with a cup of tea you're not drinking and you make yourself actually look at the thing you've kept in the drawer for ten years, and what you find, when you finally look, isn't complicated at all. It never was. You'd just been very good at making it look that way.

It occurs to you, sitting there with your tea going cold, that obviously, you’ve dated other people since the ninth grade, even been serious with one or two, and none of them ever tied you up in knots the way this has. 

It’s not that they mattered less. It’s that none of them were Choi Seungcheol, who’d been the easiest person in your entire year to like, who’d had half the school a little bit in love with him since he was fifteen, and you’d been so sure back then that a boy like that leaning against your locker was a joke because the alternative — that he meant it, about you, specifically — just didn’t make sense.

It had been simpler, safer, to decide it was just Seungcheol being Seungcheol, the same warmth he handed out to the woman at the post office and the bartender at and anyone else unlucky enough to be standing in front of him, and to file yourself in with all of them instead of letting yourself be the one exception. 

You call Jiwon, because you've run out of ways to have the conversation only with yourself, and because Minji's already said her piece and you want, this once, a second voice saying the same thing back to you before you trust it.

“Okay,” Jiwon says, once you've gotten through the whole thing, sitting cross-legged on your kitchen floor with your phone on speaker and a second cup of tea gone cold beside you. “So let me get this straight. You've liked him since — what, ninth grade?”

“I didn't say I liked him since ninth grade.”

“You basically said that.”

“I said I'd been turning him down since ninth grade, that's a different thing. I think it started as something silly. I haven’t been, you know, pining around for him for a decade straight, and neither has he.” 

You can hear her moving around her own kitchen, a cupboard opening and closing. “Yeah, well. It seems like he’s been waiting for a chance for a decade, though.”

You don’t have anything to say to that. Jiwon continues anyway, so you don’t have a chance. “I genuinely thought you two just had a bit going.  A little routine. I didn't realise that it was unresolved feelings the entire time, and I consider myself a fairly perceptive person, so, congratulations, you've out-repressed even me.”

“That's not a compliment.”

“It's not not a compliment.” A pause. “You're going to go find him, right? Not just think about it for another week.”

Your nose scrunches. “I might.”

“Don't. Go tonight. Or tomorrow. Just — don't let this be a thing you circle for another decade, you've circled it long enough.” 

You laugh, the first real laugh you've managed in days, and it loosens something in your chest that's been sitting there, tight and small, since the fire station garage. “Tomorrow,” you say. “I'll go tomorrow.”

“Good. And tell me everything after. I mean everything.”

“I'm not going to tell you everything.“

“You're going to tell me everything,” Jiwon says, with total confidence, and hangs up before you can argue, which, you have to admit, is probably the correct read of the situation.

You find him on Tuesday evening, off shift, at the little park two streets from the station where you know — because everyone in a town this size knows everyone's habits eventually, whether they mean to or not — he sometimes goes to shoot free throws alone on the cracked half-court when he's got something on his mind. 

Your hands are unsteady the whole drive over, and twice you nearly turn around, and both times you think of Minji on your couch, of your mother's hand on your shoulder, of Jiwon's voice on the phone, and you keep driving.

He sees you before you reach the fence, ball tucked under one arm, and for a second his face does something complicated — surprise, then that same careful, contained politeness from the fire station, sliding down over it like a shade.

“Hey,“ he says. “Everything okay? Kids alright?”

“The kids are fine. I'm not here about the kids.” Your voice sounds horribly strained. If he notices, he doesn’t comment, just waits, bouncing the ball once against the cracked asphalt like he needs something to do with his hands.

“I've been an idiot,“ you say, which isn't how you'd planned to start, but it's true, at least. “For, honestly, a really long time. I don't know how to say the rest of it in a way that doesn't sound like I practised it in my car on the way here, so I'm just going to tell you I practised it in my car on the way here and say it anyway.“

That gets the smallest flicker of something across his face — not quite a smile, but the ghost of one.

“I think I started off thinking you were teasing me, back in school. I thought it was a joke when you asked me to prom. And then after that I just needed you to be joking, because to me it didn’t make sense for you to be serious. And because the alternative meant I had to admit I wanted it too, and I didn't know what to do with that, so I kept handing it back to you instead.”

He sets the ball down against his hip, quiet, still watching you with an expression you can't fully read.

“And at the bar,” you say, “I panicked because I think I realised you meant it, and I realised I did too, and then, I don’t know, I just totally freaked. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t take you seriously and I kept brushing you off and I was mean when you didn’t deserve it, and I’m really, really sorry.”

He's quiet for a moment, turning the ball slowly in his hands, and when he speaks again some of the careful politeness has gone out of his voice, replaced by something rawer, more tired. “I wouldn’t have asked you if I didn’t mean it. It was just — in high school, yeah, I had a crush on you. And then after, there would be whole stretches where I wouldn’t even think about it. I mean, you went to college and I went to the academy, and — then you’d show up again and, I don’t know. Especially when you moved back.” He pauses — the ball slips out of his hands, and you both watch it bounce to a stop. “You were always worth asking,” he says, finally. “I wanted the chance again, every time, even if you wouldn’t take me seriously.”

“I'm really sorry,” you say, and you mean it. 

“Okay,” he says, soft, and something in his shoulders loosens. “Practised in your car,” he repeats, and there — there it is, the corner of his lips turning up, small and a little disbelieving, like he isn't sure yet whether to trust it.

“Don't gloat.”

“I'm not gloating. I'm saving this for later. I'm going to bring it up constantly.”

“There he is,” you say, and your own eyes are stinging in a way you choose to blame on the wind, and he crosses the distance between you, slower than at the bar, giving you every chance to step back, and you don't, and this time when he kisses you, there's nothing careless in it at all.

an: i did not intend for this to be so complicated i rewrote this three times with different plots and editing took way way longer than intended. idk. it’s nearly 4am and i need to sleep.

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[aeristudios]

see you, space cowboy

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: With a bounty on your head, you are determined to get your revenge at all costs… even if it means losing the man that you love. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bounty hunter!Wonwoo x bounty hunter!reader, mentions of other members (Jeonghan, Soonyoung and Mingyu) .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: angst, sc-fi, smut, lovers to enemies to ???, cowboy bebop elements, space au, established relationship, betrayal, dark themes, neo-noir, dystopian-ish if you squint .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: PLEASE READ ALL THE WARNINGS! heavy angst, very strong language, mentions of murder/attempted murder, gun violence (for revenge and they're bounty hunters so), familial death, morally grey characters, grief, emotional manipulation (not by Wonwoo or the reader), drugging (not for sexual purposes), toxic family dynamics, gaslighting, graphic violence (reader gets into fights defending herself), guilt/self blame, mentions of black market dealings, kissing, oral (giving and receiving), nipple play, fingering, nail digging, unprotected shower sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, throat grabbing, creampie. lots and lots of yearning .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 16.7K .𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝐀𝐍: It's finally hereeeeee. Reader has a nickname "Silver", which is explained why and she will be referred as that for the most part. I was inspired by Cowboy Bebop and as a 90s anime enthusiast , I dreamed this up when I was doing a rewatch and I had to make this happen. I want to give a huge thank you to @starlightkyeom for reading this, putting up with me sending long ass voice notes agonizing over this story and reassuring me that what I had was good. I feel like we have gotten closer because of this 😭 thank you Cam @highvern for giving me some info on bioweapons (even though I didn't use it much). It gave me some insight for other ideas I might have for this universe. Also thank you to @hobeemin, @hannieween, @neoneun-au and @straylightdream for reading as well and letting me bounce off ideas. It helped me a lot when I was stuck and need another opinion. Also thank you Beezy @hobeemin for the cool ass banner.

visual concept #1 visual concept #2 playlist epilogue

You see him coming to your door, gun drawn with his finger on the trigger, ready to shoot. You duck behind the bookshelf, the only place you can hide in this small room. Creeping low on the ground, you clutch your own pistol in your hand as your breathing slows. Your heart beats a million times a minute, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you wait for him to come in. Despite having a million-dollar bounty on your head, you are determined to get out of here alive, even if it means losing the man that you love.

“Silver, I know you're in there.”

Hearing Wonwoo’s voice is like a shot to the heart. You love him with every fiber of your being. He is your morning sun, the Heart Nebula to your Soul Nebula, and anything you could say to describe a love that fills you deep in your soul and makes you whole. He is the one for you, and it’s fucked that you are on enemy lines. You never thought it would be you against him. It was always supposed to be you and him till the end of time.

But you made it this way.

If this were another situation, you would be flattered that your life was worth this much to anyone. Unfortunately, you didn’t achieve this by being a damsel in distress, but by taking a shot at the head boss of your Organization, Aeron— and you almost succeeded. You were so close, narrowly missing his head by a centimeter and marking his ear instead. Wonwoo, your fiancé and his adopted son, was his saving grace as he knocked the gun out of your hand at the last minute. You should feel conflicted, as the man raised you as one of his own and trained you personally to be the top bounty hunter. He even gave you your nickname, “Silver,” due to the thick strand of silver hair you were born with, a signature trait passed down from your mother’s side of the family. He was a family friend, and you loved him like an uncle, and in a way, you still do. That’s why this hurts so much.

“Baby, open the door… I just want to know why you did it.”

The deep anguish in his voice twists your stomach into knots. You promised him that you would never hurt him and be honest with him, even if it meant breaking his heart. You’ve kept your word until now, and you hope that when the dust settles, he will understand.

The door creaks open, and you move towards the wall as the loud creak muffles your foot movement. His shadow is darker, moving closer to you, and before he can see you, you grab a heavy book and throw it at his head as a distraction. Wonwoo is quick, knocking it out of place and kicking down the bookshelf, forcing you to scurry out of the way. A small table separates the two as you face each other for the first time in months.

“Hey there, space cowboy.”

You aren’t sure why you were expecting him to crack a smile at the nickname you gave him long ago. You stare at each other, his stern stare enough to scare anyone away. His eyes are heavy with an unspoken pain that you caused, and it eats you alive. You know he didn’t want to be the one to bring you in, but you both know if it were someone else, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Silver, I don’t want to fight,” Wonwoo warns. “But you know what will happen if I don’t bring you in.”

“Well, tough shit,” you spit. “You know what will happen to me if I return to the Nova District. So you’re just going to have to bring me in dead.”

Another moment of silence hangs between you two, your fingernails digging into your palms as you prepare for a fight.

“One day, you’ll understand why I did it.”

Wonwoo doesn’t answer immediately; you can see the gears turning in his mind as he wrestles with your words, the pain etched on his face.

“Why can’t you help me understand now?” he pleads, desperation creeping into his voice. “Why did you try to kill him? Why didn’t you talk to me about this?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

He shakes his head, and you sigh heavily, your shoulders hanging low in exhaustion. Of course, he didn’t tell him, and you shouldn’t be surprised. Being honest isn’t exactly Aeron’s strong suit, and now you have to explain everything. The lies and secrets are how you ended up here in the first place. But today isn’t the day for that—you must get out of there and hope that one day, Wonwoo will be able to forgive you.

“I don’t have time to explain now,” your voice cracks. You're angry and tired all the same. “You just have to trust me.”

“Just like you trusted me before you shot at Aeron?” His words are laced with a venom that incinerates your chest. He’s hurt, and you know he’s right, but there is no time to dwell on that.

Taking Aeron’s life was necessary, even if you failed, as he lied to you for years about your family. You became an orphan when you were twelve, watching your family’s house blow up on a hill while you were painting. You were always told that it was a gas leak, and you believed that until you received an ominous email with documents and recordings that proved it was a lie. Aeron was in love with your mother, and they had been having an affair for years. Seeing the pictures of them embracing, exchanging longing looks, and kissing… it was hard to look at.

“I know this isn’t fair, but please, believe me.” The ache in your torn heart that you’ve been ignoring rears its ugly head, bringing you to tears. “I don’t want to bring you further into this.”

“I’m already in it!” Wonwoo raises his voice, the gun trembling in his hand. “My fiancé shot the man who raised me. Took you in. I’m already knee-deep into this shit, Silver!”

He lunges at the table and throws it against the wall, catching you off guard. Aside from your jobs as bounty hunters, he has never gotten aggressive towards you. He’s warm and gentle and would worship the ground you walk on. Seeing him in turmoil, a pain that you caused paralyzes you momentarily, allowing him to cross the room towards you, pulling you close to him. Your knees almost buckle in close proximity to him, and you have half a mind to call all this off and go back with him. Figure all this shit out. Your heart bleeds for him.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, his eyes peering into your soul. “Why did you do this?”

You rest your head against his shoulder, ready to lay down your burdens and reveal the truth. “He’s responsible for my family’s death.”

You feel him stiffen, his breathing tempered as you wipe away your tears, regaining your composure as you explain what happened. “He planned all of it. The gas leak, my house blowing up. All of it because he was in love with my mother.”

You explained how you received the evidence via email and Dropbox, which is typically used for work purposes, and how your own investigation followed afterward. You didn’t believe it at first, and you almost deleted everything, chucking it up to someone trying to fuck with your head and take your spot from being the top bounty hunter on the planet. But with that email came a delivery of something precious, making it seem like maybe it was the truth after all: a picture of your mother wearing a locket. A silver heirloom passed down resembled a peony covered with red jadeites. It is a rare gem that doesn’t exist in this galaxy, and your mother always had it tucked away, promising that one day it would be yours as the oldest child.

Even though you were far from the house, the force of the explosion knocked you off your feet, and you hit your head; you blocked out your memory, and your doctors all say it’s due to trauma and all of the related stuff. You started to forget about the locket, and eventually, your family’s memory became distant. That same locket, however, Aeron kept in his possession all these years in a glass container. He said it was his most “prized possession” that he won after a “tough” job, and despite the familiar feeling you had whenever you were near it, you believed him. Never again.

“The affair with my mother wasn’t just some secret,” you say, your voice filled with rage and sorrow. “He had been obsessed with her for years. They were childhood sweethearts, and she was forced to marry my father in an arranged marriage that turned into real love.” You grab his hands and study his eyes, hoping to find a flicker of hope that he believed you and that you didn’t just fly off the handle. “She tried to end it for years, and he wouldn’t let her. Now look what’s happened.”

The transcripts and phone call recordings showed she wanted to end things with Aeron and be faithful to your father. Your mother was beautiful and had an elegance and grace that turned every head in the room. You don’t know how the affair started, but you know your mother wanted to be free from Aeron, and he wouldn’t have that. So instead of letting her go, he killed her and everyone that you loved in that house. Your parents, your little sister, and your cat Dipper. All gone with a boom. He didn’t count on you not being in the house, so he tried to cover his tracks by taking you in. Raising you with Wonwoo, training you two together to be the best hunters in the galaxy. He watched you two fall in love and bragged about how much he loved his family. He talked about how much he loved you. It’s sick.

Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow as he processes your words, shadows of doubt flickering in his eyes. “How do you know what was sent was the truth? You could’ve come to me, and we could’ve—”

“Could’ve done fucking what?” You cut in sharply. “Gone to him and had him tell us the truth? He wouldn’t have done that if you were there. That’s why I went alone.”

You feel anger building in your chest, and you want to scream into the void. Betrayal doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel; it’s as if someone is tearing your heart apart at the seams. You can feel every rip, every piece of you being pulled away, and it just won’t stop.

“I know I put you in an impossible position, and I’m sorry,” you search his eyes for understanding and comfort. “I love you. So fucking much. And I know he means a lot to you, and he meant a lot to me, too, but he has to go—”

“Baby, stop,” he pleads. “Don’t do this.”

“I have to. I’m sorry.”

You lean in, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss, your heart racing as he pulls you closer to him. His taste evokes nostalgia and comfort, reminding you of happier times when you lay in bed together and talked about your future, planning your wedding, and discussing jobs you'd take together. Your whole lives were mapped out for the taking, and you could’ve had it all. Maybe you still can, in another life.

You quietly pull a powder called Dreamshade out of your back pocket. It is a bag of fine, shimmering dust that glimmers with deep violet and midnight blue, mixed with the endangered plants of blooming nightshade and wild lavender. A tear trickles down your left cheek as you know what you have to do next, breaking your kiss and sprinkling the dust across his face. You watch his expression soften, confusion clouding his features as he slumps to the ground, unconscious. You pull him until his back is against the wall, your heart twisting painfully as you betray his trust for the second time.

With one last lingering glance, you slip into the night, the vision of the last day your family was alive fueling your resolve. You had to eliminate Aeron, even if it meant losing everything.

Wonwoo remembered the first time you met. 

You were brought home from the hospital, where you spent a few weeks unconscious from the blast that destroyed your home. Aeron told him you were coming to stay with them and that it was his job to protect you. He didn’t know what the hell he meant by that; he was just a scrawny fifteen-year-old pickpocket living on the streets before he was found. He was born and raised in the Lutum district, poor, with two parents who passed away when he was ten years old from a plague that took over his city. He only knew how to take care of himself. Why was it his responsibility to care for someone he didn’t know? 

Wonwoo was a shy and quiet kid, but he knew that you meant a lot to Aeron, and he would do anything to please the man who took him in. You two didn’t talk much at first; his job was to protect you, not be your friend. But the more time you spent together as you navigated your new reality,  the closer you two became, and he got to see you for who you were. You were half a year younger than him, but you never let it show, as he found you fearless and driven, sometimes to the point that you were reckless. He always had your back, even if you were in the wrong, and Wonwoo wasn’t afraid to call you out on your shit. 

“Do you really have to start a fight everywhere we go?”

You were both nineteen, and you were dragged out of the club in Adamas City for punching a girl who got too close to your “date,” if that’s what you wanted to call it; more like your flavor of the month. You didn’t know the man had an on-and-off girlfriend, nor did you know she would show up to the place and start screaming at you, calling you every kind of whore, and how your parents were ashamed from the grave to have a daughter like you. But you did know she had to be taught manners, and before Wonwoo could stop you, the girl was knocked to the floor with a bruised right eye and a chipped tooth.

“Wonwoo, stop.” You snatched your hand from him. “I’m fine.” 

“Yeah, no shit, Silver,” Wonwoo retorted, running his fingers through his hair. “Why can’t you be normal for once?”

“Because,” you adjusted your jacket. “That’s fucking boring.” 

You frustrated him to no end. You were wild and resilient, and despite the hellfire you brought, you had a sharp wit and knack for adapting to any situation you were in. You also made him curious and brought a spark to his chest whenever you were around, and he found you more attractive as time went on. He noticed how your eyes squinted when you read, and how your silver hair shone brightly in the sun and moonlight. You sparkled like the stars in the night, a nuclear fusion of many components that made you beautiful to him, that kept him grounded.

Deep down, Wonwoo knew what that meant. It’s not like he hasn’t had crushes before, but you were different; you made him feel alive. Seeing you date these guys, who wouldn’t last longer than a few weeks, bothered him. You need someone you could rely on at the end of the day and be comfortable with; you needed someone who felt like home, and he wanted to be that for you. 

Wonwoo swore he would protect you with his life to Aeron, but he didn’t realize falling for you was in the cards. 

Aeron wasn’t pleased to hear what happened in the club, and he made you both start training to become bounty hunters for the Organization. He said you needed discipline and structure, and let you get away with acting out for far too long. Wonwoo didn’t fight it; he knew he was right, and it was time for you to grow and become an adult. You surprisingly took everything in stride, attending all the necessary training and adhering to the daily regimen implemented for you throughout this process. Later on, Wonwoo asked you why you didn’t fight it, and you said something clicked with you— you could either party and fight anyone who got in your way, or you could do something with your life and be taken more seriously. Amid everything, you wanted respect.

You two trained together with Aeron personally and became even closer. You tended each other’s cuts and bruises, vented about each other’s day, and, late at night, shared secrets about your fears and what you wanted for your future. You didn’t share much about your childhood, but Wonwoo shared about his life before Aeron, and he was okay with that. He saw you coming into your own, making him grow fond of you even more. Sometimes, he wondered if what he felt was love or if he just liked you a lot. But he kept to himself, as he didn’t want to rock the boat with Aeron, and he didn’t want to mess up this dynamic he had with you. 

A year into training, you both had to take a series of mental aptitude tests to strengthen your minds against any emotional factors that could affect your jobs. He knew bounty hunting wouldn’t be just bringing people in alive or collecting treasure— it also meant possibly taking people out of equations, permanently. On the last day of the test, he met with you on the rooftop of the Hightower, the building where the Organization was located and where you both lived. The test was rigorous, and it forced him to think of his parents and the pain they suffered from the sickness that killed them, and he just wanted a quiet moment to process that. He missed them.

After midnight, the stars formed different constellations in the dazzling dark sky, and you leaned on the balcony, lost in thought as the wind flowed slightly to the East. Wonwoo knew something was wrong; you never want to be this still. He was usually the quiet one and listened to you talk. It was his favorite thing to do at the end of the day. 

“Are you okay?” 

Wonwoo placed a supporting hand on your shoulder, watching you slowly come back to reality and regain your focus on him. Your eyes were red, and your face was tear-stricken, and it hurt him to see you upset. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you sniffled, wiping your face with your shirt sleeve. “The test just really sucked.”

“Yeah, I know,” Wonwoo agreed, leaning against the rail. “I’m glad it’s over.” 

“Is it?” You let out a shaky breath, gazing at the sky. “We will be doing jobs soon, which means we will be doing some tough things. What if we come across a dead family or a child without their parents?”

He watched your bottom lip tremble as you burst into tears, quickly covering your face and turning away from him. 

“What if I am not cut out for this?”

Wonwoo pulled you into a warm hug, letting you sob on his shirt as he rubbed your back. He had never seen you break down like this, which nerved him. You’ve always made it a point to never let anyone see you cry, yet you felt so vulnerable and trusted him. It pulled at him heavily, and he wanted to take your pain away. 

“Hey,” he lifted your chin slightly so your eyes met. “You’re stronger than you think. You’ve been through a lot, and you’re still here. You’re a force of nature, Silver. I believe in you.” 

You nodded softly as he wiped the remaining tears from the corner of your eye. Wonwoo will always be there to protect you; as long as he is alive, no one else will ever make you cry again. 

“Wonwoo,” you whispered, gazing into his eyes. “I’m going to do something that you’ve been too nice to do.” 

Before he could respond, you pulled him into a kiss, catching him off guard. His pulse quickened as he understood what was happening, but he kissed you back, the heat radiating between you two on this chilly high tower. He needed you, but didn’t know how to tell you; however, he would surely show you, grabbing your waist and pulling you closer. Your kiss deepened, a mix of yearning and relief in the air as if he knew you felt the same way. 

You finally pulled apart, breathless and content. Wonwoo’s heart was pounding; he wanted more but didn’t want to rush things. In due time, it would happen. 

“Well, it’s exciting to know you feel the same way, space cowboy.” 

“You are never going to let that nickname go, will you?”

“Never.”

A slight grin spread across your face, and you stepped back, looking at the night sky again. Wonwoo came behind you and wrapped his arms around you, wanting to feel your warmth again. If it were up to him, he would never let you go. He stood there in silence, watching the beautiful person in front of him finally have a moment of peace, and it was because of him. 

At that moment, Wonwoo knew he was in love, and despite being ordered to protect and save you, you also saved him from a lifetime of loneliness. 

It took you a few hours to get to Merchara, an industrial planet dominated by towering factories and sprawling cities. The sky is a permanent rust orange, filled with smog that suffocates without the proper mask. It’s ironic that you are going to a place where you can barely breathe on your own after what you did to Wonwoo back there, leaving him slumped on a wall. You haven’t stopped crying and haven’t been able to breathe easily since a tight knot settling on your chest as each hour goes by; you don’t deserve him.

“Let’s do this shit,” you muttered. 

Settling behind a building in the city of Theodian, you wipe the remaining tears off your face and regain focus. You took a ship common enough to blend in with others in the galaxy that would let you go undetected. You registered with an alternate login no one knew, which gave you enough time to disable the GPS and turn into a ghost, hence its name, Umbra. People only come to this planet if they are hiding out or are involved in the black market. Fortunately, the person you need to see fits both criteria, and he may be the only person in this galaxy who will not rat you out the second you step into his establishment: Yoon Jeonghan. 

You met him on a job when you were tasked with a group of other bounty hunters to raid his building and eliminate anyone who got in your way. The job was messy and ended with unnecessary casualties, and you suspect that Jeonghan was targeted because he dabbles in black-market weaponry and tech. The only reason why you spared him, despite him attacking you on sight, was because he was protecting a little girl, his sister. Despite him being good at fighting, you had the upper hand, and you were ready to get rid of him, but then you saw her crawl from behind the table, wild-eyed and shaken. She stood behind him with big brown eyes and clung to his shirt, and it reminded you of the little sister you lost, and you didn’t want to be the reason you took her family away. 

You spared his life, and because of that, he became your most trusted ally, second only to Wonwoo. Jeonghan would supply you with weapons at a cheaper rate as a token of gratitude, and eventually, you would become friends. His sister, Sohee, was wary of you at first, and you didn’t blame her; you almost killed her brother. But she came around, and now she refers to you as “Aunt” Silver when you come around.

“Hello?”

Your knuckles rapped against the door while you waited for a response. The door slowly creaked open with little effort, causing your body to tense as you became more alert. Hesitating, you quietly pushed the door open, greeted by the coolness of the living room. Your heart quickened as you scanned the room, looking for anything out of place. You’ve known them a long time, and it’s not like them to leave their doors unlocked. 

You hear shuffling from the back corner, and you quickly pull out your gun, only to be met by Jeonghan, holding a basket of fruit. 

“Well, hello,” Jeonghan greets you, eyeing your gun.

“Don’t worry, Hannie, I come in peace,” you say, raising your hands slowly.

“Yeah, I don’t think you have much of a choice, Miss Million Dollar Bounty,” he smirks as he sets down his basket. You relax and put the gun back in its holster.

“You heard about that, huh?” you sighed. “I imagine the news is probably all over the galaxy.” 

“Fresh on the ten o’clock telecasts,” he remarked. 

“Shit.” 

“Yeah.”

You sit on one of the barstools, your head in your hands as everything hits you all at once. Finding out the truth about your family, attempting to kill Aeron, Wonwoo… fuck, Wonwoo. The thought of him lying there all alone feels like a knife twisting in your gut. 

“How is Wonwoo taking all of this?”

You slowly look up at him, your eyes blurry from the tears that you managed to repress for a short time. “Not good,” you sniffle. “I broke his heart.”

Your chest feels heavy, like a weight pressing down on you as you unravel, releasing all the frustration and hurt you've experienced over the past twenty-four hours. You thought Aeron was one of your last living connections to your family, and learning that he had a hand in severing that bond makes you feel sick to your stomach.

Jeonghan quickly pulls you into his embrace as you cry, unable to keep your jar of emotions shut. You’re not a crier; you view it as a weakness and never want anyone to see you that way… but you can’t help it. Your heart aches for the family you lost, Wonwoo, and for everything that has transpired since then. It feels like the last fifteen years were a lie—a facade created for Aeron to cover his tracks.

“He hates me, Hannie.” Your voice trembled. “Wonwoo is never going to forgive me.”

“Shhh, don’t say that,” he shushed you. “If I know anything about Wonwoo, you are his sun and moon and all that other cliche stuff. From what I have seen, that man is too deep in love with you. I’m sure he’ll understand… just give him some time.”

“I don’t know,” you sniffled again. “I really knocked him out the last time I saw him.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Dreamshade.”

“Oh, Silver,” he clicks his tongue. “You were always a sneaky one.”

He hands you a napkin, and you wipe your face in the mirror. Your eyes are rubor red and you lack sleep. You look worn down and defeated; even your silver hair is dull and no longer full of life. 

“You need to sleep,” Hannie says suddenly. “Go up to Sohee’s room and take a nap.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “I gotta keep moving. Where is she anyway?”

“School,” he says, taking the bananas out of the basket. “You do know what time it is, right?”

You glance at the digital clock on the wall; it reads nine o'clock AM, its bright blue lights glowing prominently. The adrenaline that has fueled you for the past twenty-four hours is fading, and fatigue and hunger crash over you like wildfire. Your back aches, and your feet are sore. As much as you want to leave, you know Jeonghan is right: you are completely exhausted.

“I just really need to re-up on some supplies,” you say wearily. “I’ll be out of your hair soon. I don’t want to risk you and Sohee’s life any more than I am being here.”

“Silver, you saved our lives even when you didn’t have to,” Jeonghan said firmly. “I will always have your back.”

He pointed toward Sohee’s room. “You should rest first. I can give you what you need when you wake up. But if you keep going like this, you will exhaust yourself, and I won’t be able to help you.”

You sigh heavily, running your fingers through your hair. “Don’t you want to know why I did it?”

Jeonghan pauses momentarily, giving you a once-over before coming around the corner. “Not if it’s going to get me in trouble,” he smirked. “But seriously, whatever reason you did it, I’m sure it was justified.”

You don’t have the strength to argue anymore; your eyes grow heavy with each passing second. You let him lead you to her bed, where he untucks the covers. You slowly crawl in, the scent of lavender lingering on her pillow.

“Sleep,” Jeonghan says softly. “I’ve got you.”

You nod, too tired to think. Your body succumbs to fatigue, and you drift into a deep sleep.

Wonwoo dreamed about you. 

It was an old memory, but it’s one of his favorites. You two were at the Sanctuary, a blip on the map outside the city, kept a secret from the public. You two discovered it accidentally after finishing a mission on the planet Glacius, which became your secret getaway. Very few people know about this place, and it provided the privacy you both craved when you grew tired of being in the public eye. The weather was always warm, with a tropical element reminiscent of the beaches on old Earth.

You had only been dating officially for several months, but Wonwoo was deeply in love. You were fire and ice and an enigma all at the same time. You made his soul smile when you touched him, and he was in awe of your bravery and the lengths you were willing to go to protect him on each mission. You weren’t the heavy emotional type, but he knew how much you cared about him. It was the little things— the way you talked to him softly like no one else could, the way you kept contact when Wonwoo spoke, and by gods, the way you kissed him. He felt it, knew you loved him too. But you haven’t said it out loud yet. 

“Wonwoo… I think I am ready to take the next step.” 

You two were lying on the blankets on the beach, letting the sun kiss your skin and melting the cold away from the other planet. Wonwoo lifted his head up, his glasses slightly askew and his heart racing as he replayed the words in his head.

“W-what step?”

You raised an eyebrow and threw him a look, and he got your message crystal clear. “Oh… I mean, are you sure?”

“Yes,” you nodded, now sitting up. “I want to do this with you. I’ve never been in love before… and I want to know what it’s like to do it with someone you love.”

Wonwoo’s eyes softened, sitting up and moving closer to you. “You love me?”

“Yes, you dolt,” you giggled. “Do you need me to say it?”

You leaned closer to him, your lips barely touching his. “I love you, space cowboy. More than you know.” 

Wonwoo never acts on impulse. He always thought ahead and planned for every scenario, but this time, he wanted to live in the moment with you and forget all his inhibitions. So he kissed you. Hard.

There wasn’t a place in the galaxy hotter than you two. Passion and lust flowed through each other at the simple but profound eight-lettered phrase. His heart was beating out of his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he laid you back on the blanket, tasting vanilla on your lips. 

“You are a man of very few words, Wonwoo,” you teased him. “I take it you love me too?”

He gave you one last, lingering kiss before gazing into your eyes, seeing a vision of love in front of him. 

“You consume every thought that I have. You make me feel open and alive. I love you, Silver—”

Bzzt! Bzzt!

Wonwoo’s world started to crumble, the Sanctuary slipping away with you in it, forming into a dark, blurry room with four vibrating walls. 

Bzzt Bzz!

Wonwoo stirred slowly, his right jeans pocket buzzing incessantly as he opened his eyes. His vision was blurred, a sign that the eye drops he had used to clear his eyesight had worn off. He reached into his left jacket pocket, pulled out his glasses, and carefully slipped them on. A dull ache throbbed in his head, and he felt groggy as the events of the previous day flooded back to him.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, digging into his right pocket.

He looked at the screen and groaned when he saw Aeron's call from his private residence. He rarely used the private line unless it was a matter of serious concern.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“State your location,” Aeron’s voice responded gruffly from the speaker.

It took Wonwoo a moment to answer; the effects of the Dreamshade were still holding him back. “I’m at the Portalis.”

The Portalis was a small area in the Nova District with a portal that transported people to other planets. There were a dozen rooms where individuals could conduct business, rest, or do whatever they wanted, much like a motel. Wonwoo knew that you would go there after the attempt on Aeron’s life; he would have done the same.

“Have you captured her?”

He envisioned your face, your soft lips pressed against his, before everything went purplish-blue and black. He should be angry at you for running off instead of sticking together; you are a team. But his love and longing for you supersede any anger he might feel. He was made for you, you need him, and he is determined to see this through. 

“No,” he pushed himself off the ground. “Not yet.”

“What do you mean not yet?!” Aeron snapped. “Did you forget what that bitch did?”

“That bitch is Silver,” Wonwoo defended, dusting off his jacket. “She isn’t some stranger on the street or a temp for hire. She is family. My fiancé.”

“Family doesn’t try to kill each other, Wonwoo,” Aeron said plainly. “She went against us. You know what happens when you break the code.” 

Wonwoo stilled, leaning against the wall as the effects of Dreamshade finally started to wear off. He knew very well what happens when you break the code, and never wanted to meet that kind of fate. Let’s just say he would rather have his death swift and to the point, instead of floating around in space. 

“Aeron, what Silver said you did… is there any truth to that?”

There was a momentary silence thick with anticipation; he almost thought Aeron hung up. 

“Are you questioning me, boy?”  His voice roared through the speaker. “Understand something. If I tell you to skip, you ask how many times you hear me? You would still be in the streets if it weren’t for me. Bring her to me NOW, or you will die right next to her.” 

The call ended with a hard click before he could respond, and he just stood there, motionless and angry. Aeron has never talked to Wonwoo that way, and he could feel his heart beating through his ears. Who does he think he is? Wonwoo didn’t need him. He didn’t ask to be saved. The Organization would be nothing without him and Silver, and he knows that. Is this how family treats each other?

He exited the room and slammed it shut, frustration seeping out of him as he climbed into his ship and turned on the engine. He would deal with Aeron later, but he had to find Silver before it was too late.

“Aunt Silver, wake up.” 

You feel a little hand softly nudge you awake. Your mouth opens, and tiny drool drops come out of the corner of your mouth. Your eyes regain focus, and you stare at little Sohee, with pigtails in her hair and a clean school uniform. She beams once you recognize her, giving you a tight hug that touches your heart. 

“Jeonghan told me to wake you up. Dinner is ready.” 

“Dinner?”

You look at the time plastered on the wall—it was quarter past seven. Shooting out of bed, you hurriedly put on your socks and laced up your boots, kissing Sohee on her head as you walked out of the bedroom. 

“No, Jeonghan said you must stay and eat with me.” 

“I can’t, sweetie,” you say, frantically looking around the house for your weapons. “I have somewhere to be and shouldn’t have stayed here this long.”

Little Sohee folds her arms and stands in front of the front door. “Jeonghan says he will be back and to stay with me and eat.”

This makes you stop in your tracks, and a slight panic starts to kick in. “He left?”

“Yes,” she nods. “He says something about you needing 'supplies' and he will be back.”

Then it clicks. Jeonghan must have gone to get you more weapons, and he doesn’t want you to leave Sohee alone. Jeonghan, if nothing else, is a tricky bastard.

“Okay,” you sighed, walking to the kitchen. 

Laid out on the table was an arrangement of foods in bowls, steaming hot, accompanied by a rare tea that grows only on this planet: hibiscus. You sit in view of the front door to see when Jeonghan or anyone else comes. Despite your eagerness to get out of there and your stomach pains of hunger, you reluctantly sit down, grab a bowl, and fill it with rice and braised chicken.

You observe Sohee as she happily fills her bowl with miso soup, accompanied by a side of grilled fish, with not a care in the world. You miss being at that age, when you only had to worry about whether your mom would let you play outside or if you remembered to fill Dipper’s food bowl. Sadness and a hint of envy prick at your heart, and you think of your past life and what you could’ve become.

“How’s school?” 

“It’s fine, Aunt Silver,” Sohee responds, slurping her soup. “We are learning about planets in the Milky Way and how they differ from those in our galaxy.” 

You listen to her shoot off random facts about Earth, Mars, and all the other planets in the solar system in awe. You’ve heard the story a million times about how Earth became inhabitable and how we had to travel through galaxies to get here. But hearing Sohee tell it, happy to share the knowledge she is learning, warms your heart. This is partly why you wanted to leave; you care about Sohee so much and want her to have the life your sister could’ve had. 

You mostly eat silently for the rest of dinner, and Sohee has already packed food for you to go before she wakes you up. You hear the door creak, and you instinctively grab for your gun, panic setting in when you remember it isn’t in your holster.

“Don’t worry, it’s just me.” Jeonghan’s voice rang out, calming your nerves. “I come bearing gifts.”

You meet him in the living room as he pulls out the weapons, more Dreamshade, clothes, and other things needed to protect you while you’re out there. You pick up a magazine, the cool metal feeling familiar in your grip, and begin attaching it to your gun with practiced efficiency. You secure your other weapons and powders that would affect you without gloves. You glance at Jeonghan, who gives you a soft smile and places a supporting hand on your shoulder. 

“You and Wonwoo will find your way back to each other. Do what you have to do.” 

You nod, put on your mask, walk out of the back door toward your ship, and place your bag behind your seat. Taking deep breaths, you are determined not to cry again as you head to your next destination for more answers.

“WAIT!”

You look to your left, and Sohee runs towards you, holding the packed food you forgot to grab. 

“Here,” Sohee shoved it into your hands. “I also put some hot buns in there, in case Uncle Wonwoo wants some.” Hearing his name left a painful reminder that struck your heart, leaving you momentarily lost in the memories you don’t want to revisit.

“Aww, come here, kid,” you say, shaking off those feelings, putting everything aside, and pulling her into a tight hug. 

“Aunt Silver, I don’t care what the people on TV say. You aren’t a bad person. I know it.”

Fresh tears threaten to break through, and you don’t want her to see that. Sohee is sweet, pure, and full of light. You hope she never changes.

“Thank you, Sohee,” you manage to say. “It means a lot to me.”

You wait until Sohee is safe before booting up your ship, soaring high in the galaxy, and heading to your next destination. 

The trip to Glacius was the longest twelve hours you have ever had to sit through. You’ve been on longer trips, but you were never alone—you at least had Wonwoo and other crew members or bounty hunters with you. The silence is the hardest part to sit through, the crippling thoughts in your head and considering your current mental state, it’s hard to turn off. All you can do is grieve; you mourn the life that you lost and the one that you are about to lose again, because of Aeron. There isn’t a hell in this galaxy you won’t send him through, and you will see to it that he suffers a satisfying death. 

The temperature drops significantly the farther you travel from the sun, and a turquoise planet with cloud rings around comes into view. Glacius is a planet with icy terrain throughout its surface. From the outside, there is nothing but snow for miles, and the forest is filled with Glaceons and other wild animals. However, only a few know about Zoie, the underground city with just over fifty thousand people. Scientists and researchers mostly live here, and the only place besides Merchara where you have another ally you can turn to at the drop of a hat.

You park your ship and suit up to brace the freezing cold. It is your luck to come here in the middle of the storm, but what other choice do you have? You exit the ship, fighting against the wind until you reach Zoie's hidden entrance. Three taps from your foot alert to your arrival. The ground shifts, and you are lowered through a glass tube, with illuminated lights being your only source of light in the darkness. Eventually, you reach the entrance to the city, met by bodyguards circling around as the glass lifts. 

“State your business here,” the agent with toad-like skin gruffed. The other guards took your bag and body searched you, digging through your bag in hopes of finding incriminating evidence. 

“I’m here for Dr. Selene Ardyn,” you say, eyeing one of the guards with porcelain-like skin sniffing your hot buns. 

“Wait here.” 

You awkwardly stand there while they finish searching your bags, your eyes twitching as they unfold the clothes you had packed and throw everything back unceremoniously. You would think that being in a place renowned for technology would instill more manners in people, but alas, not everyone possesses class. 

“These hot buns, you don’t want them, right?” The guard pulls one out and eats it in front of you. 

“Nope,” you roll your eyes. “Have fucking at it.” 

You shake your head, looking away at the greasy man smearing minced meat over his face in disgust. Your thumbnail instinctively digs into your palm, and you slowly count to ten as you try to keep your annoyance at bay. 

“What’s wrong?” He goads, stepping closer to you. “You don’t like it when people take your things?”

“You’re awfully perceptive.” You stand your ground. “I guess the worms in your brain have finally mellowed out.”

The other guards snicker at your remark, and you look straight ahead, waiting for the toad-like guard to return. The porcelain guard’s face turns tomato red, and before you can react, his hand grabs your throat and slams you against the wall. 

“You bounty hunters think you are tough shit and are better than the rest of us,” his words spit on your face. “You probably can’t even fi—”

Before he could finish his thought, he was already on the floor, thanks to a quick head butt and a kick to the left knee. It’s been a long day. You are tired and hungry, and the ache from missing Wonwoo eats at you more and more. You could’ve let his words slide and waited for the doctor, but unfortunately for him, you were having a bad time. 

Turning him over, you place your foot on his back and grab both of his arms, pulling them back until you hear a tear and a blood-curdling scream that makes you satisfied. “You were saying?”

“What’s going on here?”

You look up, facing Dr. Selene Ardyn, watching the scene before her with an eyebrow raised. She was all but five feet two, with smooth caramel colored skin and thick hair wrapped neatly into a bun. Dressed like the typical scientist, complete with a white trench coat, she folds her arms while waiting for an answer. 

“Your guard ate my food and put his grubby hands on me,” you grit through your teeth. “So I was teaching him some manners.”

“Silver, is that necessary?” Selene asks, looking annoyed. “Let him go, and I’ll take you back to my quarters. I’ve been expecting you.” 

You tug his arms one last time, dropping them unceremoniously, grabbing your bag, and walking around the injured guard. The other three move away quickly as you storm by, the red you saw slowly dissipating. 

“Guards?” You hear Selene call out. “Take Brutus to the medics and tell them I sent him.”

Selene Adryn is one of the most renowned scientists and engineers in the galaxy, specializing in the research of bioweapons. You have worked for her several times, gathering plants and resources from all over the galaxy, and have grown somewhat close. You’ve seen how she interacts with her employees, and though she hasn’t explicitly said it, you knew you could go to her if you were ever in trouble. 

The click of her heels against the glossy floor is almost melodic, calming your nerves as you pass the different quarters. Zoie City is not your typical city; besides being underground, it mainly comprises engineers, other scientists, and researchers from various fields. Everyone stays to themselves or congregates in the main halls for meals or other relaxing areas. Glancing at your watch, it’s a little after 10am, and everyone is bustling with scientific talk that you quite understand. 

“We’re here,” Selene announces as she stops before two sliding doors. “Let’s hurry inside.”

Placing her hand on the scanner, the machine beeped and gradually opened the door, revealing a sprawling condo with enough space for three houses. Her place was nothing less than high-tech, with housemaid Androids tidying up on each floor. 

“Take off your shoes and give your coat to Bob.”

You already knew who Bob was: her oldest butler, also an Android. He was built to look like a real person, and to someone who doesn’t interact with them often, you would think he is the real thing. But a stark difference always stood out to you—they always looked soulless in the eyes. It unnerved you. 

Sliding off your shoes, you hand your coat to Bob and follow Selene into the living room, where she sits on her sectional sofa. You gaze through the tall picture windows as the storm rages outside. The wind howls, lifting the snow into a wild, swirling dance, throwing it around as if it were nothing. 

“Thank you for seeing me on short notice,” you say, returning your focus to Selene. “I’m sure you saw the news.”

“Yeah, I did,” Selene confirms with a nod. “Seems like you’ve been busy.” 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “Being on the run and all, I don’t exactly have time to sit around and linger.” 

You look down at your beaten hands, twirling the ruby and diamond infinity engagement ring that Wonwoo proposed to you with. He knew red was your favorite color, and he always said you were more precious than rubies and diamonds, which are rare in this galaxy. God, you miss him.

“So, you say you were expecting me?” you ask, pulling yourself out of your sadness.

“Yes, I was,” Selene replies, walking toward the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I want to know how long you’ve known.”

Selena hesitates slightly as she grabs a mug from the counter. If it were anyone else, they might miss it, but after years of bounty hunter training, you have learned to read people’s body language without asking questions. It’s one of your special skills.

“What do you mean, Silver?” she asks.

“I mean,” you get off the couch and approach her in the kitchen, “how long have you known about my family?”

Selene clutches the handle of her hug, sighing heavily before turning around and facing you. In all the many years you’ve known her, you are actually seeing her— the delicate wrinkles on her forehead and the faint shadows beneath her eyes. It feels like her mask has slipped off, and she is finally revealing who she is. 

“Silver, I…” Selene’s voice falters. “How did you figure it out?”

“I didn’t,” you reply softly, trying to keep your emotions in check. “But you just confirmed it.”

When you started receiving the documents about the truth of your family’s death, you knew it had to be someone who had access to your Dropbox. It’s not easily accessible to the public, and though you couldn’t track the IP address exactly, you knew it had originated from far beyond your planet. The first two numbers indicated that you were this far in the galaxy, and you decided to apply the process of elimination. You knew this was a huge gamble, showing up here with accusations that may have been unfounded, but you had to trust your gut, and it rarely steers you wrong. 

“I don’t want to have to ask you again, Selene,” you warned. 

“Okay, okay.” 

She gestures back to the couch and urges you to sit, while you settle opposite her, on guard. Selene had known about you for so long and never said a word… You really can’t trust anyone, except for Wonwoo. 

“You remind me of your mother a lot.” 

Your head ticks at her words, unsure if you heard her right. “What do you mean, I remind you of my mother? How do you know her?”

Selene settles into the sofa, twiddling her thumbs on her lap. “She was my best friend.”

You look at her incredulously, the woman you respected, keeping this secret from you all this time. It all makes sense now; It all clicks now—why she was constantly requesting you for missions and would sometimes let you stay in her home overnight instead of sending you off when the job is complete. Sometimes you’d hear her hum a song your mom used to sing to you to sleep, and you thought it was a coincidence or the song was popular across the galaxy. You’ve just been a fool. 

“Wow,” a bitter laugh escapes your lips. “I can’t fucking believe this.” 

You turn away, looking at the window as the storm still rages on, the chaos mirroring what you feel inside. You're a tempest, brimming with anger and ready to wreak havoc on everyone who has played you like a fool. 

“Selene, you would be dead if I didn’t respect you so much.” 

You turn around and face her, your nails digging sharply in your palms. “You let me believe this lie… this fallacy that Aeron planted all these years. You were my mother’s best friend, supposedly, right? Why didn’t you take me in? Why did you leave me in the hospital for weeks and not visit me ONCE?”

Your chest heaved as you lay it all out. “Why Selene? WHY?”

“I detect elevated voices, is everything al—”

“For the love of Gods, Bob, shut the fuck up!” 

You overflow with anger, reaching behind your back and pulling out your pistol. Cocking the lever, you aim to shoot—

“Y/N, STOP!”

You freeze, slowly gazing at Selene as she runs over to Bob, covering the android with her body. No one has called you by your real name since you were a kid... Since you came to live with Aeron. “Don’t shoot him, please.” You study her, watching her chest heave, panic and fear wild in her eyes. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know. Just… don’t hurt him.”

Reluctantly, you lower your weapon, choosing to keep out instead of putting it up. She whispers something to the android, who nods, bowing to her slightly and leaving the main room. The other androids follow on cue, and it’s just you and her. 

“You said you would tell me everything I need to know.” Your voice is low and tense. “So start talking.”

She sits on the couch, shifting around until she is comfortable, before she begins. “Like I said earlier, your mother and I were best friends. We attended the same girls' school and were roommates, so naturally we became close.”

“So you knew Aeron then as well?”

Her eyes briefly go dark at the mention of his name. “Yes, I knew him. He attended a brother school and would often follow her around. I hated him. I thought he was so weird, but your mother… she was sweet. Always saw the good in people. So, eventually, they fell in love.”

“Her family, your folks, weren’t close, and she thought she could convince them to accept Aeron, and they would get married and start a family. Aeron could’ve been your father.” You grimace at that thought. 

“But,” you cut in. “She was forced to marry Dad, right? “

She nods. “Yes. Your family was a very powerful people, and whatever they said went. So if your grandpa said you had to marry someone, there was only so much she could say or do before bending to their will. Aeron was obviously unhappy with it, but what could he do? He was just a boy who loved someone he could never truly have.”

“Don’t make excuses for him,” you say bitterly. 

“Oh, trust me, I’m not,” Selena waves her hands. “He’s a bastard who didn’t deserve your mother. I will hate him until the day I reach Valhalla.” 

You smirk at her statement, feeling slightly relieved that you two are on the same page. “So you knew my mother, my dad, I assume? How come I never saw you?”

“I used to come around a lot more when you were younger. You probably don’t remember, but I used to visit and bring you stuffed animals. Your favorite was always a lamb.”

You think back to your childhood, when your room was surrounded by stuffed animals of many species. You always found comfort in your little white lamb. You used to sleep with it and named it Boop, which smelled like rose petals. Maybe you were too young to remember her exactly, but your gut doesn’t tell you she’s lying. 

“I couldn’t visit much anymore when I became the head of bioweapon research, and I hadn’t seen your mother in almost ten years. We talked weekly, though, and I saw pictures and videos of you and your sister growing up.” 

A slight pang grips your chest, and your eyes water at the memories of you and your little sister that you could reclaim. She was full of sunshine and life, and she dreamed of exploring the cosmos, of discovering the wonders beyond the stars. She deserved to live, and if you could trade your life for hers, you would do it without a second thought. 

“Your family’s death devastated me,” Selene’s voice trembles. “It still does. When I heard what happened, my heart sank. I went to the morgue, identified the bodies, and started the process of formally taking guardianship over you. You needed someone, and I wanted to be that.”

“So what happened?” you demand, your voice cracking as tears stream down your cheeks. “There were no records of you trying to take guardianship or even visiting me. Why did you leave me there?”

“Aeron threatened me outright,” Selene discloses, shocking your heart. “He said if I tried to take you in, if I got in his way, he would see to it that your life would be a living hell. See, he knew I would eventually discover the truth about the accident. Just because I work mainly with diseases doesn’t mean I have forgotten about regular science. The day I visited your house after the explosion, I knew it wasn’t a simple gas leak.”

“My gods, he is truly a bastard.” You rub your temples. “So you managed to collect all the evidence and kept it hidden? Is that why you personally requested me to run missions for you?”

“Yes,” Selene nods. “It was the only way I could check on you without tipping off Aeron. If he knew we were having this conversation now…”

“To be frank, I don’t care if he knows we’re talking,” you sniffle. “Next time I see him, he will be dead.”

Silence comes over you, and you look to the windows again, watching the storm finally pull back as the snow finally settles. You hear Selene enter the other room and return with a white box engraved with beautiful drawings of bows and flowers. She hands it to you, slowly lifting the top, revealing pictures of your mother and her as kids, as well as pictures of your dad and mom before you were born. 

“I was keeping these until the time was right, and there isn't a day that goes by that I don’t miss your family. Please forgive me for lying to you.” 

Selene breaks down in front of you; all you can do is watch silently. The woman you’ve always seen as composed and put together now shows raw emotion and deep grief, which is unusual for you. Just 24 hours ago, you had no idea that anyone even knew about your family.

“I… I don’t hate you, Selene,” you draw breath. “I can’t say I just move on overnight, but understanding who Aeron truly is, I get you were in a tough spot.” 

Selene manages to calm down, her feelings reeling in slightly as she gazes at you, her eyes red and tear-stricken. “Let me take you to the spare room. I’m sure you want some time alone.” 

You have a lot more questions, especially about your mom’s side of the family, but you decide to table it for another day. You follow her as she takes you into a different room, where you’re used to staying. It’s smaller, but cozier, with a round window next to the bed that gives you the perfect outside view. You look at each other and nod; there is nothing more that needs to be said as of now. 

Gently shutting the door, you undress, settling into bed wearing just your shirt and underwear. You look through the box filled with photos—pictures of your mom and Selene at the all-girls school, moments from dances, and a few happy snapshots of your dad and mom together. For the next few hours, you immerse yourself in every photo, document, and memorabilia that captures your family's life before you were born. As you do, you feel a connection to them, their memories coming alive once more, burning brighter in your heart than ever before. For the first time in a long while, you feel a sense of peace and drift off to sleep.

…

“HEY! WHAT’S GOING ON IN HERE?!’

“BRING HER TO ME NOW!—”

You stir in the soft sheets, believing you are asleep and it’s a part of your dream. 

“SELENE, I WILL GO IN THERE AND GRAB HER MYSELF AND YOU DON’T WANT THAT.”

“Wonwoo, please don’t—”

You shoot up; the mention of his name constricts your heart as you hear shouted voices outside your door. Grabbing your pistol, you quickly leave the room, pointing it toward the voices until you see him: your Wonwoo.

You lock eyes with him, and his expression shifts, displaying a mixture of longing and sadness. It's the first time you've seen him since you left him behind in Portalis. You'll never love anyone as much as you love him.

“Wonwoo, I—”

“Put your clothes on and let’s go,” he commands, his face hardening. “You’re coming with me.”

Wonwoo hated this. He hated all of this. If someone had told him last week that his fiancée would be on the run for attempting to assassinate the head of the Organization and his father figure, he would’ve asked what they had been sniffing. 

It was the first time he had seen you in days, and he was almost breathless at the sight of you. You made his heart race, and all he wanted was to kiss your lips and tell you that everything would be okay, that you could get through this together. But he also remembered how you had left him in the dark during your quest for revenge, and that hurt him deeply. It felt as if the past fifteen years meant nothing; after all this time, you still couldn’t trust him. 

“Silver, let’s go,” he said bitterly. “We don’t have all day.”

You came out of the room shortly after, duffle bags in hand and suited to brace the bitter cold weather outside. He watched as you gave a longing look at Selene, who returned it with a teary nod, watching in sadness as Wonwoo placed the handcuffs on your wrists. 

“Come on, Wonwoo, is this really necessary?” Selene pleaded. “This is your fiancé we’re talking about here.”

“The same fiancé who knocked me out with Dreamshade?” Wonwoo scoffed. “I know better than to underestimate her.”

He shot a glare in your direction, and in response, you looked down at the ground in shame. “I’m sorry, Wonwoo.”

“There seems to be a lot of that going around,” he shook his head. “Let’s go.”

Wonwoo's footsteps echoed against the cold, hard floor as he led you away from the quarters, earning shocked and disapproving stares from the patrons. He didn’t care what people thought was happening; he just wanted to get out of this place and think. And talk to you. 

Reaching the entrance, only one guard was waiting, who gave Wonwoo a curt nod before placing you in the tube, raising you slowly to the outside world. 

‘Wonwoo, my ship—”

“Has already been taken care of,” he interrupted. “Did you forget I’m the one who taught you how to navigate an Umbra ship?”

He pulls you onto his ship, the wind howling furiously behind him as another snowstorm starts to commence. He sits you down on one of the chairs, strapping you in tightly across your chest and shackling your feet at the bottom. His heart is pounding heavily in his chest, a drumbeat of anxiety as he fights the urge to return your gaze while he is so close to your face, your lips. 

“Wonwoo,” you said weakly. “I’m really sorry.” 

“You’ve already said that,” he muttered. “I’ve heard it enough.” 

Moving swiftly, he closed the doors and booted up the spaceship before settling into the commander’s seat. The melodic sounds of the buttons being pressed momentarily distracted him as he focused on safely lifting off the ground and into the galaxy. Usually, he would have his usual crew of Mingyu and Soonyoung with him, but this was a mission he wanted to undertake alone. You were intelligent, quick, and a skilled shooter, and he didn’t want to take the risk of you hurting someone else and escaping again. It pained him to think of you that way.

Once you were safely in the air, he set the ship on autopilot and kicked his feet up on the dash as it navigated through the dark blue sky. Within a day's time, they would be back in Adamas City, where you would have to stand in front of Aeron and answer for what you did. This whole situation was gnawing at him; the family he found was being split apart, and the only reconciliation could come through death. Wonwoo hadn’t felt this kind of pain since his parents died, and he shuddered to think about life without you in it. You were his sun, his moon, and a world without you in it wasn’t something he could bear. 

Instead of talking to you, baring his feelings and putting everything on the line, he remained silent, watching the planets go by while he nursed a broken heart. 

“Where are we?”

16 hours have passed since you left Glacius, and the ship doors open to a planet that is not Galaxia. It is small, round, and rocky with multiple pit stops, restaurants, and a main hotel that stands higher than the planet, if you had to guess.

“East Eaoros XII, specifically Requim,” Wonwoo responds. “You haven’t been here before, but this is where you go to refuel your ships and rest before you go to your next destination.” 

“Oh…” you nod. “I see.” 

Wonwoo pulls a blanket over you, assumingly to cover your handcuffed hands to not draw attention to you. You catch a whiff of his cologne when he wraps it around your arms, his close proximity sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach. For a brief moment, your eyes meet, but he quickly looks away. His brown eyes are filled with sadness, yet they still radiate love for you.

“I think we should rest… You know, before we go back to Adamas City.” 

“Okay.” 

He leads you out of the ship and closes it with the remote in his pocket, walking towards the hotel. It is a ten-story building with nothing special about it, resembling a regular hotel. The interior was no different, with the typical mahogany-colored walls and shiny white floors that were supposed to exude luxury. You stood silently as Wonwoo checked into his reservation, listening to the conversations of the guests that walked by, oblivious that they were standing next to the most wanted person in the galaxy. 

“Let’s go.” 

He shoves the room keys into his pocket, and you follow him to the elevator, watching as he presses number ten on the pad. You passed each floor with a hum, the tension between you two thick and suffocating. You have so much to say, but your throat tightens every time you start. If today is truly going to be your last day in this galaxy, you want Wonwoo to know the truth, and no matter what, you love him deeply. 

The elevator dings on the tenth floor, opening to a grand suite that overlooks the city. Expansive picture windows, a spacious living room with a luxury kitchen, and two rooms that were presumably where you would be sleeping tonight. Wonwoo slips the blanket off of you, throwing it over his shoulder and walking you to the living room. For your last night of freedom, he went all out. If anything, you expected a standard room with two twin beds, a TV, and, if you’re lucky, a mini fridge.

“This was the only room they had left,” Wonwoo stated, as if he were reading your thoughts. “And I really need the rest… and so do you.”

You gaze at him, your words caught in your throat and keeping you from saying how you truly feel. You took a deep breath, sliding one of the dining room tables with your foot and sitting down, your head cocked back as you take in the A/C. You feel his presence nearby, his shadow looming over you as goosebumps rise on your arms. He takes your hands, unlocks the handcuffs, and briefly rubs your wrists before letting go. You know you’ve hurt him, and it’s your cross to bear whatever he throws at you, but he still took the time to take your pain away. 

“How do you know I won’t run?”

He studies you, putting the handcuffs and keys in one of the duffle bags. “If you wanted to run, you would’ve been out of the cuffs without my help.”

Your lips slightly twitch, knowing that once again, he is right. “Touche.”

Wonwoo hands you your duffle bag full of clothes, pointing to the bathroom in the room on the left. “You should go ahead and shower while we’re here.”

You nod slowly, walking into the bedroom and shutting the door. It had a king sized bed and soft satin sheets, a couple of fake plants in the window for personality and a large chess drawer with a mirror in front. You hear Wonwoo shuffling in the living room for a while, a light harmony escaping his lips that softens your heart. 

You remember when he sang soft lullabies in your ear, thinking you were sleeping, his raspy vocal tone soothing to your soul. You miss your late nights and late mornings, when you were either in his arms or underneath him. You miss his intimacy, his protection, his raw love, which he showed you in different ways that made you want to stay and live. Wonwoo is your whole world, your lifeline, and you're proud to say you’ve never loved anyone before him, and it's an honor to be loved by him in return. 

You step into the bathroom, turning on the shower, wincing as you slowly undress. The straps from the belts on the ship were too tight, and you felt them tightening against your skin as each hour passed. It’s left you with bruises across your chest, nothing too serious, but enough to feel when you move. You didn’t complain, you’ve had worse injuries before, and it seems so minuscule compared to the pain that you’ve caused. The only thing that mattered was being here with him and making the most out of it. 

“Wonwoo,” you call out, inhaling the steam quickly filling the bathroom. Your heart beats a drum of suspense, overriding your head, and what could blow up in your face. You can’t think straight, your thoughts are jumbled, and above all, you don’t want to be alone.

A few seconds later, he rushes into the bathroom, his eyes full of panic. 

“C-can you just hold me please?” Your voice trembles. “I know you hate me and I really fucked up but I don’t want to be alone.”

His gaze softens at your words, and he slips off his glasses, undressing without hesitation. Wonwoo is a muscular man with his own scars and battles, and you could recall how he got each one.  Stepping into the shower stall with you, he noted your bruises, his eyes welling up as he examined each one. “Did I do this?”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know—”

“NO, it’s not okay!” His raised voice makes you jump. “God, Silver, it’s like you don’t trust me anymore.”

His words pierce your heart, triggering a cascade of tears you can no longer hold back. You’ve been strong all this time, running throughout the galaxy to complete your last mission alive and eliminate Aeron. But your soul is tired, and Wonwoo is one of the few people you can depend on, and yet you keep hurting him. 

He pulls you into his arms as you continue to cry, the warm water from the shower head beating over both of you. You feel protected and safe, as if you are finally home and can lay down your burdens. You don’t regret trying to kill Aeron, and you would do it again in a heartbeat, but you regret not including him in on this. You will forever be sorry about it. 

“I don’t deserve you,” you blurt out, gazing at him. “You deserve someone who isn’t fucked up like me—”

Wonwoo kissed you ravenously like a starved man. He didn’t intend to go in so strong, but hearing you talk down about yourself, he hated it. He just wants to kiss your pain away. 

“I couldn’t hate you if I tried.” He whispered. “I love you, okay? Nothing will ever change that.”

You were beautiful to him, with many layers and flaws that he didn’t care about. Yes, he was upset that you hadn’t trusted him, but he also knew YOU, and understood you wouldn’t have acted that way without proof. He was hopelessly and deeply in love with you, and his heart was telling him to trust you. You had grown up together and had seen every side of each other. There was no way he would ever give up on you, Aeron or not.

He kissed you again, and he found himself caught in a rapture of love, his hunger and need for you superseding any logical thought or need. He touched you like he was trying to reclaim all the time you had been apart. Your nails dug into his back when he sucked your neck, leaving you more bruised. 

“Sorry, baby,” he said in between breaths. 

“Don’t be sorry,” you shook your head. “Do what you want.”

He felt himself hardening against your leg, and he instinctively started stroking himself, sending electric jolts throughout his body. His lips slightly parted, the thought of being inside of you and feeling your warmth around him, cumming for him over and over almost sends him into an abyss. 

You slowly get on your knees, moving his hand, rubbing his shaft, and giving his tip a soft kiss. Wonwoo watched as you took over, bobbing your head back and forth as you sucked him inch by inch, never breaking eye contact. He loved the way you twirled your tongue around his cock, the wet slurping sounds coming from your pretty mouth was music to his ears. It made his toes curl, turning him animalistic as his hands grasped your head and pulled it tightly. 

"You feel so good baby", he muttered against the wall. "I missed you."

You nodded fervently, increasing your pace and skillfully deepthroating him while he was in ecstasy. Watching his cock go in and out of your mouth, drops of spit coming out of your mouth was a sight to see. You sucked him earnestly like you owed him, and he felt that. But little did you know, Wonwoo is the one who owes you, for keeping him alive all this time.

“Get up,” he gritted his teeth, reluctantly pulling you off of him. 

He helped you off the ground and pressed your back against the tiled wall, the warm water hitting your breasts and falling on the curves of your stomach. The smell of vanilla on your skin is intoxicating, stirring in his chest a need for you and your taste. His fingers brushed against your nipples, your sensitive buds hardening at his touch. He sucked on them softly, his tongue swirled around each nipple, earning a hard moan from your lips. He loved the way your body responded to him. You were like a siren, your moans enticing to him as he sucked on them harder and putting him under your spell. 

“God, Wonwoo,” you whined. 

“I know, baby, I know.” 

His lips traveled lower to your abdomen, leaving a trail of kisses on your soft stomach as he made his way to your center. His mouth salivated as he saw your flowering bud, bringing back memories of his tongue inside of you for the first time at the Sanctuary. You were creamy and tasted like heaven, and he’s been addicted to your sweetness ever since.

“You’re so beautiful.” 

He dived in without any warning, sucking on your clit and spreading your legs. He was on his knees, devouring your center like this was the last time. He yearned to feel your cum on his tongue, to swallow everything that you had to offer him. He was a desperate man in love, and willing to do anything to make you satisfied. 

“Shit,” you sighed, your hands caressing his hair. “You feel so good.”

Wonwoo grinned against your folds, giving your clit another kiss before hiking your leg up, slipping two digits inside of you. He watched as you bit your lip in anticipation, slowly working his fingers in and out of you. HIs lips found your clit again, fingering and sucking you while your hips slow whined into a seductive rhythm. He loved watching you lose control, your legs shaking and your stomach tightening as the pressure built up in your abdomen. He didn’t slow down when he knew you were cumming, instead he increased the pace, wanting to see you explode over his face and fingers. 

“Wonwoo, I...”

Your sentence ended in a high-pitched moan, your fingers grasping his hair tightly as you erupted. He slowly slipped out his fingers, drunk on your sugarness, as he slurped everything you had to offer him. He didn’t stop until you lightly slapped his face, your unspoken yellow light when you needed to catch your breath. Standing up from the shower, the warm water hit his back as he faced you, pulling you into another kiss. Your lips curved into a smile, your eyes shone brightly into his as if nothing more needed to be said. 

But he said it anyway. 

“I love you.” 

You nodded slowly, bringing your hand down and stroking his cock near your entrance. His eyebrows raised, and you smirked, kissing his face lightly before turning around and pressing your chest against the wall. “You know what to do.”

His hands found your hair, wrapping it around his fist as he slid the head of his cock inside of you. He entered you slowly, knowing you were still ripe with overstimulation, despite your body saying otherwise. You pressed your ass against him, goading him to go keep as possible. Your hips rolled in a way that made Wonwoo’s cock twitch, and with one grunt he place his hand on your left hip and started to fuck you. Hard. 

“Please.” 

He knew exactly what your body craved, hitting you with deep, long strokes that made you quiver, your hands reaching for him and digging into his legs. You didn’t want to be handled like a princess tonight; you wanted to be fucked until there was nothing left. He felt your hunger, your ache, your eagerness to make your pain go away. He loved the way your walls tightened around him when he kissed the back of your neck. Wonwoo has studied you for a long time, and he knew exactly what you needed. 

He lets go of your hair, sliding his hand down to your throat and tightening his grip. Your body began to shake, and he thrusted into you harder, your wet skin slapping against his as you moved in harmony with each other. Your moans turn into a sirenic scream, your warm essence drowning his cock as you shudder, your eyes rolling in the back of your head.  Wonwoo didn’t last long after that, letting out a long mewl before emptying himself inside of you, coating your walls with his load. You’re both breathless, the water still warm as ever as it rinses away the mess that was made. Kissing you on your shoulder, Wonwoo pulls you off the wall, turning you around and moving a part of your silver hair out of your face. 

“We need to talk,” you muttered, looking down at the floor. 

“I know,” Wonwoo nodded, feeling his chest constrict at the dreaded conversation. “Let’s get cleaned up first.

A few hours later, you were sitting on the couch, watching the shooting stars go back and forth outside the window. After your shower, your energy was gone, and so you took a nap, promising to get up in an hour. Wonwoo let you sleep in and, at some point, laid in bed with you, as you woke up with his arms wrapped around your waist.  His light snores were peaceful, and you wondered if he dreamed like you did, where you were happy, without the threat of Aeron looming over your shoulder with a wedding ring on your finger and a baby in your stomach. Maybe in another life, you can get this back. 

“Hey.”

Wonwoo walks into the living room with sleepy eyes and messy hair, unfolding his glasses and sliding them on. He takes a seat next to you, pulls you into his arms, and gazes at the stars together. For the first time in days, you finally feel at peace, able to breathe easily with the limited time you have left.

“I can’t believe this is the last time I’ll see this,” you say solemnly.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

You turn to him and hold his hand tightly. “You know Aeron isn’t going to let me go alive.”

Aeron is a pitbull with a grudge that could go on for a thousand years. You’ve seen what he’s done to people who have pissed him off for less. You aren’t going to believe in some miracle or the greater good; you know better than that. He’s never laid a hand on you as many times as you’ve disobeyed him growing up, but you’ve never tried to kill him either. God, you wish you didn’t miss. 

Wonwoo rubs your shoulders, and you can tell he is thinking of a way to get out of this and take care of you, like he always does. “Who sent you the files and the evidence?”

“It was Selene,” you disclosed. “She was best friends with my mother, and she knew Aeron growing up as well.” 

You explained everything that Selene told you, even down to the box of mementos that was left in her quarters. Wonwoo listened, never interrupting and taking in everything you said. You saw anger flash in his dark eyes, and you are thankful you aren’t the reason behind that. 

“He created this whole, elaborate plan just to keep himself from facing judgment, from facing me,” you pointed at your chest. “He has to know that I would’ve killed him if I found out.” 

You think back to Glacius, looking at the photos of your mother’s childhood, happy and oblivious to the future she faced. You remember sleeping happily to your mother’s framed memories and waking up to Wonwoo pulling you back into reality… how did Wonwoo know where you were?

“Hey,” you say abruptly. “How did you know where I was?”

A fleeting look of shame crosses Wonwoo's face, prompting you to withdraw your hand as an eerie feeling coils in your chest. “Jeon Wonwoo, I swear to God—”

“Your ring,” he blurts out, looking at your left hand. “I’ve been able to track you with your ring.”

It didn’t hit you right away. You looked down at your engagement ring, a symbol of love and a promise of your future together that he gave you on the last day of the year, down on one knee at the Sanctuary. There is no way he would taint that memory with a lie, right?

“You must be talking about another ring…” Your voice trails off. “Surely you aren’t talking about this ring on my finger?!”

“Silver, let me explain—”

“Really, Wonwoo?!” You leap off the couch, yanking the ring off your finger while he watches wide-eyed. “It’s bad enough I have Aeron lying to me, but I would never think in a million eons that you would be capable of this, giving me a fake ring—” 

“Silver, STOP!”

His voice roars through the suite, sending chills down your spine. The heat of anger and betrayal that had fueled your fire suddenly evaporates. Anything else you wanted to say dies in your throat, your lips pressed tight in a mix of confusion and disbelief as you wave your hand, urging him to continue.

“That ring was made from the finest jeweler in the Nova District, and I personally picked out the stones in the lab. I would never, EVER, give you a fake ring, and I’m really offended you would think I would do that.” Wonwoo motions for you to sit down, and reluctantly, you sit. 

“Remember when we had the mission in the Xaros Forest and we were attacked by the wild boars there? Remember when we got separated and I couldn’t find you for days?” 

You think back to that particular mission from a year ago, as you were sent there to bring in a wanted fugitive and were met with the wild beasts. While fending them off, you were cut by one of them and almost died, bleeding out in the field. A native of that land saw what happened and stopped the bleeding in their cave, leaving you separated from Wonwoo and the rest of the hunters for seven days. Eventually, that native led Wonwoo to you, and you had never seen him look so terrified; the agony etched on his face upon seeing your condition was unforgettable.

“Those seven days were the worst days of my life,” Wonwoo laments. “I didn’t know if you were dead, alive, but held captive, and I never wanted us to be in that position again. So I placed a tracker on the band of the ring, so if you disappeared again, I would find you.”

You search his eyes for any hint of deceit, but deep down, you know he was telling the truth. Wonwoo could be a lot of things, but a liar he is not. The truth is, this Aeron situation has made you go out of your mind. If someone you looked up to could lie to you like that, or the scientist you did jobs for knew secrets and kept them from you, what’s to say Wonwoo wouldn’t do the same?

“I just wish you had told me, talked to me first,” you sigh heavily. “I would’ve done anything you wanted.”

“I don’t think you should be lecturing me on trust, Silver.”

His words hit you like an arrow to the chest, and you had no comeback for that. He was right. 

“Put your ring back on, please,” Wonwoo says softly. “If you want me to take off the tracker, I will.”

You study him for a moment, the familiar look of pain you keep causing on his face. You slowly slide the ring back on your finger, feeling like shit. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says, getting up and pulling you into a hug. “I should’ve talked to you about it first. You’re right.”

You nod on his chest, listening to his heartbeat drum against your ear as the living room falls silent, sans your loud, grumbling stomach. 

“We have room service here. Go ahead and order something.”

He kisses your forehead and untangles himself from you, going into the other room and quietly shutting the door. You go into the kitchen and browse the menu, settling on two burgers and fries with drinks, since you know Wonwoo is going to want the same thing. After you enter your order, you sit at the table, alone with your thoughts and everything that has happened. Shortly after, Wonwoo exits the room, his face red with anger. 

‘What’s wrong?” You get up slowly. 

“It’s Aeron,” he said bitterly. “He wanted to know if I captured you.”

You feel your heart sink into your chest, collapsing back in your chair. Reality is setting in, and tonight will be the last day you will be alive. But at least you will have your day to confront him in person, to look him in the eyes and make him confess to everything he did. 

“The way he’s been talking to me every time I bring up what he did… It’s like I don’t matter. Just another body under The Organization.”

Wonwoo looks dejected and hurt, like a boy who's lost his father. You wrap him up in your arms, letting him squeeze you tight in the solace that he needs. 

“Baby, I have a plan,” he says, “And it may not work, and it could get us both killed. But I need you to trust me.” 

You release him and gaze into his eyes, placing your hand across his heart. “I trust you completely. What are you thinking?”

The rain pours as you land in Adamas City, and the wind is violent like it knows what today is: your judgment day. 

The last twelve hours you spent with Wonwoo on East Eaoros XII all seem like nothing but a memory now, the anxiety eating at your stomach as you face the unknown about your future. Wonwoo was careful leading you out of the ship in handcuffs, meeting Soonyoung and Mingyu at the doors before heading inside The Hightower. Soonyoung and Mingyu give you sympathetic looks, walking you to the elevators and standing on each side as you walk in. Wonwoo swipes his badge and presses the button to floor 77, where Aeron awaits you both. 

“Are you ready for this?”

You look at Wonwoo, and despite his calm demeanor, his brown eyes reveal that he is worried. You lean in, quickly kissing him and interlocking your pinky with his. “I’m as ready as I can be.” 

The elevator dings at 77, the doors opening to Aeron’s office, a swanky 7000 square feet of space that held business meetings, promotions, and if you were on his bad side, your last breath. 

“I’ve been expecting you.” 

Before you could react, a fist connected to your left cheek, sending you flying into one of the tables. You stagger, facing the 6’5” man with olive skin, a muscular build, and piercing eyes ready to kill. 

“You thought you could shoot me and get away with it?!”

He swings another punch, but you're nimble, ducking just in time. Your eyes catch a bottle of dark liquor on his desk, and with a swift motion, you hurl it at him like a Frisbee. Aeron raises his arm to block it, the glass shattering and slicing into his skin, shards splattering across his face. You see Wonwoo reach for his gun, but you shake your head, determined to be the one to send him out of this world.

You search wildly for anything that could free you from the cuffs, adrenaline surging as you fight for your life. You don’t hear Aeron’s approach until it’s too late; suddenly, you’re lifted off the ground and violently slammed down, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. With merciless fury, Aeron unleashes a torrent of insults, calling you every foul name imaginable while you struggle to gather your thoughts on the hard, unforgiving carpet.

“And I bet it was that bitch Selene who tipped you off,” he spits. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her next.” 

“Leave her out of it,” You croak. “She had the guts to tell me the truth, and not hide behind my mother’s memory like some little bitch.”

Aeron’s roar could be heard several floors below. He marched over to your direction, but he was cut off by Wonwoo, standing squarely in front of you. “Enough, Aeron.” 

“Boy, get out of my way,” Aeron growls, rolling up his sleeves, attempting to go around Wonwoo. 

Wonwoo stood his ground, pushing him out of the way while giving you a chance to sit up and catch your breath. Aeron’s head tilts in disbelief, but instead of going after him, he saunters over to his desk, pulling out a cigar from his drawer. “I could use a break anyway.”

Slumping into his chair, Aeron lights up his cigar and takes one long puff, his eyes fixing on Wonwoo as he examines your swollen left cheek. 

“Are you okay?” Wonwoo asks softly. 

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “It’s going to take a lot more than this to take me out.”

“You were always pussy-whipped,” Aeron chuckles at his desk. “She could ask you to leap into traffic, and you would do it, no questions asked.”

Wonwoo didn’t respond, instead looking at the time on his watch and moving to your right side. You would be a liar if you said you weren’t in pain. You haven’t sparred with Aeron in years, let alone a real fight. He caught you off guard, and you underestimated his strength, and now you have a sore back and limbs to show for it. It’s not like he got away scot-free, the cuts of glass being the only blow that you could land while handcuffed. 

“Why did you do it, Aeron?” you speak up. “Why did you kill my mother? My family?”

You watch him as he takes another puff of his cigar, exhaling the thick smoke out of his mouth. 

“She was supposed to be mine, always,” he reveals. “I’ve loved your mother since the first time I laid eyes on her. She loved me too, ya know. Our love transcended time, and we would be happy together if she didn’t get married to that father of yours.” 

“I know about the affair, and she wanted to end it.” Your voice is low. “Why didn’t you just leave her be? Why did we all have to die? Why fake a gas leak?”

His hands twitch, fingers curling into fists before releasing. “Because she broke her promise to me,” his voice trembled. “She was only supposed to love me. We were going to figure out how to get her out of her marriage so we could finally be together, and I would raise you as my daughter. However, she fell in love with that man and wanted to make it work with him.” He gazes back at you, eyes wild with a mix of pain and fury. “I just couldn’t have that.” 

“So instead of moving on, you decided to kill us?” Your voice wavers, a lump forming in your throat as tears begin to blur your vision. “You were family to us, Aeron! How could you?”

“How could she? How could she love someone else? No, she did it to herself. Your family’s death is on her. I just facilitated the leak, that’s all.”

You stare at him incredulously, your body shaking in anger. You lost your family because Aeron couldn’t handle the thought of your mother being happy with someone else. He’s a bitch and a punk, and you can’t wait to put him down for good.

“Fuck you.” 

The telecast’s screen suddenly turns on, showing a livestream of the office and the three of you in it. The recording replays of Aeron assaulting you on entry, watching you fly across the room with a thundering smack to the face. You pinpoint how it was recorded, noting the camera moved every time Wonwoo did, realizing the pin Wonwoo was wearing was actually a hidden camera. Aeron’s eyes are wide with shock as the telecast is shown on the main public channels for everyone to witness. 

“What the hell is this?!”

Wonwoo silently releases the handcuffs while Aeron is distracted, whispering in your ear, “Do what you have to do.” 

Without hesitation, you grab Wonwoo’s gun, firing a shot into Aeron’s knee. He howls in pain, and without mercy, you shoot the other one, witnessing his face contort in agony and surprise.

“Those two? Are for Dipper and Umi,” you declare, your voice laced with vengeance. 

The gun recoils in your hand again, sending a bullet into Aeron's stomach. “That was for my dad, who was ten times the man you ever were.” 

With a perfect aim, you shoot one more shot, a fatal blow to his heart. “And that is for my mother, you piece of shit.” 

You watch the life leave his body, his eyes glassy and his tongue rolled out of his mouth like the dog he is. The alarms suddenly start blaring, the lights in the office flashing red. 

“We have to go.” 

Wonwoo pulls you out of the office and into a hidden stairwell, racing up to the roof where the helipad is located. When Wonwoo told you about his plan, you weren’t sure he could pull it off, as it involved many moving pieces. But just like you had friends in different places, so did he. Mingyu and Soonyoung were in on it, standing guard and making sure no one got in the way. Conveniently, they would also be the ones to sound off the alarm to cover up their tracks. He planned to have you leave the city while he cleaned up this mess, publicly and behind the scenes. Since Aeron is dead and Wonwoo is his adopted son on paper, Wonwoo is now the head of The Organization. 

He opens up the door leading to the roof, and there awaits a ship, ready to go. What he didn’t tell you was who was going to be navigating the ship, and you have never been happier to see your best friend. 

“Happy to see me?” Jeonghan smirked in the commander’s seat. 

“Always a pleasure,” you say, looking around the ship. “Where’s So—”

“She’s… with a friend,” Jeonghan finishes your sentence. “We need to leave now before the guards come.”

You nod sharply and turn to Wonwoo, who’s looking at you with a mix of awe and sorrow. The realization hits hard: this might really be the last time you see him until things chill out. All those moments you fought for just to end up on the brink of another goodbye—it feels so wrong. Frustration bubbles up inside you. It shouldn’t be like this; none of this is fair. You should be together, not caught in this mess, forced apart when all you want is to hold on.

“Remember what I told you at the Hightower when we passed our tests?”

You could never forget anything about that day. It was the first time you kissed him, and one of the best nights of your life. “You said I was a force of nature.” 

“That’s right, baby,” he says, tears welling up in his eyes. “We’re going to get through this together, and I will find you, okay?”

You point at your engagement ring, and he nods, and he meets your gaze, leaning in to kiss you deeply. A flood of emotions washes over you, your own tears spilling out of your eyes, as you draw him in tighter, breathing in his scent one last time. 

“I’m sorry to cut in here, but we have to go,” Jeonghan calls out from his seat. 

Reluctantly breaking away, you leave him with one last kiss, wiping his tears away and letting go of his hands. 

“I love you, Silver.”

You nod as he exits the ship, your heart feeling lighter with the resolve that you will see him again. Instead of saying goodbye, you leave him with a promise: 

“See you, space cowboy.”

(epilgoue)

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[goldenhourology]

LIKE THE MOVIES.

🎥 banner in collab w @cherrytigercreations / buy prints here

pairing: jeon wonwoo x f!reader

genre: smut, fluff, lots of angst, friends to lovers

summary: after one impulsive hookup in college, you and your best friend, wonwoo, decide to stay just that — friends. years later, you’re both still pretending that’s enough. and because neither of you is brave enough to risk ruining what you have, you choose the most logical solution possible: you start setting him up on dates with other women.

warnings: major slowburn / smut at the end, oral (f!recieving), fingering, unprotected sex, praise, wonwoo service top 4ever<3, miscommunication, fixer!reader, reader and wonwoo are major idiots in love, mutual pining (over almost a decade). nsfw (minors / ageless blogs dni).

word count: 33.2k

note: first thing I wanna state — I’m so incredibly sorry for how long this took! if you saw some of my posts over the last few months, you know how I just kept getting sick and that really deterred writing this, BUT I FINISHED IT 🙌 second thing — I need you guys to prepare in advance to either get incredibly annoyed by the reader or relate to her a little more than you’d like to admit LOL it might hurt but I promise the payoff is worth it !! at the end of the day, I really like writing real stories that could happen to anyone. no matter what age you are, there might be a moment where you’re a little messy or you avoid your feelings for your best friend for years! lol I hope this makes you feel things and maybe even cry a lil. I won’t tell 😇 enjoy friends! (taglist posted at the bottom.)

also a huge thank you to @cherrytigercreations for collabing with me on the banner! we have been friends for so long and I’m so excited we finally found an opportunity to create something. please check out her shop here! 💓

in rotation: blame me, monsta x / move me, charli xcx / another life, sza / our day will come, amy winehouse / daylight, taylor swift / it's always you, chet baker / soft, lany / like the movies, laufey

I.

I looked at him, and I thought, “If I was very brave or very honest, I would tell him.” I would say it, so he would know it and I would know it, and I could never take it back. But I wasn’t that brave or honest, so all I did was look at him. And I think he knew anyway. –JENNY HAN

April 22, 2017

You always woke up before your alarm, but something was different this time. Your eyes fluttered open, focusing on the pile of clothes strewn underneath the bed. The dorm walls were bare and that ugly yellow color, instead of being covered in your favorite movie posters. A fan was whirring in the corner of the room. The TV was still on, projecting the title screen of the game you and Wonwoo had been playing last night.

That was when you realized this wasn’t your room. This was Wonwoo’s.

And all your clothes weren’t on.

Creeping your hand up from the sheets, you turned the alarm off on your defective Android that your dad bought you for the cheapest price possible. Sometimes the alarm didn’t work, but you didn’t want to chance it this morning. You carefully moved off the mattress, almost falling when you noticed that this twin sized bed was higher up than the one in your dorm, and began to put on your discarded clothes.

The frame creaked.

Your body froze, unsure what to do, before you continued to step into your leggings and turned around. 

Wonwoo was sitting up, the bedsheets falling carelessly down and exposing his bare torso. His was skinnier than you assumed. The oversized shirts he wore concealed his lanky form, but it was intentional. His hair was sticking up in every other direction as he put on his glasses, his eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight. His frames were broken on one side, the arm being held together with shitty tape.

When he finally noticed you standing and putting your legs into the tight spandex of your leggings, he remembered everything that happened the night before. You asking to come over past visiting hours. The video game. The kiss. Needing relaxation before a grueling set of final exams next week. “Maybe we should try,” you had said. “Just once,” he had agreed. And now, there was a used condom in his trash can and he was trying not to gawk at it.

You were both just sophomores in college, but you felt the weight of the world on your shoulders. Especially when it meant crossing the lines of friendship.

Tugging on your shoes, you said, “Maybe I should –”

“Coffee?” He suggested, voice rough from sleep. It affected you, somewhat, and you realized how much you liked him like this: unpolished and disheveled. “Avalon dining hall has free coffee and pastries on Saturday mornings.”

You nodded, all awkward. “Sure.”

Following slightly behind him, you walked to the dining hall, trying not to make eye contact with any classmate that passed by. You wondered if they could see it written all over your face: not exactly shame, but something deeper. Maybe self-consciousness, like you’d been caught in the act. Wonwoo was wearing the same t-shirt from the day you met in class – the one with a small hole on the sleeve, a faded graphic of Godzilla on the front – as the morning sun beat down on you two, promising a hot summer ahead.

You picked out a table in the dining hall as Wonwoo went up to get your coffees. He put them in paper cups rather than mugs. Avalon food was good, but the dishware tended to be sticky, even when they cleaned it. He found you at the small table in the corner, somehow holding two coffees while balancing a plastic plate of chocolate croissants on top of one. You accepted your coffee with a tense smile, immediately taking a sip and forgetting how hot it would be. Wincing, you pulled apart one of the croissants, hand pulling back quickly when your fingers almost touched his.

You two had been friends since freshman year, and you had never shied away from him like this. But after last night … it was like his fingertip had the ability to electrocute.

Silence echoed. The dining hall was only partially filled – it was the weekend, after all – and you had said hi to your friend, Seungkwan, when he passed. Neither of you were looking at each other, eyes focused on something else. For Wonwoo, it was the bee buzzing just outside the window next to your table.

You cleared your throat as you traced the rim of your coffee cup. “Well, I guess this awkwardness proves that we’d be terrible at casual.”

Finally, he relented. Your playful comment making a snort escape from his lips. You couldn’t help but smile, still staring at your cup. “Yeah. Imagine what it would be like if we actually tried,” he quipped.

Your eyes lifted to his, stunned for a moment. Just a moment. Because you couldn’t dwell on what “actually tried” meant. Dating? Wanting? Choosing each other on purpose? You were both just shy of 21. You couldn’t possibly know what you wanted.

But then the night was coming back in flashes. You remembered the way he kissed you slow at first, before deepening it and how you couldn’t hold back the moan when his tongue explored your mouth. He had taken his glasses off, making sure to cautiously place them on his bedside table, or else they would break again, and he was so … handsome. Well, of course, Wonwoo was handsome. You weren’t blind. But it was different up close, without his glasses.  When he was staring at you not just like a friend, but as something more. Like you were everything he had ever dreamed of. It was just you and him breathing heavily against each other’s mouths while taking in your appearances, and then going in for the kiss again. Last night had been his first time going down on a girl, but it had been the best experience of your life. Granted, you only had one person go down on you before him. His talent was truly unmatched though. And the way it felt when he finally pushed into you –

Only a second passed. It had felt like hours.

You laughed too fast, shaking your head. “We’d have ruined everything.”

Wonwoo paused, a mere breath. “Or –”

You watched him. Even your finger on the rim of your cup hesitated, as if your entire world depended on the next words that came out of his mouth.

He closed his mouth, smiling, and then shrugged. “Yeah,” he agreed, “ruined everything.”

In freshman year psychology, your professor had briefly touched on origin wounds – deep, emotional scars that shape core beliefs about self-worth, safety, and especially, trust, making you repeat patterns in adulthood. You didn’t realize it at the time, and Wonwoo surely didn’t mean for it, but this was one of your origin wounds: the point where everything went wrong by dishonesty, by being too reasonable.

Maybe it was an origin wound for both of you.

Your expression was perfectly schooled, lips curving up as you reached across the table with your hand. “Just friends?”

He hesitated, biting his lip for the longest minute of your life. Until eventually … his large palm closed over yours.

“Just friends,” he promised. “Hopefully, for many years to come.”

February 12, 2026

Dusting snow flurries off his black beanie, Wonwoo was grateful that you gave the second key to your building to him rather than someone else. Not that you wanted anyone besides him in your personal space, anyway. You weren’t answering your phone when he arrived, so he let himself in, setting his wet hat and gloves on the antique space heater you still kept in your kitchen. It was so old; you were pretty sure it came from your grandmother that died before you were born. But it worked like a champ, and he was able to shed off his coat just before the pizza box almost fell from his hands.

Ever since you both moved to the city 3 years ago, you established a ritual for him to come over to your apartment on Thursday nights and watch a movie you both never saw before while dining on some of the worst reviewed takeout spots. You both begged to differ. Thursday movie night just made sense, seeing as the two of you bonded in a college course on the history of cinema. 

He turned his head to catch the apologetic smile you were throwing his way. That’s why you hadn’t answered his text. Despite the late hour, despite the fact that you left the office three hours ago … you were on the phone with your boss about a change in his flight. You weren’t his assistant; you were actually far above that in the company. But you always agreed to help. If you didn’t answer his call, no one would.

Plopping down on the couch beside you, Wonwoo scrolled through his phone and listened as you talked your anxiety-ridden boss down from the ledge. It reminded him of last week when he came over and you quickly told him to set down the pizza in the kitchen while you sat on your bathroom floor and smoothed over a conflict your work friend, Jennifer, had texted you about. Something about a boyfriend. You didn’t sweat it, never missing a moment to give practical advice. 

He had been watching you fix everyone else’s problems your entire friendship – half amused, half exhausted by how you never did the same for yourself. It’s always been something you never had a problem doing, but he saw how much it weighed on you. You never complained though. He wondered sometimes if it was tearing you up inside to complain. Just once. 

When you finally got off the phone, you let out the heaviest sigh and fell back, resting your head on his thigh. Physical contact like this had never meant much to the both of you, but still, his finger did stop scrolling. His breathing paused, too focused on himself to notice that maybe yours had faltered too.

“Sorry about that,” you muttered. “Sal put extra cheese on the pizza, right?”

Wonwoo clicked off his phone and let it collapse on the couch cushion. Instead of answering your question, he said, “You’re always doing that – fixing people. I’m sure your boss could’ve figured that out on his own.” He looked down, meeting your eyes as they tilted up to his. “I know you’ve insisted it’s not a big deal, but –”

“Trust me, he wouldn’t have been able to figure that out. He’s never struggled with anything in his life.” You played with your fingers on your lap. “Besides, being praised at work after I help someone feels better than anything, even an orgasm.”

Your latter comment made him bite the inside of his cheek, just for a second, and he ignored it before adding, “It’s not just at work. It happens all the time. You know I’m right.”

You exhaled even louder, more dramatic, and sat up. Your hair was slightly messed up in the back, but you felt his eyes on you. Felt them burning into your cheek as if he had powers. Wonwoo always looked at you that way: like he cared a little too much, kind of like the way he stared at you when you were young and stupid in that godforsaken dorm room. You couldn’t deny that you were guilty of doing the same sometimes, whether it be in a dark movie theater where he was far too focused on the screen, or when he took the liberty ordering for you at a bar because he knew the bartender liked him. And maybe you did care a little too much, but that didn’t matter. Because it couldn’t matter.

Wonwoo would always just be … Wonwoo.

Shifting your gaze to his, you sent him a small smile and asked, “So which movie did you pick out for us tonight?”

After scrolling through multiple streaming apps, Wonwoo finally found the one hosting this horror movie that was recommended to him – Swiped. It was a modern day nightmare about a woman using an app to get back into dating and accidentally wound up on a date with a serial killer. Definitely an indie film, so they didn’t hold back on the gory scenes, which you watched with your hands over your eyes, peaking out slightly between your fingers. Wonwoo, on the other hand, didn’t shy away, but still watched the bloody scene of the killer’s past with his top lip curled in disgust. He set down the pizza slice in his hand onto a paper plate and leaned back into the couch.

“This is the exact reason why dating apps don’t work. You don’t know if you could end up with a serial killer,” he commented, crossing his arms over his chest.

You turned your head, desperate not to look at the TV. “Have you ever actually been on a date from an app? I can’t remember the last time you even told me you went on a date.”

He sent you a glare. “You’re one to talk. The last time you dated was that older guy who you stopping talking to after he wanted to be exclusive.”

“Sean was asking too much of me. He wanted to see me every weekend and I love my friends too much.” You glanced at the scene to see the killer’s particularly creepy face and cringed, looking back to your friend. “Now, answer the question.”

He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I … okay, never. What’s your point?”

Good question. Your nose wrinkled as you thought about the last time Wonwoo dated. It had to be years ago, even longer than you. Just after college and you were both already hyper fixating on a quarter-life crisis. It was before you both moved, and you remembered him casually dating this girl. What was her name? Sally? Seoyun? Selena? Too different, but you thought he introduced you to her once. He broke it off before it got too serious, when you both got opportunities of a lifetime to work in the heart of the city.

He wasn’t dating. Hadn’t been for years. Not seriously. Not casually. He was always “busy,” always “just fine.”

You noticed. Of course, you did.

“Soooo …” You murmured, dragging out the word as you slowly met his eyes. Your tone was smooth, almost blasé. “Are you ever going to date again?”

Wonwoo arched an eyebrow. “You’re full of questions tonight. Why do you care?”

Your gaze narrowed. “Oh, I don’t know, Wonwoo. Maybe it’s because you’re my best friend.” You tossed a throw pillow at him and it hit him right in the face. He had never been good with dexterity, even though he was great at video games.

His glasses were knocked onto the floor and he laughed, picking them up before settling against the cushions once more. He fixed them back onto his face, but the frames – no matter how new – were still crooked on him. 

When his laughter died down, he shrugged, lacing his fingers together on his chest as he watched the movie. “Haven’t met anyone worth the effort.”

There was nothing dramatic about his tone. He wasn’t bitter. He said it like a fact.

The words stuck, lodging themselves somewhere deep. Not in your head, not in your chest. Even deeper. In your ribs, nestled in a cage of your own making. 

Because his answer wasn’t “anyone interesting” or “anyone I like.” He mentioned effort, no matter how indifferent he sounded. You had known Wonwoo for almost a decade. You knew what he was like when something was worth the effort.

So you laughed it off – albeit awkwardly – because you couldn’t stand the silence. “Well, that’s fixable.”

“Here you go again.” But then he finally glanced at you, curiosity peaked. “Is … is it?”

You nodded, body completely facing him now, as you rested your elbow on the back of the couch. Grinning at him, you replied, “Mmhmm. You’re just not meeting the right people. I know, like …” You lifted a few fingers. “… Five women off the top of my head for you.”

A corner of his mouth tugged up. “One of those isn’t your cousin that tried kissing me at your graduation party, right?”

“Don’t make me throw another pillow at you.” You playfully hit his arm. “I’m being serious. I think it all comes down to that.” 

He turned back to the screen, just when the main character gasped at the killer’s monologue. Wonwoo was usually quiet, but this silence was different. He wasn’t arguing at your response, but he clearly wasn’t excited either. It was as if he was resigning himself to whatever fate you bestowed upon him.

And then he gently mumbled, “If you think so.”

Haven’t met anyone worth the effort.

You thought about his answer longer than you should. What was meant to be an uninterested string of words to shrug you off struck you somewhere that you hadn’t felt before. They were heavy; you could practically feel them rolling around in your brain like marbles. You pondered them, even at the office, when you should be focusing on work. Even at night, when sleep just wouldn’t come to you. As you took the train to work, when all you could hear was the singing of some elderly man at the back of the car. 

Despite the way you laughed off awkward situations, you always listened to Wonwoo, always took in every word he said. One time, after drinking a single margarita because he was a lightweight when it came to tequila, he drunkenly told you that no one had ever listened to him like you did. But last night’s conversation hit … different, in a way that had you picking at your cuticles again. Maybe you cared too much. But was it really that bad to care too much for someone that had become your rock? 

You couldn’t harp on it, too afraid of the real answer.

You had just gotten home, still wearing the cardigan you wore to the office even after changing into a pair of worn out pajama bottoms. The kind that you probably got as a teenager, but the fabric had stretched out so much that they still fit. You were chopping up some veggies for whatever haphazard rice bowl you were throwing together for dinner. Sometimes you would eat a pepper slice, other times you’d throw it in the pan. Your mind wandered though: on emails, reminding yourself that you needed to text back your dad, and – oh, the thing that Wonwoo said last week that simply wouldn’t leave your brain.

He deserves someone great, you thought to yourself. Clearly, you weren’t an option, not that you were expecting to be. If he fell for someone else, maybe you’d finally stop looking at him like –

You let the thought die before it could finish.

On lonely nights, when it was only you and your vibrator, some audio porn blasting through your AirPods, you wondered if you both had tried after that hookup before finals … what would’ve happened? Would you still be as close as you are now? Would you still be this much of a fixer and would he still be too “busy” to date anyone else? 

Even worse: would you have been worth the effort?

You set down the knife on the cutting board, closing your eyes as you gripped the counter. Your head shook, as if pushing the question out before it could take root. But that’s when the feelings you pushed down for so long bubbled up all over again. Calling it a “crush” felt trivial, like you were two kids at recess. It was more like … a feeling that lingered. A curse. A spirit that haunted you.

Because, at your heart of hearts, you knew it shouldn’t ever happened. You and Wonwoo had the chance years ago, but it wasn’t in the cards. You were meant to be friends and that was fine. (Truly, it was.) Your curse would go away soon enough, even if it took another 8 years of friendship.

Rewinding back to your conversation last week absolutely wasn’t helping. You turned, pressing your back against the kitchen counter as the peppers started to sizzle in the hot pan. Taking your phone out of your pocket, you began scrolling through the contacts in your phone. It was in this moment that you reverted back to your old ways, doing what you always did when you were the least bit hurt: you were going to fix.

II.

I think I’ve loved you since I met you. I just mistook it for curiosity. –ALICE OSEMAN

September 16, 2015

Maybe Wonwoo had been right; maybe this was a problem for you. But no case ever started as “I’m going to fix this person.”

The first inkling happened after you read Jane Austen’s Emma in senior year of high school. You weren’t a matchmaker by any means, and you certainly weren’t wealthy, nor all that clever, but you related to Emma Woodhouse in ways that were beyond you. And once you got to college, where you could start off with a clean state and become your own person, you found your purpose beginning to sprout. 

There was a girl in your ENG 101 class named Kat – loner type, the kind to always sit in the back and mind her own business. You observed her from your spot in the corner, watched the way she stayed silent and twirled the same piece of dark hair around her finger. She didn’t talk in class. Didn’t talk to anyone, really. Freshman year of college was hard enough as it was, but it was even worse when you were extremely introverted. Not that you had made many friends yet; you just knew how to make conversation. Always had. If you needed a friend and so did Kat, what harm would it be to help each other?

You approached her once class ended, hugging your notebook to you chest as you flashed the most endearing, pearly-white smile at her. You told her your name as she cautiously stood from her seat, swinging her backpack over her shoulder. “Do you want to grab lunch with me?” You asked brightly. “I think we also have the same first year seminar next. Maybe we could walk together to it after lunch!”

Surprisingly, Kat accepted your offer. Maybe she felt like she couldn’t exactly say no, but that wasn’t for you to assume. You showed her your current favorite dining area – Lincoln Hall – where they made the best burritos on campus. “They can sometimes make your stomach turn if you haven’t had any breakfast,” you explained, “but they’re worth it. Don’t let the chef intimidate you. Just ignore him.”

You quickly realized just how shy Kat was. She had a habit of keeping to herself and only spoke when spoken to. It took almost the whole lunch to get something out of her, as if she was trying to make it impossible to peel back her layers. But when she finally broke a moment of silence with, “These burritos are that good,” you knew that you were getting somewhere.

“Aren’t they? I love that they actually use fresh veggies,” you replied, wiping sauce from your top lip.

“They remind me of these ones I used to get back home.” She shrugged, pensive. “I miss it sometimes.”

Your interest peaked. “Home? Where are you from?”

She was a couple states south of here, while you were more north. Two opposite ends that somehow met on the same campus. Once she crumped up the empty wrapper, she mused, “You must’ve had a lot of friends back home.”

Your brow knitted together. “Not exactly. Just a small group that I had known since middle school, but I’ve always just been social. When I enrolled here, I really wanted to find new people. My parents always said that the people you meet in college are with you for life.” You traced the edge of the table. “Have … you met anyone else on campus?”

She looked a little caught off guard for a minute, and then shrunk into her jacket. “Besides you? Well … no.”

You tilted your head to the side. Kat stuffed her hands into her pockets and let the silence envelope her until it became too awkward. You realized that in order to get her to open up, you needed to beat her at her own game. It was a lot more difficult than you thought.

“I know it’s only the third week of classes, but I’m just …” She sighed, getting to her feet and grabbing her backpack. “… Nervous about making friends. And getting close to other people. I’ve always been kind of an introvert, but now …”

You followed her move, walking with her outside the dining hall and heading to the  Roosevelt building across campus, where your seminar was. “Is there a reason for that?” You asked, and then bumped her elbow with yours, a smile on your lips. “You can tell me. I think we’re friends now.”

Kat chewed on her bottom lip, debating her answer, until eventually, she cracked. “My friends from high school were … not very nice. My mom used to think they were toxic. Whatever you want to call them, they didn’t make me feel good.” She only looked at her feet as you walked together. “High school was hard and I was so scared about being without friends. But they always made me feel like I was a bother. Sometimes they wouldn’t even invite me over. I just let it happen though because I was afraid of being alone. I told myself that college would different.”

“Kat,” you murmured, grabbing her arm so her eyes met yours. You both stopped midstep in the center of the campus courtyard, blooming with life. “I don’t get the vibe that you could ever be a bother. College is the time to make friends, not shy away from them.”

You made due on your words, always making time to have lunch with her after ENG 101, but also introducing her to a few of your classmates from your History of Cinema course. Kasey and Jun were also on the quieter side, but they had way more in common with Kat than you did. Bringing them all together meant you saw Kat less, but she still made the effort to speak to you in class. 

By the time fall semester ended, you and Kat were merely acquaintances, but you didn’t really mind all that much. You had become close with your classmate, Wonwoo, also from History of Cinema, as well as a few other girls that lived in the same building as you. Wonwoo was shy like Kat, but he knew when to exactly open himself up, and he always did around you. Sometimes you wondered if you were merely attracted to introverted people, but you didn’t want to be friends with Wonwoo to help him. There was a warmth to his friendship that you hadn’t experienced before, something that you told that he would be in your life for a long time. 

When you and Wonwoo were in line for dinner, you noticed Kat leaving the dining hall with not just Kat and Jun, but a few others as well. She had clearly blossomed over the last couple of months, and you felt a sense of accomplishment that tingled throughout your body, from your head to your toes. This was the type of feeling you wanted all the time: purpose, connection, serotonin. 

You looked on her fondly, knowing that you helped give her a little push, and your self-esteem seemed to skyrocket. Kat glanced over her shoulder, meeting your eyes then, and waved. Matching her wave with a smile, you then felt Wonwoo’s breath at your ear as he asked, “Who’s that?”

You shrugged. “An old friend.”

February 18, 2026

The coffee at the office was tasting particularly burnt this morning. To be fair, you saw the technician that fixed the machine every couple of months stride through the double doors just after you sat down with your cup. A couple of your coworkers were already fawning over him from the doorway of the kitchenette. You watched them, just over the edge of your cubicle, with a raised brow. The local technician, Seokmin, was definitely handsome and had the kind of biceps you only saw on a bodice ripper romance book, but you had too many emails to waste time on watching him repair the coffee machine.

No matter how much you wanted to.

You took another sip from your cup and winced. Still burnt.

Resting your chin on your fist, you scrolled through the piles of emails that you were copied on but didn’t actually involve your position. You played music softly from the speakers of your monitor, not exactly caring who heard. This was what would happen until you were rewarded with your own office space. Despite your Marketing Director role, the building in general was “far too small” to grant you an office, so you’d make your coworkers’ life a living hell in your cubicle until your boss grew tired of it. He would eventually. Men, especially in positions of power, always caved.

As your fingers began dancing across the keyboard, you heard the doors swing open and the loud scuffle of your coworker, Jennifer’s, ballet flats. You looked up, noting the red in her eyes, the way her cheeks flushed and her mouth was in a flat line. She smoothed back the curls in her perfectly styled pixie cut, huffed, and then dropped her lunch bag onto her desk all the way at the end of the row from yours. 

Now that was perplexing. Jennifer was always in a good mood.

Your fingers paused on the keys, and just when you were about to get up and talk with her, she stormed in the direction of the bathroom. You heard her start to sniffle, but the sound was eventually muffled by the door to the women’s bathroom closing behind her. When one of your desk mates sent you a look, you took that as a sign to go check on her.

Getting to your feet, you smoothed down the wrinkles in your blouse and quickly made your way to the bathroom, sneaking a glance at Seokmin working his magic on the coffee machine in the process. (He really was handsome. Maybe you could help fix him up with someone here if he was single.) You pushed on the door and immediately found Jennifer at the sinks, sniffling as she wiped her eyes. She met your gaze in the mirror and already began stuttering, “Oh, I – I’m – let me j-just –”

You saddled up next to her and put a hand on her arm. “Don’t be silly, Jen,” you whispered, grabbing more paper towels from behind you and handing it to her. “Here, take these. What’s going on?”

Jennifer blew her nose into the paper towels, and the sound was so loud that it startled you. You blinked rapidly and she grumbled, “Sorry,” but it was muffled by the makeshift tissue.

“It’s okay,” you replied, trying to hide your chuckle. But soon enough, you were both sharing a laugh, giggling over the absolute absurdity of it all at 9 AM. You squeezed her arm as she blew her nose again.

“I hoped no one would see me like this, but …” She exhaled hard, tossing her snotty paper towel in the trash before checking her appearance in the mirror. Grimacing, she fixed the strands that had fallen out of her gelled hairstyle. 

Your grip slipped away as you arched a brow. “Do you … want to talk about it?”

She straightened her back, smoothing out the wrinkle in her shirt, before asking, “Do you remember the guy I had texted you about week ago? We hadn’t been dating long, but I asked for your advice –”

“Matty?”

Jennifer rolled her eyes instantly, the name striking a sense of irritation in her that even she was unable to hide. “Yes,” she admitted, and then rubbed at her nose. “The day after I texted you for advice … we actually broke up, but I was too embarrassed to tell you or make you think your advice didn’t work.”

Your brow relaxed. “Jen, it doesn’t offend me that my advice didn’t work. I just care that you’re okay.” And it was the truth, but you couldn’t help but be a little miffed that she didn’t follow your guidance after you made time out of your movie night with Wonwoo to prioritize her problem. That was neither here nor there. Jennifer was your friend after all.

“I just …” She wrung out her hands in front of her, looking down at the dent in her favorite flats. “I saw him at a coffee shop today and it brought back a lot of emotions that I thought were starting to go away. We had only been together for, like, five months, but it still feels so … icky to think that it could’ve worked out and it didn’t.”

“Icky?” You repeated, and then let the word turn over in your brain. “That does feel quite icky, doesn’t it?”

“Very!” She huffed, her palms slapping against her sides. “Because here I am crying over a guy that clearly doesn’t like me anymore, and I can’t stop wondering if I’ll ever be good enough. Like … what is it about me that made our relationship not work?”

Sensing that this was going to be a longer conversation, you leaned against the faucet and leveled a look at her. “Jen, you can’t think like that. You’ll just make yourself go crazy, and I can guarantee that it wasn’t you in the first place.”

She sent you a soft smile. With the amount of times she came to you for advice, it almost felt weird to continuously thank you. “You know, when you turn – let’s say … 20 – you think that you have it all figured out by now. I thought this stuff would get easier, but I can’t help but feel like I’m in college all over again.”

A tingle ran through you, the kind that started at your hairline and trickled all the way down to your legs. Her words hit you in a way you didn’t expect, because you – the person who always had her life together, who pretended like she had it all figured out – constantly felt that way. Sometimes you wondered if you were that transparent, if everyone could tell that you liked fixing so you wouldn’t have to mend any of the problems in your own life. You weren’t just a body anymore. You were merely a piece of cling wrap, translucent and waiting to mold yourself to the next thing that needed you. 

But maybe that was just you being too in your head, because no matter what, everyone came to you. And you’d drop everything. It was easier than having to face the fact that you still felt so small, so 20-something, insecure and overworked in a body that was pushing 30. 

“No matter what age you are, you’re never gonna have your life completely together,” you mused, a small passing comment that you were hoping would end the conversation before it got too deep. Jennifer reached over you and grabbed another paper towel to wipe her nose. You took the opportunity to ask, “Are you … open to dating again? Seeing someone else can be the perfect way to get over Matty.”

Jennifer shrugged. “If the man is nice enough, sure.”

Wonwoo’s smile appeared in your head then, all the kind things he did for you over the years flashing through like a movie montage. You remembered the time he spent a whole week studying with you just so you would pass your Physics exam. The time he brought you a new pair of slacks when you split coffee all over yourself before a job interview. The time he picked you up from a Renaissance faire when it got flooded out. Or all the times he was there for you when he didn’t have to be.

He was nice enough. More than that. And yet, he hadn’t met anyone worth the effort.

You pushed off the edge of the sink. “You know, my friend, Wonwoo, wants to try dating again –”

Her eyes immediately flickered to yours. “The Wonwoo? As in your friend? I didn’t think he was single.”

“Why?” You cocked your head.

“Well, it’s just … the way you talk about him …” She was avoiding eye contact now. “And the way he was hanging off you when you brought him to last year’s company holiday party …”

You rolled your eyes. “To be fair, he got way more intoxicated than intended. Anyway, he’s very single, and actually … you two might get along.”

“How so?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came to mind. In that moment, you couldn’t think of one thing – not even a lie – to convince Jennifer to go out with your best friend. They didn’t have anything in common, but that wasn’t typically a requirement for Wonwoo. He liked different.

“Well, I … haven’t exactly thought that far yet,” you admitted, sending her an awkward smile. “But he’s nice. Extremely nice. And you’re good with conversation. He can be difficult to come out of his shell, but I think you could do it.”

She sighed, turning to look at her reflection in the mirror. The redness in her eyes had faded, and she admired the natural flush of her cheeks as she fidgeted with her hair again. Eventually, she looked at you again with a shy smile, and then whispered, “I did think he was pretty cute at the holiday party.”

The game development company Wonwoo worked for was nowhere close to your job, but when you asked him to go to lunch, he always came. He would say that it wasn’t a big deal, but the few times you went to go see him during lunch, it took you two trains to get to him, leaving you with only 20 mins to sit with him before you had to leave. It was a big deal, and yet, he didn’t complain.

He moved around one of his meetings just to come see you, texting you that the deadline for the prototype of their next game was due soon, so finding free time nowadays was scarce. But he still did it. For you. Because he knew you would do the same. He hopped on the two trains to get to you, walking the short block to the cafe you found that was close to the station. Opening the door for the elderly women leaving, Wonwoo squeezed in past them and found you sitting at a small table in the corner. He watched you for a moment, noticing the way your fingers tapped across your phone screen, most likely writing an urgent email to someone on your team. Even with your brow scrunched together like this, you were calm. The idea of being burdened with work settling you better than the green tea on the table. 

Wonwoo pushed past the line forming at the register, and your eyes immediately lifted, like you could sense his presence somehow. Your lips curled and you waved him over. His own smile was quick, afraid of looking too eager, although any time he got to see you made him excited. Slipping his backpack off his shoulders, he sat down in the seat opposite of you and saw the hot mug of black coffee already waiting for him.

“I just got you the dark roast because I know you’ve always liked it,” you said, turning your phone facedown. Wonwoo wrapped his hands around the mug as he tried warding off the winter chill outside. “Were the trains bad?”

“Not really, but they’ll probably get worse later when I’m on my way home.” He took a sip of the rich, warm beverage. “I don’t have long though. What was so urgent?”

You laced your hands on the table, and you had this look in your eye that always scared him. The kind that excited you, but whatever you had planned would be hell for everyone else. Judging by the way your gaze was focused on only him, he had a feeling that he alone was going to become your next project.

“What if I told you that I gave your number to Jennifer at work?” You grinned big.

The mug was at his mouth when he paused. He considered pinching himself to make sure that this was real. “Jennifer?” He asked, arching a brow. “The one that brought homemade jello shots to your holiday party last year?”

“Well,” you scoffed and laid out your hand, “they were good, weren’t they?”

He finally took a sip. “I guess so. Actually … I don’t know if I’ve ever understood the appeal of jello shots. Too messy.”

“You’re no fun, and off topic.” You let your finger trace the rim of your cup, filled halfway with lukewarm green tea. “I gave Jennifer your number because she’s interested in going on a date with you. Exciting, right?”

He blinked in your direction. Jennifer sounded familiar; when was the last time he heard about her? Maybe it was … “Wasn’t Jennifer the coworker you were helping a few weeks ago on movie night? You went into the bathroom to give her advice because her boyfriend was being weird.”

“The weird boyfriend is out of the picture now. Has been for weeks,” you shrugged. “And she admitted that she thought you were cute at the holiday party.”

His nose wrinkled a little. “You sure she isn’t just remembering me through the haze of the jello shots?”

Your eyes narrowed into a glare.

He flashed a smile. “Kidding.”

“Listen,” you said, clearing your throat. He raised his fingers – just slightly – but you were already tucking that stray hair behind your ear. “She’ll probably text you tonight to set up a date. Don’t give me that look, Wonwoo. No pressure. It’s just dinner.”

Wonwoo hesitated, leaning back in his chair. This didn’t surprise you; he was always hesitant. He made sure to think through all his choices, not impulsively like you preferred. That was why you two worked so well –

You shut down the thought before it could go further. You shouldn’t be reminiscing on your compatibility with your best friend. This was about you helping him.

He tilted his head slightly, playing with the hairs at the back of his neck, like he did when he was anxious. His eyes crinkled. “Mingyu said once that you micromanage me sometimes.”

Your expression twisted at the mention of his roommate. “Says the president of micromanaging. He needs to mind his own business – literally. That’s what his restaurant is for.”

Wonwoo was silent again, taking small sips from the mug that was almost empty. Tapping his phone, he checked the time. He had maybe 10 minutes before he had to run back to the train station. Was he going to keep you on the edge of your seat this whole time? This was so dumb.

And you told him once over a bottle of soju that you hated edging anyway.

“You can say no,” you eventually muttered, leaning more into the table. “I just thought … maybe she could be worth the effort.”

His gaze met yours again, quick and intense. He opened his mouth once like he was about to refuse, and then closed it. One late night at your apartment, he told you that saying no to you felt like refusing care, which is why you wanted to remind him that he could. But at the end of the day … this was you. Out of everyone, you knew that flicker of change in his eyes, relenting.

For a moment, you wondered if he was going to ask something curious: 

“Does she actually like me?”

“Is she really open to a date?”

“Do you think I’ll like her?”

But he didn’t. Wonwoo rubbed the back of his neck and sighed, “Alright.”

A single word. Loaded. Like a bullet.

You blinked once, then twice, surprised. You expected a joke or his typical resistance. This … this couldn’t be his real answer.

Or maybe you were just overthinking things again.

“Okay, great. I think you’ll like her.” Your smile was quick, and then you were turning over your phone again. To text Jennifer, he assumed. The cafe was loud, but all he could hear in that moment was the sound of keyboard clicks. A message being sent. “She’ll probably choose a casual place. She always does when her and I go out. You don’t have to dress up. She’s funny and super easy to talk to.”

And then, you looked up, afraid you were coming off as inconsiderate. That wasn’t what you wanted in the slightest. You cared about him, maybe even a little more than you should.

You reached out, fingers finding his wrist. “And, hey, listen – no expectations.”

He glanced down, watching your thumb glide over his pulse point. You tried to ignore the quickening of it, but it was unavoidable. Horrifically loud and matching your own. And you were now wondering why you told him there were no expectations in the first place. It was ironic, wasn’t it? The whole date was an expectation.

This was a game of charades, and neither of you were going to win.

He nodded, and you retracted your hand onto your lap once again. “Got it,” Wonwoo agreed, committing to his role. He finished the last of his coffee and stood to his full height, making you tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. “I gotta go. I’ll watch out for an unknown number. Text me when you get home after work.”

You bobbed your head, staring at his back as he exited the cafe. When it was just you then, sitting on the booth side of your small table, your cup of green tea cold and abandoned in your hands, it was easy to let the mask slip. Confusion ebbed into your subconscious. Because you thought this was supposed to make you feel good – it always did. But you were suddenly filled with a bottomless pit of regret.

That night, with your sheets tucked up to your chin and your restless brain keeping you up, you thought, If he dates someone else, I’ll get over this. Whatever this is that I’ve been feeling forever.

Wonwoo – poor, sleepless Wonwoo, who was too tired of this act already but the thought of denying you felt like a wound – in his apartment across the city, pondered to himself, If I date someone else, maybe I’ll stop wanting her. She can still be in my life and I won’t lie awake wondering what it would be like if she was here with me.

As you both turned over to a cold pillow, you liked to believe it was all figured out. Inside, though, the two of you knew that life would never be that easy. 

Endless emails, unread texts, boring meetings made the week fly by, and soon enough, it was next Friday. The night of Wonwoo’s date with Jennifer. You saw her at the office earlier and she seemed … in good spirits, at the very least. “He really hadn’t texted me this week,” she complained to you at lunch. “But maybe he’s just one of those guys that doesn’t like to text before a first date.”

You smiled nervously. “He’s just … shy.” Your fingers tapped against her arm. “But hey! What are you planning on wearing tonight?”

Deflection had always been one of your super powers.

You had done your best this week to help him. Told him to text her to get to know her better. Got on FaceTime with him as he picked out the best “casual” outfit, whatever that meant. He was tired already, exhausted by the idea of something you didn’t want to pinpoint. So you tried getting him excited: you hyped up Jennifer as much as you possibly could. Tried to find similarities between them. They had the same taste in books – which was an absolute fighting start – and also … well, that might be it. But this was about chemistry, two people getting to know each other and feeling a pull so deep it rivaled magnets.

You had felt it once. Maybe twice, but you couldn’t identify exactly who was the second. You knew that you felt it with Sean; that’s why he wanted to see you so often back then, when things had gotten too much. They were good at first though, when you met him at a wine bar after you’d been stood up from a blind date. As soon as he looked at you from his bar stool, you felt the pull immediately. And his smile … he looked at you like you were something special, not like a sad excuse for a date. You chocked it up to him being older and more experienced, but someone else had looked at you like that. (Someone you just didn’t want to focus on.) 

Sean had gotten too exclusive too fast. It had been a lot for you to handle, but at his age, he knew what he wanted. “I want someone like you,” he had explained once. “Driven. Independent. But also soft, even when she doesn’t want to show it. If that’s asking for too much, I don’t know what to tell you.” 

His words were cutting, but you guessed you couldn’t blame him. What else was there to say when you told him the relationship was becoming a lot for you? He was a decade older than you. His time was running out while yours was just starting. Your chemistry was off the charts, but something wasn’t aligning. You just weren’t sure what yet.

This was the exact opposite outcome that you wanted for Wonwoo.

You had to become a coach, similar to the one you had for basketball in high school. Over FaceTime was the best chance to catch him, allowing you to teach him about body language and the best questions to ask. You taught him how to make the questions deeper but not too invasive, especially when one glass of wine turned into two. He took in all your information, nodding, but not saying anything. He knew not to question you. Although you hadn’t dated in a while, you knew exactly how women wanted to be talked to – something he typically had trouble with.

Wonwoo wasn’t good with talking to just about everybody. Besides you. Never with you.

You were pacing in your tiny living room as an episode of some reality show played quietly. You supposed that you should go take a shower, do your skincare, and put on your pajamas before settling in on the couch with your takeout. The perfect Friday night. But you were anxiously waiting on Jennifer’s text that she was arriving to the bar that her and Wonwoo agreed to meet at. It was kind of a dive, but the food was incredible, specializing in multiple macaroni and cheese dishes.

There was no way that this wouldn’t work. Jennifer had such a huge personality, one that invited you in and made you feel warm. You were sure that she would charm him.

Your phone dinged.

Jennifer: Just got here! He met me outside, even though it was snowing. Points!!!

You jumped on the balls of your feet, excitement flowing through you. Forcing yourself to finally hop in the shower, you couldn’t help but wonder why you had so much regret about this in the first place. You were grinning; this was good. Maybe the satisfaction of setting up this date wouldn’t be instant, but it was still there.

This was for Wonwoo, after all.

You were buzzing, waiting patiently for his text that he was on his way over. He promised you he’d stop by after the date and rehash all the details. This felt like college again. Your roommate for the first two years, Liz, had been far more popular with boys than you, and although you two weren’t the closest, you longed for the days when you stayed up past midnight, waiting for her to come back to your dorm and share all the juicy moments.

Wonwoo wasn’t similar to the average female freshman, but you knew you could pry some things out of him. At the end of the day, all you wanted was for him to be happy.

That’s what you told yourself.

When your phone finally went off, you were sitting on your couch in pajamas and your wet hair wrapped in a towel. You changed channels from before, but the reality show stayed the same. Texting him back, you scooped one last lo mein noodle in your mouth before getting up to brush back your wet strands. The door lock clicked open once you were back on the couch, the takeout carton lukewarm and abandoned on your coffee table, next to the vanilla cashmere candle you almost always had lit. 

Wonwoo shook the chill out of his body as soon as he stepped through the door, and you sat up, an immediate smile appearing on your face. It was amazing how just the arrival of someone could make you happy, but that had always been Wonwoo for you. He was dusting the snowflakes off his jacket as your feet – clad in your favorite fuzzy socks – padded over to him. “That didn’t take you long,” you chuckled, taking his winter gloves and placing them on the old space heater to get warm.

He hung up his coat on the door hang. “Well, I was halfway here when I realized I hadn’t texted earlier,” he explained, instantly gunning for the couch and plopping down in his usual spot. Plucking the carton from the coffee table, he leaned all the way back into the couch cushions and slurped a cold noodle into his mouth. He was silent, watching whatever fight was ensuing on the TV.

You head tilted, perplexed. Maybe it was strange for you to assume, but you thought he would be more … open about details. I mean, you did set him up in the first place. You hummed under your breath, grabbing the leftover chicken fingers and scallion pancakes on the kitchen counter before setting them on the coffee table.

“Soooooooooo …” You dragged the word as you fell into the cushion opposite of him, tucking one leg underneath you. His eyes slid to yours, unenthusiastic. You scoffed and hit his arm. “Why are you being so coy?”

He snorted. “I’m always coy. That’s part of my charm.”

“Just tell me how the date was.”

He shrugged, gaze back on the screen as he set down the takeout container. “It was fine,” he said politely before reaching for the remote. “Can we watch a movie instead?”

You intentionally moved the remote away from him and his eyes narrowed. “You have no right to glare at me when you’re being so secretive. It was just ‘fine?’”

“I guess … I –” His head fell back against the cushions, and then he glanced at you again. “Just fine. The food at the restaurant was good. We had a good time.”

You sat there, observing him, almost dumbfounded. Somehow, he was being even more vague than usual. Distracted. Usually, you could read him like a book, but there was something about his tone that you couldn’t detect.

So you tested his limits, got up in his space, despite the fact that your heart felt like it was going to fall out of your chest the closer you got. Lacing your hands on top of his right shoulder, you rested your chin on top of them and blinked up at him innocently. He slowly turned to face you, and you both tried to ignore how close your faces truly were, warm breath mingling with the other. His fingers twitched on his thigh, and you wondered if he could feel your heart thudding against his bicep.

“Can I help you?” He raised a brow.

“Tell me specifics,” you said, voice as sweet as honey. 

Wonwoo looked back in front of him – anything but your eyes – rubbing two fingers over his left temple. “Why do you want to know so bad?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Sue me for wanting to know how the date I set my best friend on went,” you quipped, not moving one inch from your position. Your eyes narrowed. “Are you gatekeeping some kind of pertinent information? Or – oh, my God. Did you guys kiss?”

“No,” he answered immediately, meeting your eyes. His tone made your back straighten instantly, and he tried to recover by clearing his throat. “I mean – well … no. We didn’t kiss. She’s very pretty and has a great personality, but I don’t think her and I are … compatible.”

You nodded slowly. “What made you realize that?”

He sighed heavily, letting his hand fall back on his thigh. You noticed that his hands were still red from the cold, even though he had his best gloves on. So you grabbed your heating pad from the other side of the couch before he began to speak, plugging it in behind him and wrapping it around his hands, before plopping back down beside him.

Wonwoo was silent as he looked down, the feeling gradually returning back to his hands. He was used to you doing this sometimes: taking care of him, micromanaging him, like he had been your project since college. He couldn’t deny that he liked it, but there was some moments that still left him stunned. It was as if taking care of him came as second nature to you.

When were you going to let him reciprocate?

You poked his arm, interrupting the thought before it could take root. “What were you gonna say?”

He exhaled again and got comfortable in the old cushions. “We talked about our interests – and it didn’t bother me that we didn’t have a lot in common. It was just … I don’t think I’m what she’s looking for. Or what she needs. And then, we started talking about work and that really cemented it for me. We actually talked more about you than anything –”

He stopped himself, eyes flickering to you before he realized you were blowing out the flame on the dying candle. Collecting himself, he added, “I just don’t think we’re going to work. But that doesn’t mean she isn’t a great person. She was really nice.” He shrugged and finally met your eyes again. His smile was bored, almost cat-like. “Done with your investigation?”

“I guess so,” you relented, turning back to face the TV beside him. Your hips were brushed against each other, pinkies so close to intertwining, but neither of you moved. “Unless you want me to ask more?”

He cut you a look. “Absolutely not.” Reaching out, his fingers plucked a scallion pancake from the container on the coffee table, and his smile got even bigger in your direction. “Want to finally watch In the Mood for Love? C’mon, you know you want to.”

III.

Locked down my by side even when I’m borderline, I don’t even know why I push you away. –CHARLI XCX

Bringing yourself to work on Monday was more of a chore than usual. You hadn’t been sleeping right. Your back hurt. And you just ran out of your favorite shampoo. Cementing yourself into adulthood was harder than you imagined in your early twenties. Now you actually had to care about making time before work to stop off at the store to grab essentials. 

But maybe today would be good. The crew repainting the office garage smiled at you. The barista at the small coffee shop in the lobby told you that your latte was on the house. You were wearing a new pair of kitten heels and dare I say, you at least looked good. The boatneck sweater your mom gifted you two Christmases ago magically fit and paired well with the jeans you were sporting. It almost made you forget how badly your spine ached. Almost.

After getting a significant amount of emails answered that morning, you headed to the kitchen where your hummus snack that you bought earlier was stored. You noticed Jennifer leaving through the other door just as you were entering, making you pause to wave. “Oh, hey, J–”

Jennifer scrambled away before you could even finish your greeting. Quickly grabbing your snack, you followed her out the same door and attempted to catch up to her. “Hey!” You exclaimed, placing a light hand on her shoulder. “Jen, what are you –”

She turned, attempting to act casual, but you knew Jennifer was incapable of pretending. “Oh, h–hi. Sorry, must’ve not seen you back there.”

You let your hand fall as your brow knitted together. “Must have,” you replied suspiciously. “I meant to text you all weekend, but time got away from me. Did you have fun on the date? Wonwoo hardly shared any details.”

Her lips sealed for a moment, until she eventually muttered, “Oh.”

Tilting your head, you remarked, “Oh?”

“That came out wrong.” She held a hand up, collecting herself. A couple of your coworkers squeezed past and you both waved. Lowering her voice slightly, she continued, “He was nice. Dry sense of humor, but still funny. Gentleman enough to walk me back to my car. But …”

You blinked, hanging off the edge of your invisible seat. You felt like a cat right now and she was dangling a treat right in front of you, teasing you with more to come.

Jennifer scoffed and finally gave in. “But I thought you said he had a personality. At least, that’s how you always made him seem.”

Her answer made your head jerk back in surprise. “Wait –”

“I was basically carrying the whole conversation,” she added. “It really didn’t seem like he wanted to be there. When you brought him to that holiday party, he was pretty engaged in conversation, but when it’s just him … I don’t know.”

You thought back to your conversation with Wonwoo after the date. It was fine, he had said in that bored fucking tone of his. Of course, he was bored. Because he had been the boring one in the first place. Now you were pissed – and confused at the same time. You wasted all that time setting up this date, and yet …

A sigh escaped you. He probably let his nerves get the best of him. Your mother used to say that you shouldn’t cry over spilt milk – or in this case – a bad date. There was no need to get worked up over it, but you just wished he had been honest in the first place. 

Maybe you could start with being honest about how you f–

You stopped that thought right in its tracks.

“Truthfully,” Jennifer said, bringing your eyes back to hers, “the most he talked during the date was … well –” She scratched her temple. “– Was about you.” 

Your body went rigid, back straightening as if it hadn’t been tense since you woke up. Fingers lacing together in front of you, your lips pursed, trying to think of a suitable response, but … nothing was coming to you. Not one word.

Jennifer tested the waters and prodded further. Leaning into your space, she asked, “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between you two –”

“Absolutely not,” you cut in immediately, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “We’re just friends. Have been for years. We just … have a lot of history that he likes to talk about.”

She stared at you, not fully convinced.

You grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Listen,” you huffed, “I’m sorry the date didn’t go well. I know I set you up on it, so I don’t want you to think I had … I don’t know. Ill intent, or something. I really did think you two would get along and he’d come out of his shell.”

A slow smile appeared on her lips. “It’s not your fault. Compatibility is a fickle thing. It only happens, like, maybe twice in everyone’s life.” She shrugged. “Shit happens, and hey, I got a free dinner. Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

You laughed, felt her squeeze back on your hand, before you walked back together to your respective desks. Slamming down into your creaky seat, you lifted your head over your cubicle wall and sent another smile, before bending back in your chair and sighing. Your eyes scanned your desk, lingering on the Polaroid of you and Wonwoo from a few years ago, crookedly taped to your monitor. You narrowed your eyes at his face, as if you could burn him.

Whipping your phone out, you opened up your text thread with your best friend.

You: I thought you said the date was fine

Wonwoo: ? Hello to you too

You: just answer the question

Wonwoo: Where is the question exactly?

You: did the date with Jennifer not go okay??

Wonwoo: It was fine. I told you that

You: I just talked to Jennifer at the office and she told me you barely talked. I understand that maybe I got your compatibility wrong, but I think you neglected to tell me some things

Wonwoo: I’m sorry. In my defense, I’ve never been much of a talker. She was doing just fine

You: omfg You: you’re literally impossible. I’m just trying to help you

You watched the text bubble appear and disappear for a straight minute. Originally, you saw no problem with the text you sent, but then you started overthinking. Was what you said too harsh? Maybe you should’ve added a playful emoji at the end. He had been typing and retyping for two minutes now, causing you to start biting at the skin around your nails. He could’ve simply been caught up with something at work and not able to multitask. It wasn’t that deep – at least, that’s what you told yourself.

Wonwoo: I’m not trying to be impossible. [UNSENT] Wonwoo: I didn’t meant to be dishonest. [UNSENT] Wonwoo: I didn’t ask for your help. [UNSENT]

Finally, the text bubble stopped. Your phone pinged with a new message. You quickly glanced at the text thread to see one single line from your best friend.

Wonwoo: I’ll try harder next time.

Another coincidental situation. Another setup emerged. As your old friend, Holly, lamented to you about missing her ex-boyfriend from two years ago over the phone, you wondered if maybe – just maybe – she would do well on a date with Wonwoo. You supposed that listening better while she complained about Derek was probably a better idea, but your mind still wandered.

You were laying on your bed after a shower, legs bent up on the headboard while your head was near the end of the mattress, wet hair wrapped in a towel. Your phone rested beside your right ear and you were picking at the hangnail that just wouldn’t come off your thumb. Mind elsewhere, you thought about what a date with Holly and Wonwoo would look like. Maybe a diner. Maybe a pub with live music. She loved a “Dad rock” cover band every now and then. 

It might’ve been more wise to deliberate on what your best friend’s last text meant rather than picture what his next date would look like. But this was easier. More simpler than revisiting the implications of seeing Wonwoo on dates with beautiful and uncomplicated women you set him up with. Women that he might be uninterested in, and for what reason? Could it explain why he looked at you like that sometimes, like he was taking you apart piece by piece before putting you back together again?

You rubbed at your eyes. Yeah, definitely not thinking about that again.

“I shouldn’t even be talking about Derek right now,” Holly huffed through the speaker. “We broke up because he was an ass sometimes, but when he wasn’t … these are the times I miss him.”

You let your hands fall onto your stomach. You both tried to call and catch up every other month, so how did almost all of them loop around to Derek? He was still on her mind, even two years after the breakup. “You deserve a better love, Holl,” you muttered, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

All her dates over the past couple of years were duds. She only went on them every so often, but you wondered if the problem was that she was going out with people she met at clubs. Holly was so cool – not many people could juggle the corporate world while going to see their favorite DJs at clubs and make it to a community theater audition the next morning. But not many men understood her, liked her quirks, or they were just meatheads she met at clubs and eventually revealed that they had no personality. 

She was a catch. Always had been, since the day you met her in the women’s restroom at a concert. The best kind of friendships always formed when you were drunk in the bathroom. Holly didn’t live near you, but you both tried to catch up when you could. Her life fascinated you to no end, and she had to be one of the most charismatic people you ever met, constantly endearing people in every room she entered.

You had no doubt that she’d charm Wonwoo. Of course, you assumed the same about Jennifer, but Holly was … different. You couldn’t quite pinpoint it. If anyone could get him to talk, she could.

“I’ve been buggin’ because I want to go out to this place that he introduced me to. A Mexican restaurant in the city. The most bomb guacamole you’ll ever have, and made fresh in front of you,” she continued.

Your brow furrowed. “So why don’t you go?”

“I run the risk of Derek being there. He did show it to me. I just don’t want an awkward conversation.”

It was like a light bulb appeared above your head. “What if you went there with a date? Derek probably wouldn’t come up to you if he saw you with another guy. And if he is there, would it be so bad to piss off your ex the slightest bit?”

“Well, duh,” she snickered. “But where is this date you speak of? All my current flings have ghosted. I’m a free woman.”

You rolled over onto your stomach, smirking down at your phone screen, even though she couldn’t see you. “I’ve been trying to get my friend, Wonwoo, out on some dates. Have I introduced you guys before?”

“Hmm … Wonwoo …” She paused. “That’s your friend with the big glasses, right? The one in most of your Instagram pics? Truthfully, I …” A soft laugh escaped. “I thought you guys were together.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“Well –”

“It doesn’t matter.” You huffed, looking through your contacts to share his number with her. “I can set it up, if you want. And send you his number, vice versa. He’s shy, but he’s talkative around the right people. The date could be fun for both of you.”

She took a moment to mull it over, and then said, “Okay. Yeah. I’m down.”

You grinned, already texting his contact info to her. “Excellent.”

“So you’re doing the set up thing again?”

Your tongue clicked, and you paused, debating her question. “Just for Wonwoo. Why do you ask?”

“It’s just …” That laugh again, trying to simmer the sudden tension fizzling down the line.   “You told me once that you like doing stuff like this to distract yourself from whatever you’re currently feeling. Or if something tough is going on. You just … like to make someone else’s life better so you can forget what’s going on in yours. Is everything okay?”

“Okay, I told you that over one too many glasses of wine at an Olive Garden,” you replied instantly. “And I’m fine. Promise. I gotta go.”

You ended the call after you both said your goodbyes, and then laced your fingers together before resting your chin on top of them. Did you really tell her that once? How messy. It wasn’t exactly … untrue, but you’d never admit that. Everyone needed a good distraction sometimes, and if this was yours, then so be it. You liked seeing others happy. It was the kind of serotonin that money couldn’t buy.

If Wonwoo really didn’t want this … he would’ve told you.

At least, that’s what you hoped.

Speak of the devil, you should probably tell him that you gave a random woman his number. Again. You sat up in bed, took your wet hair out of the towel, and wrung it out while opening up your texts with your free hand. Your slipper-clad feet hung off the edge, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your fingers began to swipe across the keyboard.

You: hi You: I got you another date You: so if you get a random message, it’s my friend, holly. she’s really nice and funny

You locked your phone. It dinged instantly. 

Wonwoo: Oh? Wonwoo: Her text came just as I was about to log off of League. Thought it was spam lol

You bit down on one of your fingernails, right knee curling towards your chest. His playful tone always made you feel warm like this, and you were suddenly questioning how normal that should be.

You: not spam lol You: just text her and feel it out, but I think she’d 100% be down for a date. she wants someone to take her out to this mexican restaurant 

Wonwoo: Alright. Sounds good to me.

His mood switch made your brow furrow. Each word sounded like a pause, like he was struggling to type two measly sentences. You should leave it there, not let it get too far, but then you were typing –

You: I won’t coach you again before this date lol. I think it made you a wee bit nervous on the last one

Wonwoo: Maybe a little

A minute passed. You assumed the conversation was over for now. Standing from your bed, you padded over to your bathroom and threw your damp towel in the laundry basket. Your phone sat on your bed as you brushed through your wet hair, completely unaware that the screen had lit up again with another text.

 Wonwoo: I’ll be better this time.

IV.

In the dream I don’t tell anyone, you put your head in my lap. –RICHARD SIKEN

Friday rolled around faster than you thought. Holly had been texting you all day about her excitement for this date, but truthfully, you weren’t sure if she was more excited to meet Wonwoo or go back to his restaurant without worrying about Derek. Wasn’t any of your business. 

At some point, you had to slide your phone into your pocket to get off at a different stop on the subway. Trudging through the rain, you managed to snag some of the greasiest Japanese takeout imaginable: vegetable tempura, karaage (your favorite), kushikatsu, and of course, some yakisoba. This was another one of your favorite spots that was poorly reviewed. Even the owner apologized for the mess as he handed the bag over to you, but you already couldn’t wait to dig in. You practically sprinted the couple of blocks back to your apartment, narrowly missing every puddle that came into your path, before you were hurdling through the door.

You went through your routine, regimented as always. After washing your face and putting on your comfiest pajamas, you sat on the floor and pulled out some sweet potato tempura. You practically had a feast laid out on your coffee table, paired with paper plates that were soaked through with oil and your favorite pair of chopsticks from the cabinet. You only wished, selfishly, that your takeout buddy was here to share it with you. And he would be. Later on. Once the food turned cold.

Scrolling through your phone, you found it strange that Holly didn’t keep up with you when she was on her way to the date. You guess that – again – wasn’t your business, but you were curious. You did set them up though. Wasn’t it normal to be this curious? Or maybe you were simply –

You paused, sticking your chopsticks in the yakisoba carton before your thoughts got too serious. You were an over thinker, could debate on topics for hours that truly did not matter, constantly wishing that you weren’t stuck in the deep chasm that was your own head. Sometimes it seemed that the only person who could pull you out was … Wonwoo.

Wonwoo.

His name echoed before you could stop it. Like you always do. And the grieving reality settled in from the mess of your own making. A pang of regret. This wasn’t the usual dopamine you got from fixing, and maybe that was because nothing needed to be fixed in the first place –

Your phone pinged. And there it was – that pause. When the thoughts got too loud and you finally focused on your best friend’s name lighting up your phone screen. 

Wonwoo: On my way to your place. Might be a bit. The bus is taking its time

You were grounded again, worries vanishing like a speck of dust in the wind. Instead of taking a day like with Jennifer, you were going to be proactive this time. After answering Wonwoo, you scrolled down to your texts with Holly and quickly tapped your fingers across the screen.

You: how was the date ?!

You started crunching on multiple pieces of karaage when her reply came through.

Holly: man, the food is just as great as I remembered. we didn’t even see Derek, so I guess I didn’t have much to worry about lmao. but I’m glad we went and I think he also enjoyed it! he said something about showing you the restaurant sometime too!

Your brow raised. She was dodging the real question.

You: that sounds great! I was more so asking what you thought of wonwoo lol, but I’m glad it went well <3!!!

Holly: he’s great. a total gentleman. I just don’t think we have much in common Holly: he picked out the most delicious spicy margaritas for us though

You: really??? I set you guys up because I thought you two had more in common

That was somewhat a lie and you knew it. They played a couple of the same video games, when Holly had time to turn on her Playstation, and you thought Wonwoo enjoyed theater. Somewhat. At least, he pretended to really well that one time you got free tickets to Les Misérables and brought him. 

Holly: yeah, we do somewhat. we read the same books and a few video games. I just don’t think he was into it. or maybe he just wasn’t into me idk

You: I’m sorry it didn’t work out. thank you for being honest and letting me know!

Holly: of course! he’s not a bad guy at all, but we just aren’t compatible. our worlds don’t align just yet, which is okay <3 he was also shy like you said and did talk a lot more as the date went on. he talks about you in a way I’ve never seen before. I can tell he cares a lot about you

You: I care a lot about him too [UNSENT]

Your head whipped to the left when you heard Wonwoo turning your spare key in the lock. Finishing off the piece of karaage in your mouth, you fired back one last reply.

You: he always keeps me on my toes. talk to you soon!

His ears were pink from the last of the winter cold. It was the middle of March and spring would soon be upon them. Stepping into your apartment, he released a gruff sigh and let the warmth of the place seep through him. He was staring at you before you even looked up to meet his eyes. Your outfit spoke to how comfortable you were around him: the oldest pair of plaid pajama pants, your fluffy robe with a coffee stain on the front that just never came out, and a large t-shirt. Thin. White. Robe untied and allowing him to see everything. He swallowed and placed his gloves on the space heater like usual, then hung up his jacket. You were carrying multiple takeout cartons to the kitchen island as he stood in the front doorway, not bothering to greet as he helped you place them on the surface before they all fell out of your arms. 

He didn’t need to always say, “Hello.” This apartment was just as much his home as it was yours.

Kicking his shoes off near the door, you watched him peel open the flimsy lid of one carton. “Thank God. I was having a craving,” he said, plucking a piece of carrot tempura and taking a large bite.

You retied your robe carelessly and crossed your arms over your chest. “So …” You fought the urge to flick his arm as he grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the cabinet. “How was it?”

“Good,” he answered quickly, as if the word was already on the tip of his tongue. Gathering a pile of yakisoba in his chopsticks, he slurped it all before adding, “She’s really nice.”

Silence. The kind that made you feel prickly, anxious from head to toe. You arched a brow. “Was it, though?”

Wonwoo crunched on another tempura piece and sent you a wary look. He always knew when you were trying to get something out of him, but you had never been the one to be coy. “I said that, didn’t I?”

“Were you into her?” You inquired further, eyes narrowed. You couldn’t blame him for his attitude, especially when your questions were a bit aggressive, but after texting with Holly, you just wanted to see if he’d have the same reaction as her.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, walking over to the sink to wash the grease off his hands. “I guess.”

Rounding the kitchen island, you let your hip press into the counter as you studied him: the way he wasn’t looking at you, the nervous tick of washing around the ring on his pinky. He was running his hands under the warm water now, longer than he had to be. “You don’t sound like you’re into her though,” you said over the loud faucet.

He turned it off with the squeaky lever and wrung his hands over the side. His frustration that he kept inside so diligently was tipping over the surface, like boiling water. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he finally replied, a tinge of bitterness in his tone. “You’re interrogating me. Why?”

Your mouth fell open slightly. “I … I’m not interrogating.” You tried to prove your point, how casual you were being about this, by reaching over to grab a skewer of pork kushikatsu. Biting into it, you shrugged. “I’m just trying to figure out what’s wrong.”

His hand was still damp and he pressed it to his forehead, feeling the warm droplets trickle down his temple, grounding him. “Maybe I’m just … this is a lot harder than it looks. I’m not used to talking to so many new people.” When he opened his eyes, they were practically pleading. For what, you didn’t know. Yet. 

You licked at the corners of your lips, relenting, your shoulders ablaze from the burden of  carrying all the tension since sophomore year on your back. The tension you were desperately trying to smoke out. You relaxed and carefully curled your hands around his wrists. His body was frozen as you positioned him in front of you. Wonwoo realized what you were doing, providing a visual like you were both sitting across from each other on a date, but with you leaning against the stained counter like this, robe undone again, his mind wandered to a place he shouldn’t. Back in his dorm room. Your legs around his head. Your fingers tugging at his hair as he buried his face further between your thighs.

And while you couldn’t get what he was thinking, you could see in his eyes that it was something too dangerous to describe.

You cleared your throat, watching him blink. “Maybe … it would help for you to go into these dates as if they were a job interview,” you explained, your tone sounding suspiciously recognizable. Work-like. Professional who sits in a cubicle.

His eyes narrowed.

“Don’t give me that look. What I mean is … not stiff. Not nervous. Just … open body language. That’s what people are attracted to.” You took a moment, originally trying to put as much distance between the two of you as possible, but for the purpose of your point … you placed your foot in front of you. Just one step. But it still made both your pulses jump. “And it’ll make them move closer to you.”

He physically felt his pupils dilate as he looked down at you. Wringing his hands again, he shook your grip off his wrists, noticing how fast his heart was beating. “You sound ridiculous,” he deflected. “You’re talking like how you do on the phone with your boss. This isn’t a performance review.”

Your face fell, brows pulling together. “This isn’t ridiculous, Wonwoo. You know that. I’m just trying to help.”

Something flickered in his expression then. Your words triggered his foot: one step closer, and then another. The gap between you so small that you felt the heat of his body. The small of your back was biting into the edge of the counter, head tilting up to meet his dark eyes behind his glasses. His gaze traveled, lingering on your pursed lips, moving down to where he could practically see the thump of your heart. The fabric of your white t-shirt, hiding your skin from his, and how he longed to push it up to see all of you. You hadn’t even let him see your chest when you hooked up all those years ago: too shy, too afraid of vulnerability to take off even your shirt. But now you both were nearing 30 and the only thing separating you two was this thin t-shirt that was becoming his biggest fucking enemy. 

His stare flickered up before it could go too long, but he saw it. The way your nipples pebbled beneath the shirt. The tension between you two seeping from your shoulders to his like a tug of war.

“I think …” Wonwoo’s voice was low, intimate, like two fingers between your thighs. Simmering through the most private parts of you that so little people had seen.

The heel of his palms pressed into the lip of the counter, caging you. Your eyes closed, almost in surrender, easing under the warmth of his hot breath fanning your face. “I think what would help me is if –”

He immediately stopped. Your eyes opened and met his. There was something so familiar about his expression. He looked … you couldn’t put your finger on it. But your mind was flashing back to a memory: his dark eyes burning into yours, glasses slightly askew, a halo headband that was cutting into the sides of your ears, the damp autumn leaves at your feet and the buzz of tequila in your system. A memorable Halloween night from a few years back. All of that reflecting in the face of the man in front of you. Your best friend. Who was now looking at you like he was hearing something from the past in his head.

Your brow raised. He took a step back.

“It doesn’t matter,” he muttered. 

Just three words, shutting down an entire conversation before it could even start.

You shook your head, brows drawing together and voice suddenly desperate. “It does matter. You can tell me. You’re … you’re my best friend.”

He winced. Just for a second, but you saw it. 

“No, it’s … it’s fine. Seriously,” he added, even as the tips of his fingers were lightly grazing your knuckles, making every hair on your body stand up. Your toes curled inside your socks. “We – I can try again. I promise, I’ll have more open body language.”

His smile was so sweet, agreeing to your every whim because he knew that was the best way to get you off of something. But not tonight, because you both knew why he was doing this. It was that push and pull again – when feelings began to rise over that structured wall you both built brick by back, one of you had to push it down. 

And the realization of that – of what almost could have been – was making you panic and want him closer all at the same time.

Wonwoo rounded the island and grabbed the carton of yakisoba before crossing the short distance to the couch. He kicked back, digging into the greasy noodles that would surely do a number on his stomach later. Without looking back at you, he asked, “Wanna rewatch Clueless again?”

You stood in the kitchen and gripped the edge of the counter, attempting to calm your racing heart. Like clockwork, his voice from the living room centered you, reminded you that everything was going to be okay. Things were still good. It was just you and Wonwoo. Friends.

Mustering the best smile you could offer, you grabbed the lukewarm karaage and quipped, “As long as you promise not to insult my girl, Cher, ever again.”

Wonwoo left your apartment a little over halfway into the movie, falling asleep with stray yakisoba noodles on the collar of his sweater. You couldn’t blame him: it was midnight and his body naturally got tired at 11, no matter how much sleep he got. He made sure to help you clean up all the takeout, even in his tired state, and slipped a twenty underneath the candle on your coffee table for always feeding him, knowing you wouldn’t except it unless forced. You walked him to the door, and he lingered – just for a moment – his sleepy gaze on yours while his fingers jerked slightly on the doorframe. Something between you two ached, but not enough to grasp.

So he left with a faint, “Goodnight,” and headed down the stairs for the subway.

The door shut softly, leaving you alone again in your apartment, and the silence was … overwhelming. The kind where you could actually hear a pin drop. Not even your upstairs neighbors were fighting. It was just you, and your own thoughts, as you stood in your kitchen, replaying the conversation that happened earlier.

I think what would help me is if –

An unsettling shiver rolled through you. Back pressed against the door, you sank down until your ass hit the floor and your knees were drawn to your chest. You buried your face in the collar of your coffee-stained robe. I can try again, he had said. I promise. You rubbed at your eyes, wishing the words would leave your head. But they were on loop like a merry-go-round.

You pressed your chin into your palm. Sighing, you realized that you should’ve taken a shower earlier. Your hair was so dirty and you didn’t want to go to bed smelling like takeout. But you suddenly couldn’t move, too consumed by his responses – or lack thereof. 

Your brain was like a remote. You hit pause, then rewind, over and over again until all you could see was Wonwoo in your head. You replayed his hesitation, the way his mouth shut immediately. When his upper lip twitched. His jaw tightening with restraint. And his eyes – the way they softened before he let himself get too close. It was the kind of affection you didn’t show to just a friend, but for someone more. 

Maybe he was just frustrated, you told yourself. Because what other explanation could there be?

You were too complicated for him. Not worth the effort. And the fear of ruining your friendship was too risky to bear.

But then your skin prickled and you realized … this bothered you. Not in the funny way. This bothered you because you hated that you didn’t know what he wanted to say. You hated the not knowing, the waiting on the edge of your seat. The suspicion. Because he shouldn’t have looked at you like … like that. Better yet: you shouldn’t want him to look at you like that. 

You thought, just for a mere second, What if he – 

And stopped yourself. 

This wasn’t about you. It couldn’t. Wonwoo was discouraged and tired after the bad dates. Anyone would be. That was the reason for his hesitation, the jaw setting, his fingers grazing your knuckles as if he was begging to hold your hand.

Placing your palm against your forehead now, you closed your eyes and mulled over every scenario. Swiping through solutions in your head like a Powerpoint presentation: simple, sensical, because this would always be easier than being truthful with yourself. You were strong; you could always carry more weight added to your burden.  

“I can fix this,” you muttered to yourself, and instantly got to your feet. You practically ran to where your phone was laying idly on the side of the couch and threw yourself onto the cushions. Opening your Notes app faster than ever before, you began typing up all of Wonwoo’s interests. Completely focused. Before you could let any more thoughts get the better of you.

Perhaps it was time you found someone similar to him.

V.

If you remember me, then I don’t care if everyone else forgets. –HARUKI MURAKAMI

You wished you could be one of those people who read a book to wind down before bed. Or someone that drank tea and meditated. Someone that experienced true relaxation. But, unfortunately, your brain was always wired, and the only way you found a little sense of peace was from the mere swipe of your thumb on your phone screen.

It wasn’t all play though – scrolling through whatever social media that was your poison for the night allowed you to gather intel for Wonwoo’s next date. Despite him not asking about it. Despite the sting you felt in your chest each time you wrote a name down in your Notes app. You persevered, scrolling until the light made your eyes burn and you knew it was time to finally sleep. In just a few hours, your eyes would be back on a screen again. Your life revolved around light and screens, ignoring the tension that yanked at your heartstrings every day.

Eventually, you felt a shift when your Instagram feed refreshed to show a new post: Harin, one of your old friends from college. The first person to make you pause and sit up in bed, leaning back against the headboard. The fairy lights above your head flickered, needing new batteries, but your attention remained focused on swiping through the set of pictures she posted. 

Harin, you realized, had gotten much more attractive since senior year of undergrad, when you both lived in the same building. She was dying her hair darker, gotten Invisalign to straighten her teeth, even cleared up her acne. It had been years since you last saw her – maybe even since graduation – but Harin had always been … easy going. Helpful. Popular, but also a little nerdy. The kind of girl who didn’t overcomplicate things. Nothing like you.

You picked at the edge of the pimple patch on your chin, because you hadn’t been so lucky with your hormonal acne that came back once in a blue moon. She posted a picture with an abnormally tall glass of beer, then some with people in costume, with the final photo of her in front of brightly-lit booth. She went to some video game convention out of state, the same one Wonwoo had talked to you about for 40 minutes a couple weeks back. Your teeth sank down into your lip, concentrating, as you clicked on her profile and began looking through all her old posts. 

Mutual connections. (You both had several.) Tagged posts. (Did she have any bad angle?) Her story highlight that documented her Letterboxd reviews. (You dreamed of watching this many movies in a year.) There was something here. Maybe there wasn’t chemistry – only time would tell – but there was alignment, something everyone needed in their lives. A sense of symmetry. Two pieces that fit so perfectly that it was shocking they never crossed paths before.

You sat back more, playing with a strand of damp hair while zooming in on a picture of her from a concert she went to a year ago – some niche band you might’ve heard Wonwoo also mention. Her smile was effortless. Her hair was shorter and she had star earrings that dangled from her lobes. And suddenly, a thought hit you, cutting, like a blade: He wouldn’t have to explain himself to her. They would just click.

Biting the end of your fingernail, you processed the future before it even had seeds to take root. A bad habit that you weren’t willing to break now, because this could work. Harin made sense. Wonwoo and Harin made better sense.

No more weird looks. No more charged pauses. The dust would settle between you and the man that had been your best friend for nearly a decade.

You swiped to DM her before you could stop yourself.

You drafted a message. It was long, too personal, so you deleted it.

Redrafted, and still, too much. Frustration poured out of you. Why did every message feel like too much pressure? You needed to keep this simple.

You: hey, harin! you seem like you’re doing really well. weird question – are you single? I think you would really get along with my friend. you both like the same things!

The message was perfect, so why was your thumb hesitating over the send button? There was no reason to hesitate; you never did. You were impulsive, almost to a fault sometimes. You could stop this. Close the app and be honest with yourself for once. Quit pushing your feelings down and drowning yourself with work. You could – 

Sent.

Your lips pursed. You set your phone down and hugged your knees to your chest, the clean sheets pooling over your bare feet. The room was still, colder than before. Maybe even quieter, although you didn’t quite understand how that was possible. You hadn’t breathed properly in more than a minute. Then, somewhere deep, past your ribs where your greatest desires roamed free, a tiny voice escaped to ask, What if he doesn’t want someone else? What if he wants you?

But you didn’t let yourself process the words, because your phone dinged and – shit, Harin had answered you. She was thrilled to hear from you, congratulated you on your accomplishments. Conveniently, she was now living just outside of the same city, but she seemed uncertain. I don’t typically do blind dates, she wrote. So you made it easy for her by sending a picture of Wonwoo – the one you took of him last winter, when he was carrying both large buckets of popcorn before you went to go see an anniversary screening of Twilight – and she immediately agreed to meet him for a date in the city.

You shared his Instagram profile with her, telling her to message him on there. Maybe texting was too much pressure on him. Maybe her taking the initiative and messaging him on a safe place like Instagram would give him less anxiety. That seemed to be the source of his issues. At least, that was what you were telling yourself.

She was so kind, so excited to reach out that she was asking for advice on the perfect message. And you thought, for once, this might be the date that actually worked out, but you’d been let down by Wonwoo time and time again. No one seemed to be worth the effort. But Harin could be.

You didn’t tell Wonwoo that you sent his profile to Harin, but he kind of figured you were behind the sudden DM he got from a woman totally and completely out of his league. You weren’t exactly hiding your involvement; you were simply … letting Harin do the work. And maybe your assumptions had been right after all, because when Wonwoo texted to let you know that he knew you set him up with Harin, he seemed … more inclined to go on the date than usual.

You weren’t sure how it was possible, but you felt both the satisfaction of being right and stab of something sharp in your heart all at once. Neglecting the latter was easier said than done.

He told you their date was on Thursday night, and conveniently, you were stuck at the office for longer than usual, making sure the latest marketing project with in tip-top shape before you submitted it to the VP tomorrow. Even your subordinates stayed well past their time, wanting to make sure you didn’t have to be at the office alone. It was 7 PM when you all finally left, and you sprinted fast enough to make the 7:15 train, which – of course – was packed to the brim. You were squished like sardines next to an old man who smelled of cigarettes, and you found yourself pushing through the crowd as soon as your stop arrived.

It was strange that you hadn’t heard from Wonwoo yet about the date, but you tried not to think about it that much as you got through the doorway of your apartment. Too tired to even call for takeout, you toed off your office heels near the door and settled on a frozen dinner. There weren’t even any leftovers in the fridge. As you placed the hard brick of lasagna in the preheated oven, you phone pinged and you retrieved it faster than you liked to admit, heart hammering in your chest.

Wonwoo: On my way over :)

Your brow arched. Since when the hell did he text smiley faces? You set the phone back down, and irritatingly threw your hair up into the most unkempt ponytail imaginable, loose strands hanging from the backside of your head. Why were you so frustrated? An emoji didn’t mean anything. And there was nothing to be angry about. Your mind was still lingering on work, projecting your exhaustion onto such a non-issue –

The door opened just as you were pulling the now bubbling lasagna from the oven, setting it on the kitchen island before looking up at your best friend. Spring had definitely come, because Wonwoo was wearing a striped button up that was halfway tucked into his jeans and a light jacket. His hair was messy, as if someone had ran their hands through it, and he had a smile on his lips that was … real. Not tired or forced. Genuine.

The room shifted and neither of you had even said anything yet.

“Hi,” you addressed immediately, realizing his gaze had drifted down. Too caught up in your own thoughts, you didn’t even noticed that he had been taking in your disheveled blouse, the pencil skirt that hugged your hips too perfectly, the sheer black tights that made him jealous of any man at work who got to see you in them.

But then his stare was instantly on yours as soon as you spoke. His smile reached his eyes and he replied, “Hey.” It was casual, sure, but there was … energy behind it. The kind of energy you never heard from him before.

You stuck your fork in the lasagna, and before you could even place it in your mouth, he dipped his pinky in the red sauce. Your chin tilted up, watching his expression sour. “It’s tastes …”

You leveled a look at him.

“– Better than anything I could’ve made,” he recovered, and you noticed the pep in his step as he headed for the living room, tossing his jacket on the coat rack.

You paused, eyeing him with suspicion from the kitchen, before looking back down at your sad excuse for a dinner. It was late. You were tired. And instead of eating the greasy goodness of takeout, you were left here with a shitty lasagna and your best friend who looked like he had far too much fun on the date you set him up on.

This wasn’t time for a pity party.

Rounding the corner, you carried your foil tin of lukewarm lasagna to the couch and  sat down beside him. You crossed your legs and anxiously pulled at the hem of your pencil skirt before asking, “Did the date go well?”

His smile got bigger and you had to fight the urge to throw up the huge bite of shitty pasta in your mouth. Usually, his debriefs were short and flat. Lacking any kind of emotion because clearly all he wanted to do was watch a movie with you. But he was speaking a little louder this time, gesturing with his hands as he said, “It was … really good actually.”

He went on to talk about the arcade bar they went to, one she knew about before him. He eagerly told you about how she laughed at all of his jokes, especially the bad ones, and how they were into almost the same things. Video games, music, even the same soju flavor. How the fuck had you set something up so perfect? You had to stuff forkfuls of lasagna in your mouth just to stop your teeth from grinding down.

But … wasn’t this your plan after all?

“She’s also really funny,” Wonwoo continued, breaking you out of your thoughts. He ran a hand down his face, as if remembering something she said. “You were right about the game thing. I don’t know many people that have played Arctic Warfare, and she’s apparently good at it. She told me her rank. Crazy. We kept arguing about this mechanic in the game that always makes my brain go –” He shook his hands in the air, laughing at the memory.

Your tone remained normal, despite the war inside your head. “Yeah? What’d you guys play at the arcade?”

This set him off on another tangent, explaining the hour long foosball game they played that ended in him paying for another round of beers. Harin had felt bad, insisted that she was kidding and let them split it, but he wanted to. And then let her pick out her favorite game at the arcade to play next. (It was pinball. You hated pinball.)

“She went to that convention I told you about recently,” he continued as you set the half-eaten tin on the coffee table, suddenly queasy from eating too fast. “And – oh, wait. She showed me this cosplay she did last year. Check it out.”

Wonwoo pulled out his phone and unlocked it, her Instagram profile already pulled up. He found the picture immediately – like muscle memory – tilting his phone towards you to show you the Animal Crossing cosplay she made. Her smile was so bright, cute, in the photo, pink cheeks and yellow eyeshadow on her eyes.

You cleared your throat. “Oh, that’s –”

“Cool, right?”

“Yeah, cool.”

He grinned big, placing his phone right side up on his thigh. Something he never did while at your apartment.

“She understood every reference I made. You know how sometimes I make those references to Portal and you kinda stare at me like I have three heads?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that –”

“She completely got all of them. It was … seriously funny.” He was laughing again, the kind he only did when he was drunk or when you reminded him of the time in junior year of undergrad when you puked in a punch bowl at a frat party. It was sacred and intimate, and right now, it was because of … Harin.

He met your eyes with a soft, authentic smile. “The date was fun. It was … easy.”

You felt your eye twitch.

Easy.

One word had never caused so much devastation to run through your entire body, the type you couldn’t will away with the armor you built for years. To compare yourself to another woman was cheap and not like you whatsoever. You would never think that way because you would never pit women against each other. It was wrong. Distasteful.

But Harin was easy. And you, certainly, had never been that.

As he continued – and you were keenly aware that this was probably the longest he spoke in all the years you knew him – you thought back to his previous girlfriends. The ones from college, the girl he dated three years ago … All those women he’d been attracted to were nothing like him. Opposites attract, after all. But Harin was the farthest from opposite. Your goal for this date had been symmetry, someone that aligned with Wonwoo, which meant this was a success. She changed something in him. 

You felt the soft drop in your stomach.

Oh, you thought, he might actually fall for her.

That was the reason why you started this whole thing. It shouldn’t be a shock, right?

Right?

“So …” You played with a loose thread on your skirt, asking the question you always did. The one where you got the same answer. “Would you see her again?”

You were used to his hesitation, the way he would ponder exactly how to say, No, in the nicest way possible. But he didn’t do that this time. Wonwoo’s lips tugged up again as he replied, “Yeah. Yes, I think I would.”

There wasn’t much excitement this time, but his tone was unquestionable. Certain.

Good, you told yourself, this is good.

The silence between you two felt heavy. A constant, wavering cloud of gray.

This was what you wanted.

That knife in your heart dug in deeper, twisting, and you felt the invisible gush of feelings pour out of you. So much that you didn’t know how to push them back inside.

Then why does it feel like this?

His phone buzzed, breaking the tension completely. You sat up a little, peering to see who was on his lock screen, but you already knew the answer. Wonwoo smiled shyly and opened up his texts with Harin. Like clockwork, she was asking if he’d like to go on a second date. He was giddy; you could tell because he was making that face that he only made around you. But he didn’t want to show it, because he was getting to his feet and muttering, “Let me answer this and then we can watch a movie.”

You were completely frozen, hands laced on your lap as you grappled with reality. Every other date didn’t sting like this, because he didn’t like them. Not like this. Those bad dates kept him as yours, but this one might not. And – god, it was wrong of you to ever think he could stay yours because he was his own person and your best friend, but this hurt and your brain felt like it was imploding.

“Hey.”

You turned, seeing Wonwoo lingering by the doorway of the living room. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Thanks for setting this up,” he said. “I mean it this time.”

You forced a smile. “Of course. I’d do anything for you.”

As he disappeared into the bathroom, you licked your lips and told yourself that everything was going to plan, that was a good thing. You repeated it like a mantra, hoping it would stick. And you believed it … for about ten minutes.

Wonwoo, rather unconsciously, tortured you with information on every date he had with Harin. If he couldn’t come over to talk, he simply texted you. And you feigned interest because – maybe, just maybe – you were terrified that he was going to forget about you. He was just so excited about her, and you could tell. This was your doing and all you’ve ever wanted was for him to be happy. But now he was happy and it wasn’t just with you anymore. What if, sooner or later, it wasn’t with you at all?

You had bitten your nails down to nubs because of it.

He had gone on more dates with Harin, almost every week for the entire month of April. Spring was quite literally in full bloom. He had even taken her to see the cherry blossoms – something you both typically did together. (But it was fine. It had to be.) He wasn’t coming over as often anymore and the takeout you got on Thursdays and Fridays started to taste a lot worse when you were alone. You thought you had gotten used to being alone all these years, but not like this. Not when the thoughts got too loud and you missed him so much that you debated on downloading a dating app. But then you thought back to that horror movie and decided you didn’t want to go on a date with a possible serial killer.

The bed you had made for yourself was cold and not in the good way. The kind that reminded you how lonely the armor around your heart had become. How yearning felt worse when your best friend wasn’t by your side.

You tried to busy yourself with work like always, but not even the late night phone calls from your worried boss were a good enough distraction. (Although, they did keep you up on the customer service hotline with whatever billboard company he decided not to do business with anymore.) For a second, you considered calling up your ex – the older one, Sean – even just for a one night stand. But Sean had never been one for casual. And you couldn’t remember the last time you were intimate with someone.

The fear struck you like lightning. You stirred in bed, flipping onto your back to stare at the ceiling. After attempting to go to sleep early, it was clear that your racing thoughts were going to keep you up, making dread pulse in your chest.

What if no one ever wanted you again? Not even just intimately, but physically. Your presence.

Worse – what if Wonwoo didn’t want you anymore?

The sound of the oscillating fan at your bedside drowned out, leaving you with the echo of the words that just came into your subconscious. Somehow, the world got so quiet, and you were clutching at the stretched out collar of your pajama shirt, breathing suddenly becoming difficult. What the fuck – this couldn’t be anxiety, could it? No way, you hadn’t felt that in year. You were being dramatic, ridiculous, and –

Your phone vibrated and you had never swung so fast to grab it.

Wonwoo: Sorry for the late text but I miss you Wonwoo: It’s starting to get warm at night and my fan here sucks compared to yours Wonwoo: Do you have plans Saturday night? Maybe we could get some drinks at the dive we like

And suddenly, breathing didn’t feel so hard to do. You accepted, of course, because the opportunity to see him after so long was more important than anything else in the world right now. He had never been one to initiate plans, so the fact that he was – let alone, asking to meet you at a bar – was progress. He missed you. Of course, he did. You were best friends, but it was clear that the distance truly made the heart grow fonder. 

You prepared what you were going to say, how casual your tone was going to be, and the exact beer you planned to order – Stella Artois, of course – but your entire plan seemed to be interrupted when you turned your head to the side that Saturday night. The bar was getting more full, and you could see from the space you cleared out for him at the bar top that Wonwoo wasn’t alone. His hand was on a woman’s back as he ushered her forward and – oh my god, he brought Harin.

Your body froze mid sip as the cold bottle of Stella was at your lips. Wonwoo pushed his wonky glasses up on his nose and waved to you, helping Harin get through the growing crowd, and it took everything in you to force that smile. Once they were in front of you, your eyes raked down and took in the pretty sundress she was wearing: purple flowers scattered in a pattern over white polyester. She looked beautiful and still so casual with her hair undone like this. Your hand smoothed over the off-shoulder top you picked up on the Express clearance rack and your jeans that were a trusted pair since college, suddenly self conscious. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt this way, but then you noticed how she was the perfect height next to him and now you were picturing yourself as a fucking Amazon woman next to her and –

You needed to stop this, but you were already upset, eyes getting the tiniest bit pink as you went in to hug Harin. She slipped past you after to order her drink of choice – a rum and Coke – at the bar, and that was when you felt Wonwoo pull you into his broad chest, and you realized just how well you fit here, his nose pressed against your hairline. Your fingers notched into the short sleeve t-shirt he was wearing, and then he muttered, “Missed you,” making you tug on that cotton a little more than a friend should.

“You too,” you replied, voice muffled by his shirt. “You’ve been busy though.”

He laughed under his breath before whispering in your ear. “She wanted to come see you after all these years. This okay?”

“Of course,” you replied, but there was no vigor behind it.

He hummed as you leaned back from him, and he absentmindedly lifted your hand to notice how badly you’d bitten down your nails. His brow furrowed, but you pulled away before he could comment. 

Taking out his wallet, he handed Harin his credit card so she could get them both drinks. “You should’ve waited for me,” he said, nodding towards the Stella in your hands. “I wanted to buy your first drink.”

“I’m very capable of paying for my own beer, Wonwoo,” you remarked, and then realized how bitter you sounded, how the frustration that you pummeled down for weeks came up to the surface so easily. Your expression softened as you added, “You can pay for my second.”

He smiled, all goofy and kind. “Sounds good.” Noticing the strand of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes, he reached up to push it behind your ear at the same time Harin was turning around with the drinks. Wonwoo’s hand instantly retracted, but came back out to take his card that she handed to him.

“Oh,” she beamed while handing Wonwoo his Stella, “you guys like the same beer.”

Wonwoo rubbed the back of his neck and gestured to you with his chin. “She turned me on to it. I was into Guinness for a bit.”

Harin stuck out her tongue in disgust and you suggested to move over to a high top table, desperate to let this conversation die before it could even begin. You didn’t want Harin thinking that you were one of those weird girl best friends, that you and Wonwoo had secretly hooked up on the side – even though that … definitely did happen in college. Nevertheless, you didn’t want her to have any assumptions of you. This night had already gone off the rails and you were desperate to get it back on track.

So you asked how they were doing, which was another mistake on your part because then Harin glanced at him and he was doing that goofy smile all over again. But not at you. Especially  not now. She sipped at her drink through a tiny straw, nudged him with her elbow, before mumbling, “C’mon, you tell her. Don’t be so nervous, Nunu.” 

Nunu? 

You blinked.

When the hell did he start liking that nickname?

Without meeting your eyes, his hand found Harin’s wrist on the tabletop as he muttered, “I asked her to be my girlfriend last week.”

“Oh,” you blurted, and his gaze instantly lifted to yours. Your lips sealed for a moment, and then you added, “I meant … oh! That’s great news. I just never …” You should stop yourself, because Wonwoo’s eyes looked like he was pleading with you to be silent and Harin was staring at you like you were the most interesting thing in this sea of drunk people. “You’ve always taken so long to be exclusive. I never expected it. But I … I’m happy for you two.”

Harin’s face shifted into a huge grin, her eyes closing and her laughter hard to control. Wonwoo let out a sigh of relief that he thought no one noticed, but you did. You took a long swig of your beer as Harin looked to Wonwoo to exclaim, “And you were nervous to tell her! I told you that it wasn’t a big deal.”

That made you both pause. Your eyes flickered to his, the beer bottle frozen to his lips, and you set your own down on the table. Your hands were sweating as much as the cold glass. “You were nervous to tell me?”

He took a sip and shrugged. “Well, I –”

“I think he just …” Harin’s voice trailed off as she looked at him, her own hand coming up to lock around his wrist now. “He values your opinion more than anyone else’s. I’ve noticed it when he talks about you. Besides his parents, I took you as one of the most important people in his life.” 

She was speaking in his direction, but once she finished, her head turned to you and she gave you the kind of smile that made you utterly hate yourself. Not out of jealousy, but because she was kind and perfectly perfect for him. Unchallenging and effortless. 

For a moment, you were stunned, not sure what to say. But then you were setting down your beer again and suddenly replying, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

You spun on your heel, shoving yourself through the crowd of people that had assimilated around the bar, before finally propelling inside the two-stall bathroom. Walking up to the sink, you clutched the edge and let yourself breathe for a minute, inhaling the heavy scent of Febreze. You debated on splashing your face with cold water before you remembered that you decided to not wear waterproof mascara tonight. 

He values your opinion more than anyone else’s.

Bile started to rise in your throat, making you cough and finally turn on the sink to cup water into your mouth. Your eyes got pink again, but you held back the tears that were damn near burning to be let out. If you cried now, you wouldn’t be able to stop, and you’d be damned if you let yourself cry over this. Over something so … nonsensical. What were you even upset about anyway?

The soft sounds of Maroon 5 only got louder when the door opened and you were greeted with the sight of Harin’s flushed cheeks. She smiled at you and you immediately sucked in whatever boogers were trying to leak out, grabbing a paper towel to dry your hands. “I didn’t get to tell you yet,” she said, walking forward and wrapping an arm around your shoulders, bringing you into her orbit, “but you look even better since college. I’m in love with this top.”

And to think you were second-guessing it an hour ago. 

She leaned back to grin back up at you, and looking at her now … you could see how she was able to charm just about anyone. People said that about you sometimes, but Harin was different. Something about her aura made you instantly want to let your guard down, feel more at ease, realize how silly you’d been feeling about all of this. 

Until you remembered she was now your best friend’s girlfriend and something about that deeply unsettled you.

“Thanks,” you smiled as she detached herself from you. “I really like your dress too.”

“My mom got it for me! Target find, I think.” She shrugged, quickly washing her hands and looking over her shoulder at you. “I stalked you on LinkedIn a little bit. Not sure if you got the notification. You’re a Marketing Director now? That’s so cool!”

“It’s fun sometimes,” you waved off, unsure how to take compliments, even at this age. “You must be doing something cool now.”

She shook her head and dried off her hands. “Nah, I’ve been at the same software developer position for years. But I want to get into game development at some point.”

God, you thought, I really did find him his match.

You nodded, unsure what to say next, but then she was approaching you and reaching out to squeeze one of your hands. She looked up at you like you were important, like you hung the stars one by one. “I just wanted to thank you privately,” she whispered, “for introducing me to Wonwoo. I don’t think I’ve ever caught feelings this fast or got along with anyone so well, and I just … thank you. I haven’t been this happy in a long time.”

Your heart broke, and you needed to mend it in an instant. But this stung more than you could’ve prepared and it wasn’t fair that you were hurt when this was your doing. The bed you made. The music you had to face. Etcetera, etcetera. 

“It was no biggie,” you muttered, wondering how you could make a break for it. Even if that meant going into one of the stalls that had more litter on the floor than a dumpster.

“It is a biggie. It just feels like …” She trailed off, looking off to the side as she mulled over her next words. “You know how I knew it was a big deal when he asked to be exclusive? He wanted to watch a movie – In the Mood for Love – and I learned only later that was one of his favorites. Did you know that?”

Of course, you did. It was only a couple months ago that you two watched it together and he never added anything to his Letterboxd Top 4 so fast. 

But you shook your head, eager to get this over with. Maybe you could pretend to be nauseous and go home early.

“It was during a really pivotal scene that he insisted I pay attention to,” she continued, “but then … I felt his hand in mine. And it was like … the way you can feel someone looking at you. Then, he asked me, and something about it felt so right. The moment, his hand … everything. Which I know sounds super corny, but I just … I know this is good for me and I have you to thank. So again – thank you.”

You took the opportunity to carefully slip your hand out of hers. “You’re … you’re welcome,” you forced the words out. “I’m really glad it’s working out and you’re good for him too. This is … the best news.”

You sent her one last quick smile before your shoulder brushed hers. “If you’ll excuse me. My beer must be getting warm,” you added with a chuckle.

In that moment, as your palm pushed against the door and you felt the humidity of the packed bar all over again, seeing your best friend wave and keep watch over the high top table … you realized that getting over him might not have been what you wanted in the first place.

VI.

I don’t wanna look at anything else now that I saw you. I don’t wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you. I’ve been sleeping so long in a 20-year dark night. And now I see daylight. –TAYLOR SWIFT

October 31, 2023

It was a particularly warm Halloween. A slight breeze had settled over the brightly lit city, but humidity lingered from the constant on-and-off rain all day. The weather just made the local dive that much hotter: bodies packed like sardines in a small bar that still smelled like cigarettes with a tinge of men’s deodorant. You and Wonwoo had moved downtown a few months ago and were lucky enough to find this place so close to your building. And the best part was – no cover charge.

Not that they could with how bad it smelled in here, but beggars couldn’t be choosers sometimes.

You were wearing a cheap angel halo from Dollar Tree that was far too tight on your head with a pair of light wash jeans and a top that fell off one shoulder a bit too far, enough to make a few men turn their heads and Wonwoo stand close. He had no costume – of course – but maybe he had the right idea when it felt like this headband was compressing your actual skull. However, when a pirate woman that was far too inebriated from multiple Dirty Shirleys asked what his costume was, he replied, “Game developer,” with a cheeky smile. 

After twenty minutes, you were finally greeted with the sight of your friends from your new job pushing through the crowd to get to your free corner of the bar. You handed Wonwoo your beer without thinking – and he had to make a mental note which one was yours since you drank the same beer – as you tugged Jennifer into a hug. She was flagged by your other coworkers, Felix and Hunter, who he only recognized because he heard those names come from your mouth more often than not these days.

He introduced himself when you brought them over, but still kept to himself, practically sinking into the corner of the dark bar as you rambled on about something ridiculous happening with your new boss, who seemed like an anxiety-ridden mess. But you already knew that. You were distracted, yet you could still feel Wonwoo’s awkward presence near you. He had always been quiet, since the day you sat next to him in that History of Cinema class, but something was different tonight. Although he didn’t say it out loud, you knew he was still thinking about the girl he broke up with so he could move around the same time as you. He always said that she was nothing more than casual and the career opportunity he got here meant so much more, but … his demeanor tonight spoke to more than that.

Sometimes you wondered if Wonwoo just wanted to belong to somebody.

You wanted to tell him that he belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him, but something about that felt too intimate.

Leaving the bar with a fresh buzz, your arm hooked around his and you allowed him to take the lead for once. Wonwoo might’ve been a tiny bit tipsy, but his broad shoulders and height made it easier for him gain the upper hand when your footsteps got a little too fast. You had one too many tequila shots more than him and it was enough to make you feel tingly, to make you a little overconfident when you tried to walk without his help. It almost ended with you face-first on the sidewalk.

Wonwoo grabbed your hand as you tripped over the tip of your shoe, and then simply … never let go. His palm was so warm in yours, albeit a bit sweaty, but you assumed that was from the fluctuating weather. And totally not because of anything else, even as he avoided eye contact.

He kept you close, bringing you into his side when someone else walked past. Your hand was in his sweaty one for a solid three blocks until you reached the door to your building. Feet slowing, his hand slipped out of yours, and it was supposed to look casual but when you turned to him, he was clumsily punching said hand into his jean pocket and trying to hide his pink cheeks.

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, feeling the lip gloss you put on earlier crust at the corners of your mouth. It felt like your brain was swimming, drowning in whatever cataclysm of feelings you were trying to flush, but it was impossible. Wonwoo was impossible.

“You can stay over if you need to,” you offered. “I don’t want you walking back to your place all alone.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “It won’t be that bad. I might just have my roommate pick me up. I think Mingyu’s hanging out with someone just a few blocks away.”

He was staring at your hand, and you noticed, enough for the heat of your gaze to make his chin finally lift like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. 

Nodding, you replied, “Thanks for going out with me tonight.”

His smile was effortless, so incredibly easy. “I know you hate spending Halloween alone.”

You chuckled, spinning slightly to hide your grin and purposefully whacking his shoulder with your purse. “It’s too spooky,” you argued, turning back to him and realizing now that his body was suddenly within reach. Your lips pursed and you met his dark eyes, the tequila in your system suddenly making your guard slip, as if it was made by mere paper and not bricks. 

“Sometimes I think you’re the only person who actually knows me.”

His body went still, taking in your response, and then he asked quietly, “Is that … okay with you?”

Words failed you, dying on your tongue like ash, but you still allowed gravity to pull you in his direction. You were closer now – close enough that your chests brushed, feeling his warm breath on your face. It made a cold sweat appear on your hairline that mingled with the vaguely cool air around you, a reminder of the bitter winter ahead. But at that moment, it was just you and him, and the fallen leaves collecting in puddles around you, and the humidity that made your hair frizz a little. The alcohol running through you had your cheeks flushed and when your head tilted down, you realized your pinky was hooking with his. 

You never wanted anything more than this: his warmth, his presence, Wonwoo. The only person that you trusted with your life. Your closest friend. You wanted him everywhere and nowhere. Wanting him was a blessing, but it was also too much, suffocating you from the inside out.

Your gaze lifted to his again, and your lips parted to say something that might ruin everything: “I think … I think I’d be okay with –”

But then, you hiccuped. And again, and again. Enough that you had to hold your breath for a couple seconds to calm down. Your finger was still looped around his and you didn’t look down to make sure it was real, but you felt his thumb running over your knuckles in a way that screamed want. Desire. 

The tingles from alcohol started to fade, remnants of tequila ebbing away, and you reframed instantly. Your pinky carefully slipped out of his and you chuckled, “Obviously. You’re my best friend. I mean – that’s kind of the point, right?”

Wonwoo hesitated, brow quirking up for a less than a second. “That’s … that’s good.” He rubbed the back of his neck and stepped back from you. Your fingers twitched, already missing his warmth.

“I should get going.” He crooked his thumb over his shoulder, feigning a smile. “See you next Thursday for movie night.”

May 7, 2026

He hadn’t been coming to movie nights.

Out of all things, Wonwoo typically didn’t skip a movie night. Not even when he had a date. Hell, he was frequently trying to watch one with you after the dates you put him on. But once turned into twice, and then it was May and the peonies were sprouting in the soil by your apartment and Thursday had become their date nights. 

It’s the best day for both of us, he told you in text once. I don’t usually work past 5 and her meetings end around 4:30. It just worked out that way. Which you couldn’t blame him, because Harin was his girlfriend and making time with her mattered. But there was this thing called a weekend – that they were using for dates too (you’d know; you saw the cute photos Harin posted on her Instagram story) – but of course, Thursdays were date night too. Convenient for them. Lonely for you.

You typically embraced loneliness like an old friend. It was never cold – actually, it was rather comfortable – but you regarded it with indifference. You had been alone for so long that you were used to it. It didn’t matter, as long as you had your friend. But your friend was preoccupied with someone else now – someone you set him up with. And this was supposed to make you feel good, but for the first time, you felt yourself grimacing when the shroud of loneliness appeared at your bedside and you flipped over, curling a blanket around yourself despite the heat. 

So you called him.

You shouldn’t have. You should’ve let the feelings fester and eventually, they would pass. They always did. But it was another Thursday night alone and the mindless arguing from the reality show on your TV was doing little to silence your loud thoughts. Your glass of homemade sweet tea was left abandoned on the coffee table, water dripping down the sides, as warm air filtered from the open window. Summer was near and yet the spot next to you on the couch felt cold as ice, like someone had deserted it for longer than normal.

You flipped your phone over before you could stop yourself, scrolling down to his name. It was late and he was probably just getting into his apartment after seeing Harin, but you didn’t care. You didn’t really care about anything anymore, truthfully. The line only rang for two seconds before you heard a click and he was saying your name. So faint, like a prayer.

For a moment, you were sure you heard Harin’s muffled laughter leave the speaker.

“Are you just never going to come to movie night again?”

Wonwoo paused, and then said, “Hello to you too.”

“It’s late and I have to go to bed soon because I have a 9 AM meeting tomorrow. I don’t exactly have time for ‘hellos.’” It was a lie, and you both knew it. You’d been staying up way longer than you should’ve most nights and going to work exhausted. It could probably be heard in your voice.

He exhaled heavily, and you could almost hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry for skipping. It’s just … you know why. But I feel terrible. You have to know that too. You know I wouldn’t skip plans with you if there wasn’t a legitimate reason.”

You picked at the corner of the pimple patch on your jaw, eyes narrowing. “You’ve been skipping a lot of things recently.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

There was an indistinct woman’s voice on the other end, and then a door closed. He was alone now.

“Wonwoo,” you chastised, “you don’t need me to spell it out for you.”

“Is this still about movie night? I’m not a mind reader.”

You took a moment, swallowing down your pride and sitting up. If you didn’t say it, you feared you never would. The festering wouldn’t cease until you let the word vomit out.

“I feel like you’ve just forgotten me since you started dating,” you said, and then clarified, “since Harin.”

Silence echoed. The minute began to draw out, enough for you to ask, “You there?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “just thinking.”

“About what?”

Wonwoo clicked his tongue then. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

Your head jerked back, the grip on your phone tightening. “It is. I’m happy for you. Don’t I sound happy?”

The sound of his lips opening came muffled through the speaker, but you kept going on.

“I just –” You let your head fall into one hand as you rubbed at your temples. “I’m frustrated. I know people grow apart as they get older, but … I don’t see you anymore and it’s like you don’t give a fuck.”

“Now you’re putting words into my mouth.”

“So? Who cares?”

“Well, it seems like you do.” His words made your heart sink into your stomach, like you’d been caught in the biggest lie of your life. Maybe you had. “Why do you care so much?”

You blinked. “I …” Every nerve in your body died. Even if you wanted to speak, you couldn’t. There was nothing to say anyway. How could you possibly explain the truth when you had buried it in the deepest cavern imaginable for so long? 

Finally, your mouth began moving for you: “I just think you’ve forgotten about your friends.”

Wonwoo sighed, frustration evident in his tone. “Listen,” he started, “You’re my longest friend. I know this is what you like to do. You like to fix people because it feels good –”

“It’s not just that, Wonwoo –”

“– But you don’t get to decide what’s best for me,” he added. “I do.”

Any response you had ready seemed to burn in your throat. It was like he took your whole vocabulary, leaving you mute and helpless as static buzzed from your line to his. Your mouth hung open slightly, and you prayed something would come out, but … nothing. You were nothing in a sea of nothingness and Wonwoo wasn’t yours anymore.

Eventually, you heard him exhale with a tinge of regret. “You there?”

You moved your phone away from your ear, staring down at his contact name. The text began to blur when you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes. But you couldn’t let yourself; this hurt but you would survive. You always did, and he’d come back to you and you’d accept him with open arms because this was you and Wonwoo after all. Every friendship – or whatever this was now – went through a rough patch.

But instead of replying, you immediately ended the call.

Wonwoo didn’t come back like you thought.

Silence stretched, thinner than a bed sheet. The distance was colder than you imagined, almost arctic, and you felt it settle deep in your bones, but it did nothing to cool you at night when the humid breeze blew through your open window. No communication was harder than it looked, but in your defense, you really hadn’t expected this. And now, you were too embarrassed to even text him, the fear of rejection still clawing at you just like in college. (Let’s be real: it never really went away anyway.)

You had never been broken up with in the twenty-something years you’d been alive. Typically, it was you who broke things off, and sure, you were sad afterwards, although nothing ever lingered because it was you who ended it in the first place. Maybe you were heartless; maybe no relationship really mattered like Wonwoo’s friendship – but no breakup really hurt. This, however, felt worse than you could ever imagine. Your entire world seemed like it was falling apart and you couldn’t even go to him. 

You missed him – more than you ever thought you could, more than that time he went away to Italy during summer break junior year – but you were getting by as much as you could. Jennifer took you out for drinks, and the sugary margaritas made your head swim for a solid night before you were right back to sulking in your chair at work. You got a promotion – one you had been gunning for for a year, one that you deserved. That felt good, and finally, your mood was turning around. Even your parents were going to visit for your birthday in September, something they hadn’t done in a few years. Your mother’s usual saying, “It’s always so busy around your birthday,” graduated to, “I think this year calls for celebration. The last year of  your twenties is a big one.” There was a possibility of them cancelling, but you didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

So many things to be excited over, and you were trying to focus on them, especially on those dreaded Thursday nights. Instead of popping a movie on your TV and watching it in silence like a lonely 50s housewife, you were taking matters into your own hands. Matters that involved a leak you tended to ignore every time it came back. You were blasting the loudest heavy metal music possible though your AirPods, the kind of stuff you hadn’t listened to since high school, as you tried fixing your bathroom faucet on your own. The sink was older than the apartment, it seemed, and would leak at the most inopportune times. You had been paying a technician to come fix it almost every year, but after the last time when he stared at your chest a little too long, you decided maybe it was time to get up off your ass and try.

In a loose pair of sweatpants and a tank top that was doing nothing to hide your genetically lopsided boobs, you hunched forward and inspected the pipe below the basin. You watched a tutorial online, then watched it again, and settled that this should be easy enough. Gone were the days of you paying a pervy technician far too much money to stop a leak that kept happening. You were a new woman now: independent, self-sufficient, definitely not lonely.

You followed the instructions to a T, but something was just wrong. Maybe it was the day or some form of karma that just wouldn’t get off your back – you would never know. Using all the strength in your body, you tried turning the shut-off valves clockwise, but it was hardly budging. It was like there was something preventing them from moving and condensation was already creating a puddle on your tiled floor. You even tried turning the water on and all the way off to see if something was just clogged, and yet … nothing. Were you really that weak that you could figure out how to fix a fucking sink?

There had to be a solution you didn’t know about. Connecting the drain to the stopper was a washer where the leak was dripping from. You picked up your wrench, the tip of your tongue meeting the corner of your lips, like you did when you really concentrated. The music blaring in your ears was reaching a peak, the bridge so loud that your could feel your neurons kissing – or whatever it was that neurons did. Maybe if you yank the wrench this way around the washer that would stop the leak –

Water erupted from the pipe, spraying all over your face to the point you felt like you were being fucking waterboarded. You reached out with fumbling, desperate hands, trying to tighten the washer again with your eyes closed, realizing you’d been stupid enough to leave one handle turned. After a couple more seconds of what you could only describe as a horrific form of torture, the washer went taut and the water stopped, albeit still leaking, but at least it wasn’t blasting into your nose. 

You slumped back against the wall, coughing up the water that had entered your nose, before resting your head back against the peeling wallpaper. Your body was soaked, the thin cotton of your tank top completely ruined and your sweatpants looking like you pissed yourself, and – oh, now you were crying.

Tears welled up before you could stop them, rolling down your cheeks and clogging up your throat. The current song in your ears faded, replaced with an equally louder one that you simply had to turn off at this point. You couldn’t prevent the sobs from absolutely wracking through your body, like it was relieving tension from your system. But still, something about it almost felt violent: your face was turning red and you could already feel a headache coming on as tears practically stung at your eyes. You looked at the sink like it killed someone in your family and it was in that moment that everything became clear. Well, somewhat – warm, wet globs were still falling and it almost hurt to breathe.

You couldn’t believe you’d met your match and it was a sink. 

The realization hit you and it felt like you were wearing an invisible dunce cap. You couldn’t fix everything. You could try and do everything in your power, but there was always going to be something that couldn’t be fixed on your own. And it wouldn’t feel good – actually, it made you feel like utter shit – but you had to get over it. You couldn’t do it all and not everything – not even a faucet – could be fixed.

As your eyes followed the water trickling from the pipe, you knew then that you’d been treating Wonwoo like this, like a sink. A project instead of a choice. Perhaps it should’ve been clear when you told him to go into his dates like a job interview, or when he told you that his dates weren’t a performance review. There were a multitude of times when you should’ve realized, but you didn’t,and now you were paying the consequences with this leak in your bathroom and no Wonwoo by your side.

You got to your feet and padded to your room for a fresh set of clothes. It wouldn’t help sitting there and sulking at the stupid leak you couldn’t fix. 

On the rare occasion that your absent-minded mother called you to check in, she’d ask you the same things – “Are you still working at that company? How’s Wonwoo? Did you get a cat yet?” – but one always stuck with you, to the point her voice would echo in your head before you went to sleep. Sometimes she’d prod about why you weren’t dating anyone, why you hadn’t experienced love yet when you were pushing thirty. And it stumped you, because surely, you should’ve experienced love at least once. But you never wanted to think too deeply about it out of fear, and then came up with a quip like, “I’m waiting for a love like I’ve seen in the movies. Find me my own Harry Burns from When Harry Met Sally, then we’ll talk, Ma.”

It was all farce though.

And as you sat down on the edge of your bed, clean clothes abandoned in a neatly folded pile at your hip, you knew the reason why now. You’d always known, deep inside yourself, but you pushed it down for so long that these feelings had no choice but to come up when a leaky faucet made you the most defenseless. Like your armor of sturdy bricks had finally crumbled from a mere gust of wind.

You were in love with Jeon Wonwoo.

Maybe you always had been.

VII.

Orpheus: How will you remember? Eurydice: That I love you? Orpheus: Yes. Eurydice: That’s easy. I can’t help it. –SARAH RUHL

You attempted to text him for an entire week, an abundance of words spilling from your subconscious, the same ones you buried since the day you shook his hand while saying, “Just friends?” That one sentence seemed to haunt you for life, repeating over and over in your head when not even audio porn could dull the ache in your chest. You poured your heart out into your phone all week: ranging from essays you drafted in the Notes app to actually opening up your texts with him and letting the bright light blur into your retinas until sleep finally took over.

Nothing was right though.

Maybe it was all you. The ideal words just weren’t coming and it was all too embarrassing. You weren’t 28 anymore; it felt like you were 11 logging onto AIM with trembling fingers before messaging the boy you liked. The same boy that you shared Social Studies with, that you didn’t give a Valentine’s Day Fun Dip to because you thought that would make him like you – but I digress. You were shriveling into your past shelf and you didn’t know how to make it all stop.

The next blow hit before you were able to expect it.

While you’re on your lunch break eating the saddest salad known to man, you open up Instagram and see a story update from Harin. Instinctively, you know you shouldn’t. It could be nothing and it would still make you upset. The last thing you needed was to drench this limp salad with your tears. Your finger hovered over her icon, and you almost stopped yourself but the temptation was too much.

A video started playing, making your hands fumble as you struggled to turn the audio down and grab your AirPods at the same time. Once they were in, you replayed the first video: she was showing off a new apartment with a big smile. She was so beautiful and graceful as she moved around the new place, presenting the big kitchen and best indoor heating system for the winter. (You wondered how she’d fair with your tiny space heater in the kitchen, and you chuckled to yourself.) She opened the door to the bedroom, rambling on about the size and how it was made for two people.

You held your finger down to pause. Made for two. As in … a couple. Moving in together.

Lifting the pad of your finger, her voice came though your headphones automatically: “This move all came up pretty fast,” she sighed, plopping down on the clean carpet. “But it’s a new opportunity and I’m so excited to start this new journey, as corny as it sounds. I’ve been a little bit of a cornball recently. If you know, you know. Trying to romanticize my life and all that.” She slid down to lay on the carpet then. “Here’s to new beginnings!”

It was wrong to jump to conclusions. You knew that; you preached it. But when your heart was beating a little too fast like this, it was hard to not make your imagination run wild. Because obviously, Wonwoo was moving in with her. After only a few months of dating. You knew it shouldn’t come as much as a shock because she was his girlfriend after all, but also you thought maybe – just maybe – this was something he could’ve told you. Even when you both weren’t speaking.

You stood from your desk, smiling politely to each coworker you passed until you got to the bathroom. It was only when you locked yourself in a stall that you felt the devastation hit you. Like an avalanche. Your palms laid flat on both sides of the stall as you stared at your feet, waiting for something to change. But it was just you: calm on the surface with your feelings eating you up inside, swallowing you whole until you were nothing left.

If you didn’t confess, then you’d become a shell. A walking set of bones and muscles. But what if he completely cut you off? What if he was disgusted, absolutely horrified that someone who was supposed to be his friend had been hiding their feelings for ten years? You couldn’t blame him, but you didn’t want to imagine losing him. Not yet.

Friendship without honesty was still a loss. It was time for both of you to be honest with each other.

After a debilitating train ride, you almost reconsidered your plan. But as you stepped onto the platform for the stop closest to Wonwoo’s apartment, looking around at the crowd of people swarming around you, the only way out was in. You couldn’t postpone this to another day; not when you’d been repeating this cycle since college. So you pushed through – past the tired women in blazers that were looking forward to their Friday night glass of wine, past the men on the phone with their partners and assuring them they’d pick up whatever they wanted for dinner – until you got to the stairs and climbed up. You were out of breath by the time you got to the top, lungs burning, and a drizzle was starting to fall, but you sprinted forward into the crowd. Your dying courage would lead you to where you needed to go.

Once you were standing outside his building – newly refurbished a few years ago with a huge garden planted in the front – you began to dig in your work tote for your keys, which still had his fob attached to it. You didn’t use it very often since he was almost always at your place, but it was instances like this that you were grateful to still have it in your possession. Swiping it at the door, you tugged at the handle and stepped inside, pulling off your wet hood as your shoes squeaked all the way to elevator.

Sometimes you wished you had the strength to just move into a nicer building like Wonwoo’s. It wasn’t like you didn’t have the money, but you had just gotten … accustomed to your old place. The heating system was shit and the lack of proper AC sucked in the summer, however … there were a sense peace there that you never experienced anywhere else. That was where you built a home and memories. With Wonwoo.

As the doors opened and you stepped inside, it started to settle in what you were doing. Your heart rate kicked up like a drum, and your nails were pinching tiny crescents in your palms. This was really happening. Why the fuck were you doing this again? Could you really not get through another few years of pushing down these feelings and postpone this all over again? You wanted to, desperately, and you were half tempted to turn around. But your feet had a mind of their own, walking out of the elevator that stopped on the third floor, halting at his door and rapping your fist against it.

You still had time to back out. He might still be on the way home from work. Maybe it was just Mingyu there right now, and he’d keep your secret if you left. If you spun on your heel and already started for the elevator, he wouldn't be able to see you –

The door opened, and there was Wonwoo, blinking at you in surprise. He was running a hand through his combed wet hair, fresh from a shower, with a black t-shirt that was clinging to his slightly damp body and – oh. No matter how old you got, a pair of grey sweatpants would always get to you, especially on him. 

Meeting his eyes again, you asked, “Are you busy? Can I come in?”

His lips pursed for a moment, and as much as you knew he wanted to be mad at you, his face softened. “Yeah,” he nodded, holding the door more open, “of course.”

You stepped through the threshold, noticing that his living room was as clean as it would get, something he had gotten sick of you chastising him for so you fought to always keep your mouth shut. Bills and junk mail were scattered on the coffee table, but you noticed – right near the TV – a candle was lit, almost burnt to the bottom. It was the candle you gave him for Christmas last year. The one he said reminded him of you.

Placing your work tote near the door, you didn’t bother sitting down, didn’t even take off your rain jacket. It was just you and him, standing in his living room that was lit with just one candle and an artsy lamp that his roommate had bought. You didn’t hear any rustling anywhere else; Mingyu must not be home.

A smart person – someone wanting forgiveness – would say something simple, like hello. But you didn’t, because clearly this was the stupidest decision of your life.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You blurted, making his brow furrow.

“What are you talking about?”

You gawked at him, and then replied, “Don’t play stupid, Wonwoo.”

He was blinking again, confusion wracking his brain. “I wish I was. I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I saw Harin’s Instagram story.” You paused, suddenly so aware about how childish you sounded. Getting upset over something as silly as Instagram. Your mouth went dry, and when you met his eyes again, you realized he was waiting for you to say more. “About the new apartment.”

“Oh,” he nodded, then thought for a moment. “Wait, she got the apartment?”

Your lips opened for a moment, processing his words. Something was off; were you both talking about the same thing right now? Why would he not know if his girlfriend got the apartment, presumably for the both of them?

“Are you intentionally acting dumb?” You asked, a little more irritable than you should be. He tilted his head and your hands balled into fists, standing up straighter. “Because if you keep doing this, I’m going to start crying again and I’m already so high strung and I haven’t slept and I’m confused –”

Wonwoo stepped closer then, his face losing every hint of anger towards you. He wasn’t really angry; he could never be that angry at you. His large hand circled around your arm, and you could feel the caress of his thumb running up and down even though the thin layer of your rain jacket. “Hey, take a breath,” he insisted in a soft voice. “Everything is okay.”

You inhaled sharply, and then let it out. Your gaze was practically glued to his as you felt every wall that was ever created inside you crumble. Originally, you assumed there was just one, tall as the eye could see, made of bricks. But there were actually several walls, and when your eyes connected with his, you could practically feel them collapsing in your stomach, one after the other.

“It’s not though,” you finally said. “And it pisses me off that you’re still so calm about this.”

His hand slowly left your arm. “About what?”

“About you and Harin moving in together!”

Wonwoo went silent, brows drawn together, and then he muttered, “Oh, that’s what this is about?”

“What else would it be about?!”

“Harin and I aren’t moving in together.”

You blanked. “Excuse me.”

“We actually aren’t …” He looked off to the side, rubbing the back of his neck. Your brow shot up to your hairline. “We’re not together anymore.”

“Oh, I …” You shook your head. “I’m sorry. I’ve been in my head for days. I shouldn’t have assumed –”

He mimicked your movements, and now you were both shaking your heads at each other like bobble heads in a toy shop. “No, no, it’s fine. It’s just –” He exhaled heavily, and now it was your turn to grab his arm. You watched his body physically relax under the heat of your palm, his eyes fluttering down to burn into yours. “I broke up with her two weeks ago. She wanted to me to partially move in with her to see if our lives were compatible. We’d only been together a little under two months and I wasn’t ready. Obviously,” he added, gesturing to the state of his shared apartment.

You squeezed his forearm, and maybe you were just imagining it, but you swore you could feel his pulse quicken.

“I don’t think I would ever be ready. Because I’ve never …” He paused, and if he didn’t continue, you were sure that your courage would vanish. “I’ve never gotten over you.”

The hair on the back of your neck stood up. Your voice so small when you replied, “What? Ever since –”

“Sophomore year.” 

Your grip slipped from his arm. “But I thought you … you had never met anyone worth the effort?”

Wonwoo leveled a look at you, like he’d been completely obvious all along. “You have never been just anyone. I thought you knew that.”

You scoffed, acting so nonchalant as if you both weren’t confessing to every feeling you ever had for each other. “Of course, I didn’t know. I’ve been setting you up on dates because I thought if I fixed your love life …” You feigned a laugh as your hand came up to your mouth. “Maybe it wouldn’t blindside me. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt as much when you really fell in love with someone. And of course, I was very wrong about that one.” Swallowing hard, your fingers were now lacing with his, placing your heart in his careful hands. “You deserve someone great, Wonwoo. Someone who doesn’t push her friend away because she’s in love with him.”

And just like that, they were out of your system. The words flowed off your tongue so easily too, like he was always supposed to know. Like you were meant to tell him all those years ago. 

His voice was so low that it almost sounded like a breath: “You’re in love with me?”

“You’ve never been just anyone either, Wonwoo,” you sighed.

He shook his head. “But I thought … I thought you said … you said we would ruin everything if we tried.”

“I was terrified. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship when it just started, and then years went on and … nothing ever went away. I thought about you all the time.”

Wonwoo took a moment, relishing in the feel of your hand in his, running his thumb over your knuckles. He finally brought your laced fingers up, his nose brushing against your wrist as he breathed in your scent. You smelled like that perfume he loved, and paper, and rainwater – everything he loved about you and more. Because he loved you. Of course, he loved you, and you could see it in his eyes, and now you were wondering how you survived being this blind for so long.

“I thought I lost my chance years ago,” he murmured, his naturally long lashes sweeping against your skin. “I thought you truly wanted me with someone else.”

You realized then that your face had moved closer to his without knowing, wanting to be more in his orbit. You couldn’t remember the last time you both were this close. “I thought I did, but …” Your top teeth sunk into your bottom lip. “I don’t think that’s true anymore. And I’ve been sick to my fucking stomach because all I’ve wanted to do is be honest, but there was never a good moment or the right words.”

His chest was pressing against yours now and your fingers unlaced, only so he could hold your face in his warm palms. He shushed you, already seeing the tears prick at your eyes when you got too worked up, wiping them away with his thumbs. “Come on now. You’ve always known the right words to say,” he smiled, and you felt your mouth wobble at just how good he was. You had been an ass to him, you had hid these feelings for years, and yet … he always let you in. “I’m sorry it took me so long to be honest too. Every time I had a bad date, I thought it was proof that wanting you was useless. So I opened myself up, because I thought Harin might just be it. But she wasn’t you.”

His thumb traced your lip, making you release it from in between your teeth. “No one’s like you.”

You did your best not to cry again. All those years of blocking the tears were catching up to you. “I’m sorry for the way I went about this,” you muttered. “I should’ve been honest. I should’ve told you. But I guess you can still be a coward even at our age.”

“You’re not a coward,” he laughed. His finger swiped down the slope of your nose, as if he was committing every bit to memory. “I’m sorry for what I said on the phone. You were right – I did get caught up in the relationship, but I was trying to so I would forget about my feelings for you. I didn’t mean any of it. I like that you fix people.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Okay, maybe I don’t,” he confessed, and then his lips pulled into a smug grin, leaning in so close to your face that you could feel his breath on your cheeks. “Sometimes I like when you micromanage me though.”

The shock that this was all happening hit you, practically struck you like lightening. You stuttered out a series of incomprehensible words, until you finally asked, “Really?” All the confidence, bitterness, it seeped out of you when Wonwoo’s lips were this close to yours. “Well, I … maybe I could –”

“Finally let me kiss you?”

“Oh.” The tension in your body faded, and your hands were curling around his neck because this was happening and he was oh, so yours. “I mean … I guess that’s fine.”

He sneered, “Always needing the last word –”

Your mouth crashed onto his and it felt – god, nothing was more right than this. Your first kiss in college had been messy, almost clumsy, two young adults trying to figure out what the other liked, but Wonwoo had been a quick learner. And oh, did he remember. He didn’t forget the way you liked your bottom lip being sucked on, or how your breath hitched when he licked inside your mouth. His hand slipped from your cheeks, down your torso, before resting on your hips and pulling you even closer by your belt loops. Your fingers were tracing his shoulder blades through the fabric of his tee, an area you didn’t realize until now made him kiss you harder.

“Mingyu’s not home,” he breathed against your lips, shucking your rain jacket off your shoulders.

“I don’t care either way,” you quipped, more desperate than you realized, because you had already started shoving him to the right, where his room was located. Your mouths a hairsbreadth  apart, you asked, “Do you still know how to do that thing with your tongue?”

He pulled back with confusion when his spine hit the door of his bedroom, and then realization crossed his features. “Oh, that. I might be out of practice. You were the first person I ever went down on and –”

You raised a brow, causing him to smirk. “It would be an honor,” he replied.

Once his bedroom door closed, the goofiness cleared out of him and his hands were tight, all over you like this was your first time all over again. He had your back pressed against the door, your wrists in his firm grip and pinned over your head. You chased his lips as he went from kissing you soft to hard, making you huff because – Jesus, you really were starved for his attention. Tugging on your bottom lip, he released it and let his mouth trail near your jaw, breathing in that deadly perfume again. The same one that didn’t cease to make him hard.

And you felt it. Right against your leg, heat seeping into your slacks. Was he not wearing any underwear? 

“In case I didn’t say it already,” he muttered, his nose now connecting with yours, one palm sliding down to thumb at your nipple over your blouse. “I’m in love with you too.” His teeth skimmed your jaw again, then your collarbone, sucking hard on a particular spot and you felt like you could maybe cum untouched. This was pathetic, being reduced to nothing at your big age from just a hickey. 

“I’ve been dreaming of the day you’d let me in,” he hummed, squeezing your breast and feeling the weight in his palm, “when you’d let me touch you again.”

Your knee nudged in between your bodies, smoothing over the growing bulge in his sweatpants. “Wonwoo, please,” you whimpered, already feeling the warmth pool in your stomach, panties drenched and desperate for anything.

“Are you gonna let me micromanage you now?”

Your eyes snapped open, lips pursing as you processed his dirty talk. A snort escape you, and he lifted his head to look at you from underneath his messy, wet hair. His cheeks were tinged a pale pink. “Sorry,” you giggled.

“It sounded sexier in my head,” he muttered, releasing your wrists so he could use that hand to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. “You want to … right? I think I have condoms somewhere. If not, I’ll steal one from Mingyu. I’ve seen his dick once. Accidentally. We’re kind of similar –”

You placed a hand over his mouth to get him to quiet. “This is the most you’ve talked about your roommate and I’d rather not think about him before you fuck me.” Letting your hand fall, you played with the hem of his t-shirt, fingers now splaying on his lower abdomen. His skin was hot to the touch, still a little damp from his shower. “Don’t worry about it – I’m still on the pill. Hormonal acne and all that.”

Now your cheeks were pink, embarrassment creeping through your entire body. But Wonwoo was quick, leaning in to nip at your bottom lip again, and you relaxed by pulling him closer with the ties of his sweatpants. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured against your mouth, “always have been.”

Before you could catch your breath, he was picking you up and laying you down on his bed. You landed on top of the remote, making the TV flicker to life, and the soft sounds of When Harry Met Sally filled the room. But Wonwoo was too distracted to notice, one knee between your legs and nudging them apart as his mouth descended upon yours again. He kissed you breathless, like you were the only thing that mattered, like he’d be content if you were the only person he could kiss forever. And when he lifted his head, half-lidded eyes burning into yours – you knew it was true. He didn’t even half to say it.

Sitting up slightly, his deft fingers slowly started unbuttoning the puffy-sleeved blouse you wore to work today. (Which you definitely didn’t expect him to be taking off when you dressed yourself this morning.) When all the buttons were free, he paused, simply admiring the view of your exposed stomach, the curve of your breasts nestled in your bra. You almost wished you wore something cuter, but how the hell were you supposed to know this was going to happen? You grabbed his hand, calling out his name in a voice that he had only heard in his deepest fantasies.

“Sorry, I just …” He finally pushed the fabric to the side, revealing more of you to his hungry gaze. As his hand came around to unhook your bra, he continued, “I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long. It doesn’t seem real.”

You realized then … that night in his dorm – you hadn’t taken your t-shirt off. Anxiety had riddled your head, too scared of him seeing all of you. Although you had let him between your legs, being fully nude was different. That was true vulnerability, and you hadn’t been ready for that.

Until now. You shrugged off the bra, letting it fall onto his floor, and laid back.

He was looking at you like he’d seen God.

So you took his hand in yours and placed it on one of your breasts. “Fucking Christ,” he muttered, leaning down and wrapping his lips around one nipple. Your back arched off the sheets – purple, the same ones you bought him when he moved here – moaning softly while he played with the other nipple in his right hand. The weight of them was out of this world; all his perverted fantasies when he saw you in low-cut tops coming to life in this very moment. Every time he felt guilty for staring at you too long – they didn’t matter anymore. Because you had wanted this just as much as him.

“God,” he huffed, mouth dragging over to the other nipple, laving his tongue over it. “You’re a dream come true.”

Maybe he was just in love but the sounds you made were practically pornographic. Your hips bucked against his knee in between your legs, begging for friction. You could already feel your own arousal through your slacks – a mortifying cleanup you’d fret on tomorrow morning. As much as he wanted to play here forever, he knew how much you wanted his tongue inside you, so he relented. 

His gaze on yours, Wonwoo peppered kisses down your stomach, making sure to nip at that beauty mark near your belly button, before he stood tall again. Pulling his t-shirt over his head, you were reminded just how toned he had gotten since college. You had never like a hulking, strong man, but Wonwoo had definition, hidden muscles in his biceps that had gotten bigger than you thought. He hid all this underneath those oversized tees, the sweaters he wore to work everyday. It was like he crafted in a lab specifically for you, nerdy interests and all.

Setting his glasses on his desk, he finally pulled down on the zipper of your trousers, and you both worked together to shimmy yourself out of them. But you almost wished you didn’t, because underneath those slacks was the evidence of just how much you wanted this, how utterly wet you were for him. 

Wonwoo leaned over you again, so close to your face that you could see the lines underneath his eyes. “You’re completely soaked,” he murmured, snaking a hand between your bodies to graze two fingers down your clothed slit. The material of your panties was practically translucent, and your hips bucked immediately. “Needed me that bad, huh?”

“Don’t act so smug –” You barked, until you felt it: one finger pushing the fabric to the side while the other just barely prodded at your entrance. Breath hitched, you whimpered, “Yes.”

He smirked, going back down and kneeling at the foot of his bed. Pulling your panties off slowly, you expected him to take his time, even though you had both been waiting for this longer than you could remember. A yelp escaped your lips when he hauled you forward, and you felt his hot breath there, making you clench around nothing. One ankle rested on his left shoulder, opening yourself up to him, and you were pushing back hair from his forehead when you realized he was inhaling your scent. Your breathing stuttered, barely able to get out, “I’m sorry, I didn’t shave –”

His face was already buried between your legs, sucking your clit into his mouth like candy. Your head thrashed to the side, fingers digging into his hair and you yanked at him – hard. He groaned into you, teasing your wet hole with the tip of his tongue, devouring you whole. Everything about you was intoxicating: your taste, your sounds, even the way you pulled at his hair. It felt like you were actually trying to rip it out, and truthfully, that was a fate he’d risk if it meant he could stay here forever. Between your thighs, lapping at you until you were overstimulated and begging him to stop. 

Your hips were now bucking against his face, free hand clenched at your side, as you lost yourself in the magic of Wonwoo’s tongue. The memory of how good this was in college diminished to nothing in that moment. He was out of practice and yet, this was the best you had felt in a long time. Wonwoo had this way of sucking on your clit before tongue-fucking you like it was out of style, and then repeating those steps all over again, sometimes using his nose to play with your clit in between. You yanked on his hair again, bringing him that much closer as you moaned, “Wonwoo.”

“Harder.”

“What?” Your head lifted.

His eyes met yours from the end of the bed. Mouth just barely leaving your pussy, he demanded, “Pull my hair harder.”

He didn’t give you a second to respond, already diving back into you. His mouth wrapped around your clit and you yanked on his hair as hard as you could and – the groan he let out reverberated through your entire body, making your nipples hard all over again. You felt that tip of his finger again – no, it was two – sliding into you and nestled in that place only he would remember. Because Wonwoo was attentive. Wonwoo remembered. He knew that the best way to get you there was tugging your clit between his teeth while he crooked those two fingers against a spot that made your thighs shake. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, pumping his fingers into you. “You’re so tight.”

You pulled on his hair, making him press his erection against the bed frame. “It’s been a while.”

He was looking up at you again, noticing the way your jaw clenched, and he clarified, “That doesn’t matter to me, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. A name you never thought you’d hear from his lips. You clenched around his fingers, sucking them more in.

“You close?” He asked, going in to drag his tongue through you. “Want me to edge you?”

You scoffed. “You know I don’t like that.”

He chuckled, slipping his fingers out to lick them clean. “Maybe next time.”

A snarky reply was on the tip of your tongue until his tongue was circling that swollen bundle of nerves. Three fingers were now stuffed inside you, sliding in and out while curling against that – “Yes, right there” – spot. If you felt this full with his fingers … you couldn’t even remember what his cock felt like. Your breathing was already uneven and he was moaning while sucking on your clit and – oh. Your orgasm crested and you were pulling on his hair so much that you were sure there’d be a funny, little bald patch after. His name fell from your lips and he kept licking you through it, grinding his achingly hard cock against the bed. 

Despite his own greed, Wonwoo pulled away when your ankle relaxed on his shoulder once again. You already looked so fucked out on his bed: chest heaving, sweat dotting your hairline. This was something out of a dream, one that he had many times, leaving him waking up hard until he fisted his cock to completion. Your arousal dripped down his chin and he hardly made an effort to clean it up, instead crawling up on the bed and kissing you breathless, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your hands had other plans though. One tugged on the ties at his waistband, while the other slipped under it, finding his erection so easily. No underwear, just like you assumed.He was throbbing, precum staining the thick fabric of his sweatpants, and you trailed a digit along the base. “Since when do you not wear underwear, you pervert?” You laughed against his mouth.

You felt him smile against yours. “In my defense,” he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “I didn’t exactly expect anyone would be coming over.”

“What about Mingyu?” You squeezed at the middle of his shaft, earning a grunt from him.

“I thought we were done talking about my roommate before I fuck you.”

Your nose wrinkled. “Touché.”

He sat up on his knees between your legs, allowing you to help him pull his cock out. Wait. Was he always this big? That night in college was clearly a blur because this was not what you expected. The trail of dark hair that led to his groin didn’t surprise you – he had always been on the hairier side, too lazy to shave even his fingers – it was the whole package. His cock was long, thicker than you remembered, that dark hair trailing all the way down to the base and scattered around his balls. He had just two veins etched towards a flared pink tip, dripping more precum onto his sweats that were hanging just under his ass. 

You didn’t even bother having him kick them off, wrapping your hand around his shaft again and slowly dragging it up, his whole body tense as he held himself back. He almost fell forward, but then braced one of his long arms by his hip to steady himself. “This is – fuck –” He muttered when you squeezed him at the tip. “This is evil.”

“I’m micromanaging.” You grinned, your finger leisurely tracing the vein on the right side of his shaft, making his knees buckle.

He laughed under his breath. “You have no idea –” His jaw shifted when you started pumping him a little faster. “– How many times I thought about this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he choked out. “Felt so guilty after I jerked off – fuck – but nothing got me hard like the thought of you. And then, there were the dreams –”

Your hand paused at the base. “Wait, you’re being serious?” You asked, and his eyes flashed open, like he’d been caught doing something wrong. Then, you confessed, “I had dreams about you too. Touched myself and imagined it was you. For years.”

“Oh, my god.” His head fell into your shoulder, as if this revelation was physically painful. Or maybe it was because your grip was squeezing him a little too well. “If we don’t finally have sex, I think I might cum.”

You chuckled, louder than you expected, placing your free hand over your mouth. But he removed it as your other palm slipped from his cock, muttering something about how much he loved the way you laughed, but your heart was pounding too much to hear it. Hooking one of your legs around his waist, he gripped his cock and guided it forward, nudging your entrance. His eyes lifted to yours, darker than you’ve ever seen.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he muttered, but his tone suggested that it was more of a demand. “How much you want me inside you.”

Your brow lifted. “Don’t be silly. I thought we were on a time crunch here.”

Now his brows were shooting to his hairline. “So you don’t want it?”

“Wonwoo, stop playing around –”

You hadn’t even realized until you felt it: his hand leaving his cock to rub slow circles on your already sensitive clit. Legs parting even more, you whined and you almost didn’t recognize your own voice. “What was that again?” He smirked, pinching your clit in a way that made your toes curl. 

“Jesus, okay – I want it so bad,” you moaned, eyes closed as you surrendered to his touch. “Wonwoo, please – just … Oh, my god – please, fuck me. I think I might go fucking crazy if you’re not inside me in the next ten seconds –”

He pushed inside, burying himself to the hilt. You almost cried from the stretch. It was more than you expected, but you now realized that maybe you should stop having expectations with Wonwoo. He groaned, still rubbing your clit to get you to loosen up more, while hiking your right leg on his waist higher. Savoring the feeling of finally being inside you again, he peppered kisses on your cheek, humming against your skin, “You feel so good, sweetheart,” and, “my best girl, my sweetest girl.”

“It’s so – too much, Wonwoo,” you mewled, even though you suddenly didn’t want to imagine a second without him stuffed inside you like this. So full, so deep – you wondered if you’d feel him the next day.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he cooed, tilting his head to graze his lips over yours. “I know you’re tight, but you can take it, right?”

He leaned back slightly to look in your eyes, wiped the tears that threatened to fall, and you nodded.

“Good girl,” he muttered before pulling all the way out. You didn’t even have a moment to catch you breath before he was slamming back in, his jaw unhinging at just how good you felt.

This was different than that time in his dorm. You were both older, not all that wiser, but there was purpose here. He created a rhythm between you two that had you feeling every vein, every fucking ridge, and you were now wondering who taught Wonwoo to fuck like this. Because it surely hadn’t been you. Or maybe this was just a case of his memory again, because it only took him a few deep thrusts to find the perfect angle that brushed your g-spot, causing your legs to jerk upward. He caught your right thigh before it fell, and then bullied his cock back into you as stars flashed in your vision.

Your arms wound around his neck, fingers raking at the nape of his neck, and then pulling, just the way he liked it. “Fuck –” He groaned, his warm breath mingling with yours. “Missed you so much. Missed being inside you. God –”

The discomfort subsided, as if your pussy had molded itself to the shape of his cock, and it was then that you realized that you never wanted to fuck anyone besides Wonwoo for the rest of your life. You had ten years to have your fun, but this – he punctuated your thought with a hard thrust that made your whole body tremble – was it. You didn’t need anyone else, didn’t want anyone else. 

Just Wonwoo. 

You whined out his name, yanking on his hair as he filled you to the brim over and over again. His fingers – those long, fucking fingers – tweaked your nipples just right, and your back arched into him. “Please, don’t stop,” you begged, catching his lip between your teeth for a moment. “Close. So close. Wanna cum with you.”

“I’ll get you there, sweetheart,” he promised, making that warmth in your gut pool even more. If he didn’t get you over that peak soon, you were going to lose it. “Don’t worry. I got you.”

It was almost funny: the lewd sounds of him fucking into you mixing with Billy Crystal reciting the most devastating monologue known to man as When Harry Met Sally continued on his TV. Your focus shifted when his fingers gave one last pinch to your nipple before dragging down, down, down – all the way until his thumb was rubbing circles on your aching bud again. Harder this time. Like the way you pulled his hair. His digits were harsh, eager to feel you tighten around his cock. He wasn’t even fucking into you anymore; he was buried so deep that you felt him everywhere.

But then it happened: your walls clamping around him, your breathing stifled, and he was trying to fight the urge of cumming himself to praise you. “That’s it,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You whimpered his name, orgasm crashing over you, and he was still rubbing your clit. “There you go. I got you, sweetheart.”

Your whole body was shaking, and it felt almost religious coming undone for him like this. Like it was written in the stars, or maybe your own obliviousness. It felt like every good memory led to this: the best orgasm of your life with the man you’d been in love with since you were 20.

When he felt your walls start to unclench the slightest bit, that was his cue to move again. He pulled out, and then pushed back in so deep that it felt like you were cumming all over again. Fucking into you like this would become an addiction, he just knew it, because when he finally chased his high and practically cried against your mouth, there was no other feeling like it. The way you held onto him, sucking him back in like a vice, as he fucked his release back into you – maybe you were made for him all this time.

All those years depriving himself of this left him desperate and enamored. He was already going soft but he was still pushing into you, not letting any of his seed escape, and you were clenching yet again, cumming all over his cock like it was the only thing you knew how to do. In all honesty, Wonwoo was tempted to keep going, but when he saw the way your body was damn near shivering in his arms, he decided that it was probably not the smartest to overstimulate you during the first time in so long.

He waited almost a decade for you. He could make up for lost time eventually.

Collapsing on top of you, he kissed you softly, feeling you smile into it. Even though him slipping out of you felt empty after all that, you were almost grateful for the reprieve. His soft cock pressed against your thigh, but he stayed there, on top of you, kissing you like you two were 80 and had been doing this all your lives. You hoped that could be your future after all. Because when he leaned back slightly and your hand came to rest on his jaw, you saw the kind of love you secretly always wanted: the kind that would span years, reincarnated in different people. 

Wonwoo rolled onto his back, pulling the waistband of his sweatpants back up before relaxing against the pillows. You curled into his side and he picked up the forgotten remote, seeing the credits run across the small TV at the foot of his bed. “Shit, we missed all of the movie,” he joked.

You chuckled, arm circling around his middle as he tugged a sheet over you. “We can rewind.”

VIII.

You are where all roads lead back to. Parts of you exist in everything I’ve ever loved. –UNKNOWN

You had never been one for morning sex. Always preferred to wake up without distractions and get to your day as soon as possible. Wonwoo might change that though.

After realizing that it was a Friday night and the both of you had no plans the next day, he obviously had to twist your arm to stay over. You had come to his apartment with no plan, just the tote bag you brought to the office everyday and your rain jacket, so you mildly freaked at the idea of staying over without your favorite toothpaste or facial cleanser, only to find out that Wonwoo kept them stocked just in case. Like he was waiting for the day you slept over again. Except it was different this time, because you were dozing off in his arms as he whispered, “I love you,” and your smitten ass was saying it back.

Waking up to his chest against your back, hard cock pressed into your asscheek, as his hand snaked around to your front to dip his fingers between your legs wasn’t exactly what you imagined, but you liked it. Far more than you ever realized. And you supposed that maybe you secretly wanted this to happen because you did fall asleep in just his t-shirt. (Who’s to say?) It wasn’t long before he was having you cum on his fingers, prying your legs open with his own so he could fuck you on your side like this. Your head had turned to meet his lips from over your shoulder and – oh, absolutely nothing was better than this.

Once you were both spent, he let you fall back asleep – something you never did. You were typically an early riser, never once allowing yourself to sleep in and waste the day. He knew this already, which meant he had to physically tuck you back in under his duvet so you would make yourself comfortable again. “Just relax for once,” he chuckled before pecking your cheek. “Give yourself another hour. I’ll have Mingyu whip us up something.”

“Oh, good,” you replied sleepily, cheek flush with his pillow, “I thought you were going to cook and burn the kitchen down.”

He flicked your nose. “Funny.”

When you rolled out of bed an hour later, you chose to look decent and pulled on a pair of his clean boxers. You looked ridiculous, covered head to toe in Wonwoo, and even though he had let you borrow his clothes before, this felt special. What’s his was also yours now. 

You ran a hand through your tangled mess of hair and tugged it through a scrunchie, padding out into the common area. Mingyu was already gone, probably off to his restaurant, and left Wonwoo some bills to go food shopping later. You crossed the threshold of the kitchen and paused, admiring Wonwoo. He was humming to himself while placing a pod in the Keurig, another steaming mug already waiting for you at his small dining table. You always thought he was handsome, but there was something about his hair sticking up in different directions, the way his sweatpants hung loose on his waist, his glasses sitting crooked on his nose … it did something to you. Nothing was more perfect than Jeon Wonwoo in the morning.

“Is this for me?” You asked, pointing to the mug on the table, and he didn’t even jump at the sound of your voice. As if he expected you there all along.

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m almost done with mine, and Mingyu cooked us up some of those fluffy eggs with veggies. The ones you like.”

Sitting down at the table, you crossed one leg underneath the other and took a hefty sip. It was bitter and dark – just the way you liked it. Wonwoo joined you at the table after pouring a splash of milk in his mug, and you both sat there for a moment, perfectly at peace with the silence. It reminded you of that morning – after the first and only hookup – how your knees just barely brushed and the open windows that smelled of fresh flowers, like spring in bloom. Except this time, the weight of liking him didn’t feel like a curse. There were no final exams to worry about. And Wonwoo was now reaching out his hand: still hesitant, but certain. It was a declaration.

An origin wound now healed. 

You ran your thumb over the back of his hand, a smile tugging at your lips. “We really are terrible at casual,” you mused, “which is why I really want to try this time.”

Wonwoo brought your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles. His voice was almost cinematic as he replied, “Me too.”

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[smileysuh]

reunion

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader  

🔮 preview. “Well,” Wonwoo takes a deep breath, meeting your gaze. “You see, before I was Mister Tech Entrepreneur, I went to high school with this girl. She was kind, always so kind, to everyone, even me. And she was smart, way smarter than she gave herself credit for. And for some stupid reason, she was with this bonehead of a quarterback. I know that was ten years ago, but I guess part of me has always wondered: what if? Now you’re here, right in front of me, and against all of the anxiety inside of me that is screaming for me not to tell you this, I suppose I’m wondering if, after all of these years, maybe you’d be interested in giving me a chance.” 

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism (fucking in a classroom in a deserted school during a high school reunion), trying to be quiet during sex, sex on a desk, clothes on sex, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, manhandling, pleasure dom!Wonwoo, praise, dirty talk, hair pulling, etc…  I pet names: (hers) pretty girl.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 5k 

🍭 aus. Slice of life au, high school reunion au, nerd high schooler to sexy tech entrepreneur adult. etc…

☀️ mlist + an. We love a nerd who is obsessed with you in high school, then becomes super rich and fucks you at your ten-year reunion. 

Prologue: 

The football field is full of students, newly graduated, their whole lives ahead of them. Yearbooks are being absolutely defaced with notes of good wishes, and all sorts of multicoloured pens scribble kind words and hopes of the future.

You’ve been here for over an hour, saying goodbye to classmates and hearing about summer and university plans. But there is one person you’re keeping an eye out for; Wonwoo has been your math tutor for two years now, and without him, your grade point average may not have been high enough to get into your dream school, so you refuse to leave today without saying one final thank you to the nerd who made your future attainable.

He’s an elusive guy, the kind of dude who doesn’t really have many friends, keeps his head down, and is always the top of the class. You suppose you’re not surprised he’s missing from the football field; crowds have never been his thing, but then, you spot him by the bleachers.

Excusing yourself from your friends, you head over to Wonwoo. “Hi!”

“Oh, hi.” He looks up at you, glasses slightly crooked, closed yearbook in hand.

“Can I sign that?” you ask, motioning to his book.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

You take the yearbook from him, and when you open it to the first page, you find it empty. Your heart drops. Although Wonwoo has always been the studying type, you’re sure it must hurt to have not one note written in his yearbook.

Wonwoo has extreme social anxiety, but he’s a kind person, and he was more than patient with you when he was your tutor.

‘Wonwoo, thank you so much for helping me with math. I’m not sure what I would have done without you. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, and I know you’re going to go extremely far in life. I can see you being a CEO at some biotech company or running Silicon Valley. Don’t ever stop using that amazing brain of yours, and I’d say good luck, but I know you won’t need it. Xoxo y/n’

You give the yearbook back to him, and as Wonwoo looks down at your note, a hand wraps around your forearm.

“Come on, babe, everyone else has already left to go to the fair.” It’s your boyfriend, Seungcheol, his varsity jacket draped over one arm. 

“Oh, sorry, I was just finishing up.” You swallow thickly, looking back at Wonwoo. “A bunch of us are going to the fair if you want to come.”

“It’s more of a football team and their girlfriends sort of thing,” Seungcheol interjects quickly.

You sigh. It’s no secret that your boyfriend can be a bit of a bully, especially when it comes to the more nerdy types, and while you’ll swear up and down that Seungcheol is a good guy deep down, he sometimes has a funny way of showing it.

“It’s okay, I don’t really like crowds,” Wonwoo says quietly.

You open your mouth, wanting to say more, but Seungcheol tugs on your arm again. “Have a great summer, Wonwoo,” you blurt out, overwhelmed by the urgency your boyfriend is exhibiting. “And I know you’ll kill it at MIT."

One:

“Okay, so little black dress, or the blue?” you ask, holding up each option so your high school friend Sumi can see it through FaceTime.

“It depends. Are you trying to get laid at our ten-year high school reunion?” Sumi laughs. “I heard Seungcheol is single again.”

“Yeah, and he has an ex-wife that sued him for half of what he made when he was in the NFL before he tore his ACL and had to retire at the ripe age of twenty-five,” you scoff. 

“Okay, maybe too much drama,” your friend acquiesces. “Go with the black. Getting laid or not, we both have to look super hot.” 

“It will be fun to see what everyone is up to,” you nod, putting your chosen dress in your suitcase. “I can’t wait for us to be in the same city again.”

You and Sumi had attended university together, but then you’d gone your separate ways, chasing job opportunities in different cities. 

“Our Airbnb is a no-boy zone, though, I hope you know,” Sumi teases. 

“We’re not going to the reunion to hook up with ex-classmates,” you agree.

“Speaking of ex-classmates who would want to fuck us at the reunion…” Sumi grins into the camera. “Is Wonwoo coming?”

“Wait, Wonwoo was into you?” you ask.

Sumi lets out a laugh. “Not me, you ditz. Wonwoo was always clearly into you.” 

“Was he really?”

“It was so obvious!” Sumi insists. “But you were with Seungcheol, and everyone knows Seungcheol kind of bullied Wonwoo. I think he was jealous that Wonwoo was smart enough to help you with classes where you struggled, and Seungcheol couldn’t.” 

You frown, memories of high school flooding back.

Wonwoo was always adorable, but his lack of social skills made it difficult for him to get close to anyone. You had a soft spot for him back then, but you were in love with Seungcheol before you parted ways for university, and he dumped you in the first week when he joined a frat. 

“Hey, I’ve gotta run,” Sumi sighs. “But I will see you at our Airbnb in twenty-four hours.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you smile, saying goodbye to your friend. As the call hangs up, you do a Google search for Wonwoo’s name.

You’re a reporter now, and part of the reason you’re so good at your job is that you’re curious. 

There’s no harm in looking up an ex classmate.

Two:

The first thing you find about Wonwoo is that he made the Forbes top 30 under 30 list, which nearly knocks you off your bed. The man in the picture is no longer the nerd who helped you with his homework. Adorned in a dark suit, Wonwoo looks regal in his photographs, and you’re shocked at how handsome he’s become.

It seems he launched a startup after graduating from MIT and has since founded his company, which runs out of Silicon Valley.

It takes you a few minutes to wrap your head around this information, because… well, you’d guessed this was his career path when you were a teenager. Although you’d known he was capable, you never expected him to actually follow through with his talent.

From Forbes, you find a few news articles. They describe Wonwoo as an elusive visionary, a master of all things related to computer science, the man to watch. 

That’s when you find his TED Talk, and you spend the next twenty minutes watching this gorgeous nerd talk about AI, tech, the language of computers, and things you can’t even wrap your head around. 

This man, who once hated crowds, who once dreaded doing presentations in class… he’s come so far, and it makes your heart melt with happiness to see that Wonwoo is doing well.

You love the way his lips still quirk into this silly grin when he speaks, the grin that says ‘I know way more about this subject than you, but that’s fine because I will teach you so you can understand what I’m talking about.’ 

It feels like you’re graduating high school again. Possibilities seem endless when you listen to Wonwoo talk. He makes the seemingly unattainable feel within reach.

God, you are so extremely proud of him.

Three:

So far, the reunion feels a bit lackluster. You spend the first half an hour dodging Seungcheol, and another half an hour listening to ex-classmates talk about all the children they’ve been having. The baby pictures are endless.

You finally pull away to get a breather, stepping outside the gymnasium to escape the scent of perfume and sweat that is beginning to overtake the crowded space.

It feels so weird to be back at your high school, and you take a moment to consider how far you’ve come. When you graduated, life seemed like a clear shot. You would go to university to become a teacher, marry Seungcheol, be a wife to an NFL player with a long career… funny how none of that ended up happening.

“Y/N?”

You whip around and come face to face with your old tutor… your now extremely hot and successful old tutor.

“Wonwoo?” you gasp.

“Thought that was you,” he smiles, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“I-” you swallow thickly. “Have you gone inside yet?” You’re pretty sure he hasn’t, because you’ve been looking for him the whole time.

“No, I got a phone call when I arrived and had to manage something, and then, well, then I wondered if going inside would be worth it.”

“Oh.” You can’t help the dejected feeling that washes over you. 

“I wasn’t sure you’d be here,” he continues. 

“Me? I wasn’t sure you would be,” you laugh. “Mister Silicon Valley.”

“I suppose you’re not surprised,” Wonwoo smirks. “You guessed this would happen.”

“You were the smartest guy I knew in high school, and I wouldn’t be shocked if you’re still the smartest man I know now.”

“I wish I’d had the confidence in myself that you had in me back when we were students,” Wonwoo admits, releasing a sigh. “Maybe things would have been a little different.”

You tilt your head to the side, trying to understand him. “What kind of things?” 

Wonwoo shrugs, his tailored suit showing off the broadness of his shoulders. “I guess it doesn’t matter now. Anyways, you’re a reporter, huh. That’s not the career I would have envisioned you in.”

“No?” 

So he looked you up, too.

“You always used to talk about being a teacher, dating a successful man, having kids, that sort of thing.”

“Well,” you consider his words, “I was young then. Being a reporter allows me to share information with a wider range of people, and I learned that I didn’t need a man; I could be successful all on my own.” 

“Are you happy?”

“I’m very happy. And you?”

Wonwoo cocks his head, opening his mouth, then closing it. “There’s a lot about my life that makes me happy, but there are also a few things… missing.”

“I can understand that,” you nod, not wanting to pry even though pushing for information is your job. You’re not on the clock right now, and you want to provide friendship to a man who is probably used to intrusive questions. 

Wonwoo studies you. “So other than being a reporter, what have you been up to? Sounds like you’re not with the ‘star quarterback’ anymore.”

A laugh immediately escapes you. “No! It’s been almost ten years since I dated Seungcheol.”

“Oh?” Wonwoo grins. “You always seemed so confident that you two would be together forever.”

“I started dating him when we were fourteen. When we graduated a couple of years later, I had no idea what real life would be like.” You shake your head, hating how naive you were. “How about you, Mister Tech Entrepreneur? I bet all the girls are trying to slide into your DMs.”

“I’m single, very single, unfortunately,” Wonwoo laughs awkwardly. “I guess lately I’ve been thinking about the one that got away.”

Your body surges at the notion of gossip. “Okay, I was trying not to pry before, but now I have to ask. Tell me the story.” 

“Well,” Wonwoo takes a deep breath, meeting your gaze. “You see, before I was Mister Tech Entrepreneur, I went to high school with this girl. She was kind, always so kind, to everyone, even me. And she was smart, way smarter than she gave herself credit for. And for some stupid reason, she was with this bonehead of a quarterback. I know that was ten years ago, but I guess part of me has always wondered: what if? Now you’re here, right in front of me, and against all of the anxiety inside of me that is screaming for me not to tell you this, I suppose I’m wondering if, after all of these years, maybe you’d be interested in giving me a chance.” 

Your heart is racing in your chest. For the first time in a very long time, you don’t know what to say. 

You’d always thought Wonwoo was adorable, and he treated you so well. He was patient and gentle, and he never got exasperated with you over math homework. He was quiet, but when he did talk, he was always insightful. Wonwoo always allowed you to be completely yourself, free of judgment, and he cheered you on for every math test, watching your grades improve as a result of his encouragement. 

A part of you had known you were interested in him, even back when you’d thought your life was figured out with Seungcheol. 

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about this too,” you admit. 

“And?”

“And… If we don’t take this chance… maybe we’ll continue to regret it.”

Your words hang thick in the air, and you can see Wonwoo digesting them. He swallows thickly, taking a step toward you. 

You’re drawn to him, and you also close the distance, until there’s only a foot between you.

He’s truly become so handsome, but he’s still just Wonwoo, your Wonwoo. There’s something special about the fact that you knew this man before his worldly successes, that you knew and cared for him when he was the dorky nerd who ate lunch in the library and had only your signature in his yearbook.

You still feel bad for him, for the way his high school years panned out, but look at him now. 

Thank God that Sumi told you to wear your sexy little black dress.

“Is it bad that I want to kiss you for the first time here, of all places?” Wonwoo asks with an awkward chuckle.

“Oddly enough, it feels right,” you laugh, taking his hand and guiding it to your hip. “If I’d never been with Seungcheol…”

“Let’s not even think about the past like that,” Wonwoo sighs, tugging you flush to his body. “We’re here now, that’s what matters.”

You nod, and then you lean forward, pressing your lips to Wonwoo’s for the very first time.

It’s like a jolt of electricity surges through you, and nothing has ever felt this right. 

His lips are so soft, and he holds you in such a careful way, as if he’s afraid this is a dream.

But this is not a dream, that much is clear from the way your panties are already sticking to your core. 

You press yourself closer, one hand grasping the nape of his neck as the kiss deepens in the most delicious way imaginable.

Wonwoo definitely knows how to kiss. It’s not an obnoxious style, no, he’s careful, calculated, but his movements still betray the fact that he’s been longing for you for ten years. It’s as if he’s dreamed of this moment a million times, and now you’re actually here, and he’ll be damned if he fucks it up. 

His tongue gently glides against your own, and you stifle a moan at the feeling, your body tingling delightfully. 

You thread your fingers through his hair, wanting him even closer, although your chests are pressed together and there’s no room between you. 

You want to feel him, all of him, and the realization makes a shiver run through you.

“Wonwoo,” you gasp, breaking the kiss.

“Yeah?”

“I know a place.”

“You know a place?” he laughs.

“Follow me.” You grab his hand, chasing your fantasies as you lead him to a door that takes you to the rest of the school. Running through the halls with Wonwoo feels like a fever dream; it’s as if you remember every locker, every linoleum tile that paves the hallways that echo with each footstep.

“Where are we going?” Wonwoo asks, a chuckle escaping him.

“The math room.”

“Why are we going there?”

“Because that’s where I realized I liked you as more than a tutor, more than a friend,” you tell him, your voice bouncing off the walls like a tantalizing reverie. 

You can’t believe you’re doing this, but there’s no turning back now, and you wouldn’t want to either.

You whisk Wonwoo into your old math classroom, and the memories come flooding back. Your teacher would allow Wonwoo to tutor you here when the library wasn’t available, and you spent many hours alone with the handsome nerd in the confines of these four walls.

Maybe Seungcheol did bully Wonwoo because he could see what you were blind to until recently. It’s clear you had a connection with your tutor, one that was lost on you at the time. 

“Do you remember this?” you ask, turning to face Wonwoo. “All the time we spent here?”

“Like it was yesterday,” he laughs.

“I thought you were the smartest, cutest guy I’d ever met,” you tell him, leaning back against one of the large tables.

“And I thought you were the kindest, most gorgeous girl I’d ever know,” Wonwoo retorts, approaching you. His hands make contact with the desk on either side of you, blocking you in while you look up at him.

His eyes are twinkling with joy, and you’ve never seen him this happy. He was handsome before, but now, he’s absolutely radiant, and you grab the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours.

It’s a frenzied kiss, both of you pouring all of your longing into the meeting of your mouths. You thread your fingers through his hair, and Wonwoo reaches down, lifting you onto the table. Your legs wrap around his hips, pulling him flush to your body while a whimper escapes you.

Wonwoo grins, one of his hands slipping up your thigh and under your dress.

Confidence is radiating off of him, and it’s the sexiest thing you can imagine. His thumb strokes the waistband of your panties, and you wiggle your hips, a wordless invitation.

Wonwoo’s fingers make contact with your core over your panties, and you gasp.

“You’re soaked, pretty girl,” Wonwoo tells you, and your whole body shivers at his words.

“I want you,” you confess, swallowing thickly. 

“You have me,” Wonwoo promises, rubbing your clit while his lips move to your throat.

You groan, throwing your head back and tugging gently on his hair. You love being worshipped like this. Most of the men you’ve been with have been self-centered in bed, but you suppose nerds always have something to prove.

Or maybe it’s just that Wonwoo actually cares about you, even after all this time. 

You grind down against his hand, moaning louder when he applies more pressure to your sensitive bud. “Just like that,” you tell him. “Fuck, it feels so good.”

“I’m Mister Tech Entrepreneur,” Wonwoo says in your ear. “I type code and use my fingers for a living.”

God, why is that so hot?

He pushes your panties to the side, and two of his fingers enter your drenched pussy.

Wonwoo sucks your earlobe into his mouth as he curls his digits, immediately finding your G-spot. 

“Right there!” you tell him, clenching your eyes shut.

“Be a good girl for me and try not to be too loud,” Wonwoo warns. “I’d hate for anyone to walk in on this.”

You’d kind of forgotten that you’re in a math classroom at your old high school during a reunion. It’s not like people are roaming the halls, but if Sumi were to come looking for you, or even Seungcheol…

You shiver at the idea of your ex walking in on this. There’s something so exciting about exhibitionism with Wonwoo, especially in a classroom that holds so much history for the two of you.

His palm makes contact with your clit, and you slap a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself, whimpering desperately.

“Good girl,” Wonwoo praises you, and your core throbs from his words.

His lips find yours again, and you kiss him eagerly, wiggling your hips to grind against his hand while he works you up.

He definitely knows how to use his fingers, and each targeted stroke of your G-spot takes you closer to the edge.

Your heart is racing in your chest, your mind is fuzzy with lust, and your body is beginning to feel like it’s swelling with pleasure. 

Your whimpers are muffled by the meeting of your lips, but as your orgasm approaches, you break the kiss. “Wonwoo,” you whimper, stroking the nape of his neck and looking into his eyes. “Please.”

“You can cum for me,” he assures you. “I’m not into orgasm denial.”

You can’t help but laugh, but your giggle quickly turns into another moan as he finger fucks you even harder.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Wonwoo tells you. “I want to see you cum.”

You bite your bottom lip, trying to force your eyes to stay open even as your orgasm builds. You continue to wiggle your hips, grinding against his palm while his fingers coax you to the edge.

Finally, you can’t hold back anymore, and your orgasm slams into you. Your back arches, lips parting as a cry escapes you. Your pussy clamps down on Wonwoo’s fingers, your entire body flooded with pleasure. With curled toes and muscles that are screaming, you do your best to keep your eyes open, your attention fixed on his handsome nerd, who seems to know exactly what to do to make you feel ecstasy in a way no other man has. 

“That’s it,” Wonwoo grins, watching you closely. “You’re such a pretty girl when you cum on my fingers.”

Another wave of pleasure erupts at his words, and you twitch, core absolutely throbbing as he continues to work you through your orgasm.

As your high subsides, Wonwoo pulls his fingers out of your soaked pussy. You watch with bated breath as he licks them clean, groaning sinfully. Then, he grabs the back of your neck, drawing your lips to his so you can taste yourself on his tongue.

You reach between your bodies, cupping his cock as it presses against his pants.

“Fuck me,” you instruct. “I need you.”

“If you only knew how many years I waited to hear you say that…” Wonwoo lets out a shaky breath. “This is going better than I expected… I didn’t bring protection-”

“I’m on birth control,” you laugh. “And I’m assuming we’re both clean.”

“As a whistle,” he confirms

God, he’s so stupidly adorable. 

You lean forward, letting your lips ghost past his ear as you whisper, “Then fuck me.” 

“Whatever you want, pretty girl.”

Wonwoo reaches for his belt, and the two of you make quick work of it. Then you push his pants and underwear down.

“I’m not usually a fan of clothes on sex,” you tell him, swallowing thickly and pushing your panties to the side. “So you’ll just have to make it up to me later.”

Wonwoo laughs, grabbing the base of his cock and giving it a pump. “I’m not usually a fan of exhibitionism,” he muses. “So I guess we’re both outside of our wheelhouse tonight.”

“It’s worth it,” you insist as he lines his tip up with your core. “And it feels grossly fitting that this is where we’re having our first time.”

“Grossly fitting?” he prompts as he pushes into you.

“Yeah, sex on a desk in a math classroom, we’re being delinquents,” you groan, falling back against the table as inch after inch of cock invades your most sensitive area. 

“I guess so,” Wonwoo chuckles, fully sheathing himself inside of you.

You let out a sigh of relief, loving the full feeling. Wonwoo isn’t the thickest cock you’ve ever had inside of you, but he’s long, and he’s curved slightly, his tip nudging against a sensitive spot that makes your toes curl.

“Fuck,” you whimper, lifting your dress so you can reach down and rub your clit. Your body jolts, still sensitive, but fuck, it feels good, and you can tell Wonwoo likes the way your core clenches around him because he releases a groan.

“You feel amazing,” Wonwoo tells you. 

“I’ll feel even better when you start to move,” you counter, feeling cheeky and desperate.

Wonwoo laughs. “You got it, pretty girl.”

He grabs your hips, anchoring you to the table so he can begin to fuck you. 

His cock glides against your inner walls deliciously, and you close your eyes, letting your head fall back against the wooden table with a soft thunk. You continue to rub your clit, muscles twitching at the pleasure that’s already beginning to blossom inside of you again.

His pace increases, and your whimpers fill the classroom. Your free hand moves to grab your own breast through your dress, and you hear Wonwoo let out a shuddery breath.

He’s bewitched by you, and it makes you feel powerful, alive, in a way you haven’t felt in a very long time.

You open your eyes and look up at him, loving the rosy tint to his cheeks. His tie is loose, and he looks frazzled in the sexiest possible way.

You rub your clit harder, your core squeezing Wonwoo like a vice as you work yourself closer to the edge, loving each drag of his cock inside your core.

“Just like that,” you tell him, biting your bottom lip to focus on the pleasure.

“You gonna cum for me again, gorgeous?” Wonwoo lets out a half-chuckle, but you can see the effort he’s putting in to remaining composed.

“If you’re lucky,” you tease.

“If I’m lucky,” Wonwoo repeats, his pace slowing as he shakes his head. “Thought you said you’d be good for me.”

He pulls out of you suddenly, and you squeak as he drags you off the table, flipping you so your back is to him. Then he pushes your upper body onto the desk, dropping your panties to your knees and lifting the skirt of your dress to slide back into your core again.

“Try to be cheeky again, I dare you,” he says, his breath hot against your bare shoulders.

You shiver, wobbling a little in your high heels, but his hands on your hips pin you to the desk. “I’ll be good,” you promise, loving the dominance that’s radiating off of him.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Wonwoo lets up a little, allowing you to slip your hand between your thighs again. It’s an awkward position, your arm pressed between your body and the table, the fabric of your dress a mess, but you manage to rub your clit again, and you both groan desperately.

“I want to cum with you,” you tell him, loving the feeling of the cool wood against your hot cheek.

“That can be arranged.”

Dominant, confident, and oddly formal in a very sexy way… this is crazy.

He begins to rut into you again, but this time, you know he’s not holding anything back. Your hips repeatedly push against the edge of the table, and it hurts a little, but there’s pleasure in the pain, pleasure in the knowledge that Wonwoo is coming completely undone.

He’s groaning more now, and the sounds are music to your ears, egging you on to rub your clit harder, to chase the orgasm that he’s clearly on the brink of. 

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, clenching your eyes shut, your muscles tight and ready-

Wonwoo suddenly grabs a fistful of your hair, forcing your head back. “I wouldn’t dream of leaving you unfulfilled,” he tells you. “Now cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

His words are the last prompt you need, and your pussy explodes around him, throbbing desperately while your guttural moans fill the classroom.

Wonwoo lets out his own groan, his thrusts becoming erratic. You feel him filling you up, his cock throbbing deep inside of you as your walls milk him for every drop that he’s worth.

Your heart is racing in your chest, and you struggle slightly, which is when he releases your hair, allowing you to collapse against the cool table again.

His hands find your hips, and his motions stop. 

You lay there, your upper body flopped on the desk, while you both recollect yourselves.

Finally, Wonwoo clears his throat. “I’m sorry if I got a bit rough at the end there.”

“No, I liked it,” you assure him.

“Usually, if we were in my own home, I’d clean you up in the shower, and give you proper aftercare-”

“We’re at a reunion, and I’m not planning on showering in the girls' locker room by the gym, no worries,” you laugh.

“I have a penthouse suite at a hotel nearby,” Wonwoo continues. “How about we say our goodbyes to everyone, and I take you back with me.” 

He pulls out of you carefully, lifting your panties back into place as you begin to feel his cum dripping out of you.

“You did promise to fuck me without our clothes on.”

“Without the exhibitionism,” Wonwoo agrees with a laugh.

“Let’s do it,” you decide. “We live in different cities now, and even if it’s just for tonight… let’s make the most of it.”

“I hope it’s not just for tonight,” Wonwoo chuckles awkwardly, helping you off the table. “But let's talk about that later, there’s no rush.”

It’s interesting, there hadn’t been a rush for ten years, but the moment you saw him tonight, you wanted things to speed up. He may say there’s no time constraint on considering a future after this, but your mind is already spinning with possibilities. You feel like a love-struck teenager again, but now, you’re not as naive as you once were. 

It will be interesting to see where tonight leads, but you suppose you just have to be patient. You waited ten years, one more night to figure things out won’t hurt you.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! This fic kind of gave Sapiosexual vibes with the whole smart businessman thing. Killed me to make Seungcheol a bully but it had to be done for plot!

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview.  His thumb finds your clit, and you throw your head back, spreading your legs wider for Wonwoo. There’s nothing remotely alluring or seductive about the numbers he’s spitting out aggressively on the phone, but his voice just does something to you, and as always, he knows how to use his fingers.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, oral (pussy eating & blow job), handjob, exhibitionism, foreplay, foreplay while Wonwoo is on an important phone call, dirty talk, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, praise, etc…   I petnames. (hers) pretty girl. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.4k I teaser wc. 130

🌙 starring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

Some days you wake up and wonder if you’re still dreaming. You’ve been with Wonwoo for two years now, and life has changed in the most magical of ways. As much as you enjoyed being a successful woman who didn’t need a man, becoming aligned with Wonwoo has shown you that sometimes, having a partner who is equally - if not more driven - than you are, can be the biggest blessing.

You live with him in his swanky house, and he supports you as you build your career as a reporter in San Fransico. He’s still the CEO of his own company, and you both pour yourselves into work, which fulfills both of your spirits and allows you to be your best selves when you’re together at home.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.4k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

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[jakedustry]

𝐍𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐃 - 𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐎

bf!jeon wonwoo x fem!reader

IN WHICH the heatwaves are terrible lately, and you don't see a different solution than to sleep naked—a sight your boyfriend is obsessed with

contains— smut, unprotected sex, plot what plot, breast play, heat waves idk

word count— 1.5k

↪ izzy speaks... staying true to the fic, i woke up at 5am today because of how fucking hot it was in my room

wonwoo m.list | masterlist

You don't like this heat. It's been days of you sweating buckets all day long, no matter if you're outside or inside, if you have the air conditioning on or not—you still end up feeling way too hot.

Nights are the worst. It's been a week since you decided to ditch your blanket completely, but with your boyfriend's warmth still radiating off him every night you share the bed, it didn't do anything to help you have a good night rest.

You've been rolling over in bed for the last thirty minutes that Wonwoo has been in the shower. The weather is terrible. You used to love summers before these heat waves. Now, you're not so sure you still do.

Getting out of bed, you decide to drop the bottom of your pajama set, changing the shorts out for a pair of panties instead. You leave the tank top on for now, trying your luck at falling asleep now.

You still feel like dying.

There must be something wrong with the walls, flooring—you don't know. But there has to be something wrong with this room. There is no way it can still be this hot despite all your tries at reducing the heat.

Groaning, you lie flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. If you can't bear the heat now, what are you going to do when Wonwoo comes back? The two of you have always slept cuddled together and you don't want to change that. But his body heat never does well to you and you end up without any sleep at night.

You're quick to discard your top as well, letting it drop to the ground as you stay in bed in just your panties, the rest of your skin on full display. You close your eyes for what feels like the hundredth time, giving falling asleep another chance.

As much as you'd love to sleep, you don't get a chance to see if the lack of clothing helps you keep the heat down as the bedroom door opens and Wonwoo comes back in, ready to join you in bed. Your name slips past his lips, forcing your eyes open as you question what he needs.

Wonwoo's eyes trail down your body, taking in every inch of your naked skin. There was no part of him that thought he'd be coming here to this. He certainly isn't complaining, though. You, sprawled out on his bed, your hair a mess on the pillow, your chest on full display, your nipples greeting him, and your pussy covered with a simple lacy sage fabric that would be so easy for him to take down.

You watch as his cock grows hard under the fabric of his sleep shorts, your eyes widening. "It's too hot in here," you excuse, turning to lay on your side.

Mistake. Big fucking mistake.

Your breasts squeeze together, appearing much bigger now than they did when you were on your back. Your ass has also joined the sight this time, and it all makes Wonwoo feel like he's going insane. "Tell me about it," he breathes out, unable to take his eyes off you. There is so much for him to look at. He doesn't have enough eyes. "Is this helping?" He steps closer to you slowly, watching as your cheeks flush.

"I didn't have a chance to figure it out yet," you mumble, your eyes following every one of his movements. His shorts rest low on his hips, the rest of his body on full display for you. He always sleeps like this but somehow, it feels much more intimate tonight. Is this how he feels watching you lie here practically naked? Is his head spinning at the sight of you like yours is over him?

"What if I want to make you warm again?" He asks, a smile spreading on his lips as he comes to your side, your head tilted back so you can look up at him. "You're so beautiful, my love."

Squeezing your thighs together, you bat your eyelashes at him. "Depends if getting warm is worth it."

"I think it'll be worth it," he nods, creating a smile on your face as well.

Pushing yourself up, you sit on the edge of the bed, opening your legs so he can step between them. Brushing your hair behind your ears, he cups your face gently before leading down and pressing his lips to yours. You wrap your hands around him without pulling away, leaning back and tugging him with you. With your back flat against the mattress, you let him climb up so he hovers over you, his lips grazing your skin. From your jaw to your breast—he's got it all covered.

Sighing in pleasure, you rock your hips forward as his lips take in your nipple. Your boyfriend's tongue has always been skilled—a fact he reminds you of each time you're naked together. You love when he has his mouth on you, no matter where he decides to find his home. Tonight it's your chest, and you absolutely love it.

Squeezing your other breast in his hand, he makes you moan as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. He pinches the little bud as well as tugs on it, your eyes closed and your head tilted back. You're not sure where to put your own hands, needing to feel all of him. From his broad shoulders, to his chest and waist, down to his ass and then crotch. He groans against your skin as you wrap your hand around his length through the fabric covering him.

"Won," you moan, giving his cock a tight squeeze in hopes of getting some release. He hums, rocking his hips into you.

"I know, baby," he whispers, kissing your breast once more before he pulls back to look at you. He's left a mark around your nipple, one he admires proudly. Letting his hand wander between your legs, he feels how wet you are on his fingers. "Look at you," he coos, unable to hold back a smile. "This is why you decided to sleep naked tonight, isn't it? You wanted us to end up like this."

You hum, unable to tell him no now that you have him between your legs. You wouldn't say that's what you planned all along—you really just wanted to be less hot—but you're also not confident in yourself. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you dig your heels into his lower back and bring him closer. "Will you do something about it?"

Wonwoo groans at the sight of your pouty lips, not hesitating anymore and tugging your panties down, exposing you completely. His shorts are gone next, your naked bodies melting together as he puts his lips to yours once again. You exchange open mouthed kisses as he nudges his tip against your clit, teasing you before he allows himself to dip inside. Your nails scratch onto his back at the stretch you feel, heavy breathes leaving your lips.

He looks down to your connected bodies, biting back a curse as your walls clench around his length. Your breasts move along with him, calling out to his hands again. He takes care of them thoroughly, playing with your nipples while his hips move into yours.

You keep him close to you as he fills you up perfectly—just like he always does. You don't think you'll ever get enough of him. Wonwoo is intoxicating—from his smell to his touches. You feel drunk on him every time you're like this, and tonight is no different.

So many lewd sounds fill your room, you're sure your neighbors will leave complains in the morning. Neither of you seem to care, too in the pleasure to control yourself properly.

Your orgasm approaches first, your walls fluttering around him. You use the thrusts following your release to ride out your high, moaning into his ear. It's when you scream his name as he rubs your clit that his pace shutters, his head falling to your shoulders. You don't need to ask to know he's about to come. "In," you beg. "Please, in."

A loud whimper fills your ears and it takes you a second to figure out it's not your own voice but Wonwoo's. God. A second orgasm comes crashing down your body faster than you can comprehend it, accompanying his own.

He presses his lips to your to contain the cries coming from you, holding you as close as he possibly can, his hands nothing if not loving. Your bodies lock together on the bed, pressed to each other even as he pulls out of you. He kisses your face all over, soft whispers of love etched into your skin as he coos you to sleep.

Turns out you can sleep even when your body is all burning as long as he's by your side.

⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @adel222 @liaatiny @cherrylovescheol @bamgeutsz @codeinebelle @livelaughloveseventeen @xylatox @cristy-101 @assoulacaratassil @ladytree @nonuverse @fairyprincesslvr21 @cheolcheolieee008 @yvampyr @bramos91 @amisuh @lunaxgyu @livmarauder @evemds @nanilis @eskoupe @ashleytjw @jaja-salute @thegalaxyisunfolding✶⋆ want to get notified? join taglist here!

[kyeomofhearts]

Bed Wars | J.WW

+ summary: after spending countless hours building a house for your boyfriend... you're suddenly met with his bed placed right next to yours? what the hell man! + pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader + word count: 800~ + content: fluff, established relationship, they're just playing minecraft lol, reader likes to bicker.

[ᝰ.ᐟ] happy valentine's day!!! thought i would post something small to celebrate since i didn't post for last year's valentine's day. also i would like to (unfortunately) thank @cherry-zip for bullying me into posting this on time! hope you enjoy, thanks for reading! <3 (borders made by @enchanthings !)

"C’mon dude,” you groaned, staring at the sight in front of you. “I made you a house for a reason!”

Wonwoo’s response? Moving his bed right next to yours. 

“Well, I want to sleep here,” he stated simply.

You let out an annoyed sigh, arms crossed. “Like, seriously? The colors don’t even match!”

Wonwoo only giggled, enjoying your frustration with him. “What are you talking about? My purple bed goes perfectly with your pink one. Also, what if a creeper spawns in my house—how will you ever hear my cries for help?”

Your eye twitched at his insistence. God, he was so annoying. “Now, why would a creeper spawn in your house?” 

“You never know, I’ve seen it happen before.” 

“Fine. I’ll move out then,” you said, quickly destroying your bed and leaving the house. You weren’t even bothered enough to take anything from your chests.

The two of you continued playing in silence for a few minutes. It’s not like you were actually mad or anything… but it was fun to start a meaningless fight with Wonwoo. 

In the meantime, you explored the surrounding biomes in hopes of finding a suitable place to make a new house. Well, more like a camp. (Your house was way too pretty for you to simply abandon.)

After a few more minutes of silence, Wonwoo began to message you in the game.

[gam3bo1: where are you :(]

[gam3bo1: i miss youuuuu]

[gam3bo1: answer me!]

“Are you mad at me?” He asked, turning to look at you from his monitor, eyes filled with faux innocence.

You scoffed. “Oh, no. Not at all. I just love how you’re completely ignoring the fact that I built a whole house for you, and yet, you insist on staying in my house!”

Wonwoo let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, it's not my fault my house feels so… lonely.” 

You rolled your eyes as he spoke, but he didn’t stop there. Who would’ve known that he was going to be this pouty.

“Look, our babies miss you too.” He waved you down to look over at his screen.

To your disappointment, curiosity got the better of you. “This better be–” Your voice cut off at the sight of your pets. 

All of your in-game pets–the dogs, cats, and even the random parrot you found in a jungle biome a few weeks back–were all sitting obediently inside your home. Wonwoo had conveniently placed them all in front of his bed, having them turned to look at the empty space–where your bed used to be. 

You narrowed your eyes upon realizing the little stunt he was trying to pull on you. “You’re trying to manipulate me into going back home!”

Wonwoo gasped. “I would never do such a thing!”

After a few moments of pure laughter, you finally gave in. You could never stay mad at him for too long. 

“...Fine, I’ll come back.” You huffed out, finally turning back to your monitor and making your way back home.

As you neared your house, something new caught your eye.

Behind your house, was a small, heart-shaped garden. The ground was tiled in a red-and-pink checkered pattern, carefully placed block by block. Peonies and roses filled the garden’s corners, their colors nicely decorating the huge heart in the middle. In front of the heart sat a small seating area just for the two of you.

“Oh.”

“I made it while you were ignoring me,” Wonwoo said, his voice suddenly next to your ear.

Your fingers hovered over your keyboard. It was… annoyingly cute.

You continued to move around, stepping onto the checkered flooring and admiring the little details he had placed all around. It was cute.

“...You built me a garden?” you asked softly.

Wonwoo hummed. “I might have had help from a few tutorials, but yeah. I wanted to make a spot for us.” 

And unsurprisingly, your stomach did an embarrassing flip.

Wonwoo went back over to his desk, quickly moving his player to sit on one of the chairs in the garden. Following him, you sat down in the chair in front of him, and before you could even say anything he beat you to it.

“I just thought our shared house could use a little extra love. You know, since we obviously live together.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as Wonwoo laughed triumphantly beside you. He just had to ruin the moment! 

“Now c’mon, let’s go to bed,” he said as he pressed ‘Save and Exit’. By the time you reached the main menu, Wonwoo was already pulling you away from your desk.

“I’m never building you anything ever again,” you muttered, body betraying you as you leaned into him on your shared bed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “And yet you still let me sleep next to you.” 

You wanted to argue, but sleep was already pulling you away. “Mhm, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

[belovedgyu]

can i call you rose? || jeon wonwoo

⚬ pairing: jeon wonwoo x lawyer fem! reader ⚬ word count: 4k ⚬ genres: fwb au, neighbors au, a lil angsty, smut, the reader is mentioned to be older than wonwoo ⚬ warnings: mentions of food, spice/nsfw mentions and smut - filth, filth filth, use of adult toys, and other mature themes MDNI

credits to @saradika-graphics for the beautiful dividers

<3 synopsis: bound by your very own limitations, you often wonder what it would be like if it was just the two of you and nobody else when it comes to your neighbor wonwoo, especially on days like these...when he brings you roses.

<3 songs recommended - can i call you rose? by thee sacred souls - at my worst by pink sweat$ - just the two of us grover washington jr and bill withers

author's note: part of my valentine's day event, lmk if you'd want to be tagged :)

It is not everyday that your neighbor-cum-fuckbuddy, Wonwoo, gets you large bouquets of flowers.

That isn't to say that he is some cynic. No! Just someone who prefers buying you things of utility—like chocolates, or books, or games that the two of you can play together before eventually forgetting them on your screen as you succumb to the heated kisses either of you initiate.

Today, however, feels like a day where morning started at 6 p.m. with the sun rising in the west because there he is—at your door—grinning ear to ear like a fool with a bouquet bigger than his head at seven in the morning.

"Happy rose day!" He beams as you blink at him, confused and petrified.

Your first instinct is to reach forward and press your palm to his forehead to check for his temperature.

"You're not burning up," you mumble, "did you eat something weird? Sleep funny? 'Cause it's only January yet."

He rolls his eyes, taking your palm away from his forehead and pressing it to his lips for a quick kiss. “I’m perfectly fine,” he says, amused. “Is it so hard to believe I wanted to do something nice?”

“You always do something nice,” you counter, eyes drifting back to the absurdly large bouquet. Red roses spill everywhere, plump petals dewy and fresh. “You just… don’t usually do this that too in so much advance.”

Wonwoo shrugs, a faint pink creeping up his ears—something you notice only because you’ve spent so long memorizing him. “I know. But well, I figured that every girl in the world must be receiving flowers on rose day and you always talk about how much you love the roses from that lady at the farmer's market and I won't be here for the real rose day cause I need to be at that stupid conference..."

Your heart warms up. You let him in, slowly shutting the door behind yourself. "So you went to the farmer's market…at six in the morning just to buy me roses? I thought you went to bed at six, Won!"

You hit him lightly on the head with the bouquet he just bought for you, two loose flowers topple over his hair—one clinging to his collar, the other dropping right into his arm.

"Hey!" he protests, following you to your bedroom where he has been more times than any decent neighbor should be, "do you know how competitive flower shops get? I had to fight an ajusshi for it.”

You laugh, placing the flowers in a pretty vase by your bed. “You did not have to.”

Once you have snipped off the excess leaves with your scissors and stuffed it well in a glass jar that matches it's ruby petals, you bury your face into the roses. They smell like morning and effort and him. When you look back up, he’s watching you like waking up at an ungodly hour, fighting random middle aged men and bargaining over flowers in the middle of a very busy farmer's market was worth all it just because he gets to see that smile.

“They’re beautiful,” you say. “Thank you.”

He hums, pretending to inspect your bookshelf while very obviously basking in your reaction. “Good. I was worried you’d think it was too much.”

You set the bouquet down carefully and step closer, looping your arms around his waist. Wonwoo relaxes instantly, arms coming around you, chin resting on the top of your head.

“Well,” he murmurs, “don’t get used to it. Tomorrow I’m back to not doing your half of the dishes when we do dinners together, no matter how much you pout."

“Deal,” you say, smiling into his chest. “But you’re keeping the ‘grinning fool at my doorstep first thing in the morning’ thing. I like that part.”

When you feel him stiffen a little, his swaying with you in his arms stuttering a bit, you think you've said something too wrong, crossed a boundary you didn't know existed. Well, boundaries aren't really a forte of the two of you. It was a boundary that neighbors don't purposefully walk into each other naked—one that you both crossed multiple times. It was also a boundary that neighbors don't act on the desire ignited by the disrupture of the previous boundary by fucking each other—again, one that you shattered multiple times.

You wonder where this boundary of wishing that your neighbor's face is the first one you see, again and again lies in the warzone of all broken treaties?

"Well, I would." He says, detaching himself from you but keeping his arms steady on your waist, "But don't you think it would be awkward for the days when you let those other guys sleep over in your bed with you?"

The breathy voice of his and the crude implication that follows causes your cheeks to flame.

The fact that the two of you fool around sometimes hasn't stopped you from taking in more lovers, honestly. You still go on dates, hoping that by the end of it, you'd have someone who'd make you want to give up this arrangement with Wonwoo. How badly you hope to find him in the faces that sit opposite to you in all those fancy coffee-houses, how badly you wish their touch ignites the same nerves that Wonwoo's does, how badly you wish that you escaped this abyss of almosts and maybes. And yet, here you are, orbiting him like his gravity just never loosens its hold on you.

You swallow, fingers tightening just a little at his hoodie. “You know they don’t stay,” you say quietly. “And you know it doesn’t mean anything.”

Wonwoo’s jaw flexes. For a moment, he looks like he’s doing mental math—counting losses, weighing risks, deciding whether honesty is worth the mess it makes.

“I know,” he says. Then, softer, “That’s not really the problem.”

You tilt your head up. His eyes won’t meet yours now; they’re fixed somewhere over your shoulder, at the wall you’ve both pretended doesn’t exist.

“Then what is?” you ask.

He exhales a small laugh, humorless. “The problem is that I wake up and think about whether you’ve eaten. And I buy too many roses at six in the morning because you once said you liked the way they smelled. And I pretend I don’t care who you bring home because it’s easier than admitting I don’t like imagining anyone else learning the things I already know.”

Your chest tightens. The room feels suddenly smaller, like the air has been pulled closer around the two of you.

“Wonwoo…”

“I’m not asking for anything,” he says quickly, finally looking at you. His gaze is steady, careful. “I know what this is. I agreed to it. I just—” He shrugs, helpless and honest in a way he rarely allows himself to be. “Some days it slips.”

You reach up without thinking, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. He stills like he always does when you touch him gently, like the world recalibrates around that point.

"I get it," you admit, "it slips…for me too."

You realize just how heavy the air around you weighs now, pushing you both further and further into each other's arms. And you know exactly what follows—hours of mind-numbing love-making to make you both forget the significance of the conversation that almost happened…the significance of what the two of you could be.

As if acting on a rehearsed script, your lashes begin fluttering close and you lean in closer to his lips. Only today, your co-actor goes off scripts and takes a step back.

"And the solution to that is fuck and forget?" He questions.

You unwrap your arms from around him and cross them over your chest instead, ignoring how sour the taste of rejection is. "I mean…it helps."

"Does it?" He scoffs. "Because honestly, no matter how good the sex is, I don't think it is a permanent solution to the heavy regret I feel because I won't be here to spend Valentine's with you cause of that stupid conference I have to attend."

You don't like the entitlement that drips in his tone. "Oh so I am responsible for managing your guilt now?"

He flinches, just a little. It makes your chest ache immediately.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not blaming you. I’m saying I hate that I’ll miss it. I hate that the idea of you spending Valentine’s Day with someone else makes my stomach twist, and I hate myself more for feeling like I have any right to that.”

Silence stretches between you, thick and fragile.

You glance at the roses by your bed. They’re impossibly red, almost embarrassing in their sincerity. You think of the farmer’s market, of him half-asleep and stubborn, arguing with an ajusshi for flowers that would wilt in a week but mean something now.

“You know what’s funny?” you say quietly. “Every time I go on a date, I’m hoping it’ll fix this. That I’ll come home and feel…normal. Detached.” You laugh under your breath. “And every time, I end up comparing them to you. Like that’s fair to anyone.”

Wonwoo looks at you and the teasing softness he usually wears is gone. What’s left is raw, and so heartbreakingly human.

“So stop,” he says. “Stop pretending this is casual. Stop pretending we don’t already act like something more when it’s just us."

It prompts you to think of all the times you moan for him with no restrain, not worrying how raw it sounds. Of all the times straddle him and kiss him like you mean it, like he's yours to stamp your claim upon.

'Something more when it's just us.'

How he braids your hair—damp from sweat and tears—when he's spooning you after. How he lathers more peanut butter than jelly to your sandwiches because that's how you like it. How he fixed the window panels in your room just last week because you remarked once in passing that they creaked too much.

'Something more when it's just us.'

The bored texts you send him during meetings at work because he's the only one who ever responds to all of them. The gaming jargon that has assimilated in your everyday vocabulary—courtesy to him.

'Something more when it's just us.'

But that's the thing—it isn't just the two of you.

Oh how simpler things would be if it were. Because if were just the two of you, you wouldn't mind the obvious difference between the lives you both currently live and wish to live for a foreseeable future. You're older than him, so close to becoming partner at the law firm you've given your everything to over a better part of the last decade. Meanwhile Wonwoo is fresh out of post-grad—burnt out and exhausted, still figuring out if he even wants to continue with academia or begin somewhere else all over again.

You're not even sure for how long is he going to be in the rental apartment next door. Next month? The month after?

"Fine, I'll give it a thought." You say, despite it all. "We'll have this conversation once you're back from your conference."

You silently pray that the conference and interacting with his industry's leaders will give him enough clarity that'll make him stay somewhere you can be with him.

Wonwoo studies your face for a long second, like he’s trying to memorize it in case this is the last time he’s allowed to look so freely. Then he nods, slow and deliberate, accepting the truce for what it is.

“Okay,” he says. “When I’m back.”

Then, almost hesitatingly, he adds, "Can you promise me something?"

"What?"

"That you'll sincerely give this a thought—"

"Won, I told you I would."

"No please," he interrupts then licks his lips, "tell me you won't try to distract yourself from me…that you will truly consider this, without trying to prove something to yourself."

You know just what he is implying.

"You don't want me to get involved with anyone while you're gone?" You verbalize, carefully leaving it open for further explanation or clarification on his part.

Bashfully, he nods.

"But it's not because I want to control you or anything…just—"

"I get it Wonwoo." You assure him, "I will try to be as fair to this—to you—as possible."

As you loop your arms up around his neck and brush your lips gently against his, you realize how exposed you feel at the fact that he has somewhat cracked your pattern, your act. That somehow, he knows that you only let other men in to distract yourself from him and what could it be if something real were to ever happen between you both.

The mere thought riles you up, your lips begin to work furiously against his, almost dominating his mouth as you plunder all the breathy sounds he makes against your tongue. He tastes like bitter coffee and his fingers threading in your hair smells like all the flowers he must've considered but decided against in favor of the red roses on your desk.

His lips are almost the same shade as them by the time you part, wet and breathless.

"Let me properly thank you for the flowers," you whisper teasingly.

He grimaces, "You don't have to, really. I wasn't expecting anything in return of them."

But you are already toying with the buttons on his shirt, flicking them open one by one with a pout.

"Really?" you ask, "but don't you think it's unfair of you to do something so romantic for me, get me all hot and bothered and then leave me with a promise that I cannot take anyone else's help to get me through it while you're gone?"

You undo the last button of his shirt, letting it fall open and expose the hard ridges on his abdomen which you graze with your nails. Finally, you let your fingers to drop on the waistband of his boxers peeking out of his jeans, tucking them into the elastic and just pulling at it playfully.

He hisses, his lips curving into a smirk.

"Poor baby," he says, "I do think it is so very unfair of me to leave your greedy cunt waiting like that…which is why—" He grabs your wrists and pulls you into his chest. Then, leaning down into your ear, he murmurs in that smoky voice of his that always makes you melt, "the flowers aren't the only rose I brought for you."

His wet tongue licks against the shell of your ear as you try to make sense of what he just said.

"Wonwoo—"

He squeezes your hips once, territorial and sensual, before pushing you onto your mattress. The impact causes the thin strap of your loose silk nightgown to slip halfway off your shoulder, exposing one of your breasts for his hungry eyes.

He palms the soft mound, making you moan and shut your eyes close but not before watching his free arm reach inside the pocket of his loose pants to retrieve something.

"I always care about you, baby…I would never want to leave you lonely and needy." He latches his lips onto your sensitive nipple, alternating between massaging it with his tongue and rolling it between his puckered lips until both your nipples are as hard rocks.

You writhe and moan, arching your body further into him, your fingers struggling around the waistband of your panties to slide them off your legs.

"Wonwoo," you scratch your nails into his head, letting him kiss your chest a little more and then tug at his hair to make him look you in the eyes, "touch my pussy."

But he only smirks, leaning down to smooch your lips. "There it is," he mumbles, "that filthy little mouth that I adore so much."

Your head falls back as his lips begin traveling down from your jaw to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses behind.

"Quit playing, Won." You whimper, "I am serious, at least give me a finger."

You know how bossy and demanding you can be in bed, and you are also aware just how much it riles him up for you can feel him loose control already as he begins groping your flesh with more intensity than before.

"Won!" You warn him again, almost sobbing as he bunches your nightgown all the way up to your abdomen. "Something, please!"

You try to lace your fingers with his—an act he happily obliges with one arm, although, his other one tightens around something else, almost as if he's shielding something from you in his fist. Your brows scrunch up as you eye him suspiciously while he kisses your knee.

"Oh I will give you something," he smirks, holding your gaze. "Just something new, baby."

He uncurls his fingers to show you what he has been holding in his palm—a small, cylindrical, red plastic toy shaped like a rose.

It takes some moments for it to sink into your psyche just what it is…the rose vibrator—something that you joked to him about after spotting it being promoted under some stupid tweet.

"Oh God," you gasp. "You did not—"

"I told you, I wanted to buy you all the roses you ever mentioned." He nips at your thigh playfully before straightening up.

Without warning, he presses the button and the toy comes alive, barely a few inches above your weeping core. He repeatedly tests it out to see all the different settings, your eyes widening with each one as the whirring noise grows more and more. Settling on the gentlest one at first, he presses it against your clit.

"Wonwoo!" you cry out, not knowing how to react at the strange sensation. He doesn't respond, only circles it around your bundle of nerves to see where it settles the best.

As sex forward as you've been all your life, it truly is an enigma how you've never owned or used a sex toy on yourself; the possibility simply never struck with all the people frothing at their mouths to get in bed with you. But now that your fuckbuddy has put you in a sticky situation of not taking any lovers, you guess this buzzing piece of plastic shall do until he returns.

Not that you're complaining though, because the more he presses it to your core, the whinier you get. It feels so different from his coarse, meaty fingers but at the same time, it is much more consistent on your aching folds.

"Woah…does it really feel that good?" He mumbles, amused, as he watches you get wetter and wetter under its ministrations.

Promptly, he clicks the button again to increase the intensity. At the same time, you feel him push his thumb inside your fluttering hole which instantly tightens around him greedily.

"Aw, you still need me. How cute?" He teases, beginning to push his thumb in and out of you while stroking the toy lazily around your swollen nub.

"Alw…always need you Won." You manage, pushing yourself up on your elbows to grab hold of his neck and pull him into your lips.

The kiss is messy, wet, because your mouth keeps hanging open limp the more he settle into a rhythm with the toy all while lazily pumping his thumb in and out of your soaked valley. In the middle of the kiss, Wonwoo flicks the toy up to the furthest setting, pressing the vibrating tormentor snug to your cunt—small, constant but so unrelenting.

"Think you can come just from this, doll?" He drawls in a low rasp, licking at your earlobe as you hug him closer.

You let out a soft, choked sound, his words making your cunt throb. Your hips ground against the toy instinctively, your entire body twitching as if it is on fire.

"I'll take that as a yes." He hums, swiping your cunt with the fingers of his free hand, collecting the slick that has pooled there. "You're already making a mess baby. I'm jealous, you never get like this with me so quick."

Your legs tremble as you continue to buck against the toy in his fist. You bite your bottom lip, panting like an animal yet always coherent enough to tease him, "I guess I don't need you after all—AH!"

Your words must've gotten through him for he jerks the toy closer until its suction is aimed straight at your clitoris at the highest possible setting. A small tear rolls down your lid as you feel your restrain begin to break, the heat in your belly boiling so hard until it aches.

"You always need me," he says, watching your body contort beneath him, "but let us see what all fun you can have with this while I am gone, doll."

The pressure seems almost brutal when you come, because unlike his fingers, the toy doesn't relent even when you cry out his name throughout waves after waves of the hot pleasure that surges within you and escapes through your cunt, ruining the sheets below.

Wonwoo's fingers graze the soft flesh of your thighs as they jerk from the aftershocks, the toy buzzing against your folds, just not as snug as before now that he's not the one handling it. You let yourself grind against it lustfully, trying to savor what's left of the lustful feelings in your core.

"Fuck I love this!" You murmur, wanting to pick the little toy up and mash it against your used up folds again. "Mhmm, thanks Wonu."

"Why do I feel like I just dug a grave for myself?" He laughs, already removing his pants to join you in bed, naked.

"Never," you giggle, sitting up on your haunches and helping him undress "it might be good, but it does not come with the abs that I love so much to lick…" your tongue trails between the hard ridges of his abdomen, "or the shoulders I love to throw my legs on when you pound in me," your nails dig into the rigid muscles of his shoulders, scratching all the way down to his pecs, "or the back that I love clinging on to when I come."

With that, you loop your arms around his neck and pull him in the bed with you. His hair is ruffled from all the tugging you pushing from your fingers, his glasses dropping too low on his nose as he watches you worship his body with your eager tongue and roaming nails. You can't help but giggle as you roll him around until you straddle him, thinking just how much of an adorable loser he really is.

"Nor does this," You pick the toy and chuck it over the to the other side of the bed, "come with a face of a grinning idiot that I very much like to see on my door at fucking seven in the morning."

He falls back into your pillows with a soft laugh that stirs something beyond just lust or admiration within you. And for the first time, you don't resolve to instantly jumping his bones the moment you feel it. Instead, you melt, letting yourself fall onto him, head pressed to his chest, counting his heartbeats. He hesitates at the sudden change in plans, but does nothing to push you further or push you away, just slowly rakes his fingers across your naked back.

"I am going to miss you," you mumble, your voice half muffled into his skin, "God I am going to miss you so much."

"I will be back before you know it." He replies, shifting to cover your intertwined bodies with one of your soft sheets.

You nod, knowing that you didn't mean that you'll miss him through his week-long visit to the conference but that you'll miss him for what is bound to follow it. Maybe you just had been suppressing it in your gut each time your intuition screeched at you when it comes to him. Maybe you know that all those prayers you keep mumbling to your false-Gods won't instill within him the resolve to stay here, in the city, with you.

Yet you hope.

Because sure, it's true that the odds are stacked against you when it comes to him. It is also true that circumstances just refuse to give you both ever a fair chance to build a space for one another in your lives.

But it is also a fact that when it comes to just the two of you…there's something more.

Something unnamed, unexplainable but oh so full of life and thrill.

And you'd be damned if you never give it a chance to bloom beyond just stolen kisses and unrequited touches.

"Yeah, you'll be back before I even know it." You mumble, long after he has fallen asleep.

this one's for @lovelylonelinesssvt <3 ly boo hope u have fun at the harry styles concert!!

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[tomodachiii]

A Comprehensive List of Why You Can't Stand Jeon Wonwoo.

pairing: jeon wonwoo x afab!reader

w.c: 13k (i just love jeon wonwoo ok)

genre: romcom, childhood rivals to lovers, idiots in denial, tsundere x tsundere

warnings: swearing, petty fighting, blood from rough play as kids, misunderstandings, mentions of drunk people and perverts

synopsis: You had no idea when your mutual hatred with Jeon Wonwoo started or what started it. If anyone were to ask why you hate him, you could give them a comprehensive list of everything you can’t stand about Jeon Wonwoo. But as the saying goes: there’s a fine line between love and hate.

a/n: its finally doneeeee omg. this is for the lonely hearts cafe collab hosted by @camandemstudios!!! Please check out the rest of the collab as they have your favorite writers~ thank you to my betareaders: @svtiddiess @welcometomyoasis @miniseokminnies <3 thank you for keeping me sane! i hope you guys enjoy <3 feedback is appreciated! p.s i love all u cancer signs its just part of the plot.

a/n 2: AND THANK YOU @starlightkyeom for sprinting with me and encouraging the yapping. Thank you @etherealyoungk and @highvern for helping me with the banner and encouraging meee <3

collab m.list || m.list

No Age Indicator/Minors/Blank blogs/Serial Likers will be blocked!

You had no idea when your mutual hatred with Jeon Wonwoo started or what started it. But if anyone were to ask why you hate him, you could give them a comprehensive list of everything you can’t stand about Jeon Wonwoo.

1. He’s a cocky bastard.

You don’t think anyone in fifth grade should have the ego Wonwoo has. Kids your age should be more worried about being wise with who to trade lunches with or who had the latest nintendo. Not Wonwoo.

It started with receiving your quiz results from Math being handed back to you, you took one look at the score with wide eyes and an excited kick of your feet. It had been higher than you anticipated, maybe the weekly torture of going to Kumon was working out after all. You were over the moon, excited to show your father how well you’ve been doing. Maybe he’d let you attend Kumon less or maybe he’d let you have a sleepover the weekend at Seulgi’s.

It wasn’t after the fourth period when you’re eating lunch with Seungkwan when you realized what exactly was in your hands.

You proudly wave the test paper in front of him that merely squints at you with a questioning stare,

“Why do you have Wonwoo’s quiz?”

You frantically flip the paper towards you, paling and burning all at once when you do see that it was your classmate’s name on the paper indeed. 

Seungkwan sighs, “I forget you can’t read sometimes.”

You’re already in the worst of moods when you approach Wonwoo in the last period, begrudgingly tapping his shoulder and handing him his quiz. He looks up from his seat with a disinterested but surprised look before he takes the paper from you.

Realizing it was his, he makes a quiet ‘hm’ sound before he shuffles over his own books to return yours. You wonder why he didn’t realize the switch up too and why he doesn’t offer any other emotion than disinterest. He hands you your test papers and you double check it to indeed find your name scrawled at the top. He thanks you but it comes as an insult when he says, 

“I knew my score wouldn’t ever get that low.”

Your nose flares and you have the immediate urge to deck his jaw. Nevermind that he’s the class heartthrob and you’ll get some nasty glares from the girls. But when you see a certain handsome boy, Taehyung, enter the classroom  from your peripheral, you simply clench your fists, huff and storm away to avoid tainting an unruly image in front of your crush. 

2. He’s blind as fuck.

One of your earlier  memories was in the nurse’s office. You can’t help that he was infuriating, near sighted, and shorter than you. He had been assigned to your team in dodgeball during Physical Ed. He moved too slow, hesitated too much for your liking and ignored any of your cries to dodge. Frustrated over having lost the game, you had stormed towards him, harshly reprimanding him. He receives this with an unimpressed stare and a roll of his eyes—a gesture you absolutely loathed. The minute he turns away from you, you grab the nearest ball and chuck it towards his head. You underestimated your strength when you’re angry that you knock him off and he faceplants into the ground, earning him a bloody nose.

You felt pretty bad about it, realizing that it just might be that you were simply ahead of him in the athletic department. 

But just as you were about to apologize to him, with your head bowed low from reprimand and guilt, he waves it off and deadpans,

“Hope the P.E grades make up for your Math grades.”

Your homeroom teacher clicks her tongue at him and you’re about to bust his lip too but a stern stare from her stops you. With a sharp inhale, you once again clench your fists at your side, red from embarrassment and anger. You channel all your hatred into that one glare you send him, begrudgingly vowing to do better in your Math class to prove a point.

3. He can be petty.

Which means he’s quickly become competitive.

And that was too bad because you’re short tempered and you hate losing.

You wondered if it was that incident at P.E but whatever it was, Wonwoo triggered something in you that just made you want to crush him at any academic, theatric, and physical game he played. Your father dubbed it being your competitive nature but you were only competitive where it concerns Wonwoo.

You ask your dad if he can sign you up for more Kumon classes extending to the weekend. He regards you with a disbelieving stare at first, but nothing delights a strict parent more than their child volunteering to study more. He lets you even if exponents, variables, and negative numbers haunt your dreams. 

It took you two quarters but you eventually end up at the top of the honor roll instead of Jeon Wonwoo. 

You take satisfaction at his stone cold face when the teacher announces him second in Math. 

Being third while he stands fifth in English was just a bonus. 

You think this will somehow earn you some respect from him but he works even harder and not only with his study habits but with his intent to make everyday your living hell. 

Wonwoo is reserved, mostly keeps to himself and intimidates others with his unreadable stare. You don’t expect him, however, to be annoying quietly. He knows when you’re leaving school, purposely walking ahead of you to chance bumping your shoulder roughly. He knows you’re go-to drink from the vending machine then makes 10 purchases before recess so there's nothing left for you. Worst of all, he always calculates the count offs to teams so he could be in yours.

From then on, Wonwoo was simply and unfortunately everywhere till you’ve reached highschool.

You’ve been unluckily grouped together for a science project with him but luckily with Taehyung. 

4. He's fucking moody.

You thought you’ve seen moody when the majority of the girls in your class simultaneously got their first periods within a year in sixth grade. But nothing had prepared you for the kind of moody Wonwoo was in highschool. 

Taehyung made you nervous but he was much more pleasant to be with in comparison to Wonwoo. While Wonwoo took every opportunity to make jabs at your academic abilities, Taehyung eased you with his boxy smiles and helpful remarks.

The task was to build a simple electric motor, it only involved a few steps and low cost materials. But somehow with your crush around, you forget all basic electrical engineering and simply count how many times you got him to smile at you or how his hands looked so pretty with how deftly they worked.

“You’re supposed to sand only half of the insulation on the other end,” Wonwoo reproves Taehyung for the third time.

“Oh really?” He lifts the wire closer to his eyes.

“Yeah, what part of the written instruction can’t you read?”

You scoff, “Why don’t you do it if you have something to say at every step?”

“Why don’t you actually take notes instead of drooling like a bulldog all over the desk?”

You flush at that, self consciously snapping your mouth shut and glaring at the boy across you. Just as you make a comment buldak induced farts, Taehyung cuts you both off with a strained chuckle, 

“It’s okay, I’ve got another roll of wire here.”

He’s so thoughtful, you think, mooning over every little action the boy makes. 

“No, he just has the list of materials,” Wonwoo quips, tapping on Taehyung’s notebook.

You said it outloud and your ears begin to burn while your crush carries on the first two steps unbothered. 

The rest of the project goes by without any instance of you going after Wonwoo’s throat. By the time the last bell rings, you’ve only got cleaning up to do and going over your notes for the presentation in two days. Taehyung sighs in relief, flexing his hands in front of him and popping the kinks in his neck. You internally cringe at the sound but you smile and shyly congratulate him for doing a good job.

Wonwoo audibly tsks at that and your calm streak instantly vaporizes. 

“Who pissed on your Cheerios today?” you snap, voice tight in irritation.

Wonwoo does not respond, instead he rolls his eyes and starts packing his things. Your brows dip in mild concern, because Wonwoo always had something to say or he’d get back at you another way. But he ignores Taehyung’s question and gets up to leave. 

You’ve pushed Wonwoo’s temper further than this and you don’t understand why this makes you feel a little bad though it was technically his fault for negating every little thing being discussed. Anytime you’re paired or grouped up, so long as it involved his grades, he would cooperate in silence and a daunting glare. Yet this was different and you don’t question it further.

But you do. 

You wonder if he just had a bad day, recalling the times you’ve been snippy with someone simply because you weren’t having a great day. You don’t care about Wonwoo’s day, he could wake up on the wrong side of any bed everyday, but you do start to wonder what it is that makes him tick— that isn’t you, that is.

In fact, you don’t know anything else about your academic rival other than his annoying habits, his unhealthy consumption of Monster and Buldak, or that he’s in the chess club with your friend Minghao, and that he’s consistently building the list of reasons why you can’t stand him.

That thought then leads you into mild curiosity. Curiosity of what kind of person Jeon Wonwoo truly is. You know how you can make him tick, but you don’t know what makes him happy.

It’s when you lose, that’s most likely it, you conclude, absentmindedly tapping on your desk, taking a sip of your favorite juice. You’re unconsciously watching Wonwoo with his friends. The seniors don’t often hang around near their juniors but Wonwoo’s friends do. Choi Seungcheol sits on his desk, keeping a boy a year younger than you in a playful headlock. It typically would alarm you but with how often the older boy comes with some other seniors to hang around, you know they’re being harmless albeit scary.

Wonwoo smiles, then he starts laughing at something you can’t make out. He claps his hands in amusement and the muscles around his eyes and nose scrunch in a way you’ve never noticed before. In fact, you don’t think you ever saw him smile. Most days he throws an infuriating smirk, unimpressed stare or a roll of his eyes in front of you, but you realize you’ve never truly seen joy in his features. 

Given that you only purposefully look at him to gauge his reaction with his grades or your overachievement, you don’t actually know what Jeon Wonwoo looks like outside of contempt. 

Wonwoo doesn’t contribute much to the conversation, content on listening to Kwon Soonyoung’s animated storytelling and nibbling on his sweet rice bun in small pieces. 

He looks…small. 

It's strange watching him like this, like you were watching a TV show of someone else. 

Then he laughs again, the kind that's silent but palpable with his broad grin and claps of his hands while the  other boys erupt in a fit of roaring infectious laughter. 

A small smile unknowingly quirks up the corners of your mouth. You’re quick to push it down but without any success so you turn away to look out the window instead. 

A happy Jeon Wonwoo didn’t seem so bad.

You lay off intentionally getting on his nerves the rest of the week, secretly hoping to see more of that Wonwoo you just witnessed. So long as he doesn’t perceive you, he seems to be just your typical quiet nerd. During recess, he reads a book he brings with him to school or simply hangs out on the bleachers to watch his best friend Mingyu play on the field. He minded his own business, never really calling attention to himself. 

You’re not truly present, a little lost in thought even if you leave class with Taehyung together and head for the lockers.

You wonder if you could have been friends with Wonwoo if you didn’t meet the way you both did. He didn’t seem as bad as he was with you. Maybe you took it too far, maybe it should have stopped in fifth grade, maybe—

There's a rough jostle on your shoulder and you stumble on your feet with a startled gasp. With a curse at the tip of your tongue, you whip your head to reprimand the offender. 

It was Jeon Wonwoo without looking back.

All your initial maybes dissipate and give way to remind you that you can’t stand how he’s fucking moody.

By the time you reach your junior year of highschool, your rivalry with Wonwoo mellows out into a subdued intensity. Not on purpose, but because you’ve both taken a different academic strand towards the end of your year. Which worked out, you think, the pressure only coming from finishing at the top of your class with high enough grades to get you into the university of your dreams. Without Wonwoo around as much, the frustration was manageable. 

It doesn’t mean that you don’t see him anymore and that's when you do see him around are times where you remember why you can’t stand him.

Because it seems like you’ll never get rid of him.

5. He never truly leaves you alone.

You see him during homeroom and in the halls. His growth spurt sends him towering above you in the last year. Hence, you could no longer make gibes on how he was much shorter than you. That also meant that anytime your eyes meet in the hall, he’s literally looking down on you which aggravates you more than anything else. It doesn’t help that he naturally has a cold stare and he doesn’t say a word. 

Sometimes Seungkwan nudges you when he notices that same sharp stare focused on you from across the cafeteria and he doesn’t even look away when you catch him. On days you’re in a particularly bad mood, you flip him off. Wonwoo’s brow would only furrow in mild irritation but he ignores you. 

There are few subjects you both share apart from your homeroom like English, Social Studies, Performing Arts, and History. And in those subjects, he could still be annoying simply by sitting in front of you, effectively blocking the board. Sometimes he’d get the mintiest copy of the literature book you were to read that week just before the distribution reaches you.

You particularly hate sharing Performing Arts with him because it's the only subject you can admit to yourself that he’s better at than you are. It came to you as a surprise because he never put himself out there but he had a lovely singing voice and he could pick up any dance routine with ease. You’d think he could be an idol in another life and if he auditioned to be one, you’re sure he would make a successful celebrity.

It’s the only subject where you deliberately make yourself smaller and subdued to avoid embarrassment. You actively avoid looking at his reaction anytime you’re called to rehearse a line or sing a chorus. It’s a subject you dread every week not only for those reasons but because they were being held on the seventh floor. You hate climbing those damn stairs in your skirt. Especially when your homeroom is on the ground floor and you've only got five minutes in between periods. It always leaves you breathless and sweaty once you’ve reached.

You’re rushing up the stairs again today, loose papers in your arms threatening to spill over from your jog. Your homeroom teacher had to have a few words with you regarding a scholarship you might be interested in which only gives you about two minutes till you reach the next class. If Ms. Kang was a more forgiving teacher, you know she’d give you grace, but she doesn’t. And you’d rather be out of breath and dry heaving than be asked to give a five minute monologue as punishment.

You’re on the fourth floor when an arm shoots from behind you and nudges you to the side, away from the railings where the momentum for your speed was. You growl in annoyance, thinking someone would shove past you but you’re confused to see Wonwoo following closely right behind you. 

Your irritation increases tenfold. 

You’re about to shove him back and side step back to where you were but he pins you with a strange gaze that leaves you no room for argument. There were a group of boys behind him, eyes flickering up to you then amongst each other, mumbling amongst themselves in a peeved tone. 

Still, you frown, glancing back at him as you climb up the stairs, “What the hell, Wonwoo?” 

Then Wonwoo clasps the back of your uniform blouse and you’re surprised you slow down for him as the boys walk past you, one even sending you both a nasty glare.

He doesn’t respond, instead he gestures to you to keep going after they’ve gone ahead. He’s  intentionally one step behind you and focusing his gaze on the steps ahead of him. 

Confused and irritated at the same time, you keep glancing back at him, as if expecting him to explain or that he’d rush ahead of you like some childish race. But he doesn’t say a word, looking down at his shoes until you’ve both reached the top.

You’re spared the class punishment that day— but you’re not spared from the same antics of Wonwoo the following weeks after. 

It didn’t matter if you were headed to the seventh floor with Seungkwan or your other friends. He made that his routine. He never explains and even when you attempt to defy him and rush up the stairs, he stops you with a firm hand. His head is always bowed and he’s always there, right behind you. Your friends would shoot him a strange look before teasingly wiggling their eyebrows at you.

You’re always irked each time you’re up the stairs but by week six, you just pretend he isn’t there anymore. After all, he doesn’t seem to make his presence known. He just makes sure you're ahead of him, his head bowed and that you’re away from the railings.

It wasn’t until he missed school for a week that you understand why. 

Seungkwan was ahead of you, rushing while simultaneously trying to keep you updated on the latest news of a cancelled Youtuber. He’s out of breath but he keeps going and you egg him on to keep going. 

“But that doesn’t stop there because apparently—YAH! What are you doing?!” he sharply yells and halts to a stop.

“What?” you abruptly stop and the boys following behind you begin to scramble up the stairs. 

Seungkwan may be shorter, and a little less intimidating than they are but his offended glare sends a chill down your spine. As the last boy jogs up, your best friend delivers a heavy slap on his thigh earning the boy a yelp.

“Perverts,” Seungkwan grumbles.

“What happened?” 

He doesn’t respond immediately,instead he turns back to you, glances at your skirt in thought before he steps behind you.

“Hey, do you think you could like….” he vaguely gestures to your skirt, “Maybe pull your skirt forward and walk?”

You’re still confused but you let him demonstrate, tugging most of the fabric to your front so the back side was taut. 

“You could be wearing shorts, but let's be safe.”

You wordlessly nod. 

“I’ll be sure to report them,” he squeezes your shoulder in comfort and nudges you forward with a strained smile.

Then it clicks.

Some boys had been grabbing the chance to look under your skirt this whole time—Wonwoo was just trying to protect you. The realization leaves you distracted the whole day, partly angry with whoever took the chance to be perverts and floundered that Wonwoo noticed and protected your dignity this whole time.

Without ever explaining or expecting you to thank him.

You wonder if its because he knows you have the potential to throw a fit and grab those boys by their hair, tainting your good student record or that you’d forever be in a pissy mood when you climb up the stairs.

You don’t know why he did it. When you’ve hated each other for as long as you have, you tend to forget the possibility that Wonwoo could be a decent person. You’ve been telling yourself he’s just an asshole to you–but this time he wasn’t. 

You suppose you can’t fully hate him for always hanging around.

That single event had unconsciously changed the way you started looking at Jeon Wonwoo the way you reconsidered him after count 4. The less you paid attention to how much he annoyed you, the more you saw how he wasn’t. 

He still keeps his routine of following closely behind you in the stairs any time you both headed the same direction. Sometimes you’re in between thanking him or randomly teasing him that maybe he was being the pervert. Yet anytime you looked back, his eyes remained fixed on his steps and he never gave you any reason to feel unsafe. 

When it came to class presentations in English, in spite of him being in the infamous backrow, Wonwoo keeps still, eyes trained on you in that intense way he does. It doesn’t matter if his row and the row before him were mumbling and giggling amongst themselves, his focus was zeroed in on you and what you had to say.

During games held in your school’s football field, there’s always a free spot right next to him, just reserved with his messenger bag. And the moment you step into his row, he’d wordlessly move it away, leaving the space free for you to sit. It was a nice gesture, and by the third time he’s done it, you consider it your spot. 

In turn, he becomes a nuisance by using the hem of your sweater to clean his glasses. 

Even long waits at the bus stop becomes a routine for you both. Unlike most boys his age who fuck around after school or head to the nearest barbecue place, you routinely find him at the bus stop the same time as you. 

Wonwoo always being around eventually allows you to be casual enough to hold a conversation with him though it mostly ends in banter. 

You’re not friends–but you’re not exactly acquaintances. 

But by the time you’re in the middle of senior year, you both have each other’s Kakao Talk contact. 

You don’t contact each other often. Your messages span from silence for weeks to some questions about notes. 

You wonder if the rivalry died in between, but you don’t let up from aiming to graduate top of your class. You heard that Wonwoo intends to do the same too, shooting for a scholarship that could land him in the university of his dreams. 

So you spend hours after your after-school academy retaking some mock tests. You sacrifice a social life in favor of renting out a cubicle in a twenty four hour study cafe. Your dad would much rather have you study at home but you tell him you’ll only fall asleep in your room. So he agrees, so long as you share your location and let him know if you need him to pick you up.

By the time your exam weeks roll around, you discover you’re not the only one with the same idea. Because to your shock, you find the very boy who has a high chance of thwarting your plans, settled in your self proclaimed cubicle. 

Wonwoo’s dressed in an oversized hoodie, headphones in and two cans of that damn green Monster beside a stack of books and notes.

Miffed, you tap his shoulder aggressively. He looks up, a ghost of irritation on his face until they contort in surprise. You’re sure you look run over with your own loose sweater and sweats but it doesn’t matter. It matters that you get to that top 1% of your class in peace. 

“That’s my spot,” you tell him plainly.

“I don’t see a name.”

He was right but you just hated your routine being disrupted. You glare at him but Wonwoo makes no move to leave. So with an aggravated huff, you loudly plop your bag and books beside him. 

Shaking his head, he turns back to his notes and reads in peace. You always thought that Wonwoo was naturally smart, you rarely ever see him studying this way—at least in school. But then again, you’re reminded that he’s nothing like you.

You begin studying and flipping through your flashcards in silence. It feels different knowing your competition right next to you, looking effortless, and smelling nice. Shaking your head of those thoughts, you try to zero in your notes. 

About two hours in, you feel your hunger begin to settle in. Glancing at your phone the time reads 9:12 PM, and you decide that you need a break and a snack. Straightening your back, you stretch and pop your shoulders which lets you glance over at your seatmate between the divider. 

You tap his shoulder and the words leave you before you could even think about them and what they meant,

“Are you hungry?”

He shakes his head so you stand up, grabbing your wallet and phone, “Watch over my stuff.”

“Where are you going?”

“Convenience store.”

He starts closing his books and unplugs his phone before he stands up, rolling out the kinks in his neck. 

“I thought you weren’t hungry?” 

“It’s late,” he simply tells you, gesturing to the wide window panels outside showing you the city’s nightlife. “Then we can review each other when we get back.”

You think you can do without the company and help, especially his. He’s already made a permanent residence in your everyday life even if you tried to escape him. He was everywhere and that's one more thing you realize about Wonwoo that you can’t stand. 

6. He assumes you need him.

You don’t.

That's what you stubbornly think as you both walk the short distance to the convenience store. You only let him so he can clear whatever conscience he has about you walking alone at night.

When you arrive, you know exactly what you want, zooming straight for the ramen section and corndogs. Wonwoo wanders around until you find him by the beverages, eyeing another can of energy drink. You already notice his fingers have tremors when they reach for the handle. You’re quick to clasp his hand, feeling yourself jolt with the chill of his fingers. 

“You’re going to send yourself into cardiac arrest if you drink anymore,” you scold, and you don’t know why you care. But you’d rather not panic and haul your classmate into an ambulance if something were to happen to him. 

He blinks at you wearily, “I’m getting sleepy.”

You sigh, feeling the muscles of his fingers jump beneath yours. You keep your hold, willing the tremors to stop and his skin to warm under yours. 

“Try matcha instead, or apple juice.” 

You don’t have any reason to suggest them other than they were better alternatives. Wonwoo stares at you for a while, the evidence of exhaustion plain behind his glasses. But he nods, reaching for the adjacent fridge for a box of apple juice. You let out a breath of relief, releasing his hand and ignoring the tingles that crawled up your skin. 

Once you’re sitting at one of the corner tables, Wonwoo settles one seat apart from you. You feel a little conscious at the choice but then you remember, you’re the one who purposely avoids him anyway. So you consume your snacks in silence, speeding up a little to avoid the awkward silence. But you suppose there's only so much you could do with a steaming bowl of ramen. 

“What are you planning to do after graduation?”

“Leave,” he answers without a glance at your direction. 

It’s very like him to answer that way but it still leaves you stunned. Most of your friends dream of a bigger world outside the city you’ve always lived in and that’s valid. But it makes you wonder and doubt if you’re dreaming big enough. When all you’re aiming for at the moment is to finish well, finish high, and be close to a place that’s become your home. Maybe one day, you’d get the confidence Wonwoo has but not now. 

“I mean,” he clears his throat, glancing at you, “My family is already planning to move to where dad is. I think I need the challenge of something new too.”

You retract what you thought of his confidence earlier, because you recognize the hesitancy and the nervousness ever so subtle in his eyes and the tapping of his fingers against the juice box. 

“There’s a scholarship that I-”

“I know,” you cut him off, bitterly reminded that you’re both vying for a spot for one. Wonwoo looks back out the window quietly. Sure, you have thought of scholarships, but the ones that appealed to you most didn’t require of you the way you are of yourself. 

Wonwoo on the other hand…

You decide you’ve lost your appetite and begin clearing away your things. Your companion follows suit, grabbing a tissue to wipe down the surface before following you out the doors. 

Just as you both round the corner to a narrow street leading back to the study cafe, you hear the unmistakable loud laughter and drawls of drunk men from the other end. You instantly feel yourself on edge, unconsciously shuffling closer to Wonwoo.

Without another word, he eases you to his right side, away from the incoming group of men, seemingly leaving a nearby barbecue place. They’re stumbling in their steps, aggressively arguing then cackling at each other’s slurred words. They see you both, eyes lingering on both of you before carrying on staggered steps when Wonwoo looks straight ahead with broad shoulders.

You don’t realize how you’ve been holding your breath and Wonwoo’s elbow till you see the quaint study cafe just right across the street. Your palms are sweaty and while nothing had happened to you, knowing that Wonwoo was right with you and pushed to accompany you is enough to send you on your knees to thank the heavens that he assumed you needed him.

Because maybe you did.

And you no longer protest when he begins pulling out his notebook and quizzes you on your subjects.

Or that you meet him regularly in the same cafe after school hours and your dad sends you a knowing look when Wonwoo begins dropping and walking you to your house after. 

There were many things people your age looked forward to as the end of the school year drew near. A new city, university, and the freedom that came from being eighteen and out of highschool. 

You were holding your breath for the announcement of the class’ top 5. You’re ringing your hands at the assembly, exhausted but on edge with each droned out speech from your school director and principal. Seungkwan nudges your thigh, assuring you that you’ve worked hard and it would surely be rewarded.

“The fifth highest ranking is awarded to…Kwon Soonyoung!”

There’s loud cheering, and you glance over and grin with the same shocked expression as Soonyoung as he vibrates in his seat. The rest of the assembly remains with their jaws on the floor. You always knew Soonyoung was smarter than he let on, lots of people tend to overlook how hardworking he was in spite of the reputation he’s built.

You don’t hear your name or Wonwoo’s for the next two awards that draw nearer to the top 2. It leaves you on edge, wondering if your name is there at all and you simply expected more for yourself.

“Finishing with an outstanding 3.90, this year’s second highest is awarded to…”

You hold your breath, clasping and squeezing Seungkwan’s hand.

“Jeon Wonwoo!”

Your jaw drops. Mixed emotions follow, inexplicably happy for Wonwoo’s recognition but guiltily relieved that it meant he wasn’t—. 

Then you remember his dream of getting a record for the scholarship he wants and how he had worked hard the same as you did. Suddenly, you’re not sure what to feel as you slowly freeze mid clap. Then you dare steal a glance at his direction. 

He’s at the other end of your row, face unreadable as his seniors and seatmates clap his back in congratulations. He’s still, nodding wordlessly and mumbling what looked like a ‘thank you.’ 

Something ugly settles in your stomach because it felt like you were witnessing him watching his dreams crumble. Even if this was a point to celebrate.

Second never really felt great. You once told him in sixth grade that second was just first place for losers.

“And finally, finishing with a GPA of 3.93!” 

A three point difference. 

And the director calls your name.

You sit still, blood rushing in your ears while your classmates cheer and start shaking your shoulders in excitement.

Achievement never tasted this bitter.

You never imagined yourself chasing after Wonwoo after avoiding him for so long. He has his bag slung over his shoulder, like he was intending to leave and not attend the next class. For someone you crushed at sport, he was fast, agile and slipping through the sea of students leaving the hall as you were dismissed. 

“Wonwoo!” you call out but it falls on deaf ears.

You don’t let up, shoving shoulders until you eventually catch him leaving the exit to the football field. The doors slam shut behind you and you’re breathless as you call his name one last time.

Thankfully, he turns around, just at the bottom of the steps. He looks at you expectantly, eyes empty while a dark cloud hangs about him. Your lips part but nothing leaves you. 

You don’t know what to say that wouldn’t rub salt on the wound. 

Well done? You worked hard? Sorry? Hey, cheer up! Your GPA passed the requirements to your scholarship?

You’re frozen, watching him and suddenly, you could feel tears begin to nip at your nose and burn behind your eyelids. An overwhelming realization crashes over you. This would be your final two weeks with Wonwoo. He told you he’s moving the week after graduation. You hate him, you’re sure you do. But since fifth grade you’ve been pushing, chasing, and grinding because of Wonwoo. There’s nothing you’ve done that wasn’t because of Wonwoo. All you knew your whole childhood was Wonwoo.

You know it's the same for him. It's impossible that those years don’t mean anything to him like it did to you. You don’t know if you’re friends but you know he’s part of you. Wonwoo was not a sore loser to anyone except you and you wonder if it's because of the same reason too.

It feels like you’re losing him, while he looks up at you, impatience creeping into the silence.

You stutter and fumble for words but he speaks for you.

He bows his head, deep with respect but his words carry a weight that settles bitterly in your stomach.

“Congratulations.”

“I…” you trail off, “Thanks.”

Then Wonwoo walks away, taking the path that leads to the back of the field, you know where students go to cut classes. 

You watch him leave till the silhouette of his figure is but a speck and disappears behind the fence. You stand there with shaky knees and a blurry gaze, even when the bell for your next period rings.

You don’t see Wonwoo again after that. 

Your family and friends celebrate with you, commending you for your hardwork and telling you how excited you must be. You receive them all with an automated smile and “thank you.” It’s not how you expected to celebrate being the top of your class. 

Even as you deliver a speech on your graduation, there’s a gnawing emptiness in your chest when you see the vacant seat meant for Jeon Wonwoo. You overheard earlier that he’s missing graduation since his family started moving yesterday. You never got to say goodbye, or apologize. 

Your dad embraces you with a proud and wide smile. He asks you where Wonwoo was, and teases you for a photo and dinner with him. But when you regard him with a watery gaze, his face softens in confusion and he lets you silently cry in the car on the way home. 

The parting gift you carried with you remains at the back of your closet and in your next closet as you move out and head to college.

A bittersweet reminder of a boy that meant more to you than you ever knew.

College felt different to you. It went by slowly, and you felt like a baby lamb at first.  Competing no longer mattered. Ending the semester with a healthy stomach and a decent enough grade was all that mattered to everyone. Strangely, you found yourself not as motivated as you were in highschool. You wonder if it's the absence of a certain someone you don’t want to think about. 

Your grades don't define you the way they did when you were back in grade school and highschool. You were happy with just a 70 in Calculus and that you got at least 6 hours of sleep. 

Some nights you wonder if it was worth it—losing a friendship over academic status.

But it was finished. You were content seeing how well Wonwoo seemed to fare in university with his occasional instagram posts. At a point in your third year, you found that he landed himself a date or girlfriend based on a re-shared tagged story. 

It’s silly of you to feel a sting at that but then you accept it because it was what it was—stupid. 

You delete the app and realign your values and goals. 

By your fourth year, you don’t think of Wonwoo as often, only when you see him in some of Mingyu’s stories or some other mutual friend. And that's when the obsession of seeing your highschool classmate’s stories and posts began. 

It's only human for you to begin comparing where they are now and where you are now. You suppose the competitive nature never died. So you get yourself a boyfriend at your worst just before you speculate that Wonwoo and his girlfriend broke up once you see the pictures of them together gone.

Once again, you delete the app and ground yourself into the present.

By the time you’re out of college and working, you’re single, and content with enough time to volunteer at your highschool’s library. It’s nostalgic working there, and while most you know have gone to different cities and states, you learn to be content where you are.

You’re undisturbed, mellowed out, and happy to have enough time and resources to be able to do what you can.

Until you receive an email, inviting you to a highschool reunion for your cohort. The thought of seeing people from your younger days both excites and unnerves you at the same time. It sends you back into those days you loathe yourself and where you are in comparison to your classmates. But you figure that in order to test your contentment and peace, you should show up. Besides, you’d be happy to reunite with people you’ve missed for five years.

Five years later, you don’t expect to see Jeon Wonwoo again in the same place you last saw him—at the steps leading out to the open football field. 

Sure, you follow his instagram account but he rarely posts photos of himself. You only see him through glimpses of Mingyu’s instagram stories and occasionally Minghao’s. Wonwoo had always been handsome, but nothing had prepared you for the real thing.

He’s grown much taller, trim at the waist and his shoulders have filled out deliciously. He’s only in a white button up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and blue jeans but no one should look as criminally good in something as basic as that. 

Suddenly, you don’t know what to do.

You both didn’t exactly end on a good note. 

Though that was years ago and you’ve both matured, you’re anxious about how this reunion would make him feel.

He doesn’t seem to notice you yet, his eyes swooping over the vast field and immersed in his own thoughts. Maybe you should turn around, walk back into the gym and get dragged into another conversation about engagements, babies, doctorates, and families. Maybe you should wait until he notices you? You’re not too sure but in your indecisiveness, Wonwoo turns his head and does spot you, standing there dumbly without a coherent thought formed in your mind.

He tilts his head and squints behind his glasses.

That makes you smile.

And he’s still blind as fuck.

You offer him a shy “Hi, Wonwoo.”

You’re self consciously twisting your fingers behind your back, wondering if he even remembers you or what you should say if he doesn’t.

Hey, remember me? Yeah, I broke your nose back in fifth grade and oh, I took your coveted spot of being top of class.

But then he says your name, his lips curling into a smile around the syllables, “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle nervously, when he steps towards you. “You’ve grown.”

An odd thing to tell an adult but he doesn’t miss a beat, “And you didn’t.”

“Still an annoying asshole I see.”

He smirks, dangerously deceptive with his soft wavy hair and glasses. “I don’t know. Still can’t spell ‘serendipity’?”

Then you both break into contagious laughter, finding humor and an easy cadence impossibly fast. 

The bitter parting, the gap of the years, and wonder—all unseemingly mended in that one shared laughter.

He gestures with a nod to his head towards the field, a silent invite to walk with him.

You both catch up, you’d think that Wonwoo would be a little shy and reserved the way he could be around people who didn’t know him. But do you count? Even after five years apart, were you friends turned strangers indulging in friendly conversation?

Yet you both fall into easy conversation. You talk about how your families are, where you went to university, what current jobs you are in and what you are looking into for the future. Then comes the mundane, how is it living in Wonwoo’s city? How different has this place become since he left? What keeps you both busy nowadays? Were you seeing anyone?

The last question felt odd to have naturally come into your conversation yet you too, wanted to be sure you weren’t disrespecting a supposed partner’s boundaries. You’ve yet to understand how that makes you feel until Wonwoo tells you he isn’t—and neither are you after a nasty break up last year. 

You try not to think about the relief that fills you at that.

By the time you’ve both made three rounds around the field, your feet are aching. Wonwoo suggests sitting at the bleachers, picking the spot you distinctly remember sharing with him.

You wonder if he does too or it was merely a coincidence.

“Everything’s the same and new at the same time,” he mulls, leaning against his palms. 

You hum in agreement. “I know it's a little too late to be asking but, I hope I’m not keeping you from catching up with anyone?”

He shakes his head, locks of his hair brushing against his eyes, “Don’t worry, I think I’ve caught up with those I wanted to.”

You wonder if you’re part of those.

“I didn’t take you away from a good time did I? Though I doubt it with how you wandered out on your own,” he chuckles. 

You laugh in agreement, “If I hear another conversation convincing me having a family has changed their lives for the better, I will scream.”

He shakes his head, “It sometimes does feel like they are convincing themselves than you.”

“Exactly,” you grin, nudging his shoulder and leaning back on your palms, “Though it was nice seeing everyone else and where they are now.”

“Yeah.”

“I am not going to lie to you, I did feel a little anxious coming to this,” you admit, observing how a plane flies overhead, lights blinking against the dark canvas of the sky. 

“How so?”

“Well, I was looking forward to seeing everyone else but I also knew I’d probably be feeling a certain way about where I am, you know? Mid to late twenties is such a weird age.”

Wonwoo keeps silent, glancing at you once in a while and humming in encouragement as you speak.

“Some are heading back to school, others settled abroad, some are on their third child, others are getting engaged,” you take a deep breath, “And I’m still figuring it out.”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond but you know he heard you. His silence makes you feel a little self conscious that you’re baring your thoughts open for him when you’ve just met again after so long. You study his profile from your peripheral, his face is thoughtful, dark eyes trained on the stars above.

“I understand,” he says quietly, “I sometimes feel that way too. But I also learned that we’re exactly where we should be.”

It's awfully cheesy and if you were who you were back in grade school you would have guffawed at his statement. It’s cheesy yet it was the truth.

You distantly wonder if this is where you should be. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, gazing at him in wonder, “I guess so.”

By the time you both decide to call it a night, Wonwoo asks how you got here. When you tell him you took your car, he offers to walk you to your parking lot. You don’t know when you’ll see him again, but for some reason, you’re not ready to say goodbye yet. So you offer to drive him to his airbnb. 

Music plays softly through your radio as you both converse. You count the hours in your head of how long you’ve simply been catching up and talking to Wonwoo. You’re impressed you’ve been talking for nearly five hours. 

In that time you learn that he’s only here for a week, that he’s been doing well as a part of the IT Department at a business company, that he has a cat named Bear, and he drives a Yamaha R1. The thought of Wonwoo being a biker while having a fluffy cat waiting at home shouldn’t make you blush the way you do but it does. And he learns about your hobbies outside of work and that you volunteer some hours at the local library. You tell him how you’ve always wanted to adopt a cat but they were banned from your apartment building so some days you simply hang out at Seulgi’s place for her cat.

Conversation is easy, light, and you laugh in between. 

You can’t stand how easy it was. How unpredictable he was and how unpredictable this was.

By the time you reach his airbnb, he thanks you with a wide smile. He tells you that his number hasn’t changed and to text him when you’ve reached home safely. 

You: hey, i made it home! 

You pause for a brief moment before tacking on.

You: It was nice seeing you again.

Wonwoo: good.

Wonwoo: thanks for the company tonight. we should catch up while im still here. 

It leaves you agonizing that night whether he meant that for real or that he was simply being polite. And while you overthink about how you should respond, you settle with reacting with a heart to his message.

Thankfully, you don’t have to hatch a plan to see him again because you do, two days later, he shows up at the library. 

There’s a tap on your shoulder and you look up, holding in your surprised gasp when you see Wonwoo. 

“That’s my spot,” he tells you with an amused raise of his brow.

And suddenly you guffaw with how lamely he delivered that inside joke, thankful that you’re the librarian so you don’t get scolded by anyone else. 

“Hey,” you smile, patting the seat next to you, “How have you been? Looking for something?”

Wonwoo glances at you, “Not too bad, and yeah, just a good book to tide me over this week.”

“Bored of this city already?”

He shakes his head, “I intend to go around and read a book while I’m at it.”

You don’t know what it is but the idea of Wonwoo re-exploring his home city while taking time to read sends flutters in your stomach. 

“Well,” you begin opening your instagram, “I do have a few places I recommend. What are you looking for? Cafes? Galleries? Hidden gems?”

There’s a brief pause and you look up to find Wonwoo staring at you, a veil of uncertainty over him while his fingers discreetly twist on the table. You furrow your brows, “You good?”

His gaze flickers to your lap and your eyes, “Would you…mind showing me instead?”

You tilt your head with an amused raise of your brow, “You asking me on a date, Jeon Wonwoo?”

Laughing nervously, he rubs his palms against his jeans, “Would it be so bad?”

Your gaze sweeps over him, and you try to recall the list you had since meeting him and decide to add just one more thing you can’t stand about Jeon Wonwoo.

7. He’s such a lame dude. A hot lame dude.

You grin broadly, “Not at all. I get off at 12.”

You spend the rest of the week showing Wonwoo to your recommended places. Your go-to brunch owned by a Greek couple, the newly renovated park, the arcades he’s curious about, and galleries you both never took notice of growing up. And each day he finishes a bit of your book recommendation while he waits for you to get off for lunch and to finish work. 

It makes you feel ridiculously giddy, knowing he’s waiting so he could explore with you rather than with anyone else. He even posts a story of your meal while you sit across from him, distracted with the menu. You calm the stupid organ in your chest, reminding yourself that there’s nothing going on.

Which only fails because an hour after Wonwoo posts, Seungkwan sends you a screenshot of the story followed by “call me when you’re home.” 

Seungkwan is convinced Wonwoo likes you as he asks every minute detail of all your ‘dates’. 

“So the man waited for you? To get off for lunch?”

“Yeah…” you smile into the phone remembering how he had waited outside your work building in his baseball cap and sweater.

“And who took care of brunch?”

“He did…actually he took care of everything.”

“So it was not only one date? What else did you do?”

“We went to the art exhibition on the other side of town. Then we went to the roller skating rink. We take walks in the park in the evening sometimes.”

“Sometimes?! So not just once?!”

“Yeah.”

“Why am I finding out about all this from one post of the ever mysterious Wonwoo and not from my bestfriend?”

You sputter, “I’m sure it means nothing! He just wanted to go around.”

“Uhm, hello? Seungcheol lives here? He’s his friend too?”

The insinuation makes you blush, “You know Seungcheol’s busy! Especially with how his business is going…”

“And you? You work a 9-5? And volunteer on top of that?”

“He asked me to bring him around…”

“He asked you?! This dumb…” you hear Seungkwan’s annoyed sigh, “How are you top of the class and still miss the signs?”

“Okay, fine,” you huff, “What if it is a date? It’s only been a week. Nothing could possibly-”

“Oh please, you’ve known each other for so long, what’s a week?”

“Kwannie, please,” you groan, “You can’t make me reconsider this whole thing means.”

Seungkwan says your name slowly, in that serious but gentle tone he takes on when he wants to lay a hard truth on you, “Do you like him? Actually, that’s stupid, I know already. Would you ever be okay with the idea of Wonwoo doing this for someone else?”

The image of Wonwoo, smiling the way he does with his scrunched nose and crinkled eyes, at someone else—leaves a nasty taste in your mouth. The idea of someone else who gets to hear his lame jokes, who sees the adorable way he tilts his head in question, who gets to watch how his energy drains mid way through a conversation with someone else, who gets to listen to him coo over his cat and show you pictures—you don’t want it to be anyone else.

And the thought leaves you devastated.

Wonwoo picks where you get to eat dinner tonight, and he brings you to the Italian restaurant you mentioned wanting to try in passing. It warms you to realize he remembered such a detail said once. It's even funnier that after your meal, he brings you to the same convenience store you both constantly venture in during your senior year. 

You’re full, happy, and blissfully walking alongside him at a nearby park. You distantly wonder and think that maybe you could get used to this.

“I fly out tomorrow.”

Your gait falters, “Tomorrow?”

He hums in confirmation, walking steadily beside you until he realizes you've fallen behind. 

That’s right. He said he was only going to be here for a week.

Wonwoo casts a questioning tilt of his head and you suddenly feel like you’ve been punched in the stomach. You don’t know what that meant and you don’t know what to say. So you simply shake your head and catch up to his steps. 

He brings you home with a soft smile and goodbye. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes and yet you move on autopilot– thanking him for the wonderful evening, wishing him a safe flight as you close the door. 

You’re restless by the time you settle in bed. 

You can’t remember your childhood to adolescence without Wonwoo and while your university and graduate days were without him, he’s wedged himself back effortlessly into your life and routines. 

It's only been a week but you’re faced with the daunting realization that you can’t settle with being without him again. 

And in one last attempt to tide over the quiet separation anxiety, you send him a message.

You: hey, so how are you getting to the airport? Is chan bringing you?

Wonwoo: oh you’re still up?

You: haha yeah

Wonwoo: same…and no, chan had some family emergency so ill just take uber.

You: i see…

You hesitate as you type out your next words but you think you’d rather suffer the embarrassment than the “if onlys”. 

You: i’ll bring you. 

The message goes on “read” and you fumble for an explanation.

You: i mean its your last ride leaving home after so long. Gotta make sure you don’t cry in the uber or something

Wonwoo: haha i won’t and i won’t say no to that offer either. 

You: cool, pick you up at 6? 

Wonwoo: perfect. Thanks alot

You don’t respond, wary of seeming too attached than being seen as a concerned friend.

Because that’s what you are—friends.

You arrive at his Airbnb at exactly 6AM, groggy but sleepless. You don’t want to think about how long it took you to pick an outfit that was presentable and does not scream that you’re trying too hard. The last time you cared about what Wonwoo thought was in highschool. Though judging by the quick sweep of his eyes from your jacket to your jeans and his soft smile, he might think you look pretty even in your rattiest sweatpants. You repress the urge to delude yourself with that thought. 

You pop the trunk open and he hauls his luggage in. Just as he steps back and lets it close, a gentle hand winds behind your neck and covers the top of your head in caution, leading you back and away from the door closing over you. It nearly feels like an embrace, with his bicep cushioning the back of your head and his chest pressed against your shoulder. He doesn’t pull away and neither do you, even though the trunk is nearly closed. There’s a shift in the air, something that lingered since his return. It’s palpable, it's there and it's real— yet you don’t acknowledge in hesitancy of the unknown. 

“Thank you for doing this for me,” he murmurs, his warm breath caressing your ear.

“Don’t worry about it,” you step away, before he could feel the heat spreading through your body. 

You get in the car, wordlessly adjusting your seatbelts and fumbling unnecessarily with the rearview to buy time. You only have an hour between now and the airport then you're hit with an unreasonable drowning sense of sadness. 

“Ready?”

If Wonwoo hears the croak in your voice, he makes no comment. He glances out the window, cataloging his home for the past week, and what was once his home from childhood. 

“Yeah.”

The rest of the ride is filled with periodical silence broken up by occasional questions about what you both are going to do come Monday. Those short conversations remind you that you both live lives separate from each other now. During the quiet lulls, you fear that turning the radio on would give way to how self-conscious it makes you feel. The last time you were here, you found out how simple it was to get Wonwoo to laugh and how satisfied that made you feel. The banter was easy and the silence was comfortable. 

You wonder how different it would have been if you spent your youthful years as friends and how ironically drastic it is that you’ve come to know Wonwoo in a week rather than eight years. 

You’ve known him all your life. It didn’t matter if it were from your ill intentions, curiosity, and wonder. You’ve known Wonwoo in ways only you could.

Wonwoo knew you in ways only he could.

Because there's no way he could effortlessly read you and mold into your life if he didn’t know you the way he did. It didn’t matter that there was a five year gap or that you’ve grown from your feisty competitive teenage self. 

Your mind works overtime to make logic out of it. If he knew you because you were still that girl at your core, or that he was observant. And if you flip the question and ask why you know him the way you do, it was because you wanted to and it was so easy to be enamored by him.

The realization knocks the breath of your lungs, clarity washes over you, and your breath stutters. 

You wave off Wonwoo’s concerned question, blaming it on remembering something you forgot about at home. Because what were you supposed to do with all these feelings? You’re pulling up the airport’s parking lot, and he’s flying back to his city, to his apartment, back to his job and routines he’s long established without you in it. What were you going to do with the longing building in your chest? You’ll go back to your own home, tend to your house chores, and get ready for work on Monday without Wonwoo in between or in all of it.

Hands in your pocket, you’re quiet as you walk up the departure gates and Wonwoo rolls his luggage beside him. You avoid his gaze and you wonder if he said something in between the parking lot to the gates while blood rushes to your ears. Airports are always bittersweet, a portal between something new, scary, precious to return to, or a routine. A man rushes in through the automatic sliding doors, a girl waves goodbye to a car that drives past, and there's a family in a tight embrace as they let their children go. 

While you—stand stiffly beside Wonwoo. 

“Well,” he sighs, lips pursed into a tight smile, “This is it.”

It sounds like an ultimatum and it hurts to think about what it means. But you mutely nod, still up in your head as you glance at him. You expect him to thank you and leave but he lingers, pining you with his stare. 

He startles you with his amused chuckle, “What’s that look for?”

“What look?” you frown though you both know damn well, you do have a look.

Shaking his head, he reaches an arm out to pull you to his chest. You forsake your surprise in favor of relishing his embrace for the first time…and what would feel like the last time. You wind your arms around his lithe waist, taking in his warmth, his scent, his presence–him. 

“Don’t cry, I’m sure we’ll see each other soon,” he comforts with teasing lilt to his tone.

“I won’t,” you grumble with a weak punch to his side but you don’t pull away. 

A breathless laugh leaves his lips, and he squeezes you one last time before pulling back to look at you. 

You know Wonwoo to be shy in spite of how confident he truly is, but he makes you shy when he regards you with his vulpine gaze. You feel vulnerable, open, and just like last time, you lose the urge to hide. His eyes are searching, and whatever he was looking for, he finds it. 

The corners of his lips quirk up softly, pressing a fleeting kiss on your forehead, “See you.”

Biting your lip, you nod as a burning flush creeps up your neck and face, “Text me when you land.”

He hums and pulls away. 

It’s finished, just like that. And you stand there dumbly, watching his broad back as he steps through the glass doors. 

Nothing seems to fully process, even as he disappears behind those doors. You still feel the ghost of his lips on your forehead and you’re firmly planted where he had embraced you. The sound of a lady’s soft “excuse me” while she wheels her cart full of suitcases snaps you out of your reverie. You step away with  a muttered apology, blinking at the pavement and trying to remember what you were supposed to do, what you’re supposed to feel, and where you should go.

But when you look up, you’re startled to see Wonwoo jogging back out the doors and abandoning his suitcase. 

You frown, “Did you forget something?”

He nods and there’s a bright confidence and resolve to his eyes that you’ve never seen before. Your hand absentmindedly fumbles for your keys, but you’re stopped when you feel Wonwoo’s hands on your shoulders, drawing you closer. 

Then he smiles, cheeks stained pink, “I missed.”

He cups your cheeks, his big hands cradling you so tenderly. His eyes flicker over to yours for a brief moment, softening when your longing mirrors his own.  Then he leans down to kiss you, the plushness of his lips lovingly caressing yours. You think you can hear a pleasant symphony as you let him.Your eyes flutter shut, and you bring a hand to his neck, the other anchoring on his wrist. 

You never imagined your first kiss with Wonwoo. But you couldn’t imagine it being here, out in public where busy bodies are rushing in and out those gates. 

It doesn’t matter because it’s perfect. He was.

You part for breath but Wonwoo chases your lips before you even could even breathe in. You giggle against his lips at his eagerness and it makes him smile too. Wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer, he keeps leaning in for more—sighing in bliss and playfully nipping your bottom lip. 

You could kiss him forever. 

You carefully pull away from him, nudging his nose when he follows you. 

“Wonwoo,” you whisper. You grin broadly when he starts kissing your cheeks, your temple, anywhere he could. 

“Why’d you stop?” he grumbles.

You huff out a laugh in disbelief, “Your flight leaves in an hour, and I’m pretty sure I’ve heard three people excuse themselves past us.”

He huffs, dropping his head on your shoulder and just holds you for as long as time would allow him. 

You’re tempted to ask him to miss his flight and stay. 

But he’s got a life to get back to. 

Before sadness and a cloud of doubt hangs over you, Wonwoo kisses sweetly one last time and tells you, “I’ll call you when I land.”

And while you watch him walk through those doors a second time, you quickly realize another thing you can’t stand with Jeon Wonwoo.

8. You can’t stand when he leaves.

Wonwoo does call you when he lands, only ending the call when he gets to TSA and calls you again once he’s through. You can’t remember what you talked about, and you know you didn’t even talk about the kiss. You only remember that you liked hearing the sound of his voice, hearing what he has to say now that he knows you’re both on the same page.You let him go when you run out for an errand and you think he wouldn’t drop the call if you didn’t. 

The calls and texts become frequent and by the time (which wasn’t long after) he calls you baby or sweetheart, you add a heart to his contact on your phone. 

Everything fell naturally it should have alarmed you but Wonwoo doesn’t give you a reason to and you don’t think you should worry either. While he does make your heart soar, there aren’t butterflies in your stomach—just peace and calm. 

It's unconventional how you’ve known each other for so long yet this romance with him begins long distance. Some days, while he does make you happy, you wonder if he’ll change his mind and realize it was just a honeymoon phase.

But then you don’t worry because three months later, you’ve received five flower deliveries from him just cause. You’re the first one he texts when he wakes up and just before he sleeps. He doesn’t mind abandoning his streak mid-game just to pick up your call. And the moment he tells you that he plans on taking his next leave and spending it with you, you tell him that you’d go to him instead. So you file for a personal leave and fly over to his city.

It isn’t too fast, not when falling into his embrace and affection is as easy as this.

Your second kiss is sweeter, knowing that this is real and this is something you’d want over and  over again. It's much quicker though, Wonwoo becoming shy because it's much more crowded than it was in your first kiss. You don’t mind, you want him comfortable and you squeeze his hand as he leads you out of the airport and into his life.

Never would you have thought of leaving your city for anyone, much less were you not graced with the curiosity of what it would be like away from the places you always knew. With Wonwoo, you’re filled with wonder and confidence because he always had that effect on you like that. 

He brings you to his place, and you tease him that he must have cleaned up last minute because you were staying over. He responds with a roll of his eyes and pinch to your side as he shows you around. It’s quaint, simple, and minimalistic–exactly what you expect from him. 

It takes a while, but you finally meet Bear, dashing beneath Wonwoo’s couch and peering at you from the corners of the hall with his strikingly blue eyes. He’s all white and grey fluff that you’re tempted to just pick him up and squeeze from cuteness aggression. Wonwoo tells you that he takes time getting used to strangers and he’s a shy cat. 

“Like his dad,” you smile cheekily.

And the moment he takes you on a ride on his bike around the city, a certain thrill and excitement fills you. He brings you to his favorite spots the way you did when you brought him around your city three months ago. He takes you to a diner, an antique store, and he hates sweets but he swears by this gelato stand near the farmer’s market. You love every bit of it, love every bit of his life and you kiss his shoulder each time you think about how lucky you are to be loved by him.

You’ve only got a week and a half off, but Wonwoo tells you with a chuckle that you’re quickly making his place your own. Especially when his room starts smelling like you, and you’re leaving mementos of places you’ve been—mismatched coasters from the thrift store, a polaroid of you both stuck to his PC desk, and your lipstick stains on his coffee mugs. 

“You’re making it harder to be without you,” he says, winding his arms around your waist, pressing your back to his chest while you wash the dishes from breakfast.

You grin, leaning back to peck his jaw, “Maybe that’s the plan.”

“It’s going to suck but I wouldn’t mind if it's you.”

A bright blush creeps up your cheek, “Okay, Casanova.”

“I think it should be, ‘babe’.”

You roll your eyes, leaning your head back to look at him, “You’re so lame. Wonder what all those girlies crushing on you since sixth grade think about their cool and nonchalant crush.”

“I don’t know, I don’t care. What do you think?” he quips with a twinkle in his eye. 

Holy shit he looks so good like this, soft with sleep, shorter strands of his hair sticking in odd directions, barely coherent and ridiculously cheesy. 

“I think,” you dry your hands and twist in his arms. Resting your arms on his neck, you coo, “That my boyfriend is a loser trapped in a hot man’s body.”

Wonwoo shakes his head in amusement, eyes gooey in affection as he leans down to press a long kiss on your forehead. 

Your arrangement like this carries on in your long distance for the next six months now. It’s been blissful but it didn’t mean it was also easy. There were days where you’re reminded why he was your childhood rival when you pick fights. It's uncomfortable at times  but you’re thankful that Wonwoo was patient and calm. While he disliked confrontation, he always made an effort to communicate with you which reassures you even more that you’re with the right person. 

And as you both enter your first year together, you begin reconsidering serious decisions for the future. So the next time you’re in Wonwoo’s city, you start to be open to the idea of moving. Granted that you could find a job here before you do. 

One afternoon, Wonwoo comes home unusually quiet. He finds you on the couch, Bear comfortably nestled on your legs while you type away at your laptop. He drops a kiss on your forehead before trudging to the bedroom. You’re polishing up your resume, adding in your skills and experience, and arranging its format. It gets a little frustrating when the margins don’t line up the way you expect them to, so you get up and head to the bedroom to ask for his assistance.

“You’re top of the class, you should know this,” he mutters, shrugging off his jacket. 

You catch the shift in his tone. It sounded more like a grumble than a tease. It makes you feel a little miffed. It used to be hard to remember Jeon Wonwoo outside of the rival you’ve made out of it. Ever since this began, you found it difficult to remember why you hated him. Up until this very moment where you remember the first five things on your list and the ever familiar flare of irritation licks your veins.

“What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Are you still hung up over that? It’s been years, Wonwoo.”

He scoffs, “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t. You won’t explain!” 

“That narrow three point difference could have landed me a better deal with scholarship.”

“But you still got the scholarship and the university you wanted!”

His brows furrow, jaw visibly flexing and you suddenly remember something about your list and how this would have counted.

9. He holds grudges.

With narrowed eyes, you huff, “Is that what you’re upset about? That being second doesn’t look good in your record?”

“And that wouldn’t have bothered you if it were you?”

Your mouth parts in protest but you quickly snap it shut because you’re sure you wouldn’t have taken it as well. It explains why you didn’t see Wonwoo at graduation and never took the honor of walking up that stage to give a speech. After all, you once told him second place was just first place for losers.

Wonwoo’s eyes are trained intensely on you, teetering on the edge of fight or flight. He’s standing with his hands on his hips, chest puffed as he takes deep breaths. Crossing your arms, you mirror his action, inhaling deeply then releasing. You run a hand through your hair, trying to remember how the escalation was relevant to the conversation.

Wonwoo sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and rubbing his face.

“What am I doing?” he mumbles through his fingers.

You let out a dry laugh, realizing how ridiculous this all was. 

“Sorry, I didn’t realize it meant so much to you.”

Your boyfriend shakes his head, stepping closer to you and gently tugging you into his arms.

“It did back then,” he kisses your hair in a quiet apology, “But it doesn’t now.”

You hum against him, feeling the slight sting of guilt from years ago. But like he said, it doesn’t matter now. You pet his chest, feeling his heartbeat jump then study at your touch. Leaning back, you tiptoe to press a kiss on his jaw before meeting his lips in a kiss.

“You know,” he says after a beat, holding you close to him, unwilling to let the moment pass. “I never understood why you hated me back then.”

“You hated me first!” 

He blinks and pulls away to look at you in genuine confusion,”What are you saying? I thought you were cute.”

“I-,” you sputter, “That’s not true! The first time I talked to you when we had our tests switched, you literally talked shit about my grades!”

Wonwoo tilts his head, “Really?”

“Yeah you said something like you knew your grades couldn’t be as low as mine or whatever.”

“I was trying to impress you,” he deadpans. 

You fumble for words in disbelief, “No way!”

“Yeah,” he grins crookedly, “But it got your attention either way, didn’t it?”

You groan, gently slapping his chest, “You’re so annoying! If you wanted my attention you could have been…I don’t know, normal?”

“You’re so cute when you’re angry though,” he nudges your nose and kisses your pout.

It might not have been part of his plan, but it didn’t matter—if you didn’t meet the way you would, you don’t think you could ever have this. 

“You’re telling me that you purposely pissed me off?”

“How else was I going to get your attention?”

“Wonwoo,” you whine, slamming your head against his chest, “It was so funny to you meanwhile I was building a list of what I can’t stand about you.”

“Oh?” he lifts his head in curiosity, “What was on that list?”

You built that list most of your life and you can’t remember more than half of it. Somewhere between count four or five, it became harder to find what you hate about him than what you love about him.

With a cheeky smile, you rest your chin on his collarbone, “Make me dinner first.”

He sighs, “Baby, I had a long day and you know how I am in the kitchen. How does a take out sound?”

You nod, feeling sympathetic and disappointed with yourself for reacting so quickly earlier, “Of course, babe. Sorry to hear about your day. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.”

“No, don’t apologize. It was stupid of me to bring up,” he assures you with a kiss to your temple. 

You hold each other tightly for a while, just grounding yourselves in each other's presence. You think about the future and how you’re sure you’d have moments like this. You wonder if you both should just hug each other while arguing. The thought makes you giggle quietly.

“What?” Wonwoo mumbles against you.

“Just thinking about how we should just hug each other like this when we fight in the future.”

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“But you know we will, right? C’mon we’ve fought since like what…fifth grade?” 

“You picked fights.”

“Did not.”

“Right…” Wonwoo chuckles, pulling far enough to clasp your hands in his, “I’ve been thinking…”

“That’s scary.”

He shushes you sharply, though his smile tells you otherwise, “Since you’re moving here…what do you think about…forever?”

The question knocks the breath of your lungs and you look at him with a watery gaze. 

“Are you proposing?”

Wonwoo smiles at you crookedly, cupping your  cheek.

“This isn’t a proposal…yet. But it's been on my mind and I wonder if it's in yours too.”

Of course, it has. 

You answer him by pulling him down in a searing kiss, pouring your soul into that one kiss. Because it's his. Your whole being is his as much as he’s made his yours. 

After dinner, when Wonwoo asks you again what’s on your list of things you can’t stand about him—you can only give him one:

10. You can’t stand being without him.

taglist: @najaeminluvbot @automaticpersonabatpaper @welcometomyoasis

[wonwootattoo]

nothing new series masterlist | jeon wonwoo

🍷 pairing: chaebol!husband!wonwoo x chaebol!fem!reader 🍷 genre: arranged marriage 🍷 A/N: I decided to create this masterlist in the chronological order of the drabbles and original story. 🍷 thanks to @cafekitsune for these gorge dividers! Check out the rest of her work on her blog! I use all her dividers for this series!!

🌸 fluff ❤️‍🔥 smut ❄️ angst

Understanding the timeline!

first time 🌸 ❤️‍🔥 you and wonwoo head to a wedding with the weight of having a baby heavy on your minds.

realizations ❄️ wonwoo runs into his ex at seungcheol's wedding and realizes so much about his marriage with you.

the morning after 🌸 ❤️‍🔥 you and wonwoo just had sex for the first time. what happens now?

protector 🌸 ❤️‍🔥 ❄️ both your parents won't stop bothering you about having a baby. wonwoo watches how their words affect you and decides to take a stand.

possessive 🌸 ❤️‍🔥 you and wonwoo share what you like about each other.

baby fever 🌸 ❤️‍🔥 ❄️ you and wonwoo meet jeonghan's new baby girl for the first time and seeing your husband hold a baby makes you feel things.

home 🌸 you're home alone when you find out you're pregnant. you need wonwoo with you as you process this news.

promise 🌸 you're in the thick of pregnancy and wonwoo promises to be a good dad with a little meaningful gift.

beginnings 🌸 wonwoo has trouble getting out of work to be with you as you give birth to your first child.

gratitude 🌸 it's your first mother's day but you forgot. luckily wonwoo hasn't.

birthday 🌸 ❤️‍🔥 it's wonwoo's first birthday as a dad

breaking cycles 🌸 ❤️‍🔥 ❄️ wonwoo is frustrated that work is keeping him away from his son. he feels like a bad dad.

choices 🌸 a pretty lady flirts with wonwoo at the park. wonwoo decides to entertain her before dropping the truth.

toddler knowledge 🌸 your son knows something before your husband does.

ours 🌸 wonwoo no longer has a king bed to himself.

parenthood 🌸 wonwoo reflects on parenthood one morning.

terrible twos 🌸 wonwoo is left alone with your son for two nights and struggles.

bring your child to work 🌸 wonwoo has no choice but to bring his son with him to work.

sick 🌸 you're home alone when your son is sick and it's overwhelming you. wonwoo's at work.

sunrise ❤️‍🔥 wonwoo wakes up to a canceled meeting meaning more time in the morning with you. what will you do?

turbulence ❄️ you and your husband get into a fight that ruins your marriage.

nothing new part 1 [REWRITTEN] ⭐️ nothing new part 1 original 🌸 ❤️‍🔥 ❄️ you and your husband have been in an arranged marriage for 4 years now. things were going well after the birth of your son but things turned sour unexpectedly and now you feel like you're back to the beginning.

something new part 2 original 🌸 ❤️‍🔥 ❄️ wonwoo tries to show you that he's serious about being a better dad. unfortunately he makes a mistake and is determined to show you he's capable of correcting it.

the different shapes of grief 🌸 ❄️ coping with loss is never easy. thankfully your husband is there with you as you cope.

everything new part 3 original 🌸 ❤️‍🔥 you and wonwoo are finally back on the right track. he's been a great dad- now he just has to focus on being a better husband.

[minisugakoobies]

Drawn to the Flames | JWW

Pairing: Wonwoo x Fire Breather!Reader

Genre: smut, angst, horror, strangers to lovers, Midnight Menagerie!AU

Series Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: slightly unreliable narrator, siren-like powers including mind control and compulsion, spiraling obsession, description of a panic attack, guest appearances by Chan and Jeonghan, masturbation (m), kissing, grinding, fingering, sweat licking, riding/cowgirl, unprotected sex (heat of the moment, pun intended), creampie, brief mentions of gore (in the section about Shik), minor character death, ambiguous ending

Word Count: 8k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: When the Midnight Menagerie comes to town, Wonwoo finds himself returning night after night, all for a glimpse of the mysterious fire breather. He should know better than to play with fire, but he can’t resist.

A/N: Happy Halloween! This was written for the Midnight Menagerie collab hosted by @camandemstudios. I need to thank my fellow collaborators for all the support while I worked on this one! I hope you all adore this lovesick Wonwoo as much as I do. Please note that this is unbeta'd as usual so if you see any typos or continuity errors no you don't 😅

My asks are always open - come talk to me about this one! 💕

❤️‍🔥 Collab Masterlist ❤️‍🔥 SVT Masterlist ❤️‍🔥 Main Masterlist

“Come on, Wonwoo-hyung, hurry up!” 

Chan’s voice carries over the crowd as Wonwoo shoulders his way through the throng, trying to keep up with his friend. He doesn’t really want to be here tonight. He’s a grown man, for god’s sake. Aren’t circuses for kids? 

The crush of people walking in front of him lessens enough for him to catch a glimpse of Chan’s dark hair bobbing a few paces in front of him. Wonwoo quickens his stride until he catches Chan’s jacket sleeve and tugs, spinning the younger man around. 

“Huh - what is it?” 

Wonwoo hesitates. His eyes are drawn to the lights strung up between the booths that line the walkway to the main tent, swaying erratically in the night air. He’s feeling rather anxious tonight, his body all keyed up for no discernable reason, and his surroundings aren’t really helping. The Midnight Menagerie opened a week ago, after springing up seemingly overnight, faded red and white tents blooming like colorful mushrooms around the vacant field that borders the south edge of town. There’s an overwhelming sense of impermanence to everything here, the feeling that all of this could disappear in the blink of his eye. 

Wonwoo kinda wants to bail, but he’ll never hear the end of it if he does. 

“Slow down, will you? I don’t understand why we’re running.” He draws his long black coat closer around himself, trying to ward off the night’s chill. It’s not even late autumn yet, but he can already sense winter starting to creep in. It depresses him. He’s always hated the long, dark nights that come with the change of season. 

Chan huffs in protest. “I’m not running, hyung, I’m just trying to get to our seats before the show starts.” 

Wonwoo hears screaming and jolts nervously, out of Chan’s line of sight, thankfully. He swivels in search of the sound, to find it’s coming from an audience gathered around one of the booths, where a contortionist is twisting himself into a knot. His lithe limbs bend further at unnatural angles, and the crowd cries out again in horrified astonishment. 

He frowns, turning away from the freakish display. “Is it really that big a deal if we miss a little?” 

“Yes, it is! I don’t want to miss a minute - Minghao said the show is amazing, and you know it takes a lot to impress him.” 

Wonwoo wouldn’t call his friend Minghao a harsh critic, necessarily - he’s usually very measured in his reaction to things, weighing his words carefully. Yet he’s had nothing but good things to say about the circus since he visited on opening night, nearly effusive with praise every time he brings it up – which he has nonstop. It’s incredible, hyung. You haveto experience it for yourself. It’ll change your life.

Wonwoo isn’t too sure about that last part, but he has to admit he is curious, which is the only reason he’d agreed to come here with Chan tonight. Minghao isn’t the type to use hyperbole so casually. Besides, he’s not the only one who has been raving about the circus lately. It’s all anyone has wanted to discuss - his friends, his coworkers, even the little old lady who runs the laundromat he frequents wouldn’t stop bending his ear about it the other day as he waited for his clothes to dry. It’s as if the entire sleepy little town that he calls home has fallen under some sort of spell - everyone’s just so enchanted by the Midnight Menagerie.

Without another word, Chan takes off again, this time at double his pace. Normally, Chan struggles to keep up with Wonwoo and his long gait, but right now the younger man is giving him a good workout instead. He follows Chan towards the opening of the big tent at the end of the path, where a man in top hat wearing a pinstriped black and red vest stands on a small platform, greeting guests as they enter. 

“Step right up, step right up!” the barker shouts, gesturing to the crowd. “Come one, come all! Come witness the menagerie!” As Wonwoo’s steps bring him closer to the platform, the man turns to look at him. His hat tilts down at such an angle that Wonwoo can’t see his eyes beneath the shadow it casts, but his teeth gleam sharply in the dancing lights when he smiles. “Such extraordinary delights await you.” 

Laying it on a bit thick, Wonwoo thinks. But as he ducks beneath the open flap of the tent, the crown of his head just barely brushing the canvas, he feels a crackle of electricity in the air. The crowd hums with excitement, and despite himself, his curiosity grows. 

The circus tent is surprisingly big on the inside. The ring in the center is a perfect circle, with five sets of stands placed around the perimeter at equidistant intervals. Most of the rows in the stands are already filled. Chan consults his ticket and then points to a pair of seats in the center of the front row.

“Wow, best seats in the house!” 

Wonwoo hums, craning his neck to peer at the rigging connecting the poles that buttress the tent. Harnesses hang suspended above his head, swinging slightly as they wait for the trapeze artists. He wonders what possesses someone to take up the skill, having never had the urge to fly himself. He prefers to keep his feet planted firmly on solid ground.

Once in their seats, Chan leans forward eagerly, drumming his hands on the partition at the front of the stands that separates the audience from the ring. Wonwoo checks out the rows behind them, nodding at a few familiar faces here and there. It looks like half the town is here tonight. He spots a few coworkers and waves.

He resists the urge to check his watch. He worked a long shift today, and he’ll be working another one tomorrow, and he could really use a good night’s sleep in between. Wonwoo doesn’t like his job at the factory, but his father got him the job, so he feels a sense of obligation to keep it, even though his old man is gone now, having worked himself right into an early grave. Wonwoo’s hoping not to follow in his exact footsteps.

Impatience growing, he leans towards Chan. “How long until…” 

The lights in the tent go out. The crowd around him gasps, and he falls silent as a spotlight suddenly explodes into brightness. In the center of the ring stands a man wearing a top hat to match the barker’s, dressed in a full jacket with tails, the silky material shimmering crimson like blood. His gloved hands rest on a golden cane in front of him. Wonwoo’s sitting close enough to see that the head of the cane is some sort of animal head, but he can’t quite make out what exactly it is. Something with horns, it looks like.

The ringmaster lifts his face and takes a deep breath. 

“Good evening and welcome, one and all, to the Midnight Menagerie!” His smile grows as the audience applauds, then he holds up one hand. “Please, save your applause for the performers. They have worked so hard to bring you the most amazing, most stupendous, most unbelievable show!”

As his voice booms through the tent, the ringmaster strolls around the ring, pausing every few feet to punctuate his words with a dramatic flourish of his cane. 

“Oh, what incredible sights we have for you tonight! We have acrobats! We have trapeze artists! We have clowns and contortionists, magicians and mystics, all ready to enthrall! You’ll laugh, you’ll gasp, you’ll cry and shout!”

When he’s only a few feet away from where Wonwoo is sitting, the ringmaster stops. Wonwoo knows that the space is too dark for him to be visible to the other man, especially with the spotlight in his eyes, but he swears that he looks directly at him as he speaks. 

“Once you experience the wonders of the menagerie, you’ll never be the same.” 

As he speaks the last word, Wonwoo hears a strange ringing, like a bell has been struck somewhere in the distance. He stares at the ringmaster, and the edges of his vision begin to

narrow, until he sees nothing but the man in the top hat. His smile seems… distorted, somehow. It makes Wonwoo’s skin crawl, and he watches in horror as it stretches and stretches and stretches - 

“Here we go,” Chan mutters giddily. His knee bounces against Wonwoo’s, and Wonwoo finally blinks. The strange vision passes. All the overtime he’s been working is clearly starting to wear on him if he’s dreaming in the daytime now. He takes his glasses off and rubs at the tender bridge of his nose. 

The ringmaster moves on, finishing his path around the ring. “Yes, the Midnight Menagerie has all of this and more, here waiting for you! All we ask of you tonight is one simple thing - don’t hold back. Give yourselves over to the marvels you see. Give in to the magic of the moment! And now, with no further ado - the show begins!” 

The spotlight goes out, and when the lights come back up, a cavalcade of acrobats tumble and flip a path across the ring. After the acrobats come jugglers, then clowns. The ringmaster reappears between each act to provide an introduction. When the aerialists take flight on their trapezes, Wonwoo does admittedly feel a sense of wonder at the ease with which they hurl themselves through the air. But for the most part, he’s a fairly passive audience member, quietly observing the acts, struggling to stay awake as the show wears on. 

After the trapeze artists take their bows, the tent plunges into darkness again. This time, the audience sits nearly silent, only a few voices murmuring here and there in hushed anticipation, and Wonwoo feels it too, thrumming in his veins. He squints for a second, because it looks like there’s a small light flickering in the middle of the tent, hovering in midair - 

WHOOSH

A blinding ball of fire suddenly erupts from the ring, right in front of his and Chan’s seats. 

“Whoa,” Chan yelps as they both shield their eyes instinctively. There’s another billowing flame that seems to come out of nowhere, but as the fire fades into nothingness, Wonwoo catches the dim outline of a person standing in the shadows. 

The lights in the tent come up slowly, illuminating a woman dressed in a crimson and black corseted dress, holding a small baton. No, not a baton, Wonwoo realizes - a double-ended torch, lit at one end. She raises the torch to her painted red lips and blows, sending another jet of fire into the air, climbing higher than the others. As the flame ascends, Wonwoo feels the heat kiss his cheeks gently.

Chan gasps, and dodges again, but Wonwoo doesn’t move. He can’t. He’s frozen in place, completely transfixed. In all his years on this earth, he’s never seen a woman as breathtaking as you.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I please present - YN, the fire breather,” the ringmaster calls out from the edge of the ring, gesturing with his cane. He takes one of your hands as you curtsey and brings it to his mouth for a brief kiss. You smile sweetly, and Wonwoo’s stomach gives a strange twist.

The ringmaster steps to the side as you lift the torch to your lips again. Wonwoo hears music crackling through the tinny speakers in the tent – some drums beating a steady rhythm while a reedy instrument plays a melody he doesn’t recognize. You exhale, another flame shooting into the sky, and then you quickly twirl the torch to light the other end. Wonwoo watches your face as you spin, drawing circles of fire around the ring. He hadn’t known that such beauty existed before now - certainly, not in his small town.

In the flashing illumination of the flames, he eagerly studies every detail about you. A simple golden head chain is draped over your forehead, matching a twisted double chain choker wrapped around your elegant neck. When you turn, he catches sight of ink crawling across your bare shoulders, but the tattooed letters are unrecognizable to him. The hem of your skirt is raggedly frayed, giving the illusion of burnt edges, as though fire had at one point consumed you whole.

Wonwoo wonders at that moment what it would feel like to burn. 

He sits in rapt silence while you command the audience’s attention alone in the ring with nothing but the fire you control. The torch splits into two halves, and you wave one in each hand as the pulse of the music picks up. Your skill is astonishing - the flames seem to bend to your will as you dance around the tent, tracing fiery shapes in the air. Wonwoo’s not alone in his admiration, he discovers, when Chan nudges him with his elbow.

“This is insane. How is she doing that?” he asks as you breathe another flame to life. “I thought fire breathing involved alcohol or something that they spit out – but she’s not drinking anything?”

Wonwoo shrugs, a little annoyed at having his focus interrupted by his friend. He doesn’t have the slightest clue how fire breathing works, and he doesn’t really care. All he wants in this moment is to be left alone to watch you, but it’s too late, the ringmaster has reemerged to signal the end of your act. The man raises his cane, and you bow, then raise both torches to your mouth, and swallow the fire, extinguishing them one by one.

The audience cheers around Wonwoo, and he is snapped from his daze, sluggishly putting his hands together to clap while Chan whistles next to him. As tent goes dark once more, Wonwoo catches a brief spark before the spotlight reveals the ringmaster standing alone. There is no trace of you, save for the wisps of smoke floating over Wonwoo’s head.

The ringmaster grins. “On with the show!”

After the final act has finished, all of the performers return to take their bows. Wonwoo’s eyes are drawn to you as you step forward and take the hands of those next to you before bending low. When you rise, your gaze sweeps over the crowd - and lands on Wonwoo.

His heart jolts. You can’t possibly be looking at him - like earlier with the ringmaster, there’s simply no way for you to see him in the shadows like this - except that when you smile, all logic flies out of his head, and he knows that you’re smiling at him, and him alone.

That’s when he feels it. His chest constricts, like a rope has been tied around his insides and is squeezing tight. He doubles over, pressing a hand to his sternum, suddenly fearful. His old man dropped dead of a heart attack when Wonwoo was only twenty. Wonwoo always thought it was from spending his life slogging away on the assembly line, but maybe the men in his family just have bad hearts - and maybe it’s his time to go now. But then the squeezing stops, and instead, there is a tug, like the rope has been pulled taut.

And then it’s gone.

He straightens up in his seat, breathing hard, hand still clutching his chest. Chan glances over at him.

“Are you okay?”

Wonwoo nods, even though he’s not actually sure if he is. But the pain has vanished, so he must be? He looks out into the ring again, hoping to find you still there, but the performers are leaving through a back entrance to the tent. Disappointment sweeps over him.

“Yeah, I just - I could use some air.”

“Let’s get out of here. I want to check out the food anyway.”

Outside the tent, Chan immediately begins to babble about how much he enjoyed the show. Wonwoo nods and agrees whenever the younger man pauses to breathe, but he’s distracted. It’s back, the weird sensation of something pulling at him. He ignores it, heading down the row of booths selling cotton candy and other carnival treats, lining up behind Chan as he joins a queue. But it doesn’t go away this time - if anything, it’s getting more intense the more he stands still.

He can’t take it anymore. “I think I’m gonna walk a bit while you wait. I need to stretch my legs.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll catch up,” Chan replies, his attention already focused on the selection of treats in front of him.

Wonwoo feels it again, that tug, and follows it willingly, walking down a narrow alley formed by smaller tents. He’s on the mystical side of the Menagerie now, where the fortune teller and the palm reader and various other practitioners of the dark arts lie in wait. 

Wonwoo isn’t a believer in the occult, but goosebumps ripple down his arms anyway as he weaves between the tents. The wind is picking up now, the air starting to feel heavy with the humidity that presages a thunderstorm, despite the time of year. He turns the collar of his coat up, waiting for the rain. But the lightning comes first, illuminating the pathway in front of him. 

He counts his breaths until he hears the distant rumble. The storm is a few miles off, so there’s no need for him to grab Chan and leave yet. The lightning flashes again as he reaches the end of the path. He wavers for a moment, unsure which way to go, and his ears pick up a humming, the sound of the generators that light this place, probably. He trails the sound, turning right. 

The tents here are smaller, and he realizes after a moment that he’s wandered into the performers’ area, where they eat and sleep between shows. And there you are, standing in front of a tent near the end of the row. He stops in surprise, and hangs back, out of sight, to admire you from afar. Even under dark and cloudy skies, your beauty shines so brightly that it takes his breath away.

Droplets start to fall as Wonwoo waits in the shadows, wondering if he should introduce himself, tell you how much he loved your performance. But his opportunity is ruined as another man steps towards you and strikes up a conversation. Wonwoo gets a good look at the man, recognizing him as a member of the town, someone he knows by sight but not by name. He lingers for a moment before shuffling away to find Chan, his hands in his pockets and his thoughts turning to smoke in the rain. 

He should go back.

Wonwoo comes to that conclusion at work the next day. He spends his shift on the assembly line being haunted by memories of your performance, recalling your hips swaying as you spun the fire in the air, and the soft orange-yellow light that had shone in your eyes, as though you were lit from within. On either side of him, his coworkers talk about their plans for the weekend, and crack dumb jokes to pass the time, but he doesn’t really hear anything they say. And every time he closes his eyes, he sees your face.

It’s like he’s got a crush. That’s all it is, he tells himself, a crush on a stranger, and then he gets lost in thought about your lips again. He can’t remember the last time he felt like this. It’s been a while since he dated anyone. He’s not usually the love-at-first-sight type. He prefers to take his time getting to know someone - that is, when he has the nerve to ask anyone out. But right now, he can’t get you out of his head. He wants to see you again. What’s the harm in indulging in a little crush?

He thinks about asking his coworkers if any of them want to go. It’d be easy enough to do - the circus is still the main topic of conversation at work. But the thing is, he doesn’t want to tell anyone he’s considering going again. Not out of embarrassment - he understands after last night’s show how amazing the Menagerie is and willingly counts himself among those captivated by the circus. No, there’s something else holding his tongue, a weirdly selfish instinct he can’t explain.

So, he returns alone to the Menagerie.

The big tent that housed the main show is packed again, with more familiar faces in the rows that fill the stands. The show tonight is the same as the previous night, with the ringmaster leading the audience through the performances. Wonwoo watches politely, clapping and cheering along after each act. 

When the tent plunges into blackness, he sits up in anticipation. Fire blazes into existence in front of him and his heart begins to race. You’re every bit as lovely as he remembered, dancing gracefully through the ring while swinging your burning torches. He doesn’t have to see the crowd around him to know that all of them are just as captivated by you - it feels as though the entire tent is breathing as one as you move. 

Even though every other act has been the same tonight as last night, it seems like your act is shorter than before. It’s far too soon before the ringmaster is returning to your side and you’re taking your bow. Wonwoo tries to keep his eyes on you as the tent lights dim again, but in the darkness you disappear, leaving only rolling curls of grey-white smoke in your wake.

The human cannonball is introduced as the next act, but Wonwoo isn’t interested. The air in the tent is cooling off, so he wraps his coat tighter around himself and waits for the act to end so he can make an exit. He should feel happy now, shouldn’t he? Instead, he’s oddly deflated, let down by how quickly your routine ended. He shouldn’t feel like this. His desire to see you has been sated, and yet… and yet, he wants more.

A sharp tightness around his rib cage. The unsettling sensation from the previous night is back. He coughs a few times, like he’s trying to dislodge something caught in his lungs, but there’s nothing in his airways. Whatever this is, it’s deeper, and becoming more insistent with every passing second.

There’s another tug, and he can’t breathe, because the overstuffed tent is suddenly suffocating. An overwhelming need to stand up hits him, which he struggles against, not wanting to be rude to the people around him. But the tugging won’t stop, it keeps pulling and pulling at him, until he can’t take it anymore. He abandons his manners and leaves before the act ends, practically crawling over the other audience members in his row in his panic as he heads for the entrance to the tent.

The circus barker is long gone from his post outside the tent. Wonwoo leans against the podium there, cool air rushing into his lungs while he forces himself to take deep breaths in order to calm down. As the discomfort slowly fades away, he sighs, relieved. He’s heard about anxiety attacks before, but he’s never had one. He supposes it’s another sign that he’s been working too much. He ended up working a double shift today because one of his coworkers, Shik, didn’t show up.

Now that he’s feeling okay again, he considers for a moment going back into the tent to catch the end of the show and the final bows. But he thinks better of it. He needs to go home, take a long, hot shower, and then crawl into bed. A good night’s sleep will help.

Despite his best efforts, Wonwoo doesn’t sleep well that night. He falls asleep quickly, but then wakes hours before dawn, sweating and shaking, torn from a dream that dissipates the moment he opens his eyes. All he can recall are hands that singe his skin like branding irons, leaving twisted lines behind, symbols that he can’t decipher. The more he tries to remember them, the faster they fade from his memory.

He tosses and turns after that, until his mind returns to more comforting, familiar territory. He pictures you dancing in the firelight. Then he pictures you standing in front of your tent again, hand outstretched, only this time it’s Wonwoo who takes it. You lead him into your tent, and turn away from him, wordlessly asking for him to undo your corset. He imagines your skin to be smooth and warm beneath his hands, your lips soft against his. He fantasizes about you on top of him, hips rolling smoothly as you ride his cock, and he strokes himself until he’s spent and can sleep again.   

At work, he’s a zombie, mindlessly going through the repetitive motions on the assembly line. Shik is out again, but he doesn’t volunteer to cover for him. When it’s time to clock out, Wonwoo declines his other coworker Jeonghan’s invitation to go out for a drink and heads straight home, craving some peace and quiet.

He heads for the couch after dinner, but finds he’s too restless to relax, amped up with unexplainable energy. Instead of passing out in front of the tv like he expected he would, he ends up pacing around his living room. He needs to get out of his house and burn this off. It’s a nice evening, so maybe he should go for a walk. And, well, if he’s going to do that, why not go back to the Menagerie? It’s a nice place to walk around, and besides, you’re there. He’d love to see your pretty face again. Maybe tonight he’ll actually speak to you.

The barker winks at him as he enters the tent, as if he and Wonwoo have a shared secret. It leaves Wonwoo feeling a bit unnerved, but he puts it out of his mind as he takes a seat in the front row again. Chan was right - nothing beats sitting front row center for your act. He longs to feel your heat on his skin again.

Tonight, you perform a new trick, taking pair of fans and lighting the ends, then twirling until the fire swirls around you. You toss the fans over your head and catch them with ease, then spin again, sending sparks flying in every direction.

Wonwoo sits forward in his seat, wanting against reason to catch one. 

Again, your act is over too quickly, and the rest of the show flies by as well. When you come out for the final bows, he decides he can’t go home until he’s spoken to you. He doesn’t know how long the circus will be in town - the Menagerie sprung up without any announcement. It could all be gone tomorrow, taking you with it, and what will he do then? The thought fills his veins with dread cold as ice.

Hurriedly, he stands and makes his way to the exit while the performers are still waving to the crowd. He circles around the tent to the back, where he knows you’ll be exiting, and then he waits, drumming up the courage to speak to you. He runs it through in his mind - he’ll introduce himself first, then shower you in compliments. He can picture your sweet smile already.

And if you’re so flattered that you want to accompany him for a drink this evening? Well, he’d like that very much.

The performers begin to trickle out of the tent. Wonwoo stands to the side, hands in his pockets, his body zinging with that peculiar energy from before. By all rights, he should be dead on his feet right now, yet he’s never felt more alive. He’s excited to finally talk to you, hear your voice, see your smile.

But the moment your eyes meet his, he’s so struck by your beauty that he stumbles over his words, his tongue heavy and dull in his mouth.

“H-hey, I’m - I mean hello, I’m - I - you were amazing tonight.” 

Your eyes sweep over him, and Wonwoo swallows, trying to regain control of himself, but it’s hard to do under your direct gaze. It sends him back to that moment you’d shared in the tent the first night he’d come to the circus. He wonders if you’re thinking about it now, too. Surely you recognize him?

“Thank you,” you finally say, voice lush like velvet, wrapping him in warmth. Since your act has no dialogue, he didn’t know what to expect when he finally heard you speak. But it suits you. “I’m pleased that you enjoyed the show.” 

“Yes, I did. It was…” Words fail him - how does he explain just how mesmerizing he found your act? Instead, he cuts to the chase. “I’m sorry, I don’t do this often, but do you - would you - “ 

You cut him off. “I think it’s going to rain soon.” Wonwoo’s heart falls in his chest, though the gentle smile you give him does help somewhat to cushion the landing. “I’m afraid I can’t get caught out in the rain. It’s not good for my act.” With a wink, you turn to leave. “Have a good evening.” 

Wonwoo panics. 

“I’m sorry, wait, please!” He jumps in front of you, holding his hands out, and then realizes you might think he’s reaching for you, like he intends to physically restrain you. But you don’t flinch or react in any visible way, standing your ground while Wonwoo lowers his hands. “Please, I just wanted to - to talk to you.” 

This isn’t how Wonwoo wanted this to go. He can feel everything slipping away - if he can’t get you to talk to him, how will he ever convince you to give him a chance? He never really focused on this moment in his fantasies. It was always glossed over, his dirty little mind eagerly skipping ahead.

“Is that what you really want?” you ask, eyebrow cocked, giving him a knowing look. 

Wonwoo flushes, ashamed, as if you can read his thoughts. He shakes his head, then stops and nods, then sighs. “I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” 

He meant that as an aside, but he’s a little too loud in his nervousness, and not only do you hear him, but you start to laugh. He’s crushed, ready to throw himself in front of the knife throwers and pray that they miss their marks, until your expression softens. 

“What’s your name?” 

“W-Wonwoo.” 

“Wonwoo.” He’s never heard anything as lovely as you saying his name. “You enjoyed the show tonight, Wonwoo?” 

He nods, a little too emphatically, and you laugh at him again, and god, he’s your willing clown now. Whatever it takes to keep you smiling like that. 

You favor him with another laugh, moving closer. “They say the weather will be fairer tomorrow. Will you come back and see me again?”

“Yes,” he replies eagerly, answering without stopping to think. Yes, of course he’ll come back, why wouldn’t he? He’d do anything you asked of him right now.

“Good,” you hum, nodding and smiling. Wonwoo catches a flicker of orange in your eyes as you step towards him. He holds his breath as your lips brush his cheek.

“I know you won’t let me down,” you murmur. “Until tomorrow, then.”

Your prediction was correct – not long after that, a cold rain begins to fall. The people around him run for the tents, laughing and shouting, moving quickly to beat the downpour. But instead of seeking cover, Wonwoo remains rooted to the spot, staring at where you’d disappeared between the tents, pressing his hand against the heat of your kiss.

“They found Shik last night,” Jeonghan says, taking a long drag off his cigarette. 

Wonwoo frowns. All day, the factory’s been buzzing like a hive, his coworkers droning to one another in muted voices while working. Shik’s been missing for four days now. Wonwoo doesn’t know Shik very well - they’ve never socialized outside of a few lunch breaks - but he’s never missed more than a day of work. Skipping four in a row can only mean trouble, and from the tone of Jeonghan’s opener, he surmises that this story won’t have a happy ending.

 “What happened?” 

Jeonghan exhales heavily, but is careful to blow away from Wonwoo’s face, knowing how much he hates smelling like smoke. (Although these days, he doesn’t mind too much the way the scent clings to his clothes.) Wonwoo joins Jeonghan on his cigarette breaks even though he doesn’t smoke, since Jeonghan’s his sole connection to the rumor mill. 

“They found him in the woods behind his house.” Jeonghan pauses before bringing his cigarette to his lips again. “He’s dead.”  

Wonwoo figured that was coming, given the atmosphere on the floor today, so his response isn’t quite what Jeonghan hoped for, only a quiet hum and a nod. The other man continues on with the grist undaunted. If he can't get a big reaction, Jeonghan will still settle for being the center of attention.  

“My cousin’s a rookie down at the station, and he was one of the cops called to the scene. He told me Shik was a fucking mess. Looked like he’d been wandering for days, clothes dirty and torn, one shoe missing.” Jeonghan shakes his head. “His face was bloody from bramble cuts, and they found ash on his lips.”

“On his lips?” Wonwoo echoes. The word triggers the memory of your lips on his cheek.

“Uh-huh. They don’t know why - someone said it could be from smoking, but that doesn’t make sense to me.” Jeonghan pauses again and Wonwoo waits with his patience cracking. He knows his friend enjoys having a captive audience, but he wishes Jeonghan would hurry up with his story. The sooner he gets back to the line, the sooner time he can return to the circus. He needs to see you. “Not that Shik was a smoker, anyway. You ever remember seeing Shik out here?” 

No, now that he thinks about it, he’s never once seen Shik out here by the loading docks, where all the smokers meet to puff their miserable shifts away. “That’s odd…” Wonwoo mumbles. He wants to be done with this conversation. 

“That’s not the strangest part.”

In spite of his impatience, he can’t help but ask. 

“What’s the strangest part?”  

Jeonghan grins, his eyes glimmering with the thrill that comes only from telling secrets, and leans forward, dropping his voice. “Don’t tell anyone, since the cops haven’t released any of this info to the public, but… Shik had a giant wound on his chest. Five points, like this.” He grips the center of his sternum through his shirt. “They thought it was a wild animal attack, something with claws or talons.  But when they looked under his fingernails, there were chunks of skin there.”

“Human skin?” Wonwoo blurts out. “Like a human attacked him?”

“That’s what you’d think, right? But turns out Shik had a big tattoo over his chest that got ripped through, and the skin in his nails? Had matching ink on it.”

Despite the lack of a breeze, the hairs on the back of Wonwoo’s neck stand up. “Holy shit.” 

“Yeah,” Jeonghan nods. The thrill has left him now. He takes a few more drags off his cigarette, then drops it, snuffing it out on the macadam. Wonwoo catches a brief flash of red in the embers. “What the hell could drive a man to claw his own heart out??”

Wonwoo keeps his word. He returns to the Menagerie that night and meets you outside the tent again. He didn’t think you could be any more beautiful, but the way your face lights up in recognition sends his heart soaring. You mention that you are hungry, and he offers to buy you anything you’d like to eat, but you shake your head.

“I’m craving something the Menagerie doesn’t offer,” you say, then gesture to the end of the field where your tent sits. “Will you come walk with me? I want to hear what you thought about the show tonight.”

He’d like nothing more than to stay with you, so he quickly agrees. As you lead him away from the main tent, he feels it again, that tug. But tonight, it doesn’t frighten him. If feels natural now, like it’s part of him. Like it’s right.

You lead him away from the main tent and he follows, rambling in his excitement, telling you how much he’s been enjoying the show, how all of the acts are incredible, but your routine is his favorite. He lets it slip that he’s been coming to the circus every night for a week now. He wonders if you think that’s sweet or strange. He can’t tell from your close-lipped smile.

He wants to ask so many questions. He wants to know where you’re from, how you became a fire breather, how you ended up in the Menagerie. But you don’t give any indication that you want to talk about yourself, or talk at all, period, content to let him prattle on. That’s fine, he’s willing to do whatever you want him to do. Isn’t that why he’s here tonight?

“Thank you for walking me home,” you say with a playful grin as the two of you reach your tent. “It can be such a long, lonely walk some nights.”

He hums, unable to suppress a smile. “I’m sure it is.” He glances around, finding that many of the other performers have already gone inside their tents. “Um, so, are you still hungry?” He would bring you anything your heart desires right now, as long as you don’t send him away for good. He really doesn’t want to go home right now, not when he’s had these precious few minutes basking in your presence. How can he possibly leave now?

You give him that enigmatic smile again. “Are you trying to invite yourself in?”  

“Yes. No. Fuck,” he swears, stumbling over his words, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to keep cursing, I’m just -”

The wind stirs, picking up red and gold leaves scattered around the edge of the field and tossing them in the air as you step towards him, taking his hand in yours. “I know what you want, Wonwoo. It’s okay.”

“You - you do?”

He’s surprised, so he’s unprepared for you to step towards him, and place your hands around his neck. Your kiss is soft and sweet, a simmering heat that draws him in like a moth to a flame. He wants more, so he wraps his arms around you, holding you close against him, and moans into your mouth as you lace your fingers through his hair and pull slightly. His reaction makes you laugh, and you lean back to look into his eyes.

“What would you give to be with me tonight?” 

“Anything. Everything,” he tells you. And he would, he’d do anything, he’d give you everything. He’d let himself be consumed by you. It’s a new feeling for him, and as much as it scares him, it excites him too, a fact that becomes even more evident when you feel his hardness pushing into your thigh. “Whatever you want.” 

“You?” you ask, both of your hands gripping the lapels of his jacket, keeping him close so you can rub your leg over him. “You’d give me all of you?” 

Isn’t that what he just said? “Yes, yes,” he gasps, impatiently throwing his hips forward to rut against you. Why are the two of you still standing here? He considers taking you by the hand to lead you to your tent, so he can show you exactly what he’s willing to give you right now, every throbbing inch of it, but before he can tear himself apart from you, you take the lead, grabbing his hand. 

“Show me.” 

The inside of your tent is very simple, just a small dressing area and a bed made of many cushions and furs piled on top of each other. The tent is lit by a single lamp hanging in the center. You don’t let go of his hand until you’re lying on the cushions, so he can lower himself on top of you. Beneath the ash and smoke that clings to your hair and clothes, he can smell something sweet, like roses, and he breathes you in deep.

He kisses you passionately, giving himself over to the feelings of desire that threaten to devour him whole. He runs his hands over your face, across your corseted breasts, up your bare thighs, fingers mapping every inch of you that he can touch. When you push him away and sit up, turning your back to him so he can help you out of your dress, he bites his tongue to prove to himself that he’s not dreaming. His fantasy has become reality. He can’t believe this is happening.

Once your dress is off, you lie back, and he exhales roughly. You’re a goddess, your bare skin radiant in the soft light. He doesn’t deserve to look at you like this - no one deserves to. He doesn’t know where the thought comes from, only that it is true. He decides right then and there to worship you - and maybe if he does, he can earn that right.

So he asks.

“What do you want?”

You open your arms. “Love me, Wonwoo.”

He does, and he will. There’s no hesitation in him now - he’s ready to give you his heart. He doesn’t stop to consider about how fast this is happening - how quickly his infatuation took him over, body and soul. He doesn’t worry about what will happen when the circus inevitably leaves. He doesn’t think at all.

Instead, he submits himself willingly to your waiting embrace. His hand slips between your thighs while he kisses you, and he catches every moan of yours with his greedy mouth. Your wetness coats his fingers, hot and slick, and he grows needy, needier than ever, and lines himself up so he can sink into you, letting your warmth envelope him completely.

“Wonwoo,” you cry out as he buries himself to the hilt, “yes, more, I need more!”

This moment is beyond anything he imagined. He beings to slide his cock in and out slowly, savoring the way your cunt hugs him tightly. He’s hot all over, sweating in the musky air of the tent. Beads of his perspiration roll off his nose and chin and land on your chest, and he gawks openly as you swipe through it with your hand, collecting the drops and bringing them to your mouth.

“More,” you demand, sucking his sweat off your fingertips.

Wonwoo groans brokenly. He presses your thighs back, spreading you open wider. He glides smoother, deeper, inside you, his pelvis bumping against yours at a speed that has you crying out with every thrust. He’s fighting like hell not to come right now. He needs to show you that he’s here for your pleasure and not the other way around.

He shifts the angle of his hips a little and drops a hand to your clit. As soon as he’s built up a good pace with his thumb, your mouth falls open, and he takes the opportunity to fill the space with his tongue.

And then - in his chest - that tug again - harder than before - oh god, it hurts so good - Wonwoo doesn’t want it to end.

He feels your hand pushing at him and he backs away in confusion, but you’re only trying to change positions, guiding him to lie on his back. You straddle him, and sink down on him quickly, to his immense relief, and start to ride. He grips your thighs so tightly that he’s afraid he might draw blood, but you don’t notice, or you don’t care, rolling your hips and tossing your head back in ecstasy.

“That’s it,” you pant, “more, give me more, give me everything!”

You arch your back and cry out as pleasure spreads through you. He feels you clenching and his eyes roll back as he fills you with his seed. His orgasm doesn’t crest, he just keeps coming and coming, and you haven’t stopped clenching, and there it is again, that pulling -

His vision goes black, but in the darkness, before he loses consciousness, he sees a spark.

When Wonwoo opens his eyes again, it’s morning. You’re lying next to him, sound asleep, covered in furs. He’s also blanketed, though he doesn’t remember lying down. He doesn’t remember a thing after making love to you, actually. He moves to sit up, but he’s lightheaded, a little dizzy. He supposes that’s no surprise after the exertion of last night. He also notices that his chest feels lighter now, like a weight has been lifted. Is this what love is?

He wonders if you have anything he can eat, as he’s suddenly starving. He shifts carefully, trying not to disturb you, but your eyes open anyway. You smile softly at him. Yes, this is love, he thinks, and bends to kiss you.

“That’s a lovely way to wake up,” you whisper against his lips. “How are you feeling? You fell asleep so quickly.”

He flushes, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I’m good. I’m a little hungry, though,” he admits sheepishly.

You nod. “I should imagine so,” you say, lifting a hand to touch him lightly, running your fingers over his chest. “You should get yourself some breakfast.”

He should also get to work - his shift starts in an hour, according to his watch. Or maybe he should call out and stay, keep you in these blankets all day.

“Do you want something? I could bring you something, we could eat together.” He makes the offer a little shyly, and you laugh, pressing gentle fingers to his cheek.

“You’re very sweet, but I’m not hungry. Besides, I have to get ready for my day, and I’m sure you do, too.”

He can’t hide his disappointment. But you sit up, the furs falling from your naked torso, and pull his face to yours for a lingering kiss.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, nudging his nose with yours before your lips touch his again, soft and yielding. “You’ve nothing to fret about. You’re mine now, and I’m yours.”

His head swims. The air in the tent is suddenly sweltering, and the scent of ash fills his nostrils. When he opens his eyes, he sees that orange glow in yours again, but then it’s gone. He’s relieved by your words, and sighs, nodding in agreement. You’re his and he’s yours. He’ll always be yours.

“I’ll come back tonight,” he promises.

You smile. “I know,” you hum, kissing him again. “And you’ll wait for me, won’t you?”

Of course he’ll wait for you, by the back of the tent. Nothing can keep him away.

All day, he replays the events of the previous night, looping the memories over and over in his head like a never-ending movie. He ignores Jeonghan’s questions and spends his shift silently lost in reverie, marking the time until he can return to the Menagerie and return to your arms again.

But when he arrives at the field, a fresh bouquet of red roses in his hand, he finds it empty. The circus is gone.

He falls to his knees. It can’t be. It’s too cruel, the thought of having you and losing you all in one night. How could this happen? Why didn’t you tell him you were leaving?

He recalls your parting words. You’ll wait for me, won’t you?

Yes. Yes, he will. He walks into the forest at the edge of the vacant lot and finds a tree to recline against. His chest starts to itch beneath his shirt, and he scratches at it absentmindedly. Yes, he’ll sit right here and wait for you to return to him, as long as it takes.

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2025 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[gentleisa]

pulling you loose - j.ww

pairing: wonwoo x fem reader rating: R, 18+, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT wc: 4.9K warnings: angst about a breakup, smut: kind of public sex (it happens in a room but it's technically in a public space), dirty talk, slightly possesssive, reader likes wonu's hands, thumb sucking, unprotected sex, he cums on her stomach, fucking from behind synopsis: : heartbreak means tying yourself back up in the hopes that someone will kindly unravel you again. you don't expect your unraveling to come in the form of the grandson of the lady who runs your local film developing studio. a/n: this is for the candy hearts collab hosted by @svthub this is for @lovelylonelinesssvt who was my lovely valentine for this collab! hi ella! surprise it's me your valentine. i sincerely hope you enjoy reading this as much as i had fun writing this <3 i hope you had a lovely valentine's day (sorry i'm a lil late!)

You feel the ache in your body as you wake up from another cry-induced nap on your couch. The feeling of your dried tears cracking across your cheeks. You look to your left and see that there's a mug with a sticky note attached to it on your magazine covered coffee table. A groan comes from you as you're leaning over to grab it.

"Drink this and stop thinking about him xx"

You smile at the kind gesture of your best friend. Sending her a quick thank you text, you stand up and peer into the mug. The smell of your favorite warm drink hits your nose and you're filled with a sense of comfort.

After letting the steaming mug wake you up, you decide to take her advice. You shouldn't think about your ex anymore. You remind yourself that sometimes things just don't work out. Surveying the state of your studio apartment, you wrinkle your nose at the result. Walking into the kitchen, you grab a sticky note and write the things that need to be done:

throw trash away

put clothes away

vacuum

Crouching down under the sink, you pull out two garbage bags. You replace the bin that's sitting in your kitchen and take the other empty bag to walk around your studio. There are empty candy wrappers and popcorn bags that litter the side of your couch, a reminder of your coping skills from the night before. Once you've filled it, you tie it up and set the two bags by the door. You strike a line through the first task.

You set out to tackle the second task: putting away the mountain of clothes that have accumulated. Deciding that you didn't want to work in silence, you pick a vinyl off the shelf to play. You've been a fan of analog media for most of your life, you don't remember what exactly started it but the fascination followed you into adulthood. The soft melodies of the first track flow through your speakers and you plop yourself at the foot of your bed to start sorting. You begin arranging the clothes in piles and fall into a rhythm: clothes being donated fell into a pile on your right and the ones you were keeping were being folded neatly into a stack. As you get to the end, a navy blue cardigan catches your attention. Gingerly you pick it up and fold it into your lap. This was the cardigan you wore the first time you confessed your feelings to Seungcheol.

You hold up one of the sleeves and see that the red star you'd stitched into the sleeve had a loose thread. You'd stitched the shape into the cardigan after Seungcheol noticed it when you were holding hands. In a cruel twist of fate, it was the also the same one you wore when he broke your heart. That was six months ago.

A laugh bubbles out of your throat at the timing the universe has. There's a small ache that knocks in your chest as you fold the sleeves in and you're confronted with the choice of keep or donate.

Before the ache can consume you, a loud thud outside your apartment breaks you out of your thoughts. The first thought in your brain is that the sweet old lady from across the way must have dropped something heavy. Your eyes flit to the trash bags by your door and figure you can inspect the source of the noise on your way out to the dumpster. You make your way outside with the bags of trash hooked onto your left arm.

What's outside your door is not the usual nice elderly woman that you're accustomed to, instead a man, an incredibly cute one, who is silently cursing himself. There's also a mess of groceries that have spilled out into hallway. The two of you make eye contact and he apologizes for the mess, you shrug and step around the mess to head downstairs and throw your trash out. Your mouth moves before your brain does and you tell him that you'll be back to help. There's a slight skip in your step as you bounce back up the stairs. You round the corner and find the stranger on his knees, carefully placing the groceries back into the brown paper bag. Rushing over, you grab the rest of the items and hand them to him. He takes them gratefully and offers you a smile that warms you on the inside.

"Thanks again, you didn't have to," he says sheepishly. The baritone in his voice taking you a bit by surprise.

"Oh, no worries!" You shoot back a smile.

The two of you stand up at the same time, but there's barely any space between the two of you. You pick up the scent of cherries and something musky that makes you melt. You wish him a good day and head back inside. There's a smile on your face as you press your back against your door. Shaking your head, you pad over to your bed to finish the second task on your list. Picking up the pile of folded clothes, you swing open your closet door with the back of your heel. You place things in their designated spaces until you're finished. Padding over to the kitchen you cross off the task as you're pulling out a bin for the pile of clothes you've decided to donate. You leave it right by the door, so you don't forget it the next time you're out.

There is one last task left and you head back to your closet to dig out the vacuum. You make sure that most of the larger things on the floor are picked up and out of the way. You also take a second to pause the record that's playing since you won't be able to hear it over the roar of the vacuum. Thankful that you had a cordless vacuum, you begin the final task on your list.

As you're moving around, you hit your coffee table and some of the magazines on it fall to the floor. Switching off the vacuum, you kneel down to stack the magazines together. One of them slid a bit under your couch, so you reach in to swipe it back out. As you're reaching in, you feel a small plastic cylinder at the edge of the magazine. Wrapping your fingers around it, you pull your arm back to find a film canister. The label on it is pretty much smudged off so you have no clue how dated this thing is. You place the newly found item on your coffee table and finish vacuuming.

When you finally finish, you find yourself quite hungry. Opening your fridge, you are pleasantly surprised when you find a tupperware filled with your favorite food. The glass container decorated with another sticky note, which you can only assume is from your best friend. You take the container out, peel the note off and pop the food into the microwave. While waiting for your food, you take a look at the note she left behind.

"Because sometimes, we just need our favorites to cheer us up xx"

You smile and send her yet another thank you text. She responds by calling you. Your phone rings at the same time that your microwave beeps — you quickly put her on speakerphone, grab the food, and ask about her day. As you let her ramble about her job and the incompetence of her coworkers, you're shoving food into your mouth. The heat of it burning your tongue and you're quick to shout a curse. You hear her giggle on the other end and pout at the fact that she's laughing at your pain. She turns the conversation on you and asks what you did with your day. You run through the task list— talked about the cute guy who spilled his groceries in front your door, the fact that your navy blue cardigan was part of TWO emotional heights in your relationships, and the random film canister you found. You even ask her if the canister was hers. She replies that she doesn't remember leaving a canister at yours and suggests that you take it over to Carat Lab. Hitting your kitchen countertop, you squeal at her good idea, bringing up that you'd been meaning to get over there to get your camera looked at. The two of you wrap up your conversation after making plans to see each other.

It's the following morning and you decide, that it was time to get your camera checked out. On your last trip, it had slipped out of your hands and since then the shutter has been acting wonky. You take a quick shower and get dressed.

You walk into Carat Lab expecting to find the small old lady that usually runs the counter (who also happens to be your neighbor) but instead you find the incredibly cute stranger from yesterday. He has a film camera taken apart and he's tinkering with it. Immediately you notice his hands and how gentle they are while he's holding the camera. What really pulls your attention, is the vein that runs along his thumb when he has to apply a bit of force to close the camera. You don't even notice yourself biting your lip until you feel the pain of your tooth digging into your skin. Surveying the shop, you find that no one else is working the counter so you're stuck walking up. The stranger with the nice hands doesn't notice you immediately, so you lightly knock on the glass display. He looks up with a slightly shocked look on his face, that forms into recognition.

"Stalking me now, are we?" He says with a smirk perched on his face. Shooting back a look of disbelief, you immediately launch into your story to dispel any notion that you had followed him. Opening up your purse you fish out your camera, making sure to be careful, and place it on the glass.

"See? I have a perfectly good, non-creepy reason to be here. If anything I should be asking you that question!" You huff at him, questioning where the grandma who usually works the store is. Chuckling to himself, he gestures at a framed picture behind him on the wall.

"Who? Her? That's my grandmother," while he explains his relationship to her, he continues to work on the camera from earlier. Your eyes move back to his hands and you're mesmerized by the meticulousness and gentleness he has. While you're watching him, you recollect that Mrs. Jeon had talked about her grandchildren before. She'd shown you pictures, but they were all from when the kids were younger, so you didn't really know what they looked like.

Until now. And god, did this grandkid age well.

Pulling yourself out of your thoughts, he introduces himself with a hand extended to you.

"I'm Wonwoo, and you are?" Taking his hand, you shake it and give him your name. You don't miss the small bit of heat that settles at the bottom of your stomach when your hands touch.

"Well, for the record, if you were stalking me, I wouldn't have minded." He says as he gives you a wink. The tips of your ears go red. Finishing up with the camera he'd been working on, he asks you to hand yours over. Gently, you slide it to him. He picks it up, giving you a compliment on the model you own.

"I don't see this one too often, she's an oldie." He smiles and it's blinding. After placing the camera on a mat, he turns and grabs a small toolbox from behind him. Popping it open, he plucks a small screwdriver to open the body of your camera. Once he has it open, he bends down to take a look at the camera. After a few moments, he picks up some other tools and starts to perform what looks like surgery on your camera.

"Your shutter is definitely broken. I can fix it but I'll need to order a specific part to replace the spring mechanism. It'll take me a bit of time…" He continues telling you that since your camera is quite niche, finding spare parts can be difficult. You nod and reply that you don't mind waiting. He puts your camera back together and places it on a working table behind him. He asks if there's anything else that he can do for you and you fish out the film canister in your left pocket.

"I found this the other day and I honestly have no clue what's on it so I'd love to get it developed," you offer him a kind smile and the plastic. He takes it with a nod and informs you that both your camera and this roll of film will be ready in between one and a half to two weeks. Pulling out a form from a shelf behind him, he slides it to you.

"It's just so we can call you once your things are ready. Don't worry, totally professional," he jokes with a wink. Smiling as you take the form, you quickly fill it out. After you slide back the piece of paper, he tells you that he'll see you soon and you reply with a quick nod. You begin to make your way out of the shop, but call out to him just before you exit.

"For the record, if you decided to be unprofessional, I wouldn't mind," you say with a wink that mirrored his from earlier.

A few hours after you leave the shop you hear a ping from your phone. You roll over from your bed and see a text from an unknown number.

Is asking you to dinner tonight also unprofessional?

There is a cheesy grin on your face as you reply to him.

Maybe. But like I said I don't mind ;)

The rest of your day is spent flirting through text messages with Wonwoo. Eventually you settle on the details. You calculate that you have about two hours to get ready. You thank the stars that you'd washed your hair that morning. You pull out a black dress that you know makes you look incredible. You lay it on your bed and continue to get ready. As the clock nears six, you're doing one last check in the mirror.

A knock interrupts you. Sauntering over to your front door and the sight that greets you is delectable. Your date is dressed in a black long sleeve button up and black pinstripe pants. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off the hands that you've become enamored with. You begin to feel a bit of shame that you're checking him out with the same energy of a starved bear and a piece of meat, but then you notice he's doing the same to you. His eyes are dark as they rake up and down your figure. The feeling of heat between your thighs making itself known again.

"You look… Wow." He admits. Flashing a confident smile you share the same sentiment. Distracted by his gaze, you grab a random cardigan off the back of your door and make your way outside. As you walk down the stairs, you swear you can feel the heat of his gaze.

Dinner is filled with pleasant conversations with an underlying tension so hot and heavy that you have to excuse yourself to the restroom.

When you return back to your table, you find that not only has Wonwoo ordered the two of you a dessert, he's also paid the bill. You chastise him and he retorts back that his grandmother would never let him hear the end of it, if he let you pay a cent. You oblige him by accepting this gesture on the condition you pay for the next date.

"A second date? Consider me lucky," he muses as you're taking a bite of the chocolate cake he ordered. You chuckle as this happens and this leaves a bit of frosting on the corner of your mouth that you don't notice.

He does.

"Oh you've got-" he points to his face. Mortified you try and wipe at the spot. By the look on his face, it doesn't seem like you've gotten all of it.

"Here, let me." Scooting closer to you, he brings his had to your face and his thumb swiped at the spot you missed. It grazes your lip and the tension in the room comes to a head when you suddenly take his thumb into your mouth. You swipe at the frosting with your tongue, and you meet his eyes as you do. Taking note of Wonwoo, you see him just as flushed, but his eyes are dark.

Releasing his thumb with a slight pop, you flash him a smirk. "Thanks."

He nods, taking a small breath. There's a split second of frenzy before the two of you are rushing to his car. Wonwoo guides you in front of him, his large hand warm and possessive on the small of your back. Still a gentleman, he opens the car door for you and you slide in. The entire drive, his hand is on your thigh, gradually rising higher.

Giggles are shared as you race up the stairs to your studio. As you fumble with the key, Wonwoo is pressing into you from behind, nipping at your ear and clawing your cardigan off. He gets it halfway off when you get your key into the door and unlock it. You move forward but find yourself pulling on something heavy. Looking down you notice that your cardigan is caught on his belt. Giving it a slight tug, you hear the sure snap of the thread. The ruined cardigan was tomorrow's problem.

It had been six days since your dinner date and it had been radio silence from Wonwoo. Pondering what could've gone wrong, you recount the night.

Dinner was great.

The sex was even better.

The morning after was pleasant as you shared a cup of coffee. Hell you even walked him to his car after he said he had to go back to the photo lab.

You frown as you toss your phone on your bed, as you've refreshed your notification center another time with no new messages. Flopping back on your bed, you land with a soft thud and a small exhale. Six seconds later, there's a ping to break the silence. If anyone else was around, you would be embarrassed at how fast your hand shoots out for your phone.

Hi this is Wonwoo from Carat Lab

The smile doesn't last long once you read the rest of the message.

Your items are ready for pick-up. We'll send another reminder in 3 days. Thank for you choosing us for your photo needs!

You scoff at the message and get dressed to go collect your items. As your walking out you almost slip on a cardigan that was lying on the floor. Picking it up, you inspect the fabric and there's a confused look on your face when you see the navy blue cardigan on your floor.

The one that you'd been thinking about getting rid of. The one that Seungcheol broke your heart in.

As you fold the cardigan, you look at the sleeve and see that the heart you'd stitched was pretty much pulled loose. For what feels like the hundredth time your brows scrunch up in confusion. You don't remember how it could've gotten this way.

Then the memory hits you. The sound of the snap from the night with Wonwoo rings clear in your ears. You laugh to yourself but it's cut short when you remember that the other half of your tango has been ignoring you for some reason.

Pushing the door open, you expect to see Wonwoo but you're greeted with an empty shop. You reason that he's likely developing film in the back. As you come up to the register you notice a sign that says "Press this button if no one's at the front". Before you're able to push the button, Mrs. Jeon greets you.

"Hi honey! You here to pick up your film? I thought I saw your name on a receipt earlier!" She coos at you while opening a binder. As she flips through, she asks how you've been and what you'd been up to. While you're updating her, you look for any sign of Wonwoo being around. Your shoulders slightly slump when you come up empty.

"Hmmm, I don't see your film but your camera is definitely ready. I'm about to head out for the day, but one of my grandkids is probably in the back working. Give me a second dear." She smiles at you sweetly and yells something towards the back.

You hear the unmistakable baritone of Wonwoo's voice, yelling back, the sound getting louder as he appears. The two of them speak in Korean, you don't understand much of what they're saying, but based off the tuts of her tongue and the way he pleads with her you can tell he's not exactly happy to see you.

"I'm heading out dear, but Wonwoo here will help you," she shoves him towards the register. She gives your hand a light squeeze as she leaves.

The anger must be radiating off you because he speaks with caution.

"Your film is taking a bit to develop, but your camera's ready if you wanted to pick it up now. Or you can come back later-"

Not wanting to dance around each other, you jump the gun.

"What happened? Didn't peg you to be a hit and quit it kind of guy." Your tone is cold and your arms are crossed.

Instead of answering, he backs up and opens the door to the developing lab. Your interest is piqued so you follow him in. The room is pretty dark, save for the red light that helps the film develop. Following Wonwoo, your jaw drops when you make out the image of the hanging negatives. Strung along the room are pictures of you and Seungcheol. Your heart sinks when you realize that these were from last summer, when the two of you took a trip to a small beach town nearby to celebrate your anniversary. The tears begin to pool at the corners of your eyes.

"I can explain," you whisper softly, trying to hide the shakiness in your voice.

"Oh this I've got to hear," you flinch at the his tone. But it doesn't stop you from telling him the truth.

"I swear I didn't know what was on that roll. I wouldn't do something like that." You admit as you finish explaining. You're sniffling by now and swaying on the balls of your feet. When he doesn't immediately respond, you take it as rejection.

Dejected, you start to turn around to find the exit, but you feel his hand cup your cheek. He leans his forehead against yours, the red light reflecting off his glasses, and softly mutters.

"Well, now I feel like a capital A asshole."

You silently giggle and it forces the tears out from your eyes, which he immediately swipes away with his thumb.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. You squeeze the arm that's cupping your cheek in acknowledgement.

"For what it's worth, I do still like you. Honestly seeing these made me jealous that someone else had your heart," he confesses. You couldn't see, but you could tell he was blushing. Remembering the other pictures you'd taken on that trip, it was your turn to blush.

"Have you finished developing all the pictures on the roll?" You ask timidly. You could hear the smirk on his face. Dropping his hand from your face, he takes your hand and leads you to the sink where they held the stop bath. Hanging from a string, fully illuminated by the red light, is a picture of you from behind in a dark colored bikini. At this angle, you looked like Venus herself.

"I gotta say," Wonwoo says from behind you, breath hot against your neck, "this one is my favorite."

"Not mad about this one huh?" You tease, pressing your ass against him. His hands fly to your hips and squeeze. Your pulse quickens and you feel your heartbeat thrum at your core. His hand snakes along your front and grazes your lip, without even asking, you take it into your mouth and suck. You twist around and run your hands along his front, squeezing him through his jeans and he lets out a groan that sounds like music to your ears.

He pulls away from you for just a second and in that second everything stands still.

"You sure about this?"

Grabbing his belt you pull him towards you and kiss him. Everything happens in a frenzy. Your hands fighting to take off each other's clothes. When he wins, he growls at the sight of you wearing nothing underneath. He takes your boobs in his large hands and squeezes, eliciting a moan from you.

"Fuck these look so good in my hands pretty." You whine for him.

The sound conveying a simple message: I need you now.

He gets the hint and flips you around. Pushing you against the counter, he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him. Slipping his free hand down your back, he spreads your legs and plays with your wet pussy. He groans at the sensation, which only furthers your desire. You whine once more and start to voice your frustration but then he slams himself to the hilt. The stretch burns deliciously and you find yourself squeezing around him.

"Taking it so good pretty girl, this what you wanted," he taunts and your only response is a high pitched moan. Your sounds spur him on and he pulls you even closer, forcing you to arch even more for him.

You grip the counter for balance with your left hand and the force of Wonwoo makes the pictures along the wall shake. Your right hand is gripping the hand that's splayed across your belly. The angle at which he's pistoning into you, makes white spots dance across your vision.

"Fuck, fuck Wonwoo!" You moan and feel the band in your belly start to tighten up. One of the pictures falls off the wall and it's a picture of you and Seungcheol. Wonwoo crumples it and throws it in a random direction. Somehow this random accident, sets something off in him. Nipping at your ear, he waxes poetic about fucking you so good that you can't think about anything but him and his dick. You thought it was impossible but you get even wetter at his words.

He pulls out of you and you whine at the loss of contact. You felt like he was defying time with how quick he spins you around and hoists you onto the counter. Slipping back in with ease, he continues to ram into you. He grips your thighs so forcefully, that you're sure they'll leave marks and this brings you to a higher plane of pleasure. You throw your head back and scream his name.

He grips your neck and angles your head down, forcing you to look at him. In red shadows, you see the raised lines of his veins bulging from the way he's holding you and you can't help but drool. Your pussy gushes and flutters around him. He eggs you on, lacing praise in between kisses. Cocking his head back towards the pictures and utters a line that gets the band in your belly to snap.

"I can't wait to take you there and fuck you so good that you'll never think about anyone else but me at that beach." He says in a register so low and sinister that you can't help but cum around him. As you're riding through your orgasm, you clamp down on him and he lets out a deep guttural groan. Arching into him, you tell him to chase after his own high. By the sounds coming from him, you can tell he's close.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum," he moans into your neck. You tell him to cum on your stomach and he pulls out just in time to spill on your tummy. Your breaths are heavy and your chests are heaving. Pulling out of you with a slick sound, he brings over a tissue to clean you up. The two of you get dressed, giggling as Wonwoo peppers your cheek and neck with kisses.

The reality of your location dawns over the two you at the same time and you break out into laughter. The two of you slip out of the darkroom to see the "OPEN" sign on the door flipped and a note on the counter.

"Closed up for you. Hope you were safe ;) - Grandma"

A squeal comes from you as Wonwoo hangs his head in embarrassment.

"Your camera is actually ready. Did you want to take it home?" He asks sheepishly. You giggle and give him a peck on the cheek.

"Bring it by mine later? I have some pictures I wanna take," you say with a wink as you walk around the counter to leave. Pushing the glass door open, you turn and call out to him.

"Bring my developed film too?" You tease. As you close the door, you hear him yell that you weren't funny. You shake your head and laugh as you make your way home, excited for what else the night could bring the two of you.

taglist: @livmarauder @mellowamour @lunaxgyu @cherrymayz @choco-scoups @luvrung @chogiwaw special thanks to: liv and may for beta reading for me, @hopecutie and liv for helping with my banner!