gyu enthusiast

[tinningtus]

𝑆𝑀𝑂𝐾𝐸 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐺𝑈𝑁𝑃𝑂𝑊𝐷𝐸𝑅 ࣪˖𖤝

C.BG

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜱᴡᴀᴛ!ʙᴇᴏᴍɢʏᴜ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꨄ︎ ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: Beomgyu is beginning to think this job isn’t for him anymore, he no longer has the same passion he once did when he initially joined the force. Call it destiny or divine intervention, but when his mission pushes you into his life he begins to rethink everything he once knew…

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: mature themes, dark content, themes of depression, swat missions, mentions of murder, abuse, kidnapping, one small mention of suicide, starvation and eating disorder, alcohol consumption, therapy, selective mutism, workplace complications, jjun cameo(he’s kinda arrogant in this im so sorry😭), slow burn romance, gyu is honestly so sweet and attentive, kissing, pet names, NSFW, minors do not interact, slight body worship, slight breast play, fingering, unprotected sex, emotional sex, soft dom!gyu, multiple orgasm (f.rec), creampie, cockwarming, oral (f.rec), very sweet aftercare, lots of reassurance

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 21.2k

𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 ⚠︎

𝙆𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙮 𝙨𝙖𝙮𝙨…⋆˚࿔ whoever made gyu dress in the swat uniform for the fan signs I owe you a big smooch bc I had the vision for this fic as soon as those pics were released, please take care to read all the warnings though when you read since there are some mature and sensitive themes, if you’re still good to read I hope you enjoy!! 𑣲⋆

honestly considering making a part 2 to this or at least a follow up cause I was just so taken with this story, or perhaps this is the perfect ending? Idk feel free to lmk if you guys think this is the right conclusion im indecisive hehe ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡

Clocking in felt different today, like the gut drop just before plunging from a height you can't climb back up from. No gliding wings for the fall, just plumes and feathers flitting with no chance grasping hands could salvage the devastation. Destined for the concrete. At least, that's what the coffee at the station tastes like, all grit and gravel passing down his throat, settling so bitterly in his stomach but he's in desperate need of the caffeine so it's all means to an end each swig he takes.

The first time might've been easier than this, when he was fresh faced and only the books and training served as his guide, when anticipation to achieve drove him toes forward into the missions. Now it's only apprehension. Complete the task at hand and he'll be lucky if only a handful of variables change while he's on the field.

It's not how he ever predicted he'd feel this early into his career, perhaps when he's a seasoned agent with grey hair and cynically inclined he'd harbour this sour sensation. The ripe age of 25 and only 6 years in seems like insult to injury, he's not so far lost from that impressionable 19 year old straight off the back of training, is he? The one who bid his family in Daegu farewell for the blinding lights of Seoul, the gratification that he was to make his mark in the world, not on a global scale that the centuries after him would remember, but one significant enough to the city he was now situated, the people who reside there beside him.

That sentiment; the one where he's a helping hand has to be the reason he keeps going, one foot in-front of the other. Without it, he'd have quit years ago, packed up his lonely apartment in Seoul to go back to his ancestral home, perhaps take after his father in business like his brother had. That seems like the smart, logical decision to him now, one where he doesn't toss and turn on a mattress too firm despite the years he's slept on it. Then again, he'd actually have to lay down on it in the early hours of morning to soften it, not spend his nights with a coffee in hand over his balcony, observing the city still alive before him with traffic and bustle. It settles the torment of never being able to drift off naturally, simply waiting for the comedown of caffeine in his system to finally cram in 3-4 hours most nights, if he's lucky.

Irony for the wicked that neither him nor the city itself could rest.

His apartment is thinly furnished but at least his coffee machine pumps a beverage that's actually drinkable, nothing like the one he's just downed, tossing the cup to the trash as the operations room fills out, seats taken and boards cleared for further instructions. The bitter caffeination soaking through his veins is doing its job already it seems, his nerves are alight the moment a palm clasps to his shoulder, jittery with the action of it.

"A smile, no? We're finally gonna catch that fucker" Yeonjun - an overzealous coworker of Beomgyu's barks up beside him, watching around as colleagues filter through the rows of folding chairs. A few years older in age and a few younger in years on the field, he still holds that eagerness Beomgyu thinks is all behind him now.

For what is there to smile over? The target is a wanted criminal convicted of previous crimes already, all in which pail to what he's been evading ever since release; at least four bodies left in his wake and at least one other suspected. Yeonjun knows the case as they all do; they've been following his trail of breadcrumbs for months, finally pinning him to a hideout they're about to clear out. So really, Beomgyu misses the part he's suppose to say cheese and raise cheeks over.

The part where the mission has been recently adjusted to accommodate the possibility of a rescue? Unknowing if they will walk into another victim?

If Beomgyu was a betting man he'd give Yeonjun another few years before he's just as empty as he is and the thought of another rescue only sends him down a demoralised spiral instead of raging fists, though perhaps he's just destined to be another personality all together. Melancholy always seems to cling to Beomgyu like glue to an envelope, no matter how he tries to unstick, failed missions will do that to you after so long. Yeonjun seems headstrong in a way that perhaps he never has, the few missions they've been assigned to together have told him so.

"I'll smile when missions done" Beomgyu lightly dismisses, just in time for the swat team commander to call everyone in, resting against the desk at the head of the room as he awaits the last few to take a seat. Both Beomgyu and Yeonjun comply, seating at the edge of the last row where the remaining chairs lay.

The commander clears his throat, gathering attention towards his way "this is it. The mission we've been building up to for months now. I expect every single one of you is prepared for tonight..." each little murmur between the rows dies down, awaiting a refresh of the plan.

"I'm sure you all got the update yesterday, so you all know we're adjusting for a rescue team. The following will be tasked with that rescue while the other teams focus on apprehension and evacuation: Choi Beomgyu, you'll be squad sergeant so the rest of you will answer to him for the duration of mission, your underlings are Lee Seunghan, Han Riwoon, Kang Jeongmin and Choi Yeonjun" indeed Beomgyu received the update that he'd be leading the squad but it appears the man beside him hadn't, throwing hands up in protest at the commanders instructions.

"This is bullshit, you know I'd be of more value on the warrant squad" what he means to say; 'there's no glory for me in the rescue of lowly citizens, the prestige of apprehending high risk targets validates my virility and masculinity far more'. It's so ridiculous a scoff almost drops from Beomgyu's mouth, reeling it in when the commander bats back at Yeonjun,

"Your squad is final - that goes for everyone! Anyone else got a problem with that, you know where the door is!"

With a roll of his eyes, Yeonjun leans back in his chair with arms crossed and a face of thunder, little better than a child refused play time. Beomgyu knew going into this job there'd be pompous and proud colleagues fighting for the appraisal of the higher ups, concerned only with hazards of mission rather than the completion of it. Whatever looks best on paper and from the mouths of self important lips. What people like Yeonjun seem to so conveniently forget is that their names are on the report all the same, whether it be rescue or warrant arrest.

It's not quite as flashy though, is it; stealth over guns ablaze, face first into the danger. If that's all this was to him though, Beomgyu could think of a few other suggestions to get the adrenaline kicking that won't affect his competence on this mission, riding a rollercoaster is a good place to start, perhaps if that isn't enough he could always try bungee jumping.

Alas, Beomgyu is stuck with the likes of a colleague like him. As an underling no less, so it should be fun trying to wrangle such a personality.

"Now you've all settled down again..." a glare towards Yeonjun "...each squad will do their own rundown while we do equipment checks, I expect the rest of you know where to filter to. Sergeants: check in with each other once you're ready to roll out. Okay, let's finally get this guy, boys, it's what you've been preparing for!" The commanders clap booms across the room and ignites everyone to stand to attention, flooding past each other to make way to the armoury.

"C'mon then, serge, got a squad to lead" Yeonjun huffs without even glancing towards him, faux revery and just a twinge of resentment he's failing to conceal as he shuffles into line, not bothering to await instruction. Beomgyu lets its slide, he hasn't given any formal instruction yet so there isn't anything to reprimand, though as soon as the van rolls out he'll expect compliance before everything else.

Squads quickly form within the armoury, loading up with differing equipment for differing tasks, the heavy duty rifles and firearms suit up the warrant squad since they expect to face the brunt of action, though everyone dawns the same chest rigs designed for rigorous combat and gunfire, prepared for each and every outcome.

The evacuation squad circles around Beomgyu as they all kit up, listening intently to their own instructions "once I receive order that the warrant squad have eyes on the target, that's when we go in, we move as a unit until I say so and then we split. Your only goal is to locate the suspected victim, got that? No hero shit, alright - just call in when you have eyes on her" he knows there's certain ears on his squad that require the reminder.

Feeding the radio wire behind his ear, flicking long auburn hair away to have it stick and sit comfortably he continues "suspect is a young female, early 20's, possibly located in the basement of the hideout but could be anywhere so stay vigilant" when he picks up his silenced pistol, he catches the scorn in Yeonjun's face while wistfully glancing towards the AR's slung around the warrant squads shoulders, still listening yet distant in spirit.

"Remember - suspect is gonna be petrified so try not to scare her more, these are only precautions..." Beomgyu displays the pistol to the squad, a one hand chamber check not for flaunt but to save time since from the corner of his eyes he can see the rest of the squads are completing final preparations, ever observant to his surroundings.

"Okay, any questions before we roll out?" Holstering his weapon and hooking up the radio to his rig, Beomgyu scans his subunit, all dismissive with "no, serge!" so he leads them towards their designated truck in the garage, filing them one by one into the back.

Beomgyu hangs around the rear doors, watching as other squadrons fill out and compile respectively into their vehicles, finally hopping aboard once the commander gives a nod. He climbs up, taking a seat in the corner after tapping the window to alert the drivers to follow the convoy of trucks pulling away from their parked spots, tipping over ever so slightly before seating himself as the vehicle engine revs up.

"You think this'll go as planned, serge? I heard this guy always has a backup plan for possiblities like this" one of his younger subordinates, Riwoon leans in with elbows to his knees to question, swaying slightly in place with each bump in the road as the van speeds through the streets.

Beomgyu sees a lot of his own qualities reflected in the fledgling, fresh to the force yet lacking not in the introspective pondering he too joined with. In fact it's one of the few redeeming traits he still carries to this day, perhaps his last remaining one that still makes him suited to this profession. He hopes if Riwoon is to loose the rest like he has, he'll keep that attribute at least.

"I think it never goes as we plan it to. It's just ends with either a desired outcome or shit hitting the fan" Beomgyu catches the despondent glance he receives back; it's only the kids 3rd mission, perhaps he should reel in his pessimistic leaning attitude for the sake of morale. There's a shudder in his bones to think he'd be the catalyst for another cynical agent like him in the field.

"Just follow protocol, we're on track for success - we're ahead of him this time..."

Riwoon nods at that, settling back against the van wall as it falls to silence once more, broken only by the hum of the engine and occasional horns through the traffic.

Beomgyu swallows hard, closing eyes once the van slides into position, the pit in his stomach dropping for a second time today alone before it kicks him into action; if not for the sake of himself but for his team that he now has to lead through the battlefield. Ignoring the shake in his hand, he slides the backdoor open for the squad, everyone jumping out and pressing on their helmets, stood in attention while the warrant squad enters the building.

Waiting until the very last moment, Beomgyu runs a hand through his hair before placing his helmet on and adjusts his wire feeding to his eardrums, the static interference from the radio comms like nails to a chalkboard. The channels flicker before he settles on the one needed, the one he awaits a signal from despite the way that niggling voice in the back of his cranium screams at him to run from. Tapping foot against gravel in this dingy parking lot; as the last squad to enter, it's disturbingly silent when there's not even a hint of gunfire inside. With the way Riwoon looks to him - it's clear he's unsure if that's a good sign or not.

The crack in the radio relieves him of the time spent wondering, yet instead his call tag only fills Beomgyu with dread "send your squad in, Daegu-rescue-5! We've suspended the suspect!" 

"Roll in everyone!" Habitual instinct barks up for the side in Beomgyu he's unburying to complete this mission to a first rate standard, unholstering the silenced pistol as it leads into the building, barrel first and hushed footfalls.

The smoke grenades the previous squads used have left a thick haze settled low, so close to the ground the only thing visible past the fog is knee high figures slicing through. As coveted as shadows in the dead of night, five shapes almost resembling humans pass stealthy through hallways unfamiliar, ships in steady tides. Raising two fingers up, Beomgyu signals to split, squad members dividing up with practised ease, sectioning the search area until Beomgyu takes the first step down towards the basement.

Smoke clouds hover at each step, the heat signals through his night vision glasses bare the burden of penetrating the space for him, perfectly precise movements with his gun still raised and a finger the stark opposite of trigger happy as it sits beside it, ready to pull if needed nevertheless.

There's more angles to clear than he initially expected on the climb down here, taking one at a time to reveal nothing but the emptiness of an unfurnished basement, there must have been haste in the decision for the suspect to relocate here, burst pipes and exposed brick all serve as inhabitable, at least for those willing.

But he isn't searching for someone willing, he's in search of a victim, a possible body retrieval; a pursuit not for the faint of heart and his is already littered with scars that refuse to heal over.

With every passing corner there's trepidation - a foreboding sensation that something is about to drop in the still ocean of smoke, feeding the creatures below the surface a meal of suspense.

Until his heat sensors spark up a tender amber, far from the strong dilution of orange and reds that radiate from a healthy temperature, nestled deep in the corner of the furthest room. Every step towards the source is surreptitious, barely tapping the ground through heavy duty boots, every possibility runs at a thousand miles an hour despite his gut knowing already this is exactly what he's searching for.

Through his vision; a girl - so malnourished and feeble her shoulder blades poke through her back, contoured for him to see even through the low light. Balled up and shrunk in on herself, lungs barely expanding to intake oxygen through the haze encircling, he guesses she must be at least 10 breaths away from stopping altogether so he strides the last few steps towards her with more haste than he'd taken all night, kneeling before her.

You're emaciated, debilitated - not deaf. You hear his approach and it's so strangely apparent that he doesn't move like how your captor does, the moment smoke filled your vision you understood something was different about this evening, morning? There's no windows down here to witness the rising sun so you could only take a guess at the hour. You've learned not to bother anymore - just recoil at any voice that rings out, even if there's a mask muffling it like the one speaking to you now.

"We're here to take you somewhere safe, let me help you get there" you've heard those words in your mind as you dream up scenarios that don't end with you in body bag over again so it's difficult to trust they're ever real, just another learning curve to ignore and when he reaches a gloved hand out to break through your unresponsiveness, you flinch away, cowering further into yourself.

Beomgyu has seen so many reactions to hostage retrievals little surprises him anymore, though you; well he's never experienced someone react like you have. Most launch themselves towards him as they recognise the uniform, the heavy armour as a sigil of the heavens above in a contradictory conclusion. He's a solider before he's ever an angel.

Some, similar to you, fear the armour; there's little that resembles human through the silhouette so it's an evolutionary response to what is unknown. Yet as soon as the realisation of what those helmets and equipment represent there's a thread of trust that connects and stitches, cinching tighter as they are lead to safety.

But you; you're glaring like a cornered animal preparing to bare teeth and snarl, if you even have the energy for that. Your knees tremble as they're pulled up across your chest, protecting what little you have left to give, so frail when you pull away from his reaching hand still. You're not just frightened by his presence, you're shell-shocked by it - traumatised - and although that's not a new response to him, never has he seen rejection like this.

For a moment his years of training are lost on him - he was never taught how to save someone who doesn't want to be, the practice drills always begin and end with praying compliance and unsurprisingly so do the real missions - not whatever this is.

He won't begin to pretend to know what must be happening in your brain to trigger your fear response, but judging how gaunt you appear it must have been weeks since you last saw a good meal, the sun bathing your skin - freedom. How could he possibly understand that at all? He'll never be a young woman locked in the basement of a wanted criminal and shudders to think what you must have endured down here, what these walls must have witnessed.

Either way he needs to break through to you to even give you a chance of normalcy again - and if there's one thing he does know the helmet never helps.

It's never protocol to remove equipment while deployed on mission - it quite literally has the potential to save his life if something was to turn south and with no backup behind him that risk only increases. Yet Beomgyu knows how menacing the helmet appears, especially to someone with your temperament right now. It's weighty and cumbersome, pitch black like an assassins covers with unfamiliar shapes and gear attached to create the illusion that he's here to enforce - not to rescue.

Most importantly though, it conceals his eyes, possibly the only chance he has to bond to you as another human and not as an instrument of authority and protocol.

It's swift decision executed with steadiness to avoid spooking you, unlatching his chin strap and removing the helmet all together to let it hang over the back of his neck. His hair is ruffled wildly from the removal but with no care to fix it, his focus is entirely on you. You're already staring straight at him, you have been ever since his hand reached out to you but he realises now that will never work as long as you can't trust him, so here he is, ignoring his code of conduct, policy of the force, just for an inch of your faith.

For a moment in time, eyes lock in mutual silence, treading so carefully to not tip this fragile space upwards and have you withdraw further away, so gentle as he lets his brows drop in a display of submission.

It's so subtle, so barely noticeable but instinctively your head drops to match.

"I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to keep you safe. Promises probably don't mean much to you right now so I won't do that, I just need you to trust me, just until I get you outside..."

'I'; the use of such a personal pronoun is crucial to not overwhelm you with the reality that there's a team of 30+ men all awaiting your extraction. Right now, it's just you and him.

From the look of his face, you half expected a featherlight voice to act in parallel to his youthful, almost boyish look, shaggy hair and large beaded pupils that hardly fit your expectation of whatever agency he represents. Instead, a rich timbre hugs his vocal tone, inflection tender nevertheless as he pleads for you.

"Please... let me help you..."

The honey brown in his irises is so all consuming, so staggeringly expecting that you struggle to hold it, though you fear what happens if you look away. If he will vaporise like the billows of slate grey smoke surrounding you, morph into a face you've learned to eschew and shy away from in terror for not just your life but for what that viciously vile smile will make you do.

Fear seems to be the only thing you know these days, fusing itself so far inside your nervous system it's branded with white hot iron.

You don't even recognise yourself as you slowly nod your head at him.

"Okay..." Beomgyu mumbles mostly to himself, though he can't celebrate any success yet until he's ensured it's safe to even consider evacuating you, tapping at his radio and speaking into it while slightly tilted away from you to avoid the static piercing the brittle reliance you have.

"Warrant-20, come in, confirm you have eyes on suspect" he asks as clearly as he can through the radio channel, awaiting the crackle of a response "Warrant-20 here, eyes on suspect confirmed, extraction-10 currently moving out with suspect"

There's relief in that, though he still needs to ensure your own extraction.

"Daegu-rescue-5 confirming location of victim, code 405, clear a path for me and me alone" he instructs with protocol for this exact situation; to have a singular agent performing the extraction of a victim because with the addition of his team he fears it will set you back 10 paces, the final piece for his course of action locking into place with the confirmation that a path is now cleared.

Now all he needs is to get you stood and in a state to follow, somehow looking at you he doubts that's a possibility "can you stand?" He asks despite his prediction.

Reaching a gloved hand out to you once more, this time you take it - timidly so but you do grip to him as he stands, encouraging you for the same. You almost make it, knees trembling underneath you as you muster every little bit of strength you have left and it's still not enough, as gradually as you rose you fall back down in an instant with no progress in sight.

But his hand in yours remains true and firm, rooted like an oak tree, he sinks back down with you. There's dejection in how you look to him, the desperation that if you cannot even stand by yourself how can you begin to believe that there is an out for you? Perhaps fate is as cruel as they say it is because you have nothing left to fight with.

Beomgyu won't have it. He won't have you despondent because as long as he has two arms and a heart beating to carry the both of you up that flight of stairs you aren't lost yet.

"I'm going to carry you, okay?" You nod once more and grow stiff when he manoeuvres your arms for you to rest across his shoulder, sliding an arm under your knees and back sensitively but securely to lift you into his chest. By the time he's stood up with you in his arms, it's barely as though you're there in the first place you weigh so little, even the tattered, stained gown you wear hangs off you like a hanger. As tightly as buckling muscles will allow, you cling to the shoulder straps of his rig vest, boney fingers dig into his shirt underneath; your last lifeline.

As he ascends the stairs with tenfold the caution he did on the way down, your head lulls against his chest, the last of your stamina drained and he feels the way you go limp in his arms, hiking you up higher because you're beginning to slip from his grasp. Only once you're safely adjusted does he continue, mirroring his path and along the way the stares of his squad and colleagues carves a deeper cavern in his ribcage, they all gape with nothing to say, what is there to looking at you? Shrivelled and small, all skin and bone.

The night air bites at his lips the moment he passes out the threshold of the warehouse, the frost of early winter threatening to creep in and make home inside him even through his bulky clothing and equipment so he fastens pace to get you to the medical truck, if he's not quick enough you'll catch your death in this chill.

Stepping up into the vehicle, the medical staff all stretch out hands to help assist but he refuses them all, resting you down on the stretcher himself because that's the only way he can ensure you're going to receive the care you so desperately need - by placing you there with his own arms. Though as soon as your unconscious body is laid, the doctors shoo him away instantly, dismissing him so that they can actually assist you without him stood in their work path.

Stepping back, he observes as they hook you up to various machines and devices all with the purpose of monitoring your vital signs, a weak pulse beeping through the ECG machine and he feels his heart sync to yours as he awaits for something more, for it to kick into action and not borderline cardiac, jumping in his own skin as a hand clasps on his shoulder.

"Did good, kid. Knew it was the right call to make you squad sergeant, you might have single handedly saved that girl - if she makes it through the night" Beomgyu recognises his commanders voice but it doesn't settle in his psyche, the words float in one ear and straight out the other "keep this up and you'll be on track for my position one day. I'll only let the helmet removal slide this one time though"

The ambulance doors close right before him, the clap as it hits the latch strikes even through the earpiece, a monotonous ringing drilling holes in his brain. He can't stand it, ripping the piece from his ear, he watches as the truck rolls out bound straight for the hospital with such a strange apprehension that he can't shake.

The commander's words finally sink enough to comprehend and a fresh bloom of sickness wakens in his stomach, the coffee he drank earlier threatening to come back up with the contractions his abdomen makes. If that's the road his career is driving down he might as well quit on the spot; if he's destined to become so emotionally detached that victims become collateral damage he'll burn his damn contract with his own hands.

Discipline - the drills he remembers from his rigorous training is the singular purpose that keeps him going, all the way back to the station. His squad use celebratory language when they cheer in the back of the truck; to them this is just another successful mission, and why shouldn't they applaud the effort taken? Another criminal headed straight for bars again is hardly a pity party but Beomgyu can't even begin to consider the positives here. Not when he's still stuck down in that dark basement with you.

He's numb, shedding himself of equipment and his weapon back in the armoury until he finds himself back on his balcony before long, though it's a whisky in hand this time as the sun rises over the horizon of Seoul, scratching his throat on the way down.

No matter how much he tries he cannot wipe the way you looked to him from his mind - so distant because how can you trust anything anymore. You may be free from your captors grasp but you'll never be truly free again, and that wracks him to his very core.

He's seen it before - victims who swallow pills or hang because it's constant torment, a never ending spiral he can only hope there's another plane of existence that relieves them of this worldly plights. Or perhaps there's nothing on the other side, perhaps it's an empty void and even that is a comfort. There, suffering ceases to exist.

To accept his commanders words as possibility - it's true that you may not have even made it to daybreak - Beomgyu refuses that outcome. Checking the time on his watch, he still has a few more hours until he has to clock back in, formal reports still need to be written up but it's enough time to reach the hospital and be ready for work on time, swallowing the last of the bitter liquor before grabbing his coat from inside.

── .✦

Hospitals are never quiet in the way he wishes them to be, always a fluctuation of patients passing through and the wards that are silent are so because of pensive sorrow and not a lack of occupants.

When he approaches the front desk he realises he doesn't even know your name - it's entirely possible they don't know either yet, if you've been identified is a mystery to him "uh, there was a young woman brought in last night, came from the case site. Do you know where she was taken?"

The woman behind the desks looks him up and down before typing away at her desktop computer, the glow of the screen reflects cold blue in her glasses as he awaits an answer "Are you family?"

He's not, so the only option he has is to pull his badge from his wallet in his back pocket, displaying his authority to be granted access. Technically speaking he's on the case file so she continues typing away, though morally he's not so sure it's right for him to be here. He has to see you though - just once.

A deep sigh falls from her lips, less guarded as she responds "room 463, acute assessment ward level 1" tapping the desk once with restless fingers, he nods in acknowledgment and makes his way in the direction instructed, his footsteps screech against the freshly mopped vinyl flooring. The ward is a far walk away from reception but he has no rush - you're not waiting for him by any means and neither are any of his responsibilities but he feels unease nip him with every step he takes forward, until he recognises your room number plaque on the wall, a sharp inhale as he pushes the door open.

He's unsure how to feel when there's not a soul by your bedside, no family or friends gripping tight to your hand, tears streaming down their faces to have you back - barely safely but still alive in this hospital bed. Instead the only company you have here is the sterile sting to the senses of medical equipment and cleaning chemicals - and now him.

You're still hooked up to so many machines he's unsure where they end and you begin, IV drips and whatever other drugs they're pumping into you to keep you alive. An oxygen mask covers your mouth but at least your chest rises and falls more steadily than how he first found you, the hospital sheets pulled tight up to your chest, as comfortable as you could look in this induced slumber. Approaching just as slowly as he did in the basement - he can't help but glance towards the patient sheet at the end of your bed, your name in bold letters and for the first time he can place a name to your face.

He's not here holding out hope that you'll awaken while he's present, he hasn't rehearsed what he'd say if you did because there's probably nothing he could say to elicit any comfort for you. Just sitting himself in the chair beside your bed, folded arms as he settles against the uncomfortable backrest, there's company for you even in your loneliest hours. If he could be honest with himself, he'd realise you aren't the only reason he's here; there's unrest within his own soul that desires consolidation, even if you speak no words to him or even acknowledge his presence - it's enough to drown out the silence of his apartment. He's here all the same, slowly drifting off into a sleep his body has been begging him for days now.

── .✦

Gradually heavy lids blink open, the weight of rest begs to stay clung to them but the hour calls his body clock to awaken, the sun now sat high in the sky a late greeting. Wiping sleep away from his eyes with the ball of his hand and checking the time on his watch, those mere 2 hours he knocked out for felt a full nights rest to a body that's use to evading it all together, though his muscles still plead for longer. There must be a backlog of needed slumber logging itself into him and now he's had a teaser it alerts him louder than if he'd remained awake.

You're still unconscious, he hadn't expected you to wake anyway but his gaze flicks to the heart monitor instinctually, checking those lines that still blip in steady fashion.

The door swings open and a nurse gasps slightly before composing herself, clipboard tucked tightly to her chest as she admits, "apologies, I hadn't known she had a visitor..."

Beomgyu shakes head, hands needed to push himself up on the arms of the chair in order to stand and force his body the rest of the way awake "no worries, I uh- I'm needed elsewhere" it's not entirely untrue, he's due for work soon but not soon enough to leave so suddenly as he's about to - he's not leaving you alone now though so he deems it appropriate to slip out now.

The nurse nods, walking to your bedside as she observes your levels and adjusts buttons he's unsure the purpose for, leaving her to do her work as he steps towards the door, hands to the handle before the nurse speaks up once more.

"It's nice to see someone here for her" he's unsure what to do with that - you have a name and an identity now, if you had any family they would have been notified - unless no one had answered the call.

"I'll be back later" the words fall from his lips before he ever overthinks them, finally exiting the hospital room.

── .✦

From the moment he arrives at work it's all recorded interviews and evaluations recounting the mission, every time it's almost as worse as reliving it - to recall the every step he took with the utmost precision because this is all logged into federal records, ones that only take into account what he had seen - what he'd done and not how those things made him feel. Government holds nothing for emotional sentiment - despite offering council to the agents that require it. It's never for the good of the mind but for the numbers on paper.

That's why Beomgyu's not surprised as soon as the camera shuts off, his reviewers voice settles to a calmer disposition, nothing accusatory but with enough implication sprinkled in. It's no where near new to him, he knows how these things go "the way you described the victim - colorful language you used, no? How did it make you feel?" Trust the cameras have stopped rolling by the time that question comes around. It's typical agency.

He barely recalls the words used that must have flagged concern, he'd only spoken truth, what should be obvious for all to see the moment eyes laid on you - "sick to the stomach to witness someone so skeletal" he believes was the phrase that must have done it.

He puffs a heavy breath, exasperated "it made me feel how you should feel seeing what I saw, but hey, this is the job, right? Nothing new..." standing from his chair "am I formally dismissed now?"

"You are" the interviewer confirms, watching as Beomgyu collects himself, stone faced as he marches towards the door "Mr Choi, I really think you should consider taking up the services we provide for agents that feel how you described - it might help for you to speak to someone about-"

"I'm fine. Just... send me the report when it's released" snapping quickly, he manages to rein in a quip tongue that strikes too close to insulted, too close to uncovering truth under a steadily built facade of composure. The door smacks the frame as it slams behind him.

He sighs passing the coffee machine: never has his body craved the bittersweet rush of caffeination so much, even if it is the shitty station coffee that tastes a good few years out of date, though he finds himself passing straight by. The hospital must have something better for him to drink.

── .✦

The queue isn't too long in the hospital cafe, the occasional passing customer scraping chairs across the floor yet it's not an obscene sound to him, the perfect fill to a silence that isn't lonely but just... quiet.

And it's true that the coffee is better than the machine drool from the station as he suspected. Not quite as premium as his machine back home - the only high expense his recreational portion of his salary goes to since he hardly needs for much, just enough groceries in his cupboards to sustain a working body. Otherwise, his apartment is virtually a shell, void of personality save for the guitar rested in the corner of the living room, a worn couch it's only company. Rent is decent too considering location; close to the station and a balcony view that he would have been diagnosed clinically insane by now without, the fresh air seems to be the only relief these days from his sleepless nights.

Perhaps that's why he finds himself here again, in the uncomfortable chair facing your bedside, at least it's softer than his infrequently used mattress he's still avoiding.

You've barely moved from when he left in the morning and somehow that's comforting, resting in the way your body critically requires, fed through tubes he's assuming in batches because you're so emaciated a full meal would overload you, though somehow you already look less hollow than you did the night before. Your cheekbones still dip with thinness but there's at least some color returning under your skin, your brows sit tranquilly, curtained by long, matted strands, but that's the least of your worries right now. Just to focus on healing is what your body is telling itself, uncaring for the shine your hair takes when it's heathy. So long since it was it barely remembers how to do so.

Beomgyu ends up drifting off once more, half drank coffee sat upon the table watching the sun set through curtains that have yet to be closed by passing nurses. It matters not, the sleep comes just as easy as though they were blackout.

── .✦

This time, he awakes with something akin to an electric shock, like a distant memory of his mother hovering around early on a weekend, music blasting throughout the home despite him and his brother catching up on the sleep they evaded during the week staying up into the early hours for deadlines. Now it must be his body shrieking to wake up - so unaccustomed to unconsciousness that it craves familiar alertness, he's always so on guard that it's all he knows - it’s been drilled into him to be so through his profession.

Or perhaps it's the evolutionary trait to remain wary when the subconscious senses that it's being watched, with eyes wide he stares unabashedly at you - no longer lying motionless in bed but sat upright, staring right back at him.

It takes at least 5 seconds before he realises the environment around him, how he must appear so rudely glaring at you in pure surprise, coughing to clear his throat as he thinks of something to say, to explain why he's here in your hospital room, anything at all.

"I-uh- sorry, I'll leave-" he stands with immediacy, collecting his cup and now avoiding eyes with you altogether, completely flustered if he's being honest but from the corner of his vision he spots you reaching out, a fatigued gesture but it's clear you're beckoning him to stay. You say no verbal words but the motion is enough, he pauses in place as he consumes what it means to stay.

He can't help but flicker back up to you as he sits, you're still looking intently but he's having trouble deciphering what you mean by it. It's neither egregious scowling like when he rescued you, nor imploring anything from him. It just... exists, watching each little movement he takes and he doesn't feel scrutiny in it but pure curiosity. He takes the opportunity to prepare to open mouth and explain how it came around that he's sleeping in your room but the door opens with the same nurse as before, this time she isn't surprised to see him.

"It seems your visitor is still here, yn. Rested longer than you did" she muses towards you with a smile and it implies you've been awake for a decent amount of time longer than he has, glancing towards his clock and no doubt it's 9 in the morning. A full 12 hours seems absurd when he's struggled to get just 5 this week alone, yet it must be true, he remembers nothing of the night sky when he drifted off.

"Time for breakfast, vegetable omelette today" the nurse speaks and Beomgyu spots the flash of fear in your eyes at the mere mention of it, shaking head in refusal, the nurse folds arms over her chest.

"We have to start getting you on solid foods, you can't keep refusing..." she continues but you are persistent in shaking your head. A heavy exhale from frustration, she concedes reluctantly, "see if you can convince her to eat, yeah? I'll be back in a while with lunch, perhaps she'll start talking to you too" the nurse turns to Beomgyu before leaving the two of you once more.

He swallows, he can gather that you've probably not eaten a thing ever since you woke, or spoke for that matter, whenever that was, and despite barely taking care of his own body proficiently his appetite is something that rarely suffers so he has to wrap mind around the psychology of your refusal. It's not entirely absurd though, after what you've been through. Thinking back, you never spoke a word to him even as he rescued you, just similar gestures to tell him what you want.

He presumes more reprimand like the nurses comments is hardly going to help coax you though, so he levels his words to neutrality "not hungry, huh? Suppose vegetable omelette isn't the most exciting thing" you don't reply but you ingest his words, still observing him closely.

"Well I'm pretty hungry - I'm gonna get a coffee and something from the cafe, you sure you don't want anything?" He offers instead of imploring, there's less pressure that way so when you shake your head again you won't have to feel the guilt. Just as he's about to leave the room he hears the sheets ruffling slightly, you leaning forward with haste as though you mean to tell him something - or ask him to stay.

"I'll be back" he gently pledges, relieving you of worry. Again, he's offering you no promises and somehow that means more to you. A soft smile befalling his lips before the door closes lightly.

The line in the cafe is a little longer though he supposes it's due to the time, everyone seems to want a wake up call in the form of a warm beverage and he's no different. Though this time, in the display cabinet just before the till sits a lone cupcake, most likely fresh from the morning batch that no one has claimed yet, pastel pink icing and odd sprinkles dusted on top. He really hadn't meant to get you anything, just as you'd requested him not to, but there's something about the way it sits there, untouched and awaiting that when it's time to order, he finds himself tacking it onto his coffee and the pastry he'd spotted for himself. If you happen to not eat it, that's okay too, but something as delicate and charming should go to someone of a similar nature.

When he arrives back to you, you're still sat up in bed, though now the sheets are pulled down to your lap with the intent that you mean to stay awake, watching closely as he rests the treats on the table next to you.

"I know you said not to get anything... but the frosting reminded me of your bracelet. Thought it was fitting" he points to the singular thread of pink hanging loosely on your wrist. You barely remember how it got there, all you know is it's from life... before. An unfamiliar warmth spreads through your tummy that he would even notice something so insignificant, scarcely clinging to you in remembrance of who you were, that tingling sensation in your tummy gets overridden when a subtle growl erupts and he smiles through the pastry he's stuffing in his mouth, almost bearing a toothy chuckle.

He can't remember the last time he laughed - even smiled at anything but it's a welcome return, his cheeks feel the sting for the forgotten memory but it's ignored in favour of smiling through it. You shrink slightly until you realised he's not laughing at you but for you - his face looks so much more tender when it's not devoid of expression, when his lips dare to curve upwards instead down and a rose color blooms through. It's enough to make you want to try the fluffy sponge you can tell just from looking at the cupcake - at least try it, so tentatively you reach out and take it, peeling the casing away.

He's not staring at you the way the nurses do, waiting for you to eat something - anything - so for just a second you feel brave enough to take the smallest bite. Sweetness fills your tongue in such a sickly way that makes your stomach churn even before you've swallowed so you push it back to the table and turn away, the shame eating away at you more than you could a tiny little cupcake.

But to Beomgyu - this is progress, no matter how small the degree. He wasn't staring but he was watching you all the same, observing the flicker in your eyes just before you took a bite and the way your mind wrestled with you when you put it down. It's okay though, a bite is still better than nothing at all. Your tummy rumbles again but this time you both ignore it - there's still time for you to grow accustomed to food again, even as he swallows the last of his pastry.

What neither of you expect is the buzzing ringing from his jeans pocket as he does, lifting it out to show you that he'll take the call briefly and return to you. He steps outside the room and picks up - the voice of a case worker coming through "Mr Choi, I expect you just received the case file come through?"

"-uh no, I haven't checked my emails yet - I'll get to it immediately" he admits, he hadn't even checked his phone the entire time he'd been at the hospital so any notification of the email would have sat in his inbox for the time being.

"Well to summarise it for you - you've been placed on victim recovery team" his brows furrow with confusion, he's never been put in this department before and he barely has the training for this specific position so the slight prolonged silence prompts her to continue "we've held an interview with her this morning... well, attempted - since she's refusing to speak to any of our social workers but when prompted if there was anyone that she would work with she was only receptive to you. Now I know this is unprecedented - it's not your department or area of expertise but if she continues refusing to communicate this may be our only option for case completion and her recovery" - of course - the case still outweighs her recovery, even in the department designated for exactly that.

"The little stunt you pulled of taking your helmet off in the field might just be the cause of this, it's possible that she associates you with recovery now. Well - it's not my job to reprimand you for it but it might just be the only reason she is responsive to treatment so-"

"I got it. I'll work with her. I'm guessing you require formal sessions with social workers still?" As said, he needs no disapproval from a department head he's not apart of so he cuts short her speech.

"Correct. You'll sit in for her sessions with the social workers, hopefully you can get her to speak and explain how she ever came into the suspects hold considering he's also refusing to speak until it all goes through court. Everything's a bit of a mess at the moment - so do try your best with her" Beomgyu could roll eyes at every word just spoken, it's all timelines and meet-markers and nothing of how far you've already come. He's not going to rush you for the sake of checking boxes but to satiate the case worker he complies.

"Right. I'll do that"

"-since you're already at the hospital you can get a head start, I expect a report if she says anything-"

"-got it!" Hastily he closes the call off and rubs at his forehead with frustration, if he didn't know better he'd assume they're keeping trackers on his every move, though realistically they must've seen him present this morning when taking you for an interview. It's still little less invasive though, either way they're rushing a process that cannot be fast tracked - your recovery is yours and yours alone, so for the sake of of pleasing his works ears he'll only report what's necessary and nothing more.

Running a hand through his hair, realising it's a little dirty from a day and nights sleep without washing it, he re-enters your room because that's what he told you, a shower can wait a little longer. Forcing a smile back upon his lips to chase away his sour mood from the call he just received, it turns a little more natural upon seeing your face - patiently waiting for him.

For the rest of the day he sits with you, occasionally making conversation, all that doesn’t expect a reply because it's obvious you aren't ready for that yet. He keeps it all light and surface level - as much as you seem to trust him already he doesn't want to test that tether too soon and have you break away from him, there will be time to delve deeper in the sessions with the social workers.

Even as the nurses bring you lunch and dinner and the dread returns to pale your features, he requests that they leave the meals with you and him and as soon as they leave, he cheekily pinches a few of the items on your plate, munching down with a hushed finger to his lips - a secret just between the both of you. Perhaps he shouldn't fool the nurses by making it appear as though you are making more progress than you are but the ever so small smile that breaks through on your face seems more than worth it to him.

You want to beam - to laugh at his silly antics but it still seems all too much for you still. He's not forcing or expecting you to, and that feels like enough for now.

Eventually when he checks the time again and it reads 6:48 he dusts the crumbs of more snacks from his jeans and stands with a breath passing before he speaks up "I should probably get going, it's been a while since I last changed my clothes" a huff of laughter that quickly drops when your face does the same and just as he begins to make his way you reach out again - a disheartened grunt that you quickly pull back when the sound coming from your own throat shocks you.

He's never seen someone look so inconsolable and it breaks his heart, an instinctive desire to reassure and comfort you "If I stay any longer you're gonna start smelling me and I don't think you want that..." he chuckles but to no avail of raising your spirits. His shoulders drop, looking straight at you as he confesses "I'll come back, okay? Just let me shower and change. And grab a pillow or something because that chair is deceivingly uncomfortable"

Finally there's rest in your posture, not enough for a smile in return but you're settled enough for him to confidently leave you, striding towards the door, just as he exits he faces you once more.

"See this?" He points towards his hair, tugging at the strands that feather his neck, you watch in full attention "greasier than the food they serve here. I'll come back more handsome" he hushes theatrically incase the nurses overhear and his chest feels full when the corners of your lips rise in a smile, finally parting you with the feeling of content.

── .✦

His balcony never sees him that night, a familiar friend forgoing his company. His bed faces the same abandonment but that's nothing new, as soon as he arrives back to his apartment he jumps in the shower and washes away a few days worth of grime, cleaning himself up decently enough with a fresh set of clothes and renewed optimism that he might actually manage to sleep again tonight. Something about that sterile hospital room of yours seems to lull him into sleeping like a baby.

Perhaps it's just the company. Perhaps it's you.

Either way he tries not to give it thought, gathering a pillow and a blanket, even if he doesn't end up using it, the chill through the early morning condensation on the windows is enough to have you needing it. Initially you refuse it but by the time day breaks once more it's already draped over you, placed there by him as soon as you fell into slumber.

It's a small service he does for you the next night too, and the one following until it's habitual every night for a month until your discharge. Recuperated enough to finally leave hospital despite still harbouring a tricky relationship with food. On days Beomgyu wasn't required at the station he'd sit with you, gently coaxing you as time went on to begin eating with a little more regularity, not just for your physical requirements but for your mental fortitude too. If you could climb the treacherous hill of food you could begin your journey of healing.

Eventually you manage at least one meal a day, a small portion but nevertheless it’s enough to please Beomgyu, he knows how you struggle and its progress all the same.

As for speaking; you still haven't uttered a word to anyone, including Beomgyu, though you have become more expressive with your actions and gestures. In your sessions with the social worker you mostly sit silently, reluctant to motion much towards anything, and if there's a particular question or conversation that triggers you, all you have to do is glance towards Beomgyu, a simple look of 'help me' and he becomes your voice, prompting for the social worker to move on.

One day before he leaves, he places a notepad and pen on your bedside table; no explanation, no pressure, but the option for you to write or draw any thoughts you have or wish to express to him without requiring your voice. Only the very next morning when he arrives, when you're still asleep in bed, he curiously takes a peak inside. No words are there yet but you've drawn a small doodle of a cat sleeping. It's more warming in a way that any word or sentence could ever be, his stomach ruptures with a feeling he can't place - one he's never experienced before. It's similar in sensation to sickness but it's far from negative. Instead it's... pleasant.

He spends so much time with you now that he's learned your little ticks, what each look you give him means without words even needed be uttered or written. In return, you've learned his too. How his upper lip twitches just before he yawns, settling into the back of the chair for the night, and how the beginning of his laugh sounds after he makes a joke, amused with himself so much that you can't help but smile back at him.

You hadn't anticipated your time in the hospital would feel so rewarding, even if you still have no desire to speak or much interest in food, Beomgyu has made your heart settle enough to temporarily carry your pain like a backpack - still hefty on your shoulders that you notice its presence, but you aren't forced to face it. It sits there, waiting for you to unpack in your own time.

Though what you had expected was the foreboding gloom when you were eventually discharged. Even when it's clear that you cannot return home to your own apartment - it's been overtaken for evidence - they're placing you in a temporary shelter. No nurses to check on you occasionally - the reminder that help is only a button call away, and no more Beomgyu sleeping by your bedside each night. You haven't asked if he will continue this habit but somehow it feels more demanding to request that of him, this won't be a hospital room, it will be your home.

You still haven't plucked up the courage, even as he slings your personal belongings bag over his shoulder, walking you towards his car. The ride is quiet, he rarely breaks the silence, just the occasional tapping of his fingers against the wheel and the low hum of the radio as he drives carefully across the streets of Seoul.

His car is the exact replica of him, simple on the surface but hints of his personality are there for those with eyes to recognise, and you possess them. The air fresher dangling from the rear view is lemon scented; he prefers the light, floral smells with hints of citrus. There's an empty coffee cup he must have forgotten to throw out and a scrap of paper torn at the corner tucked under his sun visor, faded slightly but you can still make out that it reads 'Class of 2018 - Daegu'. You point towards it when he pulls up at a red light, he smiles and pulls it down, passing it towards you.

In the image he's dressed in his graduation robe, a face younger but not unrecognisable. His cheeks are fuller and his hair a little shorter, but there's no doubt that smile still belongs to him. By his side, an older man and woman and another boy similar in age, you presume to be his parents and older brother, he'd mentioned them to you before with nothing but fondness. He looks over to you as he passes through the now green light.

"Always been handsome, huh?" He giggles but he doesn't hear the puff of amusement he usually does from you when he jokes. Instead you run your finger across his face in the picture, pulling it closer as though you're deep in thought "it's the last photo we took all together before I left for my training. I haven't been back in a few years now"

When you look to him your eyes are glazed as though you're feeling the emotions of that admission for him.

"Don't worry - I'll visit again soon" he chuckles once more, it's hardly a tragedy so he doesn't want you feeling glum for it. Though his heart does ache every time he looks at the photo, yearning for simpler times "you'd like Daegu. The view of the mountains from anywhere you stand is otherworldly. And the night markets...I'll have to take you one day, mom would adore you"

You seem to cheer up from that, a little smile gracing your features as you rest the photo securely on your lap, holding it there until the engine rolls to a stop. Beomgyu turns towards you with a look that's asking if you're ready, if you can brave walking into a home that's unfamiliar and for the brief moment you have no answer for that, you think it might just be possible if he crosses the threshold with you. With your nod he's climbing out and striding to your car door, opening it for you before gathering your bag and keys.

It's hardly an old building but there's a musty smell as soon as you step in, the kind that has sat as long as it's been untouched, no personal scents infiltrating the air because it's vacant and with no promise that it will be an easy smell to replace "wow...that's potent" Beomgyu comments as he steps in after you, rushing towards every window to break through the sticky seals to allow a fresh breeze through the space. It's chilled but at least it's replacing the musk somewhat. Much the same as his own apartment its laid mostly bare in here apart from the necessities, kitchen appliances and a couch to sit on, a table accompanying it but that's it. He can only guess a bed is the only other thing in here that isn't visible right now.

Instinct kicks in and he's checking that all the taps work; that the heating isn't faulty along with every other appliance he can think to check while you stand in silence, taking your surrounding in as you attempt to compartmentalise your thoughts into what you think will be your first hurdle and what you know it will be. Right now it's evident to you that it's the lack of individuality here, it looks exactly how you know the last occupant left it - mostly likely with just as much mental unrest as you.

Beomgyu can see it plain on your face when he's done with his observations - you're struggling.

"Don't worry, we'll get it looking like a home for you. It's not gonna be a shell forever" a defeated smile is all you can manage, sitting down on the sofa, watching as he follows suit. For a while you sit in the quiet together, just until he can tell you're becoming restless. There's no tv in here like the pull out one in the hospital room so he reaches for his phone in his pocket, playing some random show that manages to keep your attention just enough to settle.

He finds himself swallowing hard when your head lulls to his shoulder, the warmth of your body pressed against his and he almost jumps out of his skin from the contact until he realises you've fallen asleep in the time his phone has played through multiple episodes. He should get up - close the windows because the chill is starting to become bitter as the sun begins to set but he just can't. Like he's stuck in concrete his body refuses to move and disturb you, to loose the heat beside him not because he truly can't recall the last time he felt the warmth of another person but because it's yours.

Because that means admitting there's feelings here he thinks he should run from, for the sake of you and himself.

He lets you rest for just a bit longer, just until he's sure you're too deep in slumber to notice him pulling away gradually, cradling your head until he rests it delicately on the arm of the couch. He gathers the sheet from the bed to shroud over you, it will have to do until he can gather blankets from his own apartment for you, closing the windows to lock out the cold from creeping into your bones as you sleep. Kneeling to brush your hair down affectionately, he stands after his own bidding, creeping towards the door to avoid heavy footsteps.

Until something breaks the silence and he halts in place.

"Beomgyu?" Your voice is so timid, so barely audible he truly has to hold his breath to even comprehend that it came from you. It's only in this moment he realises that he never took the time to wonder how you would sound - not from a lack of interest but because he wouldn't dare to place a sound to you that you haven't allowed him to hear yet, and still it's everything he could have imagined you sound, soft and melodic. As sweet as the cupcake with the pink frosting.

He turns to you before he can correct his bold stare, eyes blown wide as he computes that you've just uttered your first word to him - his name.

"Don't leave..." so quiet but he hears you, broken as you plead with fret "...please"

He steps towards you cautiously, kneeling once more to sit level with your eyes since you've risen to your elbows since he laid you down. You don't flinch when he reaches out to tuck a loose strand behind your ear, searching so deep into your pupils "I'm staying... don't worry" he settles your fear with nothing but sincerity, wholeheartedly truth as he gestures to climb back onto the couch with you.

You sit back up and expect he'll do the same but he lays down against the back cushions, gently guiding you to lie beside him with your head tucked on top his arm, softer than couch and he doesn't care if it goes numb, he just pulls the covers over the two of you and you feel as he settles behind you, prompting you for the same.

"I'm staying..." he repeats after a short while of languidly brushing through your hair to soothe, unknowing if you've fallen asleep yet but he says it all the same.

You're still awake to hear him.

── .✦

The morning isn't as cold as any other has been for a long while when he slowly rises, dawn breaking past the horizon through the blinds he closed the night before. It must be because you've curled yourself into him in your sleep, turned over to face him with your head tucked into his hoodie and his heart begins to pump furiously, BMP skyrocketing despite his profession having trained him for exactly this; how to keep it controlled and borderline and apparently that all goes out the window where you are concerned because he's practising breathing techniques he hasn't used in years to curb the thump he hears through his eardrums.

It's a miracle you haven't awoken since your head is pressed right where his heart sits below his ribcage, it must be pulsing enough to wake you at least but you remain: such a velvety, yielding expression on your features as you rest as though you have no worries.

You look so wildly beautiful just like this. If he had one wish it would be for you to remain just like this, in a place where the nightmares of your waking life can't reach you, where he can imbue pleasantries into your slumber because harmony is what you deserve.

And it's where he wishes to remain too, right beside you to ensure with his own eyes that you are content enough but the sunrise is only a reminder that he has to attend the station today for a review, his watch is telling him that he'll be late already if he doesn't start soon.

Instead of peeling away from you this time, he caresses your cheek with the pads of his fingers to gently rouse you, he'd rather you know he has to depart rather than you waking in an unfamiliar home alone, he knows now that's something you'll brave vocalising to avoid. Gradually your eyes flutter open, befalling his that are already looking down upon you with reassuring tenor.

"Mornin'..." he smiles at you but it's not the thing that blossoms a rosy hue to your cheeks - it's hearing his morning voice so close you can feel it rumble the limited space between you. It's something you've heard before, when he arose in the hospital chair but this close it seems to drop a few octaves more than his already deep voice, gravelly in rapturous way.

"...Listen, I gotta get to work, they want me for a review but as soon as I'm done I'll get some things from my apartment and some groceries for you and I'll cook you whatever you want, how does that sound?" It's only as you nod that the memory of your voice returns to him in fulfilling recollection, he's been accustomed to your silence for so long that he doesn't expect to hear you but it's become an aim to.

"Okay, good" he laughs as he lifts up, resting the cover back over you so you remain in place as he grabs a glass from the cupboard, filling it with water from the sink. You expect to see him gulp but remember it's not his choice of morning beverage, he comes back to your side, placing it on the table before you "try to drink something while I'm gone. Don't open the door for anyone. I'll be back soon" he pets your hair and offers you a smile, a vow to remember that he will in fact be back as he says he will.

It's always easier to part ways in the light of day, where you have the sun to keep you company until he can return. And as much as you wish he could remain, you understand he has other responsibilities, bidding him goodbye with a curt nod, you watch as he closes the front door with a soft click.

There's just enough time for him to dash home to shower and change before his meeting call, he can only presume it's routine but he'd rather not have the scent of sleep clung to him. The part where he smells like you? - well if he could he'd keep that with him he would.

It must be a slow day in the station, hardly anyone around even by the time he's called into the meeting room, his case worker pouring from the coffee pot in the corner tucked away from the oval table. He's offered but for once refuses, he'll purchase some that doesn't taste like death itself when he stops for your groceries.

He considers breaking the silence settling heavy in the space between where she's still beside the refreshments and where he leans against the corner desk, adjacent to the table. It feels all too stagnant for just routine checks and it rises unrest within him, pummelling his chest as soon as the case worker sighs and the first words are uttered.

"We're taking you off the recovery case" like a slap to the face, he's thunderstruck, his mouth contorting to settle on one of the hundred questions he'd like to ask in response, settling with "that's a joke, right?"

"Unfortunately not. It's been a month already and we've not seen any progress with her, she's not even speaking yet-"

"-she spoke last night! She spoke to me! You're just gonna ignore that?" Truthfully, he was wrestling with himself whether to mention that at all in your next counselling session. It's undeniable proof that you're walking your path to healing, taking your time to meet your destination but it's progress nevertheless, but the way you called his name last night, how you beseeched him to stay felt like such a tender, intimate moment between the two of you that if he had his own way, it'd remain like that. A moment in time only the two of you remember.

But he's exasperated running out of options and the case workers words seem so final already, without so much as his input.

"We have to, Mr Choi, that's precisely the reason we have to. She's become entirely too dependant on you, we're changing social worker too because she needs to adjust to new people"

Beomgyu can't help but scoff at that, throwing hands up from unadulterated frustration "that's fucking ridiculous, you know she's not ready for that!"

She finally turns towards him, arms crossed and with a coffee in hand yet much more composed than he is, he wonders how that's even possible with this topic of conversation. As though she expected a blow up reaction from him "that very well might be, but we have quotas to meet; we need her testimony for the maximum sentence for her captor, I'm sure you remember that's the reason you were placed on this case in the first place"

Of course this is about 'quotas' and 'deadlines', that's all anything is in this job, any kind of feeling and consideration is a foreign concept within these walls and although it's something he was already well aware of it never fails to astound him - to sicken him when they talk about you as though you are just a number on case file and nothing more

"Oh I remember, i also recall you imploring that I was the only hope for her recovery, or have you conveniently forgotten that you're supposed to be helping her do that - recover?" He's jeering now, scorn dripping from his tongue as his eyes slit with contempt, tilting head in an almost insulting manner.

"We haven't, but the progress is moving far too slow with you involved, we need to push her more than we have, prompt her into recovery. She's not your pet, Mr Choi"

That alone sets his blood alight, even the implication makes his upper lip snarl as he stares the woman down. Angers and tempers rising is nothing out of the ordinary in this line of work, not when such high stakes are involved but if she carries on he's determined to become her worst nightmare, he'd be lucky to receive only a temporary dismissal and escorted from the building.

"You're right, she not. You're the one who sees it that way, not me!" He can feel the way his veins are expanding in his neck, pulsing against the skin to expel the meaning of his wrath because he's refusing whatever bullshit explanation he's been given.

Another sigh falls from tight lips as she observes his outburst, trained enough to deal with such though never for this reason - an agent fighting for a position that isn't even his in the first place "you're an exceptional emissary, Agent Choi, in fact one of our most valuable. But that's exactly what you are - a solider. Not a social worker. Perhaps it was a mistake to put you on the case" she reminds coldly.

Beomgyu realises he has to cool himself down because his head feels as though it's going to explode, the pressure in his blood building up like a cinch, screwing tighter until it's pounding against his skull. He huffs, staring the woman down "perhaps it was. But I promise you it's a bigger one to take me off"

"It's already in motion. Don't fight it. You'll be sent details of a new case in the next few days, do the job you're trained for" she implores with finality, a stern look befalling her brows as she turns to gather paper, brushing past him as she leaves the room. The silence is the only thing left because all colorful language he wishes to use turns to dust on his tongue, even if she'd have stayed to hear it.

The incompetence of the whole situation is astounding - playing with you as though you are just a toy; a puppet for the testimony they require so much, not as a human being on the back of trauma.

He's never been witness to this side of the job so closely before and it's uglier than standing from a distance - it's as she had said, he's a solider and that's all they seem to think he's good for. Only proficient with a gun in his hand and not juggling emotions. To be the weapon and not the person behind it. It's an arduous burden that he could start to believe it true since everyone around him does nothing but remind him so constantly.

If it wasn't for you he'd brand himself with that iron, melt it down to the marrow in his bones. Because he has made progress with you, and you are anything but his pet. If he knows anything it's that - you hadn't a voice until recently but you made it clear what you like and what you don't. Your individuality shone through even past the pain you carry, how you only laugh when he'd said something you found funny enough to, a critic he'd invite every time, you've certainly improved his humour for what it's worth.

In the words you write in the notepad only for his eyes and not for the social worker, not because there's been no progress but because you're choosing him to receive it. So what if you aren't working on their arbitrary time scale? It's worthless anyway to track progress because it happens so gradually, so softly until you're speaking your first words to him. And unlike everyone in this godforsaken building it's not the words he focused on, but the way your voice sounds. How sweet it is speaking his name like it's the most important word in your vocabulary.

No - he refuses to give up on that. He'll tear each wall down here before he abandons it.

He levels his feet back out before walking out of the meeting room, forcing composure back to his face and posture and thankfully so because as he's passing the board room Yeonjun turns the corner, smirking once he notices the vexed look upon Beomgyu. He must not be as good at concealing feelings as he thought.

"Good to see you back around here, serge. You've been gone a while, no?" Internally Beomgyu breathes deep, he won't let taunting words be the reason he throws fists.

"I'm back now so you don't have to worry - you'll slot perfectly back into subordancy. Suits you" Beomgyu jabs back just as venomously. He knows Yeonjun's been calling more shots in his absence and if he's honest he couldn't care less if he's in charge or he has to submit into Yeonjun's command, but he's in no mood for conceited, faux small chat, he's already thinking of returning back to you. Shoving shoulders past him, he ignores the scoff that puffs past Yeonjun's lips and faces forward, never deviating until he throws himself into the stillness of the drivers seat in his car.

Perhaps there's something to be said about poise. If he was a better man, could he have convinced the case worker to extend his time with you? Begged for just an inch of leniency. Either way it's a dead thought on the road to no where, what's done is done, they can tell him not to work on your case any longer but they can't keep him away from you. Even if they fire him for misconduct, at least he'd find a way to return to you.

Not just because you've bonded to him in a way you refuse to with anyone else, but because Beomgyu is beginning to think he needs you just as much as you do him. Because ever since you entered his life, turbulent beginning aside, he's slept better than he has in years, had more meaningful conversations with someone who doesn't speak back than he has with anyone in his entire department, than he's come into contact with at all for that matter.

Because he's certain that even though he's never experienced it before this must be what love must feel lik-groceries. That's right. You need groceries.

He starts the engine before that dangerous thought can return to him, making his way to the store.

── .✦

He'd left that morning with a set of your keys in pocket, not wanting to disturb you if you were resting and because he'd told you to open the door for no one, the only person you should expect is him so when the door rattles with keys in the lock you know not to panic. Beomgyu steps through seconds later with bags adorning his arms, more food than you could begin to eat in a month, eternally grateful that he'd considered that much in the first place.

He rests them down on the counter, opening your fridge to stock up piles of ingredients that require the refrigeration and the rest goes into cupboards, all the while he says not a word and it's so unnervingly unlike him it sends a shiver across your spine. Not the usual endearing joke or comment, just pure silence and a sunken face that won't even look your way, focused solely on his task for you.

You begin to make a gesture with your hands to call his attention until you realise it won't be enough, preparing a voice still weary and unrecognisable to you.

"...Beomgyu?"

Your call seems to snap him out of whatever trance he was in, turning to face you as he blinks with guilt in his eyes, realising that he hasn't uttered a single thing since walking through the door. He's quick to drop whichever item he was placing on the shelf to be by your side, sitting himself on the edge of the couch next to you.

"Fuck... I'm sorry. I'm here" he checks you visually, ensuring you aren't calling for his attention because you've injured yourself and he seems satisfied enough that you look no different to how he left you in the morning. But you're still looking to him for explanation because it's obvious to you that something is plaguing his mind, imprinting an unrest upon the corner of his eyes that usually round with innocence.

"Right. There's something I need to talk to you about - just... I need you to know it's not gonna stop me from being here for you" he's not trying to be vague on purpose, just enough to soften the blow for you but it seems to unnerve you more so he knows to continue "they're taking me off your case. I'm not gonna be there when you have you have counselling sessions anymore..."

Your eyes begin to fill wide with alarm, the implications of that are endless but the thing that strikes you most is no longer having his presence there beside you. Not just to guide you but to feel the tangibility of it and it terrifies you.

"They won't stop me seeing you though, I promise you that. I'll be here whenever I can, just like now. And I don't give a shit what they tell you, if you aren't comfortable don't speak to them. You don't owe them any of your words" he takes your palm into his, hoping the warmth will help tether you to him or at least something that's grounded because you've turned as pale as a ghost, unsure if there are even gestures or glances that exist that could express the multitude of emotions flitting through your mind.

"Just know this isn't me abandoning you. I fought to stay on the case but I'm just a cog in their machine, I have no leverage when I'm not in my uniform and I don't have my gun" with a thumb stroking familiarly across the back of your hand, he doesn't seem to realise that the emotion you're settling on is acceptance. Not just trust, but because you know he'd never tell you anything he doesn't truly believe for himself.

Because you know Beomgyu, even when he's still looking straight at you with the centre of his brows curved upwards in sympathy.

"You're not leaving me?" It's less of a question and more for confirmation and he's threading his fingers through the wispy hairs framing your cheeks, tucking them away instantaneously in a display of his compassion.

"Not leaving you. Ever" with emphasis he implores, never straying from your gaze and holding onto your hand still like he never intends for you to be ripped away.

For Beomgyu, it feels as though you've both slipped through a rip in time, like the fabric holding the universe together has somehow torn between the time staring into your eyes to create a pocket where only the two of you exist. Time moves slower here, noise muffled and the only thing he can audibly hear is the blood pulsing through his ears, punching his eardrums only so he's aware how furiously his heart is pumping the blood his body so desperately demands because his muscles feel weak - his resolve is weak the moment he flickers down to your lips.

So full and plump, just a touch of pink dusting across and ever so slightly glossed where you must have sipped the water he poured for you recently. When your bottom lip trembles just so he glances back to your eyes incase you intend to say anything, to gesture for something you want but you are just staring right back, no words laid behind your eyes and neither pulling away when his conviction snaps all together, leaning forward until the space between the both of you diminishes.

Until your lips are inches away and he can feel the shaky breath you exhale fan against him, still you keep your position rigid before him and it's no longer fates will that pushes him forward the final inch, it's all his own.

When lips meet it's all so tender, he holds himself just so that they touch and waits for you to break away but when you don't he presses closer until noses brush and he slots himself to the side to deepen what he now realises he's been missing. Before you it must have been anemoia for this exact moment each night he spent alone on his balcony, except without ever knowing what his heart was longing to pursue. Now he's certain it was this because your lips are the softest thing he's ever felt, like pure velvet veiled with the taste of candied fruits, an intoxicating sucrose syrup of sugar.

He's so close to diving into you, the last stretch before he can properly taste behind your lips but the rational portion of his brain is drumming how wrong this is - how presumptuous because you don't need a lover; you're still healing from something he can never experience and this feels too demanding of you.

He pulls away and stutters immediately, shaking head as he avoids your gaze now "I shouldn't have- I'm sorry, I fucked up, I just-"

You can see the thoughts swarming his head as though they are in bold text circling above; but you're not a delicate flower. Your trauma is baggage you carry but it's not apart of you, you've tried to separate that line the entire time and you won't let it control you from what you know you want. Screw letting it define you - it's one of the things that drew you to Beomgyu in the first place. How unlike everyone else he could distinguish you from your bad thoughts, never allowing those wires to cross because he saw straight through it all to you. In return he never filtered himself to what he presumed you could handle, instead he just let you be - and you won't let him stop now just because you're crossing over into a different space in this bond between you.

"-Please kiss me again" you ask with more assertion than he's ever heard from you - you need him to know that what you desire isn't definable by things that have occurred and what happened to you. It's yours and yours alone - and what you want is him.

Looking back to you, he's known you long enough to determine exactly when you're headset on something, though there's a glimmer in your eyes that tells it might just be your heart wanting this. There's only a moment of pause before he pushes his lips back on you, this time with more fervour and passion and no time in between swiping his tongue across your bottom lip in a beg for entry.

You're quick to allow him in, swallowing the little whine that involuntarily slips out from him when he can finally taste you, it provokes flutters in your belly that sink lower in search to hear what more sounds you can draw from him in his increasingly untamed desire.

His hand threads through your hair to cradle the back of your head, craning you into him more so his tongue can wrap around yours with less resistance and more pressure where they dance together to a slow, sultry tempo. You grip to his forearm and tug, not to pull away but to sway him downwards until you're laid back on the couch with him slotted between your legs.

Naturally with the new position you're closer to each other, the kiss deepens and he lays your head against the couch arm, freeing his hand to grip at your waist tightly, not enough to hurt by any means but so you can feel the desperation in his touch. He's clutching and tugging you up so that you're flush against him, arching up to meet his hips as the heat between bodies intensifies, even through the thick sweaters you both adorn.

He's parting from you briefly, sitting up on his knees for enough space to jerk the sweater off himself, leaving his top half bare to you for the first time and although you'd expected him to be fit - his profession requires it - you swallow tightly when you see him. His abs aren't defined in an aggressive way but lean muscles stand out against his fair skin you can imagine bronzes beautifully in summer sun. You can't help yourself but reach out and run your fingers down from his chest all the way to his firm abdomen, hooking fingers under his belt to tug him back to you, falling right back to your lips.

You tip your head back for him when he slips his lips across your jaw, your neck until he's leaving wet open mouthed kisses in the crook between it and your collarbones. His hands are slowly slipping past the hem of your sweater in permission to remove it so you join him there to tell him it's okay, sitting upright slightly to allow him to lift it over your head, resting back down when he latches lips right back to your neck.

Hips buck up to meet his when he maps the expanse of your chest all with hungry lips and while he's preoccupied with that he's catching your waist to rut right up against your core, the friction between his jeans and your sleep shorts so deliciously restricting you wish both articles would vanish into thin air to have him closer to where you need him.

You hear that he isn't holding up much better than you are, short huffs and whines against your skin as he pushes hips against you, sinking lips lower to the ridge of your bra while his fingers tread across you back until he reaches the hook.

His job is to be adept with intricacies; precise movement down to his fingertips that can perform gun magazine changes, adjusting equipment, all under pressure and without so much as glancing down so his deft fingers make easy work to unhook and brush the straps of your bra down your arms until it's thrown to the floor.

He tries to conceal it but the inhale he takes is shallow when he looks down at you, kiss-short breathed and stunned as you gaze right back up at him with large, doe eyes.

"So perfect..." he murmurs just vocal enough for you to hear, dipping right back to your skin and you can't contain a minor gasp from slipping out when you feel his mouth against the swell of your breast, inching lower until he's latching lips over your nipple. You reach out to him, unsure of where you intend to land but you need something to ground to while his tongue flattens and suckles like a man starved of sustenance and your skin is his vitality. Your hands find his hair, threading through the long strands until you reach the root and tug a little after a particularly prolonged lick and he's putty in your palm, mewling with an intensity that reverbs and sends goosebumps across your skin.

Almost immediately he detaches and you grumble in protest until his lips find yours once more with an intensity that could stoke a fire with how much heat the two of you are producing; white hot infatuation and no intention to stop as his fingers loop under your shorts and pull them down. You shuffle out of them in assistance and when his hands find no elastic band for panties back at your waist you feel him groan against your tongue, digging fingertips into plush skin as you lay fully nude underneath him.

Gulping when you feel those fingertips push your thighs further apart even as he sits between them, leaving you bare to him. There's an instinct to hide; it's involuntary but his voice is so soothingly coaxing, so raspy with his own yearning but he's ignoring it to check on you "you know we don't have to do anything you don't want to..."

Despite your seemingly reluctance you want nothing more than to have this level of intimacy with him, not just trust but knowing he will treat you with an overflow of reverence and compassion, like cradling the most precious thing he knows - because you are.

Once more your fingers loop under his belt and tug impatiently, whispering with a jutting bottom lipped pout "want you"

A soft chuckle from his lips at your eagerness "then you will...have to make sure you're ready to take me first, baby" the combination of the pet name and the pad of index finger brushing across your bud for the first time has you sucking in breath, struggling to pass it back out when he motions circles and runs along your folds intermittently. It's causing you to spin lightheaded but the feel of him nudging against you clit with each stroke is too good to focus on menial breathing techniques.

His lips hover over yours, only lightly touching so he can hear each little sound you make and when he can feel you're struggling to pass breath he slips his middle finger inside you, forcing an exhale so you're free to breathe freely once more and in turn comes a wave of subtle moans. You just can't help yourself, the width of just a single finger has you wondering how you'll fit another, let alone his cock. There isn't much time for you to contemplate before he adds another finger and you tremble against his lips, you feel him smile against you.

"That feel good, baby?" You can't answer with words so instead you reach the distance for another kiss, he gladly swallows each little yelp as he curls his fingers against your walls, circling your clit once more. Your hand flies to his wrist, holding onto him tightly not for him to stop but to keep yourself planted into reality because you're slipping gradually into a realm of nothing but bliss faster than you can get a hold of.

Of course he can sense it too, you're constricting around his digits with each stroke, bucking up into his hand in search of more and it's wetter each time, obscene squelching that causes his jeans to tighten where unabashedly his blood is rushing straight to his cock.

When you throw your head back against the couch cushion he knows he's got you approaching your tipping point, increasing pace until your thighs are squeezing his hips, unable to close all the way since he's perched between you and that's where you loose control. You catch your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down while you soak his fingers, writhing as he keeps going.

He's kissing along your neck, sweeter this time as you succumb to your undoing though with an underlying taste of craving he still has to satiate. And where your heavy breaths begin to even out he's looking into your eyes, tucking whipped strands from your thrashing behind your ear.

"Still okay for more?" Nodding with certainty, he captures your lips again in a sealing kiss, loosening the buckle of his belt all without so much as parting a millimetre from you, forcing his jeans and boxers down with waning patience because there's only one thing he lusts for right now and it's to be buried balls deep inside you.

It doesn't escape him how sacred this is though, not just for your sake but for his own; what to some people is a casual display of fun is woven so deep with intimacy to him and he knows for you too. To give you his body is to give you his soul because the way to the pumping muscle of his heart is through his chest where your palm currently rests atop, to treat your body with such tender caress because it's an extension of you, what keeps your mind and soul moving forward.

So when both of you are fully naked, tangled up and skin brushes skin it's a vow of love, that what you're creating together is devotion that cannot be split because that's what you mean to him.

You've become the entire reason his planet spins in orbit.

He's kissing you feverishly, tongue exploring and tasting every inch of you while his hands do the same, groping and clutching at your breasts, your hips, everywhere. In turn you do the same, holding onto his shoulder until it feels too slow for the heat that's built up and you tug his hips into yours. The whine he gives for it is delicious, thrusting forward into nothing when he stops suddenly, snapping gaze to you.

"Fuck...I don't have protection" casual hookups have never been Beomgyu's thing, two ships passing in the night hold no significance to him and he hasn't had a girlfriend since his high school days so he's had no need to carry condoms on him. Though now that decision might have come back to bite him because he wants for nothing more than to dive into you.

Your hands encircle around the back of his neck, his hair tickling your fingers, drawing his attention into you where you gently breathe “don’t care… need you so much…”

"Yeah?" For confirmation he asks and you hum sensually, pulling him in like a siren call. He's wasting no time now, running his length along your core, gathering your slick which there's an abundance of by now.

When his tip pushes into your entrance you're gasping for air chocked up in your lungs, the stretch far more painful than his fingers and yet you're feening for each new inch that sinks into you. He laces his fingers through yours when he can see your features contorting to accommodate him, nose scrunching and mouth agape, holding you through the sting until he's fully seated inside you, stilling to caress your cheek.

"Tell me to stop and I will" his pupils bore into yours; he needs you to understand that although he's the one above you, physically stronger and engulfing your tiny frame, you are the one in control here. Any indication that it isn't what you want and he's at your command.

Your heart is overflowing with the devotedness he's showing to you, never have you been treated like a sacred relic and where once you'd reject that worship in fear you need it from him like the tides need the moon, the stars need the night sky to sparkle and now the only thing you need is him to move. You nod for him and squeeze his hand, telling him so without words.

His hips withdraw before plunging back, face falling into the crook of your neck as a whimper slips from his lips wanton, you feel his breath and hair alike tickling you though it's difficult to concentrate with the thick pressure filling you up.

"God, you feel - fuck! - so tight, so good" his whimpers grow into words struggling of articulation until you find your own whines breaking through, a chorus of impulsive ardor in an otherwise silent room, the occasional pounding of his hips into you thumps but you're both moaning far too much to even hear. He's pushing so deep, tip brushing against each inch inside you until he's nudging your cervix and he knows so because you're squirming against him, pressing chest to chest. He's snaking a hand around your back to hold you to him, never wishing to part from you now he knows the softness of your skin.

"So beautiful, baby..." he praises, lips sucking the column of your neck and soothing back over with his tongue, occasionally teeth scratch and your spine feels the warmth spread all the way down.

"Beomgyu..." even you're unsure what you're begging for with the utter of his name but his heart hears and already know its calling to him, he's pulling your lips into his, a profound confession tipping off his tongue,

"I love you. I'm in love with you..."

His cheek fits perfectly in the palm of your hand, stroking with your thumb across the bridge of his nose to commit his skin to memory, more so than already burned into your mind because whenever you close your eyes all you see is those honey whipped brown eyes.

"Love you, love you so much..." mimicking his words provides both your soul and his closure you hadn't known it was searching for until this very moment, sealing it with a kiss so devout everything else seems to dissipate. Fidelity, faithfulness - he understands the age old concepts for the first time in your arms, hearing your voice, thrusting inside your heat.

Your confession has kickstarted the pit in his abdomen, he can feel with each stroke he's resisting release so that he can draw it from you first. Instead of speeding up like you presume he would he's dragging out slowly, pushing back in at bruising speed that has you sobbing out now instead of the puny little noises you began with. Again, another slow deliberate pull out and a punch of his hips and your legs shake not just from the recoil but from the pressure in your core.

With each new thrust you're squeezing his cock, the resistance and the harder he has to push to accommodate the tightness ultimately forces you to gush around him with an orgasm overwhelming your already spinning head. You pull him impossibly closer with arms wrapped so tight around his shoulders you can feel his back muscles rippling under your palm.

Every feeling is so visceral that he's collapsing into you, pumping until he can barely hold himself back "mhph…fuck…I'm gonna..." he warns as he begins to withdraw hips, glancing between your bodies when he feels your heels dig into the low of his back where you've wrapped your legs around him.

"Baby... need to pull out..." he's whimpering, trying to pull back but you're holding him so deep inside he can only stutter forward, only making him want to bust but he has to remember he's not wearing a condom. He can't forget it because you're so warm, pulsing around him so tight that it has him considering staying inside beyond better judgement.

It might not be smart but what it does feel is right, you want all of him "inside, please"

He'd curse that his only vice is you if he wasn't so irrevocably, deeply in love with you, because he doesn't have it in his heart to defy your wishes. He neither has it in his body because he's burying as far as he can as his own orgasm forces through him, cumming against that spongey wall of your womb with a low grunt, holding your thighs as they shake against him. It's like heaven unfolding,  he's lost all control to keep himself still while his tip is nudging up against as far as he can possibly reach, shuddering hips as thick ropes of white paint your insides, emptying himself and stuffing you to the brim with floods of his warmth.

"Fuck..." he puffs with a heaving chest, endurance has always been a strong suit drilled into him for his career but his heart is involved here where it isn't in his job, it's spent up energy he isn't use to using. It neither helps that he can pin point this to the singular most intense orgasm of his entire life, the aftershocks still wrack his spent body and the memory of cumming inside your tight warmth has imprinted itself into his very core, etched itself so deep that nothing will even come close now he’s known you.

Your chest rises and falls in the same way, allowing him to rest your legs back against the couch but he's not moving an inch from inside you, staying firmly where he is. His hair is sticking to his forehead from the exertion, you tentatively reach up to brush it away while his eyes hold your sight like you're the reason for the universes creation, as though it was waiting just for you.

He does the same for you, there's not much hair to brush back but his thumb caresses your temple while his lips press together to formulate the words he wishes to express "you mean everything to me. You know that right?"

It's not that you don't feel the exact way - it's more so what to say to words that might as well have been dragged straight from your own soul? He's woven himself so deep there you doubt he'd unstick even under torch and flame. It would devastate your entire being so you'll never allow heat to come close to his seat in your heart.

"I need you, Beomgyu" it's simple in speech but he's aware of the intricacies laced in it, your wishes and your fears all tangled up and he doesn't need to untie to understand with precision exactly what you mean. He offers you a hearty smile, reassurance that whatever your nightmares may be he'll be here to chase them away.

"You have all of me" tipping his head down to kiss you again, you spend what feels like a lifetime against his lips and it's an existence you'd willingly remain in for the remainder of your days, with him holding you as close as he can without being inside your bones. Though his cock is still buried inside you, soft but he's reluctant to part from your warmth so you suppose it's not too far from truth, staying right there for as long as he can.

Eventually he presses his forehead to yours when the kisses cease to a slow stop, eyelids closed to just breathe in your presence. He'd stay like this for as long as permitted but the hour must be getting late by the golden glow of sunset illuminating the bare walls and you've both not eaten a single thing.

"You need to eat, anything you want me to cook?" He asks, watching you ponder with deep contemplation, both for what you want to eat and for the words you'd like to use. It almost feels like relearning them - you have a few in your vocabulary already, his name seems to be the most prominent but the others are something you'll have to get use to wrapping tongue around again "how about stir fry? I can do meat or vegetable" from just a glance he knows your words have used up, prompting for you.

He'd prefer for you to chose meat for the protein though he knows you've struggled to adapt back to it so he'll give you the choice, a small victory for his heart when you whisper ever so silent "meat"

"Okay..." a toothy grin and a kiss to your forehead, a hand gripping your hip warns that he's pulling out, each inch a loss from where you'd felt so full. Each of you release a little whine, the loss is now his entire body cuddled up on top of you too as he searches for the boxers he ditched. The jeans stay put on the floor because the thick material feels too uncomfortable for the domesticity of the moment, though a quick search and he's found the sweater he tossed too, kneeling beside the couch at your side.

He helps feed your arms and head through the gaps when the fatigue of your previous activity gets the better of you, resting it over your frame where a rush of protectiveness floods through him to see his sweater swamp you in size. He smoothes your hair over when it dons you comfortably and stands to refill the glass of water for you, watching with utter fondness as you gulp the hydration down you so desperately need. He smiles more so to himself as he makes his way to kitchen, gathering the ingredients he needs from fridge and cupboards to prepare dinner.

After a little while of recovery you peek over the back of the couch to where Beomgyu stands over the stove, simultaneously stirring the noodles and cooking off the meat. You've never been the greatest cook - even before, you remember you'd mostly opt for leftovers sitting in your fridge so to witness him so well adapted to the skill is pleasant for you. Come to think of it, there isn't much Beomgyu isn't good at, he seems to have a natural flair for life itself, well adjusted in a world that constantly attempts to throw you off.

He's not perfect, he's told you so himself; admissions that before you he felt as though the waves were constantly throwing him under riptide and thrashing against rocks, but he's so damn close you cannot tell the difference that separates him from perfection. You struggle to believe you deserve such a man, such an introspective soul with enough emotional intelligence to keep you afloat, apparently more so than the social workers you've been assigned to.

Truthfully, you think you'd abandon ship from the fear of never being enough for him if he hadn't consumed your entire world and cradled you tightly enough that whenever you're with him those thoughts are chased away by his warmth. You've never questioned his devotion, a stone pillar withstanding the test of ferocious weather abnormalities and time and space itself - the reason you cling to him so. He's good for you, you have to believe you can be good for him too.

The steam rises in plumes when he adds the meat in, his upper bicep flexing as he flips the pan continuously to keep movement on the scorching plate. You can't help yourself but stare, his back muscles wiry and sculpted despite his leanness, sloping lines all the way to the waistband of his boxers. He must feel your eyes boring into him because he turns and you blink rapidly, an attempt to play off despite how he's already seen your stare.

He chuckles heartily "like what you see?"

You blush furiously and drop behind the couch again, bashful despite the fact you're wearing his sweater and have his cum still plugged up inside you, he's not let you lift even a finger. You'd say you could get use to this but he's already treated you dutifully so for a lifetime already.

The whole apartment fills with aromatic goodness the moment he's plated up portions, a smaller one for you so it's not so overwhelming when you look down as he places a cushion on your lap and the plate on top. He sits beside you but waits for you to take the first bite, smiling as you turn to him with cheeks full and nodding enthusiastically at his cooking skills, satisfied before the food even reaches his tongue.

It's tranquil stillness you both sit in as you eat, and for the first time you manage to finish your meal. You've mostly sat on the couch all day but your body must crave the sustenance from the romp, it's the most activity you've seen for a long time so it's much needed. Though it might just be because it was hand crafted by hands you love. He picks up your plate before you can protest, the dishes can sit there for one night, he deems it of much more importance to return to your side. Not before tugging one of the blankets he gathered from his own apartment for you from a duffle bag he stuffed with a few clothes, just incase you ask him to stay.

The blinds are drawn when he wraps you up in the blanket and then in his arms, tugging you into his side where you rest your head to his shoulder, your back to his chest. The two of you are much too comfortable in silences by now, it's serene to just exist right beside you, even if there isn't much you want or can say. He cares not. He still feels the desire to tell you the contents of his heart, not necessarily to receive a reply but because transparency comes easy when it's you.

"I think I'm gonna hand in my resignation" he mentions into the open air, no grand gesture or glancing towards you, just a soft confession.

You sit up immediately with a hand to his chest as you turn to face him, brows knitting and he feels the need to explain further "It’s just - after today there's nothing keeping me there anymore, I have no leverage on your case, they're giving me a new one already like yours meant nothing, it's all just bullshit" a calm disposition but you can feel how it's tugging his insides to contemplate such circumstances, either way you're unhappy to hear your case even within this conversation and a factor in his decision. If that's what he truly wants then so be it - but you want it to be his decision alone "I don't want you to quit because of me"

He sighs, not from annoyance but from admitting a weight upon his shoulder, begging a confession eases the weight "It's not just because of you, don't feel guilty for that. You know I've not been happy for a while. I just don't feel how I did when I was 19 anymore, passing exams to get into the force. I'm tired" he sounds it too, like exhaustion refuses to set him free and it breaks you. You never imagined the job easy by any means, but the passion he's lost feels like an arrow in your own heart.

He's barely got it within him to pour out any more explanation, let alone lift a gun again but he'll try for you; his lips begin to move again when you surprise him with an articulate sentence he could only wish you'd find again - and yet here you are, struggling but the words trip off the tip of your tongue nevertheless.

"They treat you like shit, but I think you still have more to give. Without you I'd be dead. There are others out there - like me. Not your responsibility but imagine if they had someone like you helping. You're worth a thousand agents, screw them if they can't see that" you stammer over a few words, syntax a little rusty but he's listening as though you're a philosopher bestowing age old wisdom to him. You just might be, firsthand you've experienced the one thing about his profession that's rewarding.

His eyes gloss over, not with tears but worship as his palm embraces your cheek, bittersweet smile resting on his lips "it's not that I don't want to help others; it's the reason I trained for this. I just want you to be the one to receive everything I have left to give. Before, if I never came back from a mission I was content enough with that. I had nothing to come back to, but now - I can't risk not coming back to you. If I came face to face with a gun barrel I can't be composed in the way I used to - I'd be so fucking petrified of never seeing you again. I just can't do it, you get that right?"

He admires your drive to push him to keep going, he knows what's best for him is what's centred in your heart though now he's so sure that this is what's right, there's possibly nothing that could convert his decision.

Your own eyes fill with tears with the sincerity of his concession, barely breaking the seal of your lower lid before he's thumbing them away. There's no words you could say that your tears don't, it's acceptance in the most bitter way; the most beautiful because he's confessing his love once more and you can't reset what he's already set on no matter how much you try, you can see it in his eyes he's content with it.

And that's enough for you.

"Always come back to me, Beomgyu"

He can't stand seeing your tears despite the receptiveness; the fact that they're your confession of love because he'd rather hear them with dry eyes, under less tender circumstances so he connects your lips with a searingly impassioned kiss, wasting no time to invite your tongue to dance with his. Laying you down like before, the blankets shuffle off with his hands gliding down your body, seating at your waist as he holds you tight. The kiss is so lewd, all wet smacking sounds where tongues collide until he parts to shuffle down to where your hips sit on the couch.

He hooks your legs over his shoulder as he lays down on his stomach, switching between each thigh to press warm, lascivious kisses across each inch of skin he can reach, trailing closer to your core with each one. With a final glance to your face from between your thighs, he murmurs a raspy “I’m always gonna come back you, baby. Always” just before licking a long stripe up your folds.

Moaning at your taste long before you can even react with your head thrown back, the vibrations scratching from his throat cause shivers along your most intimate parts, right where his lips are slurping up every little thing he can. If you thought the sounds from your kissing were dirty it doesn’t hold a candle to the auditory crudeness of his tongue suckling your bud, it’s only causing a fresh rupture of wetness from the pit in your stomach, soaking all along his chin as he drinks you up greedily.

“Taste so fucking good…” mumbling without ever removing his lips from you, you whine untamed and throw a hand to your mouth from instinct much to his dissatisfaction “wanna hear you, baby” gently commanding, your body responds like a sleeper agent to his voice to instead reach out and grip his hair, tugging his roots like before to reward you with the same beautiful whimpers. Involuntarily it triggers your own little yelps of pleasure that send his heart soaring and his cock hardening, rutting himself against the couch.

When you clench your thighs against his head after a particularly sensitive lick he welcomes the squeeze, grasping at your thighs with desperate hands that just can’t decide where he wants to touch. They slither up your body, slipping under the hem of your sweater to hold and squeeze your breasts. The additional stimulation has you keening upwards in a plea for more, a release so close within your grasp you can practically see it in the night sky when you screw your eyes tight.

“Let go. I got you” reassurance like honey dripped straight into your ears he’s barely giving you rest between each lick and suck, coaxing a gush before you can even prepare. It soaks his tongue but he’s lapping it up like he’s parched, letting not a drop go to waste while you’re writhing under his touch.

Tears streak down your cheeks now not from sadness but from an avalanche of pure euphoria, soaring your head above cloud from the dizzying spin of the sensations of coming undone and having him still suck up your juices to his hearts content. He doesn’t bother to hold you down as you thrash, just accommodates the angle of his tongue until you’re grasping at his forearm breathless, gasping for rest finally.

He parts ever so slightly to gauge your sensitivity though he can see you’re overcome with it just from a single glance to your face, blissed beyond comprehension so he retracts fully, ignoring the way his hard on throbs against the constriction of his boxers in favor of attending to you. He can barely hold out for the feeling of being inside you again, stuffing you up to have you clench around him and the heaven sent bliss of cumming in you, though your needs are far greater right now. He’ll wait a lifetime for you.

Laying your legs to rest, he tucks the blanket around you again as he slots himself between you and the back of the couch, gently pulling you into him but you reach for him the rest of the way, nosing your head into his chest. Arms encircle you, fingers caressing your spine under the sweater of his that adorns you. You’d welcomed the scent of him on it when he’d left to cook, though now you don’t have to inhale at the material because instead his scent is enveloping you, his bare chest makes it more concentrated and fragrant, a rich timber with a hint of sweetness that can only comes from him. You breathe him in like the air you need in your lungs, nuzzling deeper.

“Did so well, baby” he praises and kisses the crown of your head, fingers travelling up to cradle you close with light scratches to your scalp that have you melting, whimpering with delight and he grins.

Pensive thoughts have been circling his mind all day, though you quiet them into soft breathed whispers so easy to ignore until they come to gnash teeth when he’s admitting insecurities he wasn’t even aware he had “not gonna be your cool action hero when I quit anymore, you know. Gonna be some boring paperwork guy behind the scenes without a gun”

Playful you’re huffing a scoff and right as you do all his self doubt seems to dissipate to wind, that one little gestures tells him that you couldn’t care less what he is or what he does - that you fell in love with the person holding the gun not because his hand was full of bullets and metal but because his heart was full of blood and veins; something alive despite the cold of the weapon. Still, you verbally correct him “don’t care what you do for a job, Beomgyu. Just as long as you come back to me”

There’s a smile beaming on cheeks, your mind is your own yet he seems to know exactly where your thoughts formulate because it’s the same corner his do. Situated not in the logical portion in your frontal lobe but from another organ all together, the one lodged inside your ribcage, currently expanding against his own where you’re pressed skin on skin.

He use to never make promises to you, they were far too superficial and unreliable for you to believe; back in the hospital bed you laid in for a month straight you’d cower from them, cower from him if he made them. In truth, not much feels different now, except you’ve both admitted what was lying dormant the entire time in the undercurrents of the bond between both of you. It’s raw, heart wrenchingly tender love that’s grown in a battleground. A war zone of the excruciating trials of trying to heal, both from distinctively individual journeys that somehow found a path towards each other in the mess of everything. Anchors grounding each other’s ships; allowing the waves of recovery and rehabilitation to wash past the rudders.

Now promises feel safe in way they hadn’t before because you no longer feel the guilt of asking him to stay; it’s where he belongs and longs to be for the rest of days. As your eyes gradually flutter shut, exhaustion winning the war over your body made by his lips, tongue, hands, he whispers into your hair just before you fall into slumber so you hear his hushed voice calling out to you, never letting you an inch from his arms;

“Never have to worry about me not coming back to you, I’m never leaving you in the first place. I promise you that, my love…”

Those words are your lullaby, in sleep and wake, never failing you.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @nota10butadefinite8 @buttersoob @lovelyangel22 @kittykattkitty @pageraf @futuristicterrorschism

[hyukanony]

Beomgyu Twitter(X) links

Disclaimer: All links contain NSFW! Open at your own discretion<3

Having him play with his toy until he cums and squirts for you.

Riding his cock on the dorm couch

Long haired Gyu in doggy

Edging him tied up on your chair

He likes to rut himself against the towel to cum <3

-

Its been months enjoy freaky moa (⁠ ⁠T⁠_⁠T⁠)⁠＼⁠(⁠^⁠-⁠^⁠ ⁠)

[beomtle]

his skilled fingers and pretty face would do wonders on my cunt tbh

cr. beom_emo

[filmsbyun]

Snowbound Affairs || Choi Beomgyu

꒰❄️꒱ A blizzard strands your train in the middle of nowhere, and the only inn with a room left has one bed. You don’t hesitate to book it with the charming stranger who’s been keeping you company. 

⤷ ゛ This story is part of the One Bed Series .ᐟ.ᐟ

⊹ wc .ᐟ 22.4k

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

tags: strangers to friends to ?, mutual pining and micro-flirting, sexual tension, they get stranded on a train, in the middle of a snowstorm, yearner!beomgyu, mention of injury, slowburn in a train setting because i fucking can [probably missed some]

[MDNI] smut warning: explicit sexual content, fingering, oral (f.), nipple play, he grinds against reader's knee, he humps the mattress while eating reader out, cums in his pants, he also begs, dom!beomgyu (but pathetic and madly in love), one instance of him being a little possessive, some fluffy moments, multiple orgasms, protected sex (huzzah!), sliight pain kink if you squint, mating press, implication of multiple rounds at the end [definitely missed some]

yun's ☕: *cricket noises* i bring offerings after my suspicious disappearance. anyway that’s enough about me.

Reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!

© filmsbyun ── please do not copy, translate, or repost my work without permission.

You stared at your phone with a sigh that turned faintly visible in the chilly air. 

It was colder at the station than you thought it would be when you left your apartment. There wasn’t enough insulation anywhere to stop the biting chill from finding its way through the walls and floors of the underground station. A draft swept underneath the sliding glass doors at the front entrance and teased your ankles repeatedly as you paced. Commuters bustled around you in small groups beneath the mounted television near the waiting bench; the murmurs of their conversations punctuated by small clouds of breath as the newscaster droned over images of snow-whitened roads.

“…the blizzard is expected to intensify by late afternoon. All travelers are advised to reconsider non‑essential trips…”

You exhaled slowly and watched the condensation fog your phone screen momentarily before it dissipated. Regret pooled heavily in your stomach. You should have known better than to pick this particular weekend to go home — the rare long break that had lined up perfectly with your schedule and, with spectacular inconvenience, also happened to coincide with the worst winter storm of the year. Too late to reconsider now. The ticket was bought and the bag was packed and you were already here, which was more than halfway committed by any reasonable measure. 

When the train whistle sounded and the engine glided into the station on a billow of frost, you shrugged off what remained of your better judgment and fell in with the sluggish crowd moving toward it. Passengers bundled up in heavy coats brushed shoulders with you and you were swallowed by a ripple of low-toned conversation.

The luggage wheels chose that exact moment to give out.

They jammed in the narrow gap between the platform’s edge and the train’s step. It lurched to an abrupt halt that jolted your arm forward. You tugged once but it wouldn’t budge. Tugged again, harder, putting your body into it — the handle creaked but the wheels held fast. 

Restlessness rippled through the people behind you in line. Heat flushed your neck as you crouched down trying to yank the damn suitcase free, not wanting to hold up the line for much longer.

Not today. You started to panic. Please, not today.

“Need some help there?”

The voice came from just behind you.

You didn’t turn all the way to face him — just bobbed your head in thanks. “Yeah, please. Thank you.”

His hand slid past yours and the cuff of his coat sleeve brushed yours as he knelt down next to the suitcase. One hand gripped the handle while the other nudged underneath just enough to shift the wheels out of the corner. Lifted it slightly and twisted, and it popped free. 

He straightened without comment and took the handle, stepping onto the train and glancing back only briefly to make sure you were following. You nodded hastily and climbed up the narrow stairs. Face still burning, you walked along the aisle behind him and led him towards your seat.

“It's just this row,” you said, pointing. 

At your seat, he hoisted the suitcase up in one clean motion — higher than his head, without any visible hitch — and you watched his arms complete the arc of it that gave you a funny feeling in your belly. Before you quite realized it, your eyes had followed the line of his arms all the way to his hands. You finally got a good look at his face when he turned to you.

Strong lines along his jaw and eyes that warmed when they met yours. A few strands of dark hair had fallen loose from the rest of his neatly combed-back style, resting across his forehead. It was somewhat unfair for a stranger on a train to look like that. 

“Thank you,” you said, your hand going up automatically to check the suitcase was properly secured. “You really saved me from the embarrassment back there.” 

He glanced at it once more and gave it a small push to seat it further in, then stepped back to give you room to pass. 

“Don’t mention it. Happens to the best of us.” He rested his hand briefly on the back of your seat to steady himself as someone edged down the aisle behind him. “Those gaps catch wheels more often than people think.” 

You laughed despite yourself as you sank into the window seat and pulled your jacket closer around your shoulders. “Guess I'm just the unlucky one who got chosen tonight.”

His lips moved into something that wasn't quite a smile yet but was heading there. He rapped his knuckles against the suitcase gently, like to make sure it wouldn’t fall off on you. Then he gestured towards the row in front of you, indicating his seat.

“Mine's a couple up.”

“Thank you again,” you said as he turned to go.

He glanced back over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, and this time the smile completed itself. “Happy holidays,” he replied before continuing down the aisle.

“Happy holidays,” you whispered quietly to yourself. 

You weren't entirely sure how happy it was shaping up to be. 

The inside of the train was dim and catatonic. Departure had already been pushed back thirty minutes in the hopes that any remaining passengers would hurry and get on board before conditions made the journey inadvisable. Even so, large pockets of empty seats remained scattered throughout, and the untouched headrests gave the entire compartment a strangely hollow appearance. 

The seat directly across from yours was unclaimed. So were most of the others within eyeline. 

A small stroke of fortune, perhaps. You could hardly blame them. Considering the warnings that were on every news channel, it seemed likely that most people with flexible plans had chosen to remain safely indoors instead of venturing across the country through a rising blizzard. The ones who had shown up tonight were the ones who couldn't afford the postponement, who had reasons that outweighed the inconvenience of a winter storm bearing down on the railway line. 

You fell squarely into that category. It had been too long since you had last made the trip home and when the long weekend appeared on your calendar, the trip had felt too convenient to postpone. Canceling would have been the sensible thing. You had considered it, and then the thought of putting it off again had guilt building up. So you had packed a bag and come anyway, blizzard warnings and all, which was either devotion or stubbornness and at this point you weren't certain there was a meaningful difference between the two. 

Under ordinary conditions the journey was supposed to take just over two hours. Judging by the sound of the wind working itself against the windows before the train had even cleared the city, the estimate felt increasingly optimistic.

For the first half hour of the journey, you did little more than watch the passage of the evening through the window. The sky held the last of the day's color — pale rose bleeding into silver at the edges as the sun dropped behind a low line of hills, and the first snow began to fall into the fading light. Started as a scattering of delicate flakes drifting lazily through the air which was barely noticeable against the dimming horizon. It was a rather pretty sight. 

Within minutes the flakes multiplied and thickened, merging into a pale curtain that swept across the open countryside in waves. The train’s headlights cut out a small area of movement through the white until there was very little left to look at except the storm itself. Watching it for too long produced a faint, swimming sensation behind your eyes.

A chime sounded through the carriage, followed by the soft crackle of the train’s announcement system. The conductor’s voice came through the speakers, informing that due to deteriorating weather conditions along the route, the train would be reducing speed and making several unscheduled stops to ensure the safety of everyone on board.

Your earlier suspicion had aged into confirmation. This wasn't going to be the usual two-hour ride to Daegu. If the weather kept building at its current rate, the journey could easily stretch to twice the original estimate, possibly more.

There was only so long anyone could watch an unbroken wall of snow before the mind began casting around for something else to do with itself. Some coffee would be a lot more appealing than staring at bleakness, you thought, and it nudged you out of your seat. You made your way down to the snack car. It was marginally brighter than the passenger compartments. A slim counter ran along one side with an attendant moving briskly between shelves and heating units.

The display offered little in the way of temptation.

Plastic-wrapped pastries lay under heat lamps that had long since deprived them of whatever freshness they might have once found. A shelf of microwaveable items occupied the adjacent space. Nothing about it looked particularly appealing, and you could almost feel the sodden heaviness that would come an hour later if you dared to take more than a mouthful. Hardly ideal considering the uncertain length of the journey ahead.

Despite that, the shelves were emptying at a surprising pace. Passengers seemed less concerned with quality than availability, gathering whatever remained before the options disappeared altogether. The sight prompted you to make your decision quickly.

You purchased a couple of the lemon cream buns stacked near the register along with a cup of coffee. The buns looked harmless and would likely sit far better in your stomach than the alternatives. You deemed it a sensible choice. 

With your small collection of supplies in hand, you glanced around for somewhere to sit. A small table near the wall was the only vacant one remaining. You slid into the seat and set the buns down in front of you, curling both palms around the cup. The train rocked more noticeably here than in the passenger car — a slow, side-to-side sway that rattled through the fixtures and occasionally produced a low creak from the metal frame of the carriage when a particularly aggressive gust found the side of the train. 

You set your coffee down and reached for your phone. Your mother had sent four messages since the departure delay, each one a variation on the same concern, and you owed her a call before the evening went any further. The dial tone attempted to connect, held for a few seconds, and then dissolved into silence without going through. 

You pulled the phone from your ear and looked at the screen — the network icon in the corner was flickering back to life then fading again. You angled the phone toward the window on the off chance that the extra distance might persuade the signal to cooperate.

Unfortunately, the same result followed. You clicked your tongue, irritation simmering just beneath the surface.

“Can I sit here?”

Your heart gave a startled jump before your brain had fully registered the voice, and you looked up to find the handsome stranger from the platform standing at the edge of your table. He balanced himself by bracing one hand against the tabletop as the movement of the carriage rocked him slightly where he stood. In his other hand he carried a small packet of food.

“Sure—please, go ahead,” you said quickly, sitting up straighter and nudging your paper bag a little farther to the side to clear the space. 

He dipped his head in gratitude and lowered himself onto the seat beside you. The train chose that exact moment to lurch forward with a particularly pronounced sway that made him huff a quiet laugh. He settled, set his food down, and met your eyes with a look that carried the trace of whatever that almost-laugh had been. 

“I hope you don't mind. Every other table seems to have been claimed.” He glanced briefly around the car before returning to you. “I figured since we'd already spoken, it’d be less awkward than asking a complete stranger.”

“I don't mind at all,” you said, shaking your head with emphasis. “Besides, I doubt anyone on this train is turning down company tonight.”

His lips curved in a gentle smile. “Then I’ll do my best to make sure the company isn’t disappointing. I’d hate to abuse such generous hospitality on our second meeting of the evening.” His gaze held something like assurance, almost as if he were hoping you’d enjoy his presence as much as he would enjoy yours.

“Well,” you murmured, settling back and holding your coffee close, “in that case you’re very much welcome to the table.”

He unwrapped his meal and you noticed he hadn't thought to get a drink. You looked at your own coffee, still warm between your palms, and then back at him. 

“You know,” you added, motioning towards your own cup, “I’ll grab you something to drink—might make the night ahead a little warmer.”

He looked up immediately and raised a hand in protest. “You don't have to do that—really, you've already given me the seat.”

“It’s really not a problem,” you insisted, rising halfway before he could object again. “You helped me earlier, remember? Consider it repayment.” You paused, letting him gather his thoughts before continuing. “Coffee or tea? Whichever you prefer.”

He hesitated for a moment before conceding with a small nod. “In that case,” he said, glancing briefly toward the counter, “coffee would be great.”

You returned shortly after with a cup of coffee. He sat up straighter once you approached. 

“Here you go,” you said, holding it toward him.

He took it with both hands and bowed his head in thanks. After taking a small sip he set the cup down and extended his hand.

“I should have done this properly earlier,” he said. “Choi Beomgyu.”

You repeated his name in your head over again after he said it, savouring the sound. Lingering on the taste of each syllable with a strange attention you couldn’t quite place. As you gave your own introduction, you took his hand and shook it, and noted that it was warm — still carrying the heat from the cup. Just like his name. 

You felt your phone buzz suddenly.

“One second—sorry, my mum's been waiting to hear from me,” you said, quickly placing the phone to your ear while flashing him a look of apology.

Turning slightly in your seat, you focused on the call while explaining the situation to your mother. The connection crackled occasionally beneath your words, forcing you to repeat yourself once or twice as you reassured your mother that you were still on the train and that the delay had only stretched the journey, not halted it entirely. 

Every so often, when you glanced up mid-sentence, you caught him looking at you over the rim of his cup. The simple exchange sent a curious flutter through your chest; it was pleasant in a way that made you unexpectedly aware of the moment.

“Are you visiting family in Daegu?” he asked once you’re done talking.

You nodded, pulling your scarf down from around your neck and draping it across your lap. The snack car had warmed you up enough that keeping it wrapped felt excessive. “I haven't been home in a while.” You rested your hands atop one another on your lap, tapping your fingers together absentmindedly in a restless habit you had never quite managed to outgrow. “You?”

“Daegu as well.” The corners of his mouth lifted. You had the same destination as him, which meant he could spend time in your company longer. “My brother is getting married. The ceremony is the day after tomorrow, actually. I didn't have much choice about traveling tonight, storm or not.”

“Wait, really? That's wonderful!” You leaned forward with a delighted sound, your hands lifting slightly in excitement before you caught yourself and laughed. “Congratulations to him—to your whole family, I mean.”

Beomgyu laughed as well, the sound bright enough to draw a brief glance from someone seated a few tables away. “He's been sending me photos for weeks,” he said, already reaching into his coat pocket for his phone. “Here, let me show you a few—”

He scrolled through the gallery while angling the phone between you on the table so both of you could see. You instinctively found yourself leaning in for a better view.

The photos moved past in an affectionate chronicle — a smiling couple holding up their hands to show the rings, a table full of family at what looked like a celebratory dinner. The particular beautiful pandemonium of wedding preparations filling someone's living room with fabric samples and flower arrangements and people who all seemed to be talking at once. In nearly every image, Beomgyu's brother and the woman beside him were either laughing at the camera or turned toward each other with the telltale glow of two people eagerly awaiting the day ahead.

You caught yourself smiling purely for them, not for any reason beyond simple happiness.

“They look so happy,” you said, pausing on one photo in particular — the bride-to-be with a streak of flour across her cheek, laughing beside his brother in the middle of what appeared to be a thoroughly failed baking project. 

Beomgyu leaned in slightly to see which one you had stopped on, and his shoulder brushed yours as he did. Neither of you moved apart. “That was their attempt at baking their own engagement cake,” he said, the laugh already back in his voice. “My brother maintained for weeks that it was the best thing he'd ever eaten. Nobody else who tried it agreed with him.”

“He was protecting her feelings,” you said immediately.

“Almost certainly.” He scrolled to the next photo, which showed the same couple holding up a lopsided, fondant-covered disaster with matching expressions of pride. “Although he did finish the whole thing, so either he meant it or he has genuinely terrible taste.”

You laughed, and Beomgyu looked at you when you did. He should have torn himself away after a second. Instead, he stayed there watching you through the sound of it, gaze softening which he failed to hide in time. 

God, he could get used to hearing that. 

The next few were different from the others — older photographs, more personal. A family of four around a dinner table crowded with dishes. A blurry snapshot taken outdoors where two boys stood shoulder to shoulder beneath a vibrant blue sky, squinting into the sun. Another picture showed the same boys years later, taller now, though their expressions suggested they had been persuaded into the photo rather than volunteering for it. 

Beomgyu walked you through his memory lane and told you little stories behind every photo. You listened and watched his face more than the screen. 

You focused on a photo of his father caught in a candid moment with a glass raised toward the camera. You stared at it and then back at Beomgyu, and it required very little imagination to picture how those features might settle with age — how his face may look five, ten years from now etched with laugh lines and softer features. Older, but still the same.

It gave you this tight feeling in your chest that felt oddly misplaced. You had known this man for barely an hour, but the simple act of looking at the people who raised him and listening to him talk about his life — it had begun to create the faintest sense of connection that you hadn't been looking for and weren't sure what to do with. 

“I really hope I make it there on time,” Beomgyu said, more to himself than to you, his eyes moving toward the window. “I promised I'd be there early—there were a few things I said I'd help with before the ceremony. That promise is starting to feel a little ambitious.”

You followed his gaze toward the window where the glass had begun to cloud faintly. Snow tore past it in dense white streaks, illuminated only when the train passed the occasional line of track lights. 

“Optimistic,” you offered. “And I think it’s perfectly fine to be optimistic in times like these. If anything, it gives others peace of mind.”

At this point optimism was the only resource anyone aboard the train seemed to possess. Every passenger you had seen since boarding the train bore the same tell tale demeanor. Hoping and praying that the weather would let up and that they would make it to their destination. 

Beomgyu liked that you had taken his pessimism and returned it to him reframed, and it made him curious whether the calm in your voice was something you actually felt or something you had decided to project for the benefit of the people around you. He suspected it was genuinely both and made him wonder if that calm would hold if he pushed the thought a little further.

“Maybe,” he conceded, glancing once more at the window. “If it doesn’t work out, I suppose I'll just end up stranded somewhere along the line with everyone else who gambled on the weather tonight.” He gave a small shrug, though the thought clearly amused him. “Could be worse outcomes.”

“Significantly worse,” you agreed, lifting your coffee cup. “We're inside, at least. Stranded on a train is categorically not the worst version of stranded. But, like, I still wouldn't want to spend the night here in that situation.”

He let that settle for a beat, glancing around the carriage with a brief, contemplative sweep before his eyes returned to yours. The smile that followed came out slowly, like he had given himself a moment to decide whether to say the next thing and had concluded in favor of it. 

“I suppose that's only true depending on who you're stranded with.”

It was a miraculous testament to your abilities that you kept yourself from blushing at his words. What you did end up doing was burn your lips on your coffee in an attempt to conceal your smile.

You flinched with a small hiss, pulling your bottom lip inward between your teeth and dragging your tongue across it in a futile attempt to address the sting. Beomgyu straightened so abruptly his knee knocked the underside of the table.

“Hey—careful,” he said, offering a folded tissue. “Are you alright?”

There was visible concern in his voice, but still the question ended with a faint breath of laughter he clearly attempted to suppress. You took the tissue and pressed it to your lip, narrowing your eyes in playful reproach. His smile turned apologetic that softened his entire face. The sight had an unfortunate effect on you. Your attempt at indignation dissolved before it could fully form, and the reprimand you had intended never reached your lips.

“It's fine,” you said, lowering the tissue and testing your lip with a light press of your finger. The sting had already softened to a mild throb, manageable enough that your attention had moved on to the more pressing issue of what had come out of your mouth in the seconds after it. “Besides, that was probably the most action my lips were going to get tonight anyway.”

You got a sickening sense of ick arriving after you finished speaking, crawling up from your stomach to the back of your throat in a slow, nauseating wave. It wasn’t that you wanted to make it sound pitiful. You had not meant it as flirtation either, goddammit — that was the honest truth. And the honest truth was somehow worse, because it meant you had simply said something pathetic with complete sincerity and no strategic intent whatsoever. You sounded splendidly sad and misleading.

Slowly, you lowered your hand away from your mouth. You steeled yourself for embarrassment at the very least or polite sympathy at worst — but you found neither on Beomgyu's face. There was no trace of pity in his expression, no awkward hesitation that might suggest he had begun reassessing the stranger in front of him after he was confronted with a confession he had not asked for. 

“Tell me about it,” he said with a barely concealed knowing smile.

“Seriously?” You raised your brows, scoffing softly. “I wouldn't have guessed that about you.”

You meant that sincerely.

He was attractive — there was no point pretending otherwise. He had also been kind and considerate; a gentleman. Whether it meant anything beyond good manners was a separate question entirely. 

Still against your better judgement a small, selfish thought surfaced. 

That’s convenient.

You crossed your legs beneath the table and shifted in your seat, applying what willpower you had left to the project of not following that thought any further down the path it was heading. It was a limited supply of willpower. Beomgyu was not helping. 

If his deft handling of your earlier remark had not already charmed you, the way he reacted now had already gotten to you. He looked away, if only for a second, gaze dropping to the table as a shy smile graced his lips. It was not avoidance so much as a brief retreat, as though he needed the space of a heartbeat before returning to you. When he did return to you, there was a faint flush dusting his cheeks that he appeared entirely unaware of.

Oh.

You were getting smitten by this man far too quickly. You needed to slow down. You were very aware that you needed to slow down. 

“It's kind of you to say that.” He exhaled a short laugh, turning his coffee cup in a slow half-rotation against the table. “No, I mean—it really hasn't been that long. But no.”

You nodded, more to fill the space than anything else. Fortunately, your conscience was still alive and you used the moment to remind yourself of a few things. Charm could be fabricated just as easily as it could be genuine. People could present themselves well and say the right things in ways that made you forget to question what was underneath. None of what Beomgyu had shown you tonight proved anything on its own. 

The reminder was sound. It lasted approximately four seconds.

“I was actually supposed to bring someone to the wedding,” he added, like an afterthought. “Didn’t quite work out that way.”

You perked up at the new information. “Why’s that?” 

He tongued the corner of his lips, hemming and hawing how much he wanted to share. “Explaining the full absence of a plus one,” he said, with a self-deprecating tilt of his head, “might genuinely take longer than the rest of this journey.” He paused. “I could go into it, if you don't mind sitting through the sad highlights.”

“We’ve got time,” you said, gesturing at the window. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere anytime soon.”

The apples of his cheeks puffed up as if he had been waiting for permission to continue. 

But you never got to hear what happened, because somewhere behind you, the sound of a child’s crying echoed through the carriage. Instinctively, your head turned.

A young woman stood a few steps away, shifting a restless toddler against her shoulder while scanning around for an available seat. The train’s swaying had an evident effect on her posture and she adjusted her hold with visible strain.

“We should give her the table.” You glanced once at Beomgyu before nodding toward the woman. 

He followed your line of sight and got the cue immediately. He was on his feet in the blink of an eye, and when the woman approached he gestured toward the seats with a smile. “Please—it's all yours.”

Instant gratitude spread across her features. She thanked you both as she settled in with the toddler, and you wiped the faint ring your cup had left on the table while Beomgyu moved the spare chair aside to give her more room. It was not a long exchange, but it carried an undercurrent of understanding that needed no elaboration. Then, just as quickly, you left the snack car together.

Within the dim confines of the vestibule, you slowed your pace and stole a glance back at him.

“Um—” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, looking ahead rather than at him as you spoke. “If you don't hate the idea of company, there's an empty seat across from mine. You could sit there, if you want—I don't think anyone's coming around to check tickets tonight.” A small pause followed, then you quickly added with an almost self-conscious, “Only if you're comfortable with it, though.”

The amber light caught your face as you turned back toward him, illuminating your features in such a dreamy way that caught him entirely off guard. It pooled along the curve of your cheek and the line of your mouth, and when you looked up at him — he momentarily lost the capacity to breathe correctly.

He had been mesmerized by your eyes from the moment at the platform. He’d known then that you'd be difficult to forget. Now, at this proximity, with your attention fixed on him, they seemed to undo whatever composure he had managed to gather over the last few minutes.

He would be an idiot to say no. A spectacular, irredeemable idiot. 

“I don't mind at all,” he said, falling into step beside you. Only God knew how he didn’t trip over his own words. “That's genuinely a better offer than where I've been sitting. The man next to my seat has decided that I was a reasonable substitute for a headrest.”

Your startled laughter was music to his ears. The stupid grin on his lips refused to tame down — because he was the one who made you laugh. Call it stupid, which it honestly was, maybe even a little embarrassing, but he was already helplessly besotted with you. 

You led him back through the carriage to your row and slid into the window seat, and he settled into the one across from you. The closeness here was different than before, but welcomed by you both. 

He leaned back against the seat and ran a hand through his hair, and you watched him do it with your chin resting on your hand.

"Where was I?" he asked.

"Your mystery plus one," you said. "You were about to explain."

"Right." He exhaled, dropping his hand back to his lap. "Right."

A blind date arranged by a close friend, one he trusted enough not to question the introduction. He recounted every detail that led him to start that year-long relationship with a rueful self-aware smile, because he already knew how ironic it sounded.

He had believed in her completely. That was the part he kept returning to — by strengthening that belief, the memories forged during their time together felt as though they were permanently branded onto his soul. A year passed before the foundation of it showed its first fractures, and by then they had accumulated enough that he couldn't point to a single moment where things had gone wrong. 

It hadn't been betrayal in the way people typically meant when they used the word. Messages that went unanswered until well into the night, accounted for with an explanation that was just plausible enough to accept. A promise that became a lie so gradually that the transition was invisible until it was already complete. Moments where he'd raised a concern and watched it get brushed aside so lightly that he'd found himself questioning whether he had read the situation correctly. None of it had seemed large enough to name at the time, yet each instance had gathered somewhere in him and piled up little by little. 

He told you how she’d invented minor crises just to see if he would react, and how he had mistaken that scrutiny for care. It sounded foolish now that he could hear himself saying it, he acknowledged. She had tested the bounds of his patience and taken advantage of the trust he gave her freely. He then explained how he had called her out on it more than once and she had come back with some half-assed excuse, some bullshit story that had a cute twist at the end and had him questioning his own intuition.

Melancholy had draped itself over his face, painting his lips when he reached the parts that still cost him something to say. She existed as this fantasy, presented herself as a version of a person that matched him so well he had attributed it to compatibility rather than a lie. It wasn't until she slipped, until he caught the tail end of a phone call he hadn't been meant to hear, that the full shape of it became visible to him all at once. 

She hadn’t loved him; she had loved being loved by him.

It had taken him far longer than he was comfortable admitting to understanding the difference between those two things, and longer still to work out what it meant for everything he thought he had known about the year they had shared. Because when she left his life she took her reasons with her and left him only answers to cobble together from the fractures of her decisions.

You found it difficult to hold yourself at a distance from what he had shared. He was objectively someone you barely knew — someone whose life intersected yours for the briefest of moments. You were supposed to suspend your trust in these circumstances, that a narrative spun in a place and time like this could become whatever version the narrator needed it to be. You had reminded yourself of this already tonight, more than once, and it had helped less each time. 

Because there was something about him as he talked that tethered his words to the haunted yearning he struggled to hide.

Raw honesty had a particular quality that was very difficult to sustain without it being exactly what it appeared to be, and what you were watching was not someone shaping a narrative for your benefit. It left you wondering, with a growing sense of disbelief, how someone who spoke with such care and openness could have been met with so little of it in return.

“Did your friend know?” you asked. “The one who set up the blind date—did he know what she was like?”

Beomgyu pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head slowly. The rueful smile returned, directed more at the memory than at you. “Taehyun had no idea,” he said. “If he had, he wouldn't have pushed me into it. He felt terrible when everything came out—kept apologizing for weeks, wouldn't let it go no matter how many times I told him it wasn't his fault.”

“Taehyun?” You blurted out, eyes going wide like saucers. Your sudden rise in volume in turn startled him. “Kang Taehyun?”

“Yeah,” he answered, hesitating for a brief second before adding, “Do you… know him? I mean—it's not a rare name, there are probably—”

“No, hold on,” you muttered, already scrolling through your gallery with growing urgency until you found what you were looking for. You turned your screen toward him, leaning across the space between your seats. “This Taehyun. Is this him?”

Simultaneously leaning forward, creased eyebrows crinkling up and mouth falling agape in recognition, he pointed a finger at your screen.

“That’s Taehyunnie,” he chortled. “Yes—yes! That's my friend. That's him.”

“You’re kidding.” You pulled back with a laugh of your own that came out slightly unhinged, pressing your palm briefly to your forehead. “He's my friend too.”

He fumbled for his own phone, unlocking it with hurried movements and swiping into his gallery. He held his screen beside yours, flipping through a series of photos — some from school days and others more recent, Taehyun in various configurations with a younger-looking Beomgyu across several years. 

“Look—this is us. This one was last year,” he said, tapping a photo of the two of them against the backdrop of the Han River at night. 

“What are the actual odds,” you said, shaking your head slowly. “How does that even happen.”

“The world is ridiculously small.” He huffed out a breath. “Which university?”

“Same as him. Same department too,” you said, sitting up straighter now, the earlier heaviness of the conversation completely overturned. “We were year mates.” 

“I've known him since school. We ended up at different universities but we never lost touch.” He let out another incredulous laugh. "I can't believe I've never seen you around.”

“He never mixes his people.” With deft fingers, you quickly texted Taehyun asking about Beomgyu. You hoped the network was cooperating. “I don't think I've ever seen him introduce anyone from different parts of his life to each other.”

“That explains a lot. He’s always been like that,” Beomgyu said, nodding. "I've met maybe two people from his university years, and both times it was accidental." 

This unbashful feeling of giddiness was so, so stupid, but you didn’t feel the need to hold yourself back anymore. How narrow could the world be? How could it be, that you had wandered unknowingly alongside him for so long? Something that had felt like a wall between you — the stranger-ness of him — had just been pulled away. Your heart leapt with joy.

Conversation lulled into momentary silence but it was thrumming with the last of your laughter and the surprise that had not yet worn off. Staring into each other’s eyes you both felt this growing sense of belonging that you were not feeling around each other when you met.

“I feel so happy,” he confessed with a warm smile. The flat of his palm caressed his chest where his heart laid. "I don't know why exactly. I just—I really do." 

"Me too," you said simply. And you meant it all the way down. 

He had this tendency to say more with his eyes than his mouth could describe, something you observed he’s been doing all evening. You loved deciphering him this way.

"I kept thinking we'd get off the train and that would be it," he said, his gaze dropping briefly to your hands before returning to your face. "That you'd be a good memory I wouldn't have any way of returning to. I kept thinking I should prepare myself for that. It’s… comforting knowing that we can actually keep in touch.”

You tilted your head sideways, narrowing your eyes playfully. "So without Taehyun, we wouldn't have managed that?" you asked with a light, probing edge.

The surge of satisfaction that grasped you was palpable when you saw him undone by you. Colour rose along his cheeks — heat that crept upwards even as his charming smile held, because Beomgyu was choosing to ride the wave you clearly already had. 

“I can be friendly,” he murmured with a croon as he leaned forward, elbows coming to rest on his knees and closing the distance between you by a fraction that registered in every nerve you had. His gaze that stayed on yours asked for nothing and yet held your attention completely. 

You hummed, nodding for him to finish what he started. “Go on.”

"I would have found a reason to stay right here regardless." His fingers brushed once against the fabric near your knee as the train swayed. An involuntary shiver ran up you just from that miniscule of a contact. "But I'd rather earn it," he said. "Starting with being your friend."

You were looking at each other so intently that anything beyond the two of you went unnoticed. The rest of the compartment might as well have fallen away. You had eyes for each other and nothing else.

"I'd like that," you said, and let your voice drop a little so that he had to lean slightly closer to catch it. "I'd like to be your friend too." 

"Good." The curve of his mouth was slow and warm. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Your heart raced with nerves and exhilaration. Just then your phone vibrated against your palm, abrupt enough to pull you back. 

Tyun wait why are you asking about beomgyu are you actually on the same train as him rn. please say yes Tyun ok if you are- he's one of the best people i know. genuinely. you're in good hands. also this is the funniest thing that's happened to me all week and i'm at my friend's wedding rehearsal dinner so that's saying something

You stared at the screen for a moment, the corner of your mouth pulling up despite yourself. Of all the moments for Taehyun to come through with a functional response, it had to be now. While you had gone silent, Beomgyu began to feel a tad bit of concern over his choice of words. Had he pushed you too far?

"Everything okay?" he asked.

You looked up from the screen and met his eyes, and this time you didn't look away first.

"Yeah," you said. "More than okay."

The pellucid certainty with which you had said it did more than reassure him. He had meant what he said about earning it, about taking things at the pace they were supposed to take, and that intention hadn't moved. But intentions and the pull he felt sitting across from you occupied two entirely separate parts of him, and the latter was becoming considerably less manageable by the minute.

"I should probably stop making this all about me," he said, gathering himself back into some semblance of composure. "That feels a bit unfair at this point."

“Unfair?” you echoed, a hint of disbelief slipping through. 

The word sat oddly with you. You had not felt shortchanged for a single moment. If anything, you had been the one taking more than you gave, learning him piece by piece while keeping most of yourself tucked carefully away, and the imbalance had been entirely your doing. The fact that he had read the conversation as one-sided in your favor was almost endearing enough to be a problem. 

"I've done most of the talking," he went on, reading nothing of where your thoughts had just gone. "You've been sitting here listening this whole time. That can't be a particularly good deal." 

You almost smiled at that. He really did think this had been one-sided. He had no idea what his presence had been doing to you the entire time. 

"I don't know." You shrugged, a soft breath escaping you. "I actually like hearing you talk." 

His brows rose, caught off guard. There was nothing particularly remarkable about his voice, or so he had always thought. The urge to just cross over this friendly boundary still maintained slyly by the two of you was becoming more and more overwhelming for him.

You pressed your lips together for a second, and then shook your head. The words you had chosen felt insufficient for what you had actually meant. 

“No—that’s not quite right,” you corrected, more honestly this time. "I love your voice. I could listen to it for a long time. Is that a strange thing to say?" 

There were too many things Beomgyu could say, and none of them felt safe enough to let out without altering the course of where this was going. 

"No." He breathed, and it came out faster than anything he had said before. He stopped right after it, lips parting as if to add more. “I just—”

You watched him try again. It only made your curiosity deepen.

“I’d like to hear about you too,” he confided a little softly. “If you’re willing.”

You bit down on your lip to keep your expression from giving too much away. He knew exactly what he was doing and he was not being clever about any of this. Your heart argued with your senses but pragmatism had long lost its hold on you. He was just too irresistible. It was as if he inspired a recklessness in you, a desire to go all-in. Lose yourself in him completely.  

You reached into your paper bag and held out one of the lemon buns toward him.

"I don't mind," you said. “Being asked, I mean.” 

There is a version of this that could be explained very simply.

Two people passing the hours with conversation, letting the journey carry them forward while they trade stories to make it feel shorter. Friends, if someone were curious enough to ask. 

He listened with care, asking questions without overstepping that kept you speaking. You set the pace for how much you revealed, and he respected that boundary perfectly. Just like a good friend would do, he remembered the details you shared (which truthfully surprised you) as if it mattered beyond the moment itself. It would be easy to accept that at face value, to believe that this was all it was. 

Friends, as you both agreed to be.

Perhaps that was why it felt the way it did. 

Because ntihng had crossed any line, and nothing had been said that could not be taken back if needed. Every word could still belong to a version of this night that ended without consequence, where you part at your destination with a smile and carry nothing forward except a pleasant recollection. At some later point, you might meet again through the same shared acquaintance. You would greet each other with the comfort you had reserved for being familiar strangers turned to friends. 

But then there were smaller moments that defied such easy explanations. 

The glances that did not move unless you gave him a reason to. There were gestures such as reaching over in the middle of something you were laughing about and wiping the trace of lemon cream from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, followed by the absent motion of bringing that same thumb to his mouth without breaking eye contact. 

That is where the simplicity begins to fray. If this were only friendship, it wouldn't feel like this.

"This is a little strange, isn't it?" you said.

“In what way?”

“We’ve been talking for—what, over an hour?” You smiled a little; there was a daze that washed over your face from settling into the moment. "And I don't feel like I'm talking to someone I just met." 

That downward smile was going to be the death of you. “I stopped thinking of it that way a while ago.”

Just as you'd expected, he voiced the very thing you'd been longing to hear without any hint of insincerity. You had felt it coming in the way you feel the temperature drop before rain — how easily he kept meeting you where you stood. 

"Honestly, I kind of assumed we'd eventually hit an awkward patch," he admitted. “Or that we’d run out of things to say.”

He had expected for the specific variety of silence that descends when two strangers have exhausted their common ground and are waiting for a graceful way to stop pretending otherwise. Strange, how quickly that concern had disappeared without him noticing when exactly it had stopped mattering.

“I’m almost disappointed about that.” You laughed, shaking your head. "I had a whole exit strategy prepared." 

“Really?” he asked, a hint of disbelief slipping through. “You don’t strike me as someone who needs an escape plan.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen me in a truly terrible conversation.” You quirked one side of your lips. “Trust me, I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be.” 

“Were you close to using it?”

His voice carried a lightness that didn't entirely mask the fact that the answer actually mattered to him. The idea of you having considered leaving even hypothetically — it bothered him. 

“No.” The single syllable rolled off your tongue slowly. “I didn’t need to.”

There was that damn downturned smile again. You were convinced that until this point he did that on purpose. But now you don't even know anymore.

“I’m glad I made it past that, then.” 

It had slipped from notice that the blizzard outside had picked up and how far the train had traveled cutting through sheets of snow. The space you carved out with him held its own pocket of time that the world beyond the glass had stopped feeling entirely real. 

“I’m going to step away for a minute,” you said, rising to gather yourself. You needed to use the restroom. “I’ll be right back.”

He gave you a small nod, letting his eyes linger on you for a moment — just a second. 

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll be right here.” 

Once you left the carriage, Beomgyu’s nerves finally lit up and ran through him all at once. He sank back into his seat, composure slipping now that there was no reason to hold onto it. It didn’t make sense how present you still felt.

Had he said too much? Not enough? He tried to retrace the conversation, searching for when he may have gone too far, but every answer blurred into the next. He hoped he hadn't bored you. God no — he hoped you weren’t just humoring him out of politeness, offering him your attention so he would not feel out of place.

Politeness could mimic interest so convincingly that it frightened him. He had spent a year learning that lesson and several months afterward trying to unknow it. He had to close his eyes just to escape those thoughts. But you were there against his eyelids still, as if his mind had been waiting for the moment it could drift back to you without resistance. 

Beomgyu dragged both hands over his face and bent forward until his elbows met his knees. He let out a low groan that was muffled into his hands. He couldn't believe how far gone he already was, and so quickly. 

This was a completely unprecedented situation for him. Barely even knew you for a few hours and he’d already undone all the resolution he’d worked months on rebuilding after his last relationship fell apart. He had told himself, after everything with her, that whatever came next would be approached with care. He would take his time and not give himself away so completely to someone he hadn't yet earned the right to trust with that. 

You, a stranger on a train — even though that word had begun to lose its meaning — reached into his heart and stirred life where he had grown accustomed to stillness. How on earth did you manage that so easily?

Every time you had looked at him his breath had caught before he could do anything about it. Every time he looked at you, he wanted to leave you just as breathless. He wanted to take his air back from your lips. 

Still hunched forward in that position, he dropped one hand and reached into his pocket for his phone. The signal had been unreliable all evening, yet he placed the call anyway and lifted the device to his ear, waiting through the faint interference. 

Lucky for him, it did go through.

"Taehyun."

Taehyun's voice came through slightly distorted, carrying the ambient noise of wherever the rehearsal dinner had deposited him. "Hey—what's up? I heard you met my fri—"

“How come you never mentioned her?” Beomgyu asked gravelly, his palm still pressed against his face. 

There was a definite pause from the other side. Then a sound that was unmistakably Taehyun trying not to laugh.  

“What? You're not making any sense." Taehyun hummed, then clicked his tongue. "Actually, you are making sense. You're making a very specific kind of sense. So I'm guessing that means you two are getting along." 

Beomgyu pressed his fingertips to his temple and said nothing for a moment. The answer was obvious to him and yet impossible to articulate without sounding ridiculous. How could he possibly condense the way you'd become his every waking thought into something as simple as getting along?

He could only place the blame on Taehyun.

If he had been introduced to you at any point before this — he liked to believe things might have unfolded differently for him. Perhaps then he would have avoided the long detour of heartbreak that had left him so guarded in the first place.

With a sigh, he slouched back again in his seat. “Yeah, you could say that.” 

Taehyun made a sound of vague acknowledgment, oblivious to what Beomgyu was implying. "Well, yeah. She's good people. I figured you'd work that out on your own." 

Taehyun didn’t have to describe how wonderful you were for Beomgyu to understand that you were someone worth taking a risk on. Beomgyu was enchanted, irrevocably shackled to you. Right now he couldn’t conceptualize beyond you, was already wondering how much longer until you returned, was already longing to have more time before he had even figured out what to do with the time he had already been given.

That was right, what he wanted was more time with you that was unburdened by the end of this journey. He longed for conversations with you that were not bound by the ticking of stations, moments that didn't feel so transient. He wanted to see you again in a setting that did not threaten to take you away at any second. 

His grip on the phone tightened slightly. “I’ll call you later.” 

“Yeah, sur—”

He ended the call and set the phone face-down on his thigh.

You would be back any minute. He needed to put himself back together before you came through that door. He straightened up. Ran a hand through his hair. Exhaled slowly through his nose.

He was absolutely, completely fine.

The narrow corridor felt even more confined as you walked out, permeated by a warmth that clung a little too closely to your skin. It was difficult to tell whether it came from the heating circulating through the carriage or from within you. Honestly, after a moment, you stopped trying to work that out. The distinction began to feel irrelevant to hold your attention for long.

You stood at the small sink and looked at your own reflection in the mirror above it, and the face that looked back at you was not particularly useful at concealing things. You liked whatever was happening between you and him. You couldn't recall the last time you'd felt that rush in your chest. You were not the type to be swept up without noticing but you had no interest in pulling yourself back either. He made you want to remain exactly where you were and see what came next. 

Still, the complicating factor was how this choice was fundamentally undermining all your personal aspirations. You were a believer in time. You always made sure to thoroughly get to know the person before letting anything more substantial take root. That was a rule you lived by. You never had before, nor had you ever found a reason to doubt it. 

Within the span of a single evening, Choi Beomgyu was dismantling that whole belief system.

You reached for the door, pausing only for a second before pulling it open. Once this journey ends and you both decide to keep things friendly, you couldn't foresee the path your friendship might take. 

You had your eyes downcast but you looked up when you stepped back into the carriage. Heart leapt so hard that it hurt when you saw him. He was exactly where you had left him, and he was already looking toward you. The small lift of his hand in greeting carried more impact than it should have given how little time had passed.

There was no way of deciding the outcome here, standing in the train — but you could decide what to do with the present.

With a returned smile, you steadied a hand on the overhead bin when you felt the carriage sway. Had the wind outside gotten worse so suddenly? The motion underfoot no longer matched the memory of it from a few minutes ago. 

An unanticipated lurch snapped through your footing and destabilized you. Your grip slipped and you caught yourself against the nearest seat with a jolt that travelled up your arm. Beomgyu across from you was already half out of his seat, both hands reaching towards you with intentions to catch you before you hit the ground. Pure panic written so openly across his face that it stopped you for a second. You had not seen that expression on him before. You shook your head before pushing yourself upright again. Waving him down, you sent a quick signal that all was well.

You managed only two more steps.

In a sudden motion, the train slowed and threw everyone forward. The deceleration ripped the ground beneath you and you were falling backwards before your mind processed what even was happening. The impact with the floor was cushioned underneath your head only because you felt hands wrapped around you turning the fall into something controlled yet no less forceful as both of you went down together.

Metal screamed along the rails, a prolonged and violent scrape that resonated through the carriage and pounded into your skull. It went on and on while the brakes worked through their full range before the train finally seized to a jarring halt. The force of it traveled upward through the floor, through your spine, through every bone in your body at once. Overhead compartments sprung open under the strain, and luggages came down in heavy bursts striking seats, the aisle, anything in its path. 

“Fuck—watch out—!!”

You couldn’t even tell whose voice belonged to who. 

Even if the fall had injured you, your panic-driven mind latched onto two things — the bags coming down and the fact that he was above you. Your hands moved before thought had any place in it. With your palms cupping the back of his head and fingers pushed through his hair, you pulled him down against you, shielding his head as best as you could. There was no room left to consider anything beyond that. Where anything might land, what might strike you instead — none of it mattered.  

The lights went out. Somewhere in the darkness people fell or shouted in confusion. The cacophony of overlapping cries completely obliterated any sense of direction. The deafening ringing in your ears made you lightheaded. Your breathing came in uneven pulls, your hands still locked where they had been placed, holding him there, refusing to let go. A heavy thud landed somewhere close. Another followed.

Then a bag came down and struck Beomgyu’s back with such force that you felt it through him, hurtling down into your arms as he let out a rough, bitten-off breath against you. You blinked against the darkness, forcing your vision to adjust and your mind to catch up. A strained groan from above you left Beomgyu and your heart jumped to your throat. 

"Beomgyu—" His name came out fast and ragged, barely put together. 

His body had taken the hit for both of you, completely encapsulating you. He shifted slightly, warm breath ghosting unevenly against your cheek. 

“I’m here,” he managed. The words were rough, so close that you felt them more than heard them. “I'm here.”

There was a flicker and then the lights came out one by one until the carriage revealed itself again in fragments. Complete disarray. Fallen bags and open compartments. People pulling themselves upright and voices rising in questions that had no answers yet. 

Beomgyu pushed himself up slowly, one hand bracing beside your shoulder, the other still securely cradling the back of your head. His hair had fallen forward across his forehead and his face was in partial shadow, but it didn't obscure the strain in his expression or the tight line of his mouth as he exhaled through it.

“I’m okay,” he repeated, sounding duller from the aftermath of the impact. “I’m okay—are you—”

Instead of his hair, your hands cupped his face, a firm hold that stopped him from speaking further. “Don’t say that if you’re not sure,” you cut in, too fast to soften it. “Where does it hurt? Your shoulder? Your head—”

“Hey, hey, look at me,” he insisted softly, his hand coming up to close around your wrist for a second. That was all it took to bring you back to earth a bit. “You’re the one I’m worried about.”

He helped you sit up, but your hands were trembling. You pressed them against his shoulders, then along his arms, checking what you already feared without needing words for it. “But you—fuck,” you said under your breath, “that bag came straight down on you, I felt it, you have to—you’re bleeding? Wait—no—are you—”  

"See? Nothing's bleeding. I'm okay." He spoke again, this time lower so his words fell directly into your ear while his hands intercepted both of yours before you could spiral further. He turned his head one way and then the other, letting you see until you were convinced. 

“Why didn’t you move?” you were baffled.

“It didn’t matter.” He said it simply, as if the answer had been obvious from the start. His hand came up to your cheek, thumb brushed lightly along your skin as his eyes moved over your face with the same fervour you had just turned on him. "Now let me—your head, did it hit anything when you went down?" 

“I don’t think so,” you said, though you weren’t entirely sure. Everything had happened too fast for you to keep track of where your body had gone, what had hit what. There were aches assembling themselves in various places that you were not currently interested in acknowledging. “I think I’m alright. I—”

You trailed off as your eyes began to wander despite what you were saying. A wave of dread washed over you as you grasped the terrifying reality of the situation — how truly alarming this was, and the chilling possibility of it being far more dire. Fuck, the train mustve been stranded. 

“Do you think something happened to the tracks?” you mumbled. 

“Has to be.” He glanced toward the aisle, quick, taking in what he could before looking back at you. “Something ahead must have given way.”

It wasn’t a real answer that explained anything, but you found yourself holding onto it anyway. Anything was better than letting your thoughts run too far ahead of you. 

Beomgyu looked down at you. He took you in, carefully looking over you for any sign of injury and he didn’t like what he saw. The sight of how shaken you were stirred a fierce need in him to keep anything from touching you again.

“I’ve got you,” he said, and this time it stayed between the two of you.

Pushing himself up carefully on unsteady legs he pulled you with him, grabbing your hand before you could steady yourself on anything else. He didn’t let go once you were upright, keeping you close against his side.

The overhead speaker crackled to life with a burst of static that cut through the noise. “Ladies and gentlemen, please remain where you are. A conductor will come through each carriage shortly to check for injuries and assess the situation.”

Nobody particularly listened. People were already reaching for what had fallen and trying to check on each other. Beomgyu didn’t wait either. He guided you back to your seat through the narrow space, keeping you within reach the entire time. Once you were seated you watched him position himself between you and the pandemonium unfolding behind him.

You had somewhat calmed down by then. Your pounding heart settled into a more manageable pace, though every now and then you flinched when something remotely loud happened around you. From where you sat, you looked up at Beomgyu’s standing figure. You were certain he was pretending far too well. You literally felt the bag hit him. You curled your fingers around his sleeve and gave a weak tug to garner his attention.

“Beomgyu?” you called out softly. “Why don’t you sit down?”

He glanced at your hand on his arm, then at your face. A soft smile appeared. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his palm settling gently at the back of your head. 

“I promise I'm okay.” 

You frowned at his response. You did not accept his words easily no matter how much you wanted to believe them. Tiny beads of sweat remained at his brow, partially hidden by hair that no longer sat in place from the earlier commotion. He was holding his right side in a controlled way without appearing to hold it. 

“Come here.” You tried again, moving yourself over to the next seat and patting the space you had just vacated. 

Beomgyu let out a breath that might have been a laugh under different circumstances, but he didn’t argue this time. Just when he was about to sit, the carriage door at the far end swung open and a conductor came through. He looked rattled as the rest.

“What’s going on?” Beomgyu didn’t wait to ask once he reached your row.

The conductor glanced between the two of you before answering. “We had to stop the train,” he explained, glancing briefly down the aisle where other passengers had begun to gather. “There's a section of track ahead where the ground has dipped significantly under the snowfall. We couldn’t risk pushing through.”

Hearing this, a worried — “What?” — left you, causing the conductor to subtly panic. 

“There's no immediate danger,” he added, pivoting to you quickly. “The train is stable where it is. We're positioned near a town, and we've already been in contact with the main control unit. Arrangements are being made.”

“Arrangements?” Beomgyu pressed. He wasn’t satisfied with vague answers at a time like this. “What does that mean exactly?”

“Emergency vehicles should be here by morning.” He hesitated for a fraction of a second, then continued, “It will take a few hours.”

“How long are we talking about?” Someone from the small crowd asked. 

“I can’t give you an exact time,” he admitted with a faltered look. “The weather’s working against us. It could take the entire night. I wouldn’t want to promise otherwise.” 

A murmur moved through the people within earshot. You pressed toward the window. 

The tracks outside had vanished entirely beneath the snow, swallowed into a continuous white expanse that stretched beyond the rails and erased the boundary between the ground and everything else. Further out, across the distance, a scatter of low buildings broke the line of white — dim lights burning in their windows, the shapes of signs and structures suggested inns, maybe homes, maybe a combination of both. 

The town sat there within reach and still felt removed.

Beomgyu in the meantime finished talking to the conductor. Seeing you looking out the window unmoving, he took the seat beside you without a word. He could tell there was something weighing on your mind, evident in those pretty depths of your eyes. 

“Do you have enough warm clothes on you for the night?” he asked, his hand coming to rest against your arm. “They're reducing power to conserve energy. The heating won't hold through the night.” 

Ignoring his question, you instead asked something else. “Is this really safe?”

You didn’t look away from the window even after asking it. Matter of fact, he had been circling the same thought himself. The train was stable, technically, but it certainly wasn’t going to be a wise decision to stay the night in a train that was already losing warmth by the minute. His focus flicked to the window, to the blinking lights of the town against the white sheet. Each of them was an opportunity beckoning him to act.

There was something he could do but that wasn’t a decision he was willing to make alone. 

“Would you feel safer spending the night in one of those inns?” the gentleness of his voice coaxed you to meet his eyes. 

“But…” you trailed off, glancing out again before turning back to him. Your voice lowered slightly. “How do we know there's even a room available? Everyone’s stuck here. We won't be the first ones to think of it.” 

He nodded with a hum, considering it properly. There was a possibility that what you said might be true. There were no guarantees waiting out there. If he took you out there and came back with nothing, it would turn into a pointless trip through the cold. Worse, it would mean dragging you through it for no reason at all and you might end up sick. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself for that.

“I can go and check first,” he said after a moment. “Just to know what we’re dealing with.”

You blinked at him. You weren’t dumb to understand what he meant, not at all — but it was still absurd hearing him say it so plainly. 

“What do you mean, you?” you asked, eyes narrowing. 

“I'll ask around, see what the situation is,” he explained. “You can stay here until I—”

He started to get up, and your hand tightened instantly around his sleeve. 

“Beomgyu, you’re not going alone.” 

He was taken aback by the severity of the way you spoke — leaving no room for him to protest. Your voice never raised but it still pinned him to place. 

“I’ll be fine,” he tried, the tail end of it with a chuckle. His hand coming up as if to ease your grip. “It’s just a quick check. I can’t have you out there in this—you’ll be drenched before we even reach the town.” 

“And you won’t?” you returned, your brows pulling together. 

He exhaled through his nose, the argument falling apart before it could fully form. “It’s better than both of us going out there for nothing.”

You shook your head. You could see what he was trying to do, see the way he was placing you first again, but it only made you stand your ground firmer. 

"You're already hurt. I felt that bag come down on you. I watched you hold your side for the last twenty minutes thinking I wouldn't notice," you said, more adamantly this time. “And you want to walk out into a blizzard alone? That's your plan?” As if that made any sense. 

He opened his mouth.

"No," you said, before he could use it. You stood, keeping your grip on his sleeve, and moved to face him properly. "Whatever happens from here—we figure it out together. That's not a negotiable point. You don't get to make that call by yourself and leave me sitting here wondering."

You felt a little ashamed of the tremor in your voice; with the way your words had spilled out with such naked fervor — but you had meant every last one of them, and you knew it even as the heat climbed into your cheeks. Beomgyu was no longer a stranger to you. You couldn't have explained it to anyone with any satisfying logic or couldn't have justified the fierceness of it. But the care was there. You cared the way you'd care for someone who had been woven into your life for years, not someone you'd only met hours ago on a train that smelled of old upholstery.

You were not going to stand by and watch him walk out alone into a blizzard with a hurt shoulder because he had decided your comfort was worth more than his own. 

“I’m coming with you,” you pleaded softly, your gaze dropping as you lost the nerve to hold his eyes any longer. Your grip loosened, sliding down his sleeve until your fingers found his wrist and curled around it. His pulse was there, warm beneath your fingertips. “So don’t go alone… please.” 

Beomgyu had gone completely still. His eyes were wide, you'd seen that much in your periphery before you'd looked away. His mouth had opened just slightly, the beginning of a word that never arrived.

He wasn't sure what he would have said anyway. He wasn't sure he was capable of forming language at all right now, because something in his chest had just detonated so quietly and so completely that he almost expected to look down and find himself changed. 

Cared for — this was… this was something he never imagined he would feel anytime soon. He hadn’t expected this from you. From anyone, maybe, but especially not you. Why would he? He had only known you today. One single day, and yet you had felt more real to him than most things he could name in his life.

He wanted to pull you into him. He spent a very willful second not acting on it, gaze cutting sideways to avoid the sight of your downturned face — because if he kept looking at you, he wasn't sure what he'd do and he was even less sure he'd regret it.

He said your name under his breath. The single syllable found you anyway.

You looked up.

He wished you hadn't, and he was also very glad you had. Beomgyu felt the sensation of his heart being pulled clean out of his chest. If this is what dying feels like, he thought, I wouldn't mind it happening again. He wouldn't mind it happening every day for the rest of however long he had.

He slipped his hand free from your loose hold and turned his palm, lacing his fingers through yours. A bloom of heat spread from that one point of connection until it reached somewhere behind your sternum and sat there.

“You’re right, I'm sorry.” He smiled softly, squeezing your hand. "Let's go together." 

You let out a shaky sigh of relief. Your smile came back at him unsteady at the corners but genuine all the way through. 

Beomgyu backtracked to find the conductor while you waited near the door of the compartment, your joined hands finally separating only because they had to. He found the man near the vestibule. 

"We'd like to stay the night in town, if that's permitted," Beomgyu said in a stable tone he'd had to rebuild from scratch in the last five minutes. "Is there any flexibility on that?" 

The conductor considered him for a moment, then nodded. "You won't be the first to ask, and it's no trouble on our end—but for the safety of all passengers, anyone arranging their stay nearby will need to leave their contact information and boarding details with me before they go. It’s for record-keeping and to ensure everyone is accounted for when we resume.”

"Of course." Beomgyu turned to glance back at you, and you were already moving forward, having caught enough of the exchange to understand.

You gave your name, your boarding details, the number they could reach you at. Beomgyu followed after you and gave his own. Once the conductor had everything noted down, he gave you both a brief nod of acknowledgment and moved on. Beomgyu adjusted his bag onto his left shoulder — the uninjured one. You made a mental note to find a moment to properly check on it later. 

To your surprise, he reached for your luggage. Foolish man, did he think you were going to let him take on the burden? You stopped him, fixing him with a look that you hoped communicated the full extent of what you thought of that idea. 

Beomgyu withdrew his hand. He was very clearly suppressing a smile about it. You chose not to acknowledge this. 

One of the crew members patrolling outside the vestibule came around to assist with the snow covered steps. You passed your bag down first, then stood at the top of the steps as Beomgyu reached the bottom and turned back toward you with both arms open. You took hold of him and stepped down, the snow compressing softly beneath your weight. The two of you were standing so close that you could see a snowflake catch in his lashes before the wind took it. 

He found your hand and pulled you forward into the dark.

The town was supposedly a ten-minute walk. But the wind had teeth. It came at you sideways, driving the snow in sharp little gusts into every gap between your scarf and your collar. Not to mention, it kept finding your eyes regardless of which direction you angled your face. You dropped your head and followed the forward pull of his hand, trusting his sense of direction entirely when your own vision had reduced to a narrow strip of ground directly ahead of your feet. 

He turned to look at you with his hair whipping across his forehead. "You okay back there?" he asked loudly over the wind. 

"I'm okay," you called back. "Keep walking."

He turned forward again, and his grip on your hand tightened.

The local inn was the first lit building you reached, its windows glowing a deep amber against all that darkness. The woman on the other side who had clearly been watching the path and had seen you coming opened the door before you reached it. You were ushered into the warmth of the entrance, and the sudden change in temperature hit you so completely that you went still for a moment just to absorb it. Towels were pressed into your hands almost immediately, and someone disappeared to retrieve a space heater, guiding you both toward the lounge.

You were the one who approached the front desk once you'd gotten your bearings back, pulling your scarf down from your face and explaining the situation to the receptionist. She listened with her eyes on her screen, typing as you spoke, and her expression did a small and very telling thing when she reached whatever entry she had been looking for.

"I'm very sorry," she said, and she did sound it. "With the weather and the number of people who've come in tonight, we only have one room left."

"I'll take it." Beomgyu, who had been standing by your side, said to the receptionist as he produced his card from his wallet. "For her."

You turned to look at him slowly.

He was staring at the receptionist.

"Only for me?" you asked.

That made him look at you. "You'll have somewhere to sleep and you won't have to worry abo—"

"Where will you stay?"

Beomgyu did not find the courage to tell you that he was planning to go back to the train. In that pause you turned back to the receptionist before he could reconstruct whatever answer he'd been assembling. 

"We'll both take it," you told her. "Both names on the booking, please."

She processed this without a visible reaction and set the key on the counter. You picked it up before Beomgyu could. 

"Didn't I say," you began, "that from here on out, we'd stick together?"

He was losing his mind. This was a verifiable fact, and he was now conducting a very private reckoning with himself somewhere three steps behind you as you ascended to whatever floor the room was on. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he'd share a room with you. One bed, presumably, since there was one room and he was not going to suggest you sleep on a chair. He would gladly take the floor himself if it came to that. 

But you — you looked completely unaffected. He could not tell whether you genuinely weren't affected or whether you were simply so much better at concealing it than he was. Either possibility was going to keep him awake tonight, and the irony of that was not lost on him at all. 

Beomgyu had known, in the abstract, that you were going to be the end of him. He just hadn't expected it to happen this fast.

However, that ‘unaffected’ demeanor of yours slipped soon enough.

At the door, he watched you work the key into the lock. It caught on something inside the mechanism, and you had to pull it back halfway and try again. You were holding yourself together. It was a valiant performance. He was almost convinced.

Almost being the operative word, because your hands were still shaking.

"Sorry, I—these keys are—" The sentence dissolved. You were not sure what you had intended to finish it with. 

It wasn't only the cold making your hands uncooperative. You were acutely aware of the warmth radiating off him from where he stood behind you. So far you were putting a brave front that you were extremely okay with sharing a room with him. But in the privacy of your own skull the facade you had been constructing since the front desk began developing very audible fractures. 

You finally got the lock. The door swung inward. 

You stared at the predicament in front of you, and you could almost hear the splinters of your self-control breaking echoing in your ears. 

It was not a bad room. There was a single window set into the far wall with the curtains already drawn against the snow, a desk against one wall, a wardrobe; the usual geometry of a hotel suite and perfectly adequate in every respect except for the one that mattered.

The queen-sized bed sitting squarely in the middle of the room.

You were distantly conscious, without turning around, of Beomgyu coming to stand just inside the doorway. The jitters that had been lurking at the base of your stomach all evening were now making their presence extremely known.

Goosebumps moved along your arms when he spoke. 

“I’ll go ask for an extra mattress.”

He sounded a little weary. You turned to see him over your shoulder and found him already looking at you. One hand resting on the door frame — hovering at the threshold in a way that told you he had not yet decided whether he was fully in this room or still in the process of giving you an out. 

He meant it. He would go back down those stairs right now, charm the exhausted receptionist into producing a mattress from wherever spare mattresses went on a night like this, and drag it back up here himself on a hurt shoulder without a single word of complaint. All so that the arrangement you had walked into with such apparent calm would feel less like what it was.

You held his gaze for a beat and felt the fractures in your composure spread another inch.

You turned back to the bed and told him to go ahead. Maybe the time alone would help you sort through your thoughts before he came back. What you didn’t know was that by letting him leave for a while, you had given him the same chance to collect himself. 

Beomgyu peeled himself from the door frame and left, pulling the door shut behind him with a soft click. You sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the curtains for a while.

As soon as he was out, Beomgyu pressed his back against the wall beside the door and dragged both hands up over his face, muffling a whine. He stood there for a moment in that position and then, he tipped his head back and let it knock against the wall once. The impact sent a dull throb radiating from his shoulder blade, where the bruise from the bag had been quietly intensifying for the last hour. He winced a little as he slowly rolled his shoulder back.

Everything was going to be just fine if he found an extra mattress, right? He was a rational person and this was a rational solution and there was absolutely no reason for his brain to go anywhere near the alternative, which was—

He was not going to finish that thought.

He was, unfortunately, already finishing that thought.

It wouldn't be the worst thing, said some deeply unhelpful corner of his mind, sharing a bed. You've had a long day. You've both had a long day. It would be fine—

Beomgyu slapped himself on the cheek. A sting that bloomed across this skin that he thoroughly deserved, and which he hoped would serve as an adequate eviction notice for whatever was currently colonizing his better judgment.

There was a man at the end of the corridor. 

A staff member, identifiable by his vest, holding a stack of folded towels and staring at Beomgyu with a wide neutral expression. He was definitely going to be thinking about it for the rest of his shift and possibly several shifts thereafter. The two of them made prolonged awkward eye contact. Beomgyu slowly lowered his hand. 

"Evening," Beomgyu said.

The man blinked. "Evening, sir."

Whatever remained of his dignity was simply going to have to be enough to work with. He cleared his throat and walked toward the man, adorning a smile pretending as if nothing happened.  

"I suppose you'd know if there are any spare mattresses available for the night?" he asked, with what he felt was perfect charm. "Or even a cot—anything along those lines would do."

The staff member's expression morphed into something genuinely apologetic as he shifted the towels in his arms. "I'm sorry, sir, we've had a full house tonight with the weather—we've no spare beds or pillows left at all, I'm afraid." He paused, as if taking stock of Beomgyu's face and finding something there that warranted the addendum. "We do have extra blankets, though, if that would help. Plenty of those."

Beomgyu looked at him for a moment.

"Blankets," he repeated.

"As many as you'd like, sir."

So the mattress plan was dead and his self-respect had taken significant casualties. He more or less expected this outcome so he accepted this information with a nod that he hoped projected serenity, and thanked the man. 

You had managed to do very little in the time he was gone except sit on the edge of the mattress and stare at the middle distance. So when the door opened you startled badly enough that your hand flew to your sternum.

Beomgyu, to his credit, took one look at you and chose not to say a single word about it. He stepped inside and set the folded stack of blankets he was carrying onto the armchair in the corner.

“They didn't have any mattresses to spare.” He paused. “They were, however, extremely enthusiastic about giving me blankets. Enough blankets to—I don't know—build a fort, maybe.”

Despite everything, the laugh that came out of you was genuine. Beomgyu's mouth curved into it too, and for a moment the two of you were just sitting with the absurdity of the whole evening.

“A fort,” you repeated.

“Structurally sound, I think, if we're creative about it.”

You shook your head, still smiling, and the fizzle of nerves in your stomach went down several degrees.

“Go freshen up first,” he said, nodding toward the bathroom. “The water should be warm by now.”

“I'm alright,” you said, and it was the truth — or at least, you needed it to be true for a little while longer. “I need to sit down for a bit more. You go ahead.”

He looked at you for a moment, considering, and then decided not to argue. He pulled a change of clothes from his bag and disappeared through the bathroom door without another word. 

The room was very quiet without him in it.

You sat in silence for another moment before reaching for your bag and pulling out what you needed for the night. You laid everything out on the bed beside you and tried not to think too hard about anything. But you couldn't stop thinking about what had happened so far. Every time you tried to gather yourself, another memory surfaced before the previous one had even faded properly. 

You were still going through your bag when the bathroom door opened.

Beomgyu emerged with a towel slung around the back of his neck, working the ends of it through his damp hair. The coat and heavy winter layers were gone. He was wearing his jeans still and a white t-shirt that had clearly been retrieved from the depths of his bag, and the effect of the lamplight on that particular combination was — you needed to look at something else. You found something extremely interesting to look at in your open bag and devoted your full attention to it.

"Bathroom's all yours," he said, dropping into the armchair and draping the towel over one knee. He picked up his phone and looked at it, and did not appear to notice anything. You were grateful for this, whether it was genuine or not.

You gathered your things and left without further incident. When you came back out, hair damp and changed into something warmer, Beomgyu had moved from the armchair to the floor. He was arranging the extra blankets with his back against the side of the bed, long legs stretched out in front of him. He'd turned the overhead light off at some point, leaving only the bedside lamp, which gave the room a softer ambience.

The sliver of skin peeking out under the neckline of his shirt stopped you. You’d been meaning to say something about the bruise but you weren't sure how to start the conversation. You were still trying to locate that opening when your phone buzzed on the bed where you'd left it. You picked it up and felt your chest swell up with guilt as you read the name on the screen.

You answered, sitting on the edge of the mattress and pulling your knees up. "Hi, mum."

Beomgyu did not look up, but was already preparing to take himself somewhere else in the small room to give you space to talk. He settled quietly against the far wall instead.

Her voice came through at full volume. You held the phone a fraction from your ear and let her go, because she had earned it. She wanted to know where exactly you were, how you had ended up there, whether the inn was properly heated, whether you had eaten, whether the staff had been helpful, and whether she needed to call someone — this last question delivered with the implication that she already had a list prepared and was ready to begin working through it the moment you gave her any opening whatsoever. You answered each one in turn, assuring her that you were warm and safe and completely, genuinely fine, that the conductor had everyone's details, that the train would resume in the morning, that she did not need to call anyone at all. 

"And you're not alone?" she asked, and her voice had gone from worried to specifically worried, which were two different registers that you had spent a lifetime learning to distinguish.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Beomgyu glance up. 

"No," you said, and then, after a beat — "I'm with a friend." 

You held his gaze for a moment, and the smile that came onto your face was small and a little helpless. Beomgyu’s breath caught but he returned it in kind — a slow, soft thing moving into his eyes before it reached his mouth. 

Your mother was still talking. You made yourself listen. Soon the call ended and you lowered the phone into your lap. 

The silence was beginning to close in on you. You had not moved since the call ended. Beomgyu had resettled himself against the side of the bed. You could hear the softness of his breathing and the occasional tapping of his phone screen.

Your eyes found his shoulder again. You’d been doing that all evening — returning to that spot the way a tongue finds a sore tooth. Since the moment he had put himself between you and the falling bags without a second's pause, and then sat up and asked if you were alright.

The guilt that had arrived with your mother's call had not fully left. It had just rerouted itself, going into a different chamber of your chest, and was now sitting there with everything else you hadn't said tonight.

You opened your mouth. Thought better of it. Looked at the phone in your lap, then back at him.

"Beomgyu."

He looked up.

You had not prepared a beginning for this, which became apparent almost immediately once you started. "I have something in my bag—for bruising, it's a spray, I've been carrying it around forever and I—can I see your shoulder?"

The question came out, and then before he could answer whatever polite deflection he was about to offer, the rest of it came out too, because the dam was broken and there was nothing left to hold it.

"I'm sorry." You closed your eyes for a moment, shaking your head. "I'm sorry, I keep thinking about how uncomfortable I've probably made you with all of this—I shouldn't have forced the room situation, I just didn't want you out there somewhere on a cot in a corridor with a hurt shoulder and I—" The exhale that left you came out uneven. "And I know, I know that's ironic, because now you're on the floor anyway and the whole arrangement is—I can see that it's not what you would have chosen. "

You pressed your lips together. Tried to find the thread back to something coherent. 

"You've been helping me since the moment we met," you said, and your voice had gone softer, stripped of the rambling and left with only the part that was true. "Every single moment since we met, actually, and I haven't—I wanted to do something for you too. I keep thinking about your brother's ceremony." 

Had he called his family after getting into this predicament? He was so excited about it, too. Your heart hurt thinking about it again.

"I just keep thinking about it and I can't stop, and I need you to know that this isn't pity, Beomgyu, I swear to you it isn't, I just—"

You didn't have the word for what it actually was. You left the sentence where it ended. 

Beomgyu had not looked away from you once. He had let you go — all of it, every fragmenting, half-finished piece of it — without interrupting. In his eyes was something that lived in the same neighborhood as the way he had looked at you on the train when you'd told him not to go alone.

He reached over and took your hand.

"I'm grateful to you.” His voice was low and carried nothing except the truth of the statement. "For not giving up on me." 

Your throat tightened. You looked at his hand over yours and then back at his face. The room felt warmer than it had a minute ago, and yuo were aware that you were not going to be able to say anything particularly articulate for at least another few seconds.

When you trusted your voice again, you reached for your bag with your free hand.

"Can I see your shoulder?"

This time, he nodded. He got up from the floor and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. With the spray can in hand you told him, with as much composure as you could locate, that he was going to need to take his shirt off. 

Beomgyu sat motionless for a beat, then reached behind his neck and pulled the shirt over his head in one clean motion. You looked away out of instinct and heard the fabric settle. You gave yourself three seconds, which was not enough but was all you were going to get, and turned back around.

The thing was, you had not been prepared for that.

You had spent the entirety of today beside him and had built a reasonable understanding of him — tall and broad-shouldered. What you had not accounted for was what the coat and the layers had been quietly keeping to themselves this entire time. You found your breath stolen by his lean, subtle musculature, a lithesome elegance to the long lines of his body.  

He was watching your face with an expression you couldn't parse. You gave him nothing back, or at least you tried to, and directed your eyes pointedly to his shoulder.

"Turn around," you said.

He listened, settling with his back to you. You uncapped the spray and focused on what you were doing. The bruise was starting to pronounce itself by the colour of it — a wide, muted violet bloom. You winced softly at the sight of it. 

You pressed the nozzle and the cold spray hissed out against his skin. You heard him pull a short breath in through his teeth. The sound shouldn't have sent a shiver through you, but it did.

"Sorry," you said immediately.

"Don't be.” He exhaled, the tail end of it caught in a groan. "Keep going."

You did, working carefully across the area, your fingers hovered near his skin without touching him. The lamp threw long shadows across his back enunciating all the dips and muscles, and you were close enough that you could have rested your chin on his undamaged shoulder if you had lost your mind entirely.

When you were done you capped the spray, and he turned back around to face you.

He didn't move back. Neither did you, which meant the gap between you was considerably less than sensible. You looked at his collarbone. His jaw. Anywhere that wasn't his eyes, because his eyes were the part of him you trusted least to look at right now without consequence.

Beomgyu had spent all this time at the outer edge of what he could manage. Every time the distance had narrowed he had found a reason to widen it again, only for it to narrow once more since the moment you had taken his wrist in your hands and told him not to go alone which had cracked him right down the middle. He had talked himself back from the edge more times tonight than he could count. But you were standing in front of him now with bare inches between you, and he had just exhausted the last several minutes trying not to lose his goddamn mind. 

“You keep doing that,” he murmured.

The sudden drop in register of his voice pulled you back to him again. He was ruined by you.

You frowned faintly, trying desperately to hold onto normalcy. “Doing what?”

His gaze moved fractionally away, then returned and held. "Make it difficult to remember why I should keep my distance." 

The lamp caught the side of his face and you noticed, not for the first time, how much he gave away in his eyes even when the rest of him stayed composed. 

It was a shame how your poor heart again picked up her pace. Your throat had gone dry.

"That's a rather serious thing to say to someone you just met." The evenness of your own voice was a small miracle. 

The corner of his mouth moved just barely, not committed to a smile but got most of the way there. His gaze stayed on yours without wavering. "It is," he agreed. 

Your knuckles had gone white around the spray can. The push and pull of the entire evening was still moving between you, and you knew exactly where you could meet him right now — knew he was right there waiting. But there was a part of you, stubborn and a little wicked, that wasn't done yet.

"And what made you forget?"

He answered you with his eyes dropping lower on your mouth which made your stomach turn over completely. A ghost of a smile graced your lips when he looked back up at you. 

"That you're not nearly as unaffected as you act." 

"Careful," you muttered. "You're starting to sound like you know me." 

"I don't." There was something in the way he said it — more an observation he found genuinely interesting. "But I think you like it when people almost do." 

Your next breath came out thin, and something in you that had been braced all this time slowly stopped bracing. You looked at him and past the hours of both of you circling — and you let him see it too. All of it. The fact that his name had been sitting differently in your mouth for a while now. You were standing here at the end of the world's longest day and you were not unaffected, you had never been unaffected, and you were so tired of pretending otherwise.

You reached out and cupped his jaw. You felt the imperceptible hitch of his breath — and he went very still beneath your palm.

Whispering, you asked. "Is that what you've been thinking about all evening?" 

"Among other things," he breathed out. 

He looked genuinely wrecked. Eyes wide, jaw slack by a fraction, all the composure he'd been maintaining for the better part of the evening dissolving in real time right there in your hand. The sight of it — of him, undone and unguarded and entirely yours to read pulled a soft laugh out of you.

"I was wondering when you'd stop pretending."

The column of his throat moved when he swallowed. "Were you pretending too?" His voice had gone very, very low.

You tilted your head at him just slightly, and let him see the answer in your face before you said it.

"What do you think?"

Your hand trailed from his jaw so slowly he felt each centimeter of the loss before you gave it back — fingers finding his hair instead, sliding through and curling, and the sensation of it traveled straight down his spine. You gave a soft tug. He had been braced for so many things tonight — but not this. His lashes fluttered, and a shiver wrung out at the edges of the breath that left him. He couldn’t help himself but lean further into your touch, savoring the feel of your palm. 

He stayed there for a moment, just a moment, with the warmth of your hand against the side of his face and the soft press of your fingertips still curled in his hair, and it felt indecent how much he needed it. How long he had needed it. Everything inside him begged to reach for you.

When he opened his eyes, whatever had been left of his composure was gone. His jaw had set and his eyes had gone several degrees darker than you had seen them all day.

His hand came up and curved around the back of your neck, and he pulled you down. 

It was not a soft kiss, feverish and wanting, his mouth a hungry thing against your own. It felt like a kiss he had thought about, a kiss that he could not help but hurry toward now that there was nothing left standing between him and it.

God, he thought, distantly, finally. 

Just as hungry, you fell into it completely — the kiss so hard and so burning that slowing down felt almost physically impossible. The sheer intensity of it clawed out a tattered little sound from the back of your throat. The spray can found its way onto the mattress somewhere beside you as you had to catch yourself against the bare warmth of his shoulder. The uninjured one, some still-functioning part of your brain noted before that corner went quiet too. 

He gently bit your bottom lip making you groan softly, his grip at the back of your neck tightening for half a second before easing again when he realized he was holding you too hard. The kiss felt so good and so right, you realized, in the blurred and breathless space between one moment and the next.

He was the one who found the way back to guide you to a gentler motion. His lips closed against yours, pressed once and held.

Your breathing had become the same air. Neither of you had managed to pull away properly, your mouths still brushing every time either of you exhaled. Your eyes wouldn't open fully, thoughts drifting somewhere far behind the haze settling over you while strands of your hair spilled forward around both of your faces.

Beomgyu’s gaze could no longer hold onto one place for very long. They moved over you slowly, greedily, taking in every detail that revealed itself now that you were this close to him; the dazed glaze over your eyes and the part in your lips still damp and red from his mouth. His hand slipped from the back of your neck to your face, fingers brushing through the strands that had fallen across your cheek before carefully tucking them behind your ear. 

One more suspended second was all he took before he kissed you again. 

This time, your legs went genuinely weak beneath you, a wave of dizziness rolling through your chest and down to your knees. You pitched forward with a soft sound escaping into his mouth as you had to bring your knee up onto the mattress between his parted thighs for balance.

Even through the haze clouding your thoughts, you heard the way Beomgyu moaned at the contact. 

You were intoxicated by the reaction you had pulled from him so easily. Curious now, bolder, you pressed your knee up experimentally against him once more. You felt the full-body jerk of him beneath you with a hitched breath, his hand shot to your thigh and gripped it which sent heat rushing through your stomach. 

There it is, you thought, and smiled against his mouth. 

Groaning into the kiss, a slow roll of his hips came, involuntary at first and then less so, chasing the pressure with a hunger that made his head spin. He was so fucked. The heady taste of your mouth, the feverish press of your hands against his bare skin, the sweet sounds you kept making — sounds that he was responsible for, that he was drawing out of you — every part of you was driving him toward madness at each passing second.

Too much and nowhere near enough.

He needed — he didn't have a precise word for what he needed, only the overwhelming awareness that he needed more of it, more of you, more proximity than was currently physically possible given that you were already as close as you could get. 

Beomgyu broke the kiss only to stand up, towering above you and you had half a second to register the loss before he came back down to recapture your lips. Tilting his head to find a deeper angle, he cupped your face with a possessiveness that felt completely natural to him now. Thumbs pressing against your jaw before he let them travel — sliding down the column of your throat and tracing the lines of your collarbone, traveling lower until his fingers found your waist and dug in. He pulled you flush against him which prompted your hands to tangle themselves into the hair at his nape because the alternative was falling. 

“Remember earlier,” he said against your mouth, his breath warm across your lips, “when you said being chosen tonight meant you were unlucky?”

You could barely think straight enough to answer. “Mhm?”

“I would’ve spent the rest of my life regretting it if it had been anyone else.” He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, voice roughened beyond repair.

Beomgyu could not stop thinking about how fragile chance truly was. 

The possibility of some other version of tonight, some parallel arrangement of events where you had gotten the luggage free on your own or someone else had been the one to offer a hand. Some other reality where he never learned your name at all. It left a bitterness crawling across his tongue he wanted to retroactively prevent.

Every alternate path that did not lead directly here felt not just improbable but wrong, an offense against some order of things he hadn't known he believed in until this moment. Because right now, you were there in front of him with flushed lips and dazed eyes. You were his reality — and he couldn't imagine having been anywhere else. 

“That’s a terrible thing to sound so pleased about,” you told him, a smile threading through it despite yourself. You tipped your head to one side with a feathery exhale, wetting your lower lip. You wouldn't have had it any other way either. You knew he could see it, and neither of you needed to say so out loud for the fact to sit plainly between you. But you still wanted him to hear those words. “I think I would’ve hated it too. For the record.” 

The smile that crossed his face at that was slow and a little smug and deeply, irredeemably pleased with itself.

"You look very satisfied with yourself," you told him.

"I am," he said, without any apparent remorse about it.

You laughed, and he caught the sound of it in his mouth with the same consuming want that had been there from the very beginning. You felt it everywhere, felt it travel all the way down your spine and settle low in your stomach. You could feel the hard press of him through his jeans, more than substantial and it pulled a genuine gasp which got swallowed by him.

He spun you, guiding you backward until the back of your knees met the edge of the bed and you went down and he came with you. Beomgyu held himself above you on one forearm braced beside your head, his hair falling forward in dark disheveled strands.

“Beomgyu—” His name barely survived the kiss. 

It was still more coherent than his reply which didn't make it to language at all but was a low sound against your skin as his mouth found the curve of your throat and began to move downward. The heat of it was dizzying; the solid press of his chest against yours and you had to close your eyes because keeping them open felt like too much. Your back arched off the mattress on its own when he licked and nibbled on your skin with growing hunger, and every breath he dragged from you appeared to drive him further past reason.

You had never been kissed this way before. There was yearning in every part of him now, laid bare beneath your hands without concealment, and the proof of it sent your pulse racing harder when he lifted his head again to look at you.

The pause made you finally regain some semblance of rationality. When he did nothing but stare at you, a small crease formed between your brows. 

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing.” He touched the side of your face, fingers tracing the line of your cheekbone. “You’re beautiful.”

The simplicity of his compliment made heat crawl up your cheek. You laughed softly, and you knew you looked a complete mess. But Beomgyu thought the opposite of whatever you were thinking about yourself. You looked even more beautiful. It made him smile too.  

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, the curve of your cheek, then the tip of your nose. The tenderness of it nearly ruined you more than the heated kisses had. He returned to your mouth briefly before turning his head, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear. 

A startled giggle burst out of you immediately, your shoulders curling inward. “Wait—”

“You’re ticklish there?” he asked, already smiling against your skin.

“That’s not funny.”

“I think it’s a little funny.”

You shoved weakly at his chest while laughing again. He joined you, his forehead dropping to the curve of your neck and for a suspended moment you were just two people lying tangled together on a hotel bed, laughing at nothing in particular, and it was so easy and so warm that you felt your chest expand with it. You couldn't remember the last time laughter had found its way into a moment like this. It made the whole thing feel weightless, unlocked from gravity, driven by nothing except warmth and pleasure and the specific delight of being here with this specific person. 

He was back to trailing kisses down the torrid skin of your collarbones before biting down on the supple flesh, eliciting a breathy moan from you. 

“Beomgyu, please.”

He was breathing rougher now after hearing his name fall from your lips that way. Your head fell back against the mattress and the full line of your throat opened to him, an offering, and he took it without pause. His hand slid down your side before stopping at the hem of your shirt. Fingers curled into the fabric, his eyes lifted to yours first.

“Can I take this off?” he asked softly.

By now here was no patience left in you for a slow answer. You were hot and restless and had been running on the ragged edge of wanting him for long enough. Nodding vigorously, you let him help you. Fabric disappeared in hurried movements and half-broken kisses, your fingers brushing clumsily against his wrists whenever both of you reached for the same place at once. You wanted nothing more than the feeling of his torrid naked skin on yours.

The second the last barrier disappeared between you, you pulled him back down with a renewed hunger. When your tongue swept against his lower lip a shuddering moan tore from him. It vibrated straight into your mouth, sending a fresh pulse of heat coiling low in your core that made your toes curl against the mattress. 

Even though the separation felt visceral when he sat up, the thin strand of saliva still connected your mouths for a fleeting second before breaking apart had your mind reeling. He parted your legs and settled between them. You had to resist the urge to reach for him again just to have something to do with your hands, which were suddenly and inconveniently purposeless at your sides. 

You didn't know if Beomgyu had read your mind or not. Because the next moment he gathered both your wrists in one hand and held them above your head, pinning to the mattress.

"Keep them here for me, love." 

The way he spoke, followed by a sweet kiss to your forehead had you clenching around nothing. You felt your arousal pooling and her skin prickling with heat, heart thundering. A whine forming in your throat that you swallowed back down, your thighs instinctively pressing inward to relieve some of the ache that had been building since the moment his mouth had first found yours. The effort was largely unsuccessful with the way he was holding your knees apart. Nothing but the slow and mounting burn of wanting him and being made to wait. 

You watched him through heavy lashes as he took you in, his chest rising and falling with the same labored cadence as yours. His hand came down to the base of your throat — open-palmed, barely any pressure, just the heat of his skin against yours before he drew it downward in one long, slow pass. Over the swell of your chest that had your nipples perk up, following the line of your sternum, across the plane of your stomach, and everywhere his hand traveled the skin came alive behind it. 

"You're so beautiful. I keep thinking I've gotten used to it and then I look at you again," he said, and his voice had gone so low it was nearly gone entirely. The candor in his eyes was almost too much to hold. 

You bit down on your lower lip, trying to hide the shy smile. "Mhm. You said that already." 

His face softened further at that, and his hand came up to cup your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone. He tilted your face toward his. 

"I know,"  he said simply. His eyes stayed on yours. "I'm glad it was you. Out of everyone on that train tonight, I'm so glad it was you."

"Do you mean it?" you whispered back. 

He took your hand from above your head and brought it down to his chest, pressing your palm flat against the place where his heart was. The gesture was so nakedly honest that it took you a moment to breathe around it. 

"I do," he admitted earnestly. "What do you want me to do to make you believe?" 

There was no doubt that you believed him, but he was close to begging. This man — who had been so consuming just minutes ago — was now looking at you with flushed cheeks and eyes gone wide and earnest. He was stripped of every layer of dominance he'd been wearing so naturally, and he looked so genuinely, openly gone for you that you had to press your lips together to hold back the moan just from that sight. He just kept getting better. Every single time you thought you had a handle on what he was, he turned into something more interesting.

You bit the inside of her cheek, considering. "Think you can be good for me?"

His breath left him in a rush. "Anything you want, baby." The endearment came out like it had been waiting. "I can be so good." 

You tilted your head, fingers trailing idly along his jaw. "Mhmm, yeah? How will you do that?"

Beomgyu flashed you a boyish smile before pressing feathery kisses on your stomach, working his way downward and stopping right over your glistening cunt. He groaned, thumb finding your clit when he registered exactly how much he had done to you. He moved a slow, exploratory circle over that bundle of nerves and he drank up every twitch and gasp your body gave him.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispered against your inner thigh. You let out another soft sound that had his mind reeling, and he felt his cock twitch in his jeans at the thought of how much more of that he could draw out of you if you'd let him. "You can trust me." 

You ran your hand through his hair, a lopsided smile on your lips. You did trust him. There was no fear in you when it came to him. 

"You can do whatever you want with me," you breathed out. You never said things like that — had never felt the ground beneath you feel solid enough to say it and mean it. You meant it now. With him, in this specific moment, it felt not only natural but true. "I'm all yours." 

There was a flash of something primal in those gentle eyes the moment those words left your mouth. The small smirk that followed arrived slowly and it was a different creature entirely from the boyish smile of a few minutes ago. Beomgyu blew a soft breath directly over your center — barely anything, a whisper of air — and your whole body shivered in response, a tremor that started at your core and radiated outward to your fingertips, your thighs drawing in on instinct before his hands spread them back open. 

"Beomgyu—" His name dissolved into a gasp before you could finish it, your back arching clean off the mattress when he pressed his lips to your clit. A kiss so devastatingly soft it turned your brain into mush. "Oh fuck, ah—" 

He smiled against you. You felt it, and it sent another shudder rolling through you causing you to blindly chase that feeling again. 

Beomgyu had always considered himself a patient man. That quality was currently hanging by the thinnest possible thread, because the moment he tasted you it detonated through his senses so completely that the shockwave traveled all the way to his fingertips before plummeting his sanity somewhere down to his dick. 

Encouraged by your whimpers, he flattened his tongue against your clit before delving lower to lap at the velvety lips of your pussy, exploring the wet heat with long, languid strokes. He savored the way you were so warm and slick against his tongue and each time your inner walls clenched, he probed deeper. Your juices dripped down his chin, a filthy reminder of how desperately you needed this. 

He gripped your thighs, your hips, urging you forward — coaxing you to move against his mouth, to take what you needed from him — and when you did, when your hips rolled down into him with that small, desperate press, he felt his mind going completely blank. Fuck — there was your hand gripping his hair. He was huffing and taking short breaths. There was a ringing at the edges of his hearing as he looked up at you through his lashes, eyes wide and glossy because in this moment, he felt like he was made to kneel between you. You were flushed and breathing heavily but looked extremely beautiful like this. 

"You taste fucking divine." His words were muffled between your cunt. 

He was drunk, so high on you as he watched you let out a high pitched gasp when he eased in two fingers. Your folds stretched around the thickness of them, clenching down hard before he had fully seated them, and he groaned against you at the sensation. He began to move them in a slow drag, feeling the way your soft walls responded to each angle, each depth, each curl of his fingers, and you were already so far gone and so slick that the slide of it was obscenely easy and obscenely good. 

Your head went back against the pillow. The bedsheet crumpled in your fist. His name was falling from your mouth in fragments — just sound, broken and breathless and needier than you had ever heard your own voice. Closing your eyes you let yourself get absolutely lost in the ecstatic pleasure he was giving you.

He had made you a promise and he intended to keep it. He picked up every micro reaction you gave at every thrust of his fingers, every tremble of your body when he sucked on your clit before swirling the tip of his tongue over it until he figured out what was going to take him to guide you over the edge. But looking at you, it didn’t seem like he was going to need to do much work anyway. 

He could feel you spasming around his fingers, your moans were coming faster now, falling over each other, your thighs closing around his head. He was suffocating but it felt excruciatingly good that his eyes rolled briefly before he wrenched them back open, because he needed to see you, needed to watch every second of what he was about to do to you, and he was not going to miss it for anything. 

Amidst all that, Beomgyu humped the mattress below him, the taste of you and the sound of your voice and the grip of your fingers in his hair combining into something that was rapidly exceeding his capacity to contain. He curled his fingers and stroked upward into the soft, swollen spot that made your whole body seize, and did it again, and on the third stroke he sucked your clit into his mouth and held it there with the flat of his tongue pressed firm against it — bringing you over a mind shattering orgasm.

It was the scratch of your nails on his scalp and the sound of his name breaking apart in your throat that made him cum. His release poured out of him in waves that left him loose and trembling and utterly, completely spent. He pressed his forehead against your inner thigh and breathed, ears ringing faintly, and the bliss that settled over him in the aftermath was so total and so warm that for a long moment he couldn't have told you where he was or how any of this had happened. 

"Gyu…" you croaked. You were still trembling from the aftershocks, your whole body loose and oversensitive. You reached for him anyway, fingers finding his jaw. "Come closer."

He complied with your request and you took the chance to grab his face and kiss him hard, tasting yourself all over his wet lips. He moaned into your mouth and pressed against you. It was denim against bare skin that had you mewling, your hips jerking upward on reflex. You broke the kiss with trembling hands as they traveled down his stomach to the waistband of his jeans, working the button with fingers that weren't quite cooperating, and he let you — watched you with his chest heaving and his weight braced on one forearm above you — until the zip gave and he took it off. Your hands found the front of his boxers and stopped.

The fabric was unmistakably, warmly wet, and your brain took a full second to catch up.

"Fuck," you breathed, one finger hooking into the waistband, pulling it down slowly. His cock came free and you stared at it — flushed and thick and coated with his creamy release. “Did you cum?”

"Couldn't help it, love." His voice had the faintest note of sheepishness threading through the warmth of it. "You were so fucking good." 

You didn't say anything, because there was nothing to say and also your mouth had stopped functioning properly. You pushed his boxers the rest of the way down and he kicked them off, and then he was kissing you again before he pulled back just far enough to speak against your lips.

"Protection?"

You nodded toward your bag. Beomgyu followed your gaze and reached for it in one fluid motion, rummaging through it. He found what he needed, tore the packet open with his teeth and rolled the thin rubber over his shaft, giving it a few pumps. 

He was — there was no clinical way to put this — beautiful, in a manner that made your oversensitive pussy clench with a want so acute it bordered on painful. 

The anticipation that coiled within your stomach crawled up to your throat and through your chest, gathering all your oxygens from your lungs on its way. Beomgyu shuddered over you, hands roaming, fingers mapping out your skin like he was committing every inch of you to memory. He lined the tip of his cock against your entrance, and drew it torturously, inexcusably slowly along your folds without pushing in.

"Beomgyu, please," you cried out after he kept stroking you. "Please—" 

"Tell me if it gets uncomfortable." He was panting, chest rising and falling against yours, and he reached down to guide your knees upward, folding them gently toward your chest, opening you further. "Tell me if I hurt you, okay?"

Your bodies flushed together, every inch of heated skin sliding against the other as Beomgyu’s tip breached inside with the moan of your name. He kissed you, so deeply, so fiercely, that the gasp you let out at the stretch was entirely devoured by his mouth. The overwhelming pleasure flooded both of you until he couldn’t keep his head up anymore and it lulled forward beside yours. 

Beomgyu’s mouth hung open, puffing against the hot skin of your neck as he seated himself inside you inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt and you were so full of him that your vision had gone soft at every edge. He gritted his teeth, jaw clenching as he had to fight the urge to cum from just feeling your tight walls sporadically clenching around him. Strong arms bracketed your head, caging you in and his hips started to roll in deep, languid undulations — not thrusting so much as grinding. 

Each thrust carried him to the very limit of your depth before drawing back in a long, dragging pull that had every nerve ending inside you lighting up in sequence. The stretch of him was extraordinary; you felt every ridge and contour of him on each withdrawal with a vividness that had you gasping and moaning.

"Feels sooo good, Gyu—!!" you were now blabbering incohesive words, brain a complete mush under the overwhelming and capsizing pleasure of him. 

Beomgyu tried to hold onto the last bit of his sanity when he felt your hand trail up to the hair on his nape, curling and tugging on a fistful. Even with a snowstorm outside, both your bodies were glistening with sweat and heat radiated off of you as you were pressed chest to chest; there was nowhere for either of you to go, every exhale of his landing directly against your face and every inhale of yours pulling in the scent of him, the heat of him, the totality of him.

Tears of pleasure sprung to your eyes. He brought his face up from biting your neck to smash his lips against yours. His tongue glided over you in messy strokes, saliva pooling at the corner of your lips and hot puff of breath exhaling against his mouth.

For the last several minutes, the bruised area was sending a dull throb through him with every movement — but Beomgyu did not give a single fuck about it. How could he even bother with it when you were there underneath him? Face blissfully fucked out with glistening lips and teary eyes, you warmth enveloping him so wholly — his shoulder could wait indefinitely. There was not a version of this moment in which he was going to stop. 

The depraved sound of skin against skin along with your mingling groans and gasps resonated off the walls of the room. He could feel you clenching around him, could tell you were reaching your high again soon with how thoroughly fucked out you looked and sounded.

"Beomgyu—’m close,” is all you managed before crying out, the rest of whatever you were going to say dissolved as your back arched off the mattress, every inch of contact maximized.

You gripped him like a vice, your body quivering when you finished, his name spilling from you so sinfully that his vision went white at the edges.

He became the louder one then — groans and grunts as his thrusts became sloppier, helping you ride out your orgasm before he buried himself to the hilt in one deep thrust and spilled into the condom with a long, broken groan pressed into the curve of your neck.

Both of you were breathing hard, the sound of it filling the silence left by everything else. He didn't pull out, stayed exactly where he was, his weight settling into you gradually as the tension released from his muscles all at once. You felt him softening inside you slowly as the two of you drifted back to earth. 

"So perfect," he slurred against your skin. 

His lips left trails of kisses around your chest, neck, and shoulders, as if making up for every mark he couldn't leave. Tasting the salt of your skin, his tongue traced your areola that dragged a whine out of you even now. He sucked gently, then harder, then dragged his teeth across the swell of flesh before soothing it with his tongue. 

You sighed at the sensation, feeling your body reaching absolute bliss. His voice brought you back from slipping into dreamland. 

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, a hand running through your hair and you melted at the soothing feeling. 

He lowered your legs carefully onto the mattress afterward, though neither of you made any real attempt to move apart. His chest still pressed against yours in places and your knee hooked loosely over his thigh.

“Mhm.” Your eyes slipped shut again for a second, contentment pulling through you slowly. “Is your back alright?”

Beomgyu laughed breathlessly. “We might need another round of that ice spray.”

Your eyes flew open immediately, horrified enough to make him break into genuine laughter this time. He dipped down before you could scold him, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I’m joking,” he murmured against your skin. “Mostly.”

“Beomgyu.”

“There she is.” His grin widened lazily. "I was wondering how long before I got that look." 

You sighed despite yourself and cupped his cheek, thumb brushing back and forth absentmindedly over warm skin. His expression changed the second you touched him again; softer instantly, eyes lowering for half a moment before returning to yours.

“You know,” you said slowly, “we’ve thoroughly ruined any chance of being friends." 

“Mmhmm, well.” He turned his head and pressed a kiss into your palm. "Wasn't planning on being your friend for very long anyway."

You raised a brow at him. "Really."

Beomgyu smiled into your hand before finally looking at you properly. There was still heat in his eyes, though now it mixed too openly with affection.

"I meant it when I said I wanted to earn your trust," he spoke earnestly, playing with your hair. "I really did mean that. But somewhere around tonight, after everything—" He exhaled another laugh beneath his breath. “I got selfish. I think staying only friends with you would’ve actually killed me.”

Your stomach flipped hard at the honesty in his voice. You didn’t think you could handle any more of this man —  he was seriously too much for your heart.

"You're so cute," you cooed, poking his cheek.

He stared at you. "I just confessed my suffering to you."

"You did it adorably, though."

Beomgyu stared at you in disbelief that lasted approximately a few seconds before your sweet laughter dismantled it. His mouth twitched. He pressed it flat. It twitched again. You were still smiling when his eyes dropped to your mouth; the fondness remained and the teasing still there, but desire began to creep back in beneath it piece by piece.

“Can't believe you say things like that right after ruining me for half the night,” he murmured, fingers sliding along your thigh again.

Your mouth curved. "Half the night?"

"Yeah." He chuckled, thumb grazing your bottom lip. “I’m trying to sound respectable.”

You opened your mouth and sucked on his thumb, swirling your tongue around it. The heat began its slow return through your body, and watched his jaw tighten when you released his finger with a pop. "I like you better when you're honest." 

He simply looked down at you with a slow smile, tonging the corner of his lips. He then shifted a bit up and you keened with delight when he rolled his hips in one slow, purposeful thrust. 

“I don’t think I’m anywhere near done with you yet.”

THE END.

Taglist; @hoefororeo @i-like-to-read-at-4am @caratcakemoa @90steele @cen116 @i-am-not-dal @bamgeutori @nanilis @sunooqvrlsx @izzyy-recs @fancypeacepersona @littlemoasoobin @r1hanna123 @bamtoriui @vamppgojo @soobinz-wife @yystarz @stargirllost @virtaideen @usuallyunlikelyfox @mojicatfatsposts @tyunstarz @gyutaepie @ningeom @slutfornagi @beomgyusluver @jaegerbombin @chbq2 @bunniwords @wonderstrucktae @seonghwasprincess @yeonyeonyeonjun @luvforlix @arianacraze @neonaby @purrplegyuu @soohashits @chocomoas @beomelmyu @thearchersupremacy @starry-eyed-moa @charlottevlog @dearjiwon @mondayyfri @lunarlaina @friedneuron @jaehmarks @katsukis1wife

[midnight-loverr]

REDLINE 🏎️🏁

Pairing: Nicholas x Yuma x Taki x fem!readr

Content: Illegal street racing, rivalry, flirting, and unexpected reunions.

Playlist: Chase Atlantic – Into It Chase Atlantic – Friends Chase Atlantic – Swim Chase Atlantic – Meddle About

CHAPTER 1

Chapter 2

The crowd showed no signs of leaving. If anything, more people continued gathering around Y/N, eager to catch a glimpse of the mysterious racer who had done what no one else had managed to do—defeat one of the three undefeated racers who ruled the underground streets.

Questions came from every direction.

"Who are you?"

"Where did you learn to drive like that?"

"How long have you been racing?"

Y/N couldn't help but smile. She had spent years perfecting her driving in silence, away from the city's biggest underground racing circuit. Tonight, for the first time, everyone was looking at her.

She liked it.

Not because of the attention itself, but because every stare, every question, and every shocked expression reminded her that all those years of hard work had finally paid off.

A few meters away, Nicholas, Yuma, and Taki watched the crowd surrounding her.

Yuma slipped his hands into his pockets before letting out a quiet laugh.

"I've got to admit... seeing Nicholas lose is something I never thought I'd witness."

Nicholas rolled his eyes."Enjoy it while you can."

"Oh, trust me..." Yuma replied."I will."

Even Taki smiled. "You deserved that one."

Nicholas looked over at him."You too?"

"I'm just being honest," Taki said.

"She didn't beat you because you made a mistake... she beat you because she was better tonight."

Nicholas didn't argue.

He couldn't.

The three of them had spent years racing together. Whenever Nicholas, Yuma, and Taki announced a race between themselves, the entire underground racing scene came alive. Bets poured in from every direction because nobody could ever predict the winner. They pushed each other to become faster every single race.

Tonight...

Someone had managed to break into their world.

Yuma's eyes drifted back toward Y/N. Now that the crowd had shifted, he could finally see her clearly.

She's... prettier than I thought. A crooked smile tugged at his lips.

And she's confident and that's dangerous.

Beside him, Taki quietly watched her thanking the people around her.

She isn't showing off she genuinely loves racing, no wonder she won.

"I think we should congratulate her," Yuma said.

Without waiting for an answer, he started walking toward her.

Nicholas adjusted his racing gloves before pulling them off one finger at a time, his eyes never leaving Y/N. After a brief moment, he tucked the gloves into his pocket and followed Yuma.

Taki simply shook his head with a small smile before falling into step beside them.

Hearing footsteps, Y/N turned around.

Her eyes met theirs.

So these are the famous three...

They're different than I imagined.

A small smile spread across her face as they stopped in front of her.

"So..." Yuma began with his usual grin. "You're the girl who ruined Nicholas's perfect record."

Y/N smiled. "I prefer to think of it as making racing more interesting."

Yuma laughed. "I like that answer."

Nicholas sighed."Don't encourage him."

"I'm Nicholas."

"I know," Y/N replied with a smile. "It's kind of impossible not to when everyone spent the last half hour screaming your name."

Yuma laughed again."I definitely like you."

Nicholas gestured toward the others.

"These are my friends, Yuma and Taki."

"It's nice to meet you," Taki said.

"Likewise," Y/N replied.

Yuma folded his arms. "So... where exactly did someone like you learn to drive like that?"

Y/N shrugged. "A lot of practice."

"That's it?" Yuma asked.

She laughed softly.

"What were you expecting? a secret racing academy?"

Her laugh made Yuma smile

"No... but I was hoping for something a little more dramatic."

"You'll have to keep wondering."

Yuma let out a quiet laugh, his eyes never leaving hers as he took another slow step closer.

"You keep looking at me like that..." he said with a teasing smirk, "...and you're only making me want to flirt with you more."

A faint blush crept onto Y/N's cheeks before she quickly looked away.

He's trouble...

Yuma noticed the blush immediately, his smile widening.

"And there it is," he teased softly.

"I was wondering how long it'd take before I made you blush."

Y/N looked back at him with a playful smile, refusing to let him think he'd won.

"And you flirt with every racer that beats your best friend?"

Without missing a beat, Yuma smiled.

"Only the pretty ones."

Her blush deepened.

She tilted her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"I guess I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should," Yuma replied without missing a beat.

Even Taki chuckled, shaking his head.

"You two are unbelievable."

He turned his attention to Y/N, his expression becoming more genuine.

"You were actually really impressive."

Y/N smiled at him. "You think so."

Taki nodded thoughtfully before adding,

"Yes I've been trying to figure out exactly when you decided to overtake Nicholas."

She smiled."The moment he thought I was only trying to keep up."

Nicholas couldn't help smiling.

"I underestimated you."

"You did," Y/N admitted."But I can't blame you."

Nicholas looked at her for a long moment.

That feeling returned.

The rain...

The wrecked car...

The frightened little girl...

Before he could stop himself, the words left his mouth.

"...Were you that girl from the accident?"

At that exact same moment, Y/N spoke.

"...You're the boy who stayed."

Silence.

The four of them froze.

Yuma blinked "...Did you two just say the same thing?"

Taki looked between them in confusion.

"Wait..."

"What accident?"

Nicholas and Y/N couldn't take their eyes off each other.

Flashback

Years ago, Y/N had secretly entered an underground race. She wasn't racing professionally yet—she was inexperienced and determined to prove herself.

During the race, she lost control on a sharp corner. Her car spun violently before slamming into a guardrail. The impact crushed the front of the car, jamming the driver's door shut and trapping her inside.

Because it was an illegal race, everyone fled the scene the moment they realized the police might arrive.

Everyone...

Except Nicholas.

Already known in the underground racing world, he stopped his own car and ran toward the wreck instead of driving away. He stayed beside her, doing everything he could to keep her calm while they waited for an ambulance, knowing every passing second increased the risk of being arrested.

He never left.

He simply looked at the terrified girl and said

"Look at me you're going to be okay."

She remembered his voice.

He remembered her face.

When the ambulance finally arrived, they were separated.

Neither of them ever expected to meet again.

End of Flashback

Yuma let out a slow breath. "...That's insane."

Taki nodded in disbelief. "So fate really brought you back together."

Y/N looked at Nicholas, her smile softer than before. "I've never forgotten that night."

Nicholas smiled back. "I haven't either."

For a brief moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Nicholas looked at her more carefully.

"...After the accident... were you okay?"

Y/N nodded slowly.

"I was. It wasn't anything too serious physically."

As she spoke, she casually adjusted the strap of her jacket, revealing a small scar on the back of her shoulder for just a moment before the fabric slipped back into place.

Nicholas's eyes immediately caught it.

"...Is that from the accident?"

Y/N glanced over her shoulder before giving a small nod. "Yes." She smiled reassuringly.

"It's the only thing the crash really left behind."

She looked back at him and let out a quiet laugh.

"But honestly... I was terrified more than anything."

Nicholas let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding."I'm glad that's all it left behind."

"You know..." Nicholas rubbed the back of his neck. "After that night, I tried to find you."

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"You... looked for me?" He nodded.

"I asked around after the ambulance took you. I even came back a few times hoping someone knew where you'd gone."

He looked down for a second before meeting her eyes again.

"But no one ever did." A small smile spread across

Y/N's face."I didn't know that."

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

For a moment, the noise of the crowd seemed to disappear.

Taki smiled quietly before breaking the silence.

"So... after all of that..."

He looked at her curiously."You still decided to keep racing?"

Y/N nodded without hesitation.

She glanced toward her red car before smiling.

"I love racing too much to give it up."

"I was scared for a while, but eventually I realized I didn't want that accident to be the reason I stopped doing something I loved."

Taki smiled. "I'm glad you didn't."

She looked back at the three of them.

Taki smiled with quiet admiration.

Nicholas couldn't take his eyes off her.

"You've actually changed."

Y/N raised an eyebrow with a teasing smile. "Really?"

He nodded.

The corner of his mouth lifted. " Yeah, I mean like you look even prettier now."

For the first time since the conversation began, Nicholas was the one who made Y/N blush.

She laughed softly, trying to hide it before meeting his eyes again.

"I was just thinking you look a lot hotter without rain pouring all over you."

Nicholas blinked, caught completely off guard.

"...So you think I'm hot?"

Y/N shrugged innocently, the smile never leaving her face."Maybe."

Yuma threw both hands into the air.

"come on!!" He looked dramatically between the two of them."We're flirting already?"

He placed a hand over his heart. "I haven't even had a chance yet."

Even Taki laughed. "i think we are being ignored"

Yuma sighed dramatically. "I'm starting to feel jealous already."

Nicholas laughed under his breath while Y/N covered her smile with her hand.

Taki shook his head, still smiling."Alright..."

He looked at all three of them. "Before this turns into something else..."

A grin spread across his face."Let's race again tomorrow all four of us."

Y/N's smile widened."I'd like that."

Yuma's grin widened.

"I had a feeling you'd say yes."

Y/N folded her arms, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "What makes you so sure?"

"You don't seem like someone who walks away from a challenge," Yuma replied with a confident grin.

Y/N folded her arms, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

"And what makes you think tomorrow will be a challenge?"

Yuma let out a quiet laugh. "Oh.. confidence."

"I have a reason to be," Y/N said without breaking eye contact.

Nicholas smirked as he looked at her. "So do we."

Y/N looked at the three of them one by one before shrugging. "I guess we'll find out."

Nicholas couldn't help smiling.

"I don't think anyone's ever been this excited to race us again."

"Maybe because I know it'll be fun," Y/N replied.

Yuma stepped a little closer, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Or maybe because you'll get to see me again."

Y/N met his gaze without looking away.

"I think you're giving yourself too much credit."

"That hurts."

He placed a hand over his chest dramatically.

"I thought we were getting along."

"We are," she said with a sweet smile.

"I'm just keeping your ego under control."

Taki laughed under his breath.

"I think someone finally found your match."

"I'm starting to think so too," Yuma admitted with a smile. "I like her more every minute."

Taki shook his head with an amused sigh.

"You say that about almost everyone."

" No, I don't," Yuma said defensively.

Taki raised an eyebrow."You literally said it yesterday."

"That was different."

"How?" Taki asked.

Yuma smirked. "I wasn't flirting yesterday."

Y/N covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.

"So... this is your flirting?"

Yuma took a slow step closer, stopping just in front of her. He slipped one hand into his pocket, a confident smile spreading across his face as he held her gaze.

"I haven't even started yet."

eat crept into Y/N's cheeks, though. refused to look away.

"Big words." A teasing smile tugged at her lips. "Let's see if you can back them up tomorrow."

Yuma let out a quiet laugh, taking another step closer.

"Is that a challenge?"

Y/N held his gaze, her smile growing.

"Thought you'd figure that out by now."

Nicholas folded his arms, watching the exchange with an amused smile.

"Looks like tomorrow's race just got even more interesting."

Y/N turned her attention to him.

"Planning on getting your win back?"

Nicholas met her eyes without hesitation.

"I'm planning on trying."

Y/N smiled.

Nicholas held out his phone." Okay now give me your number."

Y/N took it without hesitation, typed it in, and handed the phone back.

Yuma immediately held out his own. "My turn."

She laughed softly as she looked at Yuma.

"Worried I'll disappear?"

Yuma shrugged with a crooked grin. "A little."

Y/N smiled, her eyes meeting his. "I won't."

She saved her number in his phone before doing the same with Taki's.

Taki slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"Now none of us has an excuse if someone shows up late tomorrow."

Yuma looked at Y/N. "Especially you."

She folded her arms again.

"I'll be there before all three of you."

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. "Confident."

She smiled. "I've heard that before."

Yuma laughed, shaking his head as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"You're making tomorrow even more interesting."

Y/N folded her arms with a confident smile.

"I will."

Her answer earned amused looks from all three of them before a comfortable silence settled over.

After a moment, Taki glanced up at the dark sky before checking the time on his phone.

"It's getting late," he said. "We should probably head home."

Y/N looked between the three of them with a curious smile. "You three are leaving together?"

Nicholas nodded.

Before he could say anything else, Yuma slipped his hands into his pockets and grinned.

"We live together. We've known each other for years, and honestly, it's just more fun that way. We're always together anyway, whether we're racing, hanging out, or annoying each other."

Taki smirked and looked at Y/N. "Mostly him annoying us."

"You both love me," Yuma replied dramatically, placing a hand over his heart.

Y/N couldn't hold back a laugh.

Nicholas watched her for a second before speaking. "How are you getting home?"

Y/N pointed toward her red car parked a short distance away. "I drove here."

Yuma glanced at the car before looking back at her. "Yeah, we noticed."

He slipped his hands into his pockets before adding an easy smile.

"How about we head out together? Besides... I'd hate to let you disappear again."

Taki nodded quietly in agreement.

Y/N laughed softly as she leaned against her car, folding her arms.

"And what if I wanted to disappear?"

Without missing a beat, Yuma met her eyes with a grin."I'd still find you."

Y/N tilted her head, an amused smile playing on her lips. "I'd like to see you try."

Yuma's grin only widened.

"Oh... now you've made this personal."

Y/N laughed, shaking her head.

"We'll see about that."

Yuma laughed so hard he had to look away for a second. "She's ruthless."

Taki crossed his arms, clearly amused.

"I warned you she'd be your match."

"You did," Yuma admitted, still smiling.

"And somehow I like her even more now."

Nicholas glanced at Yuma before shifting his attention back to Y/N.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Don't let him fool you he's like this with almost everyone."

Yuma gasped dramatically."You're making me sound terrible."

Y/N looked at Nicholas with a teasing smile.

"So you're saying I'm not special?"

Nicholas held her gaze without looking away.

"No."

He let the silence linger for just a second before the corner of his mouth lifted into a faint smile.

"I'm saying you're different."

Warmth spread across Y/N's cheeks for the second time that evening.

She looked away for a brief moment before meeting his eyes again.

"You're starting to sound like him."

Yuma folded his arms proudly.

"See? I'm rubbing off on him already."

Even Taki laughed at that.

The four of them stayed by their cars for several more minutes, talking, laughing, and teasing one another as though they'd known each other for years instead of only meeting an hour earlier.

Eventually, Yuma pointed toward the road with a grin. "Tomorrow. Same place."

Y/N unlocked her car and rested one hand on the driver's door before glancing back over her shoulder. "I'll be there first."

Nicholas smirked."We'll see."

Taki nodded confidently. "Don't be late."

Yuma pointed at her with a playful grin.

"And don't disappear before I get my rematch."

Y/N laughed as she climbed into her car.

"You'll get your chance... if you can keep up."

She closed the door, started the engine, and looked at the three of them one last time.

They were already standing side by side, watching her leave with matching smiles.

Somehow, despite having met only tonight, it already felt like the beginning of something none of them wanted to end.

By the time the three of them arrived home, the house was unusually lively.

Taki chuckled, kicking off his shoes before following the other two upstairs. A few minutes later, all three were sprawled across Yuma's bedroom, still wearing their racing clothes. Yuma lay across the bed with one arm behind his head, lazily scrolling through his phone. Nicholas sat in the desk chair near the window, absentmindedly spinning one of his racing gloves around his finger, while Taki leaned comfortably against the headboard.

For a moment, none of them said anything.

Then Yuma looked over at Nicholas with the biggest grin on his face.

"I still can't believe you lost."

Nicholas didn't even bother looking up.

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

Yuma laughed.

"No."

Taki chuckled quietly.

"I don't think any of us will."

Nicholas finally looked at both of them, shaking his head with a small smile.

"...She was good."

Yuma raised an eyebrow.

"Good?"

He sat up slightly, pointing at Nicholas.

"She beat you."

Nicholas leaned farther back in his chair.

"I noticed."

"You should frame tonight's results."

"Keep talking."

Taki smiled to himself before pulling out his phone.

"We're racing together tomorrow anyway..."

He glanced between them.

"So I'm making a group chat."

A second later, all four phones buzzed.

Taki created the group chat before changing the name to Tomorrow's Losers.

Yuma immediately leaned over his shoulder.

"...Seriously?"

Taki never looked up from his screen.

"Win tomorrow."

"I'll rename it if you do."

Nicholas quietly laughed, still spinning his glove.

"I kind of like it."

Yuma placed a hand over his heart dramatically.

"I live with traitors."

Another notification appeared.

Y/N: That's a bold group name.

Yuma's grin instantly returned.

Yuma: We figured you'd appreciate it.

A second later—

Y/N: That's a dangerous assumption.

The three boys exchanged amused looks.

Nicholas smiled to himself.

"I told you."

He looked down at his phone.

"She's quick."

Yuma's grin only grew wider.

"That's exactly what makes this fun."

Taki shook his head before typing.

Taki: So... Still confident after tonight?

---

Across town, Y/N had just changed into an oversized hoodie and was lying comfortably across her bed when her phone buzzed

A smile slowly spread across her face.

Y/N: Should I not be?

Back in Yuma's bedroom, Nicholas's phone vibrated.

He smiled before typing.

Nicholas: Confidence looks good on you... but don't get too comfortable.

Y/N smiled as soon as she read it and replied almost instantly.

Y/N: Is that what you told yourself after I beat you?

Yuma burst out laughing.

"She got you."

Nicholas looked down at his phone before a small smile spread across his face.

"...Okay, that was a good one."

Yuma shook his head, still laughing.

"I've never seen someone shut you down that fast."

Nicholas shrugged. "I'm not even mad."

Yuma quickly grabbed his phone.

Yuma: Don't worry I'll be the one beating you tomorrow.

Y/N didn't even hesitate.

Y/N: That's cute.

Taki looked up from his phone with a grin.

"She called you cute."

Yuma gasped dramatically.

"I refuse to believe that was an insult."

"I don't think it was a compliment either," Nicholas added with a laugh.

Yuma pointed accusingly at him.

"Whose side are you on?"

"My own."

---

Nicholas looked back down at his phone before sending another message.

Nicholas: Don't underestimate us.

Y/N read it for a second before smiling.

Y/N: I made that mistake once then I crossed the finish line first.

Nicholas laughed quietly.

Yuma looked between Nicholas and Taki before dramatically dropping backward onto the bed.

"I don't know whose ego she's hurting more."

"Ours," Taki answered without missing a beat.

"Definitely ours."

Yuma sighed dramatically.

---

Another notification appeared.

Yuma's fingers flew across the keyboard.

Yuma: Carefull You keep saying things like that

People might think you're flirting.

Across town, Y/N rolled her eyes, although the smile on her face refused to disappear.

She typed back.

Y/N: Weren't you the one flirting first?

Yuma smirked confidently.

Yuma: What if I am?

For the first time since she'd gotten home, warmth crept into Y/N's cheeks.

She smiled to herself before replying.

Y/N: Then you'll have to do better than that.

The bedroom fell completely silent.

Yuma slowly lowered his phone.

"...Did she just flirt back?"

Nicholas couldn't stop smiling.

"I think she did."

Taki looked between both of them before shaking his head.

"...Tomorrow's race is going to be interesting."

"I told you she'd be fun," Yuma said proudly.

Nicholas smirked.

"I think all three of us are in trouble."

---

Nicholas picked up his phone again.

Nicholas: keep talking like that...

You might make me want another race tonight.

Y/N bit back another smile.

Y/N: If it's against you... I might just say yes.

Yuma covered his face with one hand.

"She's flirting with him now?"

Nicholas looked far too pleased with himself.

"I don't mind."

Yuma pointed at him dramatically

" now you're enjoying this?"

Nicholas simply shrugged, the smile still lingering on his lips

"A little."

Taki glanced up from his phone, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he shook his head.

"At least he's honest."

A moment later, Taki lowered his gaze and typed another message.

Taki: Just remember...

Tomorrow, you won't just have one car behind you.

You'll have all three of us.

Y/N looked at the message for a second before replying.

Y/N: Perfect.

That just makes winning even more fun.

The room fell silent once again.

The three boys slowly looked at each other.

Taki slipped his phone into his pocket before standing up. "I've got a feeling..."

He looked at both of them with a knowing smirk. "...None of us are getting much sleep tonight."

Nicholas quietly smiled."I don't think any of us want to."

END OF CHAPTER 2

Here is Chapter 2 hope you guys enjoy it and sorry if I kept you waiting for so long. Feel free to say whatever you want🤍🤍🤍

Also let me know if you want to be tagged

Taglist: @yvalrik @euijoojoo @andteamlunesstuff

[leechqnsgirl]

⭑.ᐟ 18+ mean dom!nicholas headcanons ⭑.ᐟ

notes: based off of this ask

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who, when you both started having sex, wasn't even mean. he would always take things slow, hands running over your body like if he put too much pressure, you'd break.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who'd always deny your pleas for something different in the bedroom. something rougher.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who just couldn't take it anymore after he saw you being all over euijoo one afternoon.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who, after you two arrived at your apartment, pushed you up against the wall. practically eating at your mouth.

"you think you're funny, huh?" mean dom!nicho says in between kisses, roughly tugging your shirt over your head.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who, after getting you two to the bedroom, pushes you right onto your back. shoving your pants and panties down too.

"this is what you wanted, right? you got so used to me being nice that you just wanna be fucked dumb now." he scoffs, lining himself up with your cunt.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who doesn't stop, who doesn't even slow down. the whole time, like he's doing his best to break you.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who knows your sobs and whimpers aren't from the pain. that's why he's ignoring them.

"what's wrong, baby? what's gotten you so shaken up?" he laughs right into your ear, hands gripping onto your quivering thighs.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who starts grunting with the closer he gets. he's already held himself out for three of your own orgasms. he couldn't hold it in himself anymore.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who pushes his hips flush against yours when he comes, moaning out a, "don't fucking move." right into your neck.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho pulls out of you slowly, running his palms all along your sides, presses kisses to your neck and shoulder.

"I'm sorry, baby..." he whispers, voice full of guilt when he sees the red hand marks on your hips, and how your body is still slightly shaking.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho whose eyes widen when you scold him gently. telling him to, "not fucking apologize" for, probably, the best orgasm you've had.

𐙚 mean dom!nicho who carries you to the bathroom afterwards, soaping your hair and body, taking care of you while giving you occasional kisses.

****

ask box is open! | rules

[deersui]

CIGARETTE OUT OF THE WINDOW

Late night talks ✶ Asakura Jo

✴️: angst, fluff, mentions of job, uni student reader&jo, reassuring, emotionally intelligent bf!jo, unemployment, hurt/comfort, financial distress, smoking. wc 668

The semester was finally over, your stress over academic duties have finally been lifted however it doesn’t change the fact that you’re not stressed about life— especially about getting a job.

You tried to apply for various jobs to sustain your financial needs as a uni student who’s broke and can’t afford a lot in this economy. Yet you’ve been rejected the same amount of times you’ve applied.

It hurts you badly, you feel like you’re losing in life, that you’re not catching up to people. Individuals your age, even younger, are out there striving, they have a clear path in life and are very passionate about what they do, they already achieved success in your age.

While you’re there. Just there. Staring outside the window looking at the midnight sky and the few vehicles passing by with a cigarette in hand.

Every puff was meant to ease your mind, about how you’ll be able to live and survive in this life knowing you’re not as wealthy as those kids who have trust funds, those uni students who lavishly spend their time partying at clubs, traveling to different counties, flooding your instagram feed with their loud and exciting lifestyles.

Those kinds of people you feel small to knowing your efforts in academics won’t compare to the success you’ll gain once you graduate because at the end of the day, it’s those rich people you’ll be working for as their employer even though they don’t touch academic workloads during their time of studying.

You can’t do anything in your situation as of the moment but smoke it all out— life is too much for you right now that even the fact of your lungs being damaged due to smoking doesn’t matter.

You deeply craved to become wealthy, but wasn’t lucky enough to be born into it.

“I told you to stop smoking” Your boyfriend, Jo, leaned forward with his arm around your waist and hand caressing your arm to grab the cigarette and throw it out the window.

“Sweetheart, have you forgotten our goal on you being tobacco free?” He asks you with a deep sigh.

His voice hoarse as he had been waken from the strong scent of the cigarette. Jo leans his head down to rest his face on the curve of your shoulders, smothering your scent with his that smells of clean, fresh, soft, laundry detergent.

“No.. I just thought I needed it at this moment” You sighed and grabbed both his arms that latched on your waist as if you’d move away from him.

“Is it about your future?” Jo’s voice was muffled on the crook of your neck, you shake your head slight as a reply. He then raised his head, his lips just aligned with the side of your eyebrows.

“You know I’m not a fortune teller who can tell what will happen to me in five years…” You tell him softly while you stare at the sky, your eyes looking at the stars, finding a reason not to shed a tear.

“But if I can’t find any job to sustain myself, what will happen to me? I might perish faster”

“You’re thinking negatively again” Jo softly caresses your forearms with his thumb as you leaned back on his chest. “As long as i’m alive, I won’t allow myself to see you starve”

“But Jo, we’re not teens anymore. I desperately need a job though I despise working, because I’m broke and I can’t keep on relying on you for basic necessities I can barely afford.”

“Hey, look at me” He tells, you turn around to face him, looking up with your eyes glossy but his was calm. “Just because I can afford to spoil everything you doesn’t immediately mean you’re relying on me for basic necessities”

“But Jo… that’s such nonsense for you to say when we both know i’m broke…. and i’m running out of money” You lowered the volume of your voice, it was already a whisper that you doubt he could’ve heard.

Jo moved his hands to cup both of your cheeks. “Sweetheart, you’re being too hard on yourself again” Looking at your face, he could already read your expression.

You were tired, very tired, and too restless that even if you wanted to rest, your mind was still racing to think about your future, the future that you could barely see.

“I’m scared of the future. Too scared that if I don’t start juggling work and studies I might lose every opportunity there is” Your voice was already vulnerable enough that it had you leaning on his shoulder out of embarrassment.

“Oh my sweetheart, my dear angel” Tears fall from your eyes and it made his shoulder blade damp. Jo pulls you in for a tighter hug and cooes. “We are not able to predict the future, but you’re already working hard for it that you forget to rest your mind and think about what’s present.”

“You’re alive and well, you’re a hardworking student and you’re working well to build a future that’s successful” Jo leans down to place a kiss on your ears. “Being rejected over a job application does not guarantee that you won’t get to work in the future. You’ll find a job that’ll make you happy and rich”

One thing about your boyfriend is that no matter the situation either it be stressful or not, he knows how to handle you in all ways. He’s calm and down to earth, that everything he says or does are all acts of kindness and deep sincerity.

“The best thing you can do for yourself whenever you think negatively and start to spiral, is to not believe every negative thing your mind thinks about”

“Really?” You wiped your tears to look at him who had a soft smile on his face, his expression nuanced and honest.

“Yes” Jo cups your face once again, leaning forward to kiss your temple, he continues to kiss end of your eyes that had you to flutter it shut for him to kiss your wet lashes, the traces of tears on your flushed cheeks, to the red tip of your nose, then to your lips that trembled slightly.

“Now go to bed with me, I still want to cuddle with you in bed but you suddenly disappeared beside me” He gently pleaded.

Jo gently wipes your tears with his thumb before grabbing your hand, fingers intertwined. He softly strides guiding you both back to the bed where he tucks you in, and gave you his extra pillow just in case you needed it before laying beside you, comfortably spooning you as you faced each other.

“Promise me something, sweetheart” His arms snake towards your head, brushing a few strands of your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“Yes, Darling?”

“Promise me that you’ll be transparent with me about your problems, a cigarette won’t ease your pain, nor will fix it” His gentle reminder made you melt. It was true, it barely made any difference other than it can cause you a shorter lifespan.

“I love you so much, that if I had to file for a lawsuit and bankruptcy to every job you applied to without having to deal with any legal consequences I would”

“Why would you file for a bankruptcy?” You immediately burst out a laugh and lightly pat on his chest.

“Because they’re evil for not accepting my girlfriend’s job application” Jo grabs your hand, kissing every knuckle. “But seriously though, promise me that you will quit smoking, be open to me about your problems because i’ll find a way to help you solve them, and don’t be too hard on yourself”

“Pinky promise” You interlaced your pinky with his, kissing his lips right after.

“You really know how to manage me” You tell him as you let your fingers get lost in his hair. “Goodnight, Jojo. I love you”

“Mhm, Goodnight, Sweetheart. I love you more” Jo gives you one last kiss for the night before your eyes flutter shut, the two of you drifting to sleep close together.

📳

© deersui on tumblr 2026

[ikigaijo]

ꫂ᭪݁ teases & kisses ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟

ꨄ︎ warnings : insults (?), bickering, frenemies to lovers, kissing, skinship, fuma makes a brief appearance, lowercase intended

ꨄ︎ word count : 1.5k

ꨄ︎ author’s note : for this ask from nika! i always make yuma a tease idk why, whoops. hopefully it’s cutesy enough for u twin 🤞all support is appreciated! hope u enjoy 🪽

ִֶָ. ..𓂃currently playing: apple cider - beabadoobee ࣪ ִֶָ🪽་༘࿐

⠀ ⠀ ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ 中耒田悠真 ᰍ໋ ۫   ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 𖦹⠀ 𓈒 読む⸝⸝ ⟡ 

you and yuma had known each other since you were little kids - 6 years old to be exact. a heated argument over sharing the toy box in class led you to be sworn enemies, and younger you had promised herself she wouldn’t be friends with him. ever. but, by the time you were 13, the two of you had so many mutual friends that you’d ended up being in the same friend group, despite liking each other still. the universe simple wasn’t on your side when it came to yuma.

---

ever since the group had formed, you’d practically been forced by the others to get along with him. that meant no pointless arguments, no bullying, no pranks, nothing of the sort. not wanting to ruin the fun for the rest of them, you followed the order - or at least tried to. it was difficult when yuma constantly teased you for your style of clothing, your makeup, and tiny details like the way you walked. he enjoyed hearing the frustrated huff escape from you, loved seeing the annoyed expression on your face even more. what he loved the most, though, was the fact you fought back. it made things more entertaining when you’d shoot a reflective insult to his own outfit in defence.

your friends simply rolled their eyes every time. they were used to it by now, referring to you both as ‘tom & jerry in human form’.

---

somewhere along the way, you found your feelings of hatred towards yuma had faded, and something new had replaced it - love. or at least a variant of it.

his rude teasing had no negative effect on you anymore, instead you found it endearing, the way he’d look you up and down before saying,

“i can’t tell if you just rolled out of bed or not. you look a mess, sweetheart.”

however, you knew he didn’t feel the same way. it was obvious, and it made sense. the two of you were meant to hate each other, right? you were sure it was just a stupid little phase of yours, something that would fade after a couple of weeks. a month maximum.

---

your crush on yuma was pushing its 1 year anniversary when you started to notice the change in how yuma acted. his insults were less heated, becoming more playful instead. when your group of friends hung out, he wouldn’t refuse to sit next to you on the couch anymore, happily plopping down next to you, letting his leg brush yours. what really made you realise something was going on was when you’d catch him staring. during movie nights, picnics at the park, anywhere. whenever you glanced his way, yuma would already be looking at you, his classic, sly grin plastered on his face.

“whatcha lookin’ at? you look like you wanna kiss me or somethin’.” he’d taunt, as if he wasn’t the one caught daydreaming in your direction. you’d look away, praying he didn’t see the pink tint on your cheeks.

it made you wonder if his feelings for you had developed into something deeper, or if he was toying with you.

---

it was a saturday night, and the group was sardined in your bedroom, people practically piled on top of each other on the bed, some watching the movie playing on your laptop, some already knocked out. you were situated on the edge of the bed, not focused on the movie. yuma was sat between you and another one of your friends, fuma, who was fast asleep and snoring rather loudly. yuma was watching the movie quietly, an occasional glance cast in your direction.

the heat of the packed room finally caught up to you, and you excused yourself from the bedroom, heading out to the balcony.

the chilled breeze helped cool you down quickly, allowing you to relax. it was late by now, and the night sky was practically pitch black, the small glistening stars scattered across it. despite feeling tired, you weren’t ready to fall asleep yet. mainly because there was barely any room left on your bed, but also because of who you had to sleep beside - yuma.

as if right on queue, the balcony door slides open and shut and yuma emerges next to you, leaning against the ledge of the railing on his elbows. he doesn’t say anything at first, simply scanning the dark skyline.

“it’s hot in there,” he says finally, breaking the silence. you let out a small laugh, nodding.

“yeah, it is.”

the two of you stand, shoulder to shoulder, the silence stretching on longer than it usually does between the two of you. maybe it’s because the others were asleep inside, but it felt different being just the two of you. more intimate.

---

a few minutes had passed before he spoke up again.

“you know, you look really pretty tonight.” he turns his head to face you, eyes on your face. your stomach churned with an unfamiliar feeling; a mix of nervousness, confusion and flattery. you weren’t used to him being nice to you like this.

“thanks, yuma.” you manage to say, trying not to let your face hint at your inner turmoil. he shifts closer to you, arms pressed up against each other.

“i’m sorry i always tease you.”

you snap your head to look at him at the apology, surprised. his voice carried a tone of sincerity you’d never heard from him before, but you could tell it was genuine. you feel his pinky brush yours on the railing, and he interlinks them absentmindedly.

“you never actually look ugly. you don’t walk funny, either.” he admits, eyes flickering over you, pupils sparkling in the moonlight. “you’re, uh.. you’re perfect, actually.”

the heat that rushes to your face was sudden and warm, you knew yuma could probably see it. and by the faint smirk growing on his face, you could tell he definitely did.

“i’ve barely said anything and you’re already blushing.” he scoffs amusedly, nudging you gently.

“shut up,” you whisper, looking away in attempt to hide your pink cheeks. he lifts his free hand, cupping your face and gently turning you to face him.

“i need to be honest with you.” yuma says, expression more serious now. you nod, urging him to continue.

he clears his throat, thumb brushing the skin of your cheekbone.

“well, um..” for the first time in his life, yuma seemed.. nervous. it was unlike him. “we’ve always hated each other, haven’t we? it’s just how it’s been for us since we were kids. i thought it would always be like that, as long as we knew each other. but, recently, i don’t know why.. my feelings are changing.”

your eyes widen ever so slightly.

“...i think i’m in love with you.” he admits, eyes searching yours for reciprocation. a part of you couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not. he’d pulled pretty believable pranks on you before, and now you were cautious.

“yuma, don’t joke about that kinda stuff.” you say quietly, huffing. his hand pulls your face closer to his, lips just centimetres apart.

“i wouldn’t joke about this. c’mon, i’m not that mean.” he grins, letting out a small chuckle.

once his laughter died down, being replaced with silence, he cleared his throat.

“please don’t tell me i’m the only one feeling like this.”

as you look up at him, the cool breeze flowing through his hair, desperate gaze fixed on yours, you realise how serious he is. he actually loves you. yuma, your childhood-enemy-now-friend, was admitting his love for you. this didn’t feel real. but you knew you couldn’t lose this chance.

“i love you too, yuma.”

yuma’s face brightens up almost immediately, disbelief and happiness visible in his eyes. without saying a word, he leans down, crashing his lips against yours, years worth of love, hatred, and everything in between put into the kiss. your hands find his shoulders, gripping them for stability.

you pull away from the kiss to catch your breath, and the smile on his face was the happiest he’d ever looked.

“i would’ve never expected this from us,” he says with a giggle, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “but i’m not complaining.”

---

hand in hand, you head back to your bedroom, where your friends were all fast asleep, scattered across the bed. there was basically no room. you share a whispered giggle at the positions they were all laying in.

the two of you managed to squeeze next to each other at the bottom of the bed, and yuma wraps his arms around you. pulling you into his chest, your senses are filled with him; the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the soft sound of his breathing. everything felt perfect.

“goodnight, pretty.” yuma whispers, another kiss pressing to your forehead. “i love you.”

⊹ ࣪ ˖ taglist: @tobiobread @nichozzystuffs @kwnnies @seanidas

[lacedwithmsg]

never | nakakita yuma | angst

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship, insecure!yuma, boxer!yuma, thoughts of self doubt from yuma warning tags: descriptions of injuries, mentions of blood length: 1k words note from author: i wanted to write something fun with boxer!yuma but my brain decided it wanted to be sad instead

"when are you going to stop?"

"stop what?"

"this. all of this."

he scoffs. "what makes you think I wanna stop?"

the room lay quiet and empty, dust particles floating through the air, the florescent lights flickering overhead. the masses had already vacated a while ago, leaving only you, yuma, and the sour taste of defeat to wallow in. there was no clock but you could only assume it was hours past midnight, when the night had first started.

he sat in one corner of the ring, back against the support, arms laying down his sides, looking up and squinting at the lights. his gloves had long been discarded beside him, soaked in blood, sweat, and a constant reminder of his losses.

"you're gonna get yourself killed," you catch yourself, but it was too late, "or at least seriously hurt."

you slowly unravel the deep brown wraps around his hands, the blood having already dried up. he winces when you tug at a piece that was stuck to his skin. muttering a soft sorry, you reach for an alcohol wipe and begin cleaning the built up grime along his arms.

"why are you still here?" his question echoes around the room and into your head, where it continues to bounce back and forth.

after a moment, you mutter, "because the only reason you haven't died yet is me." you toss the dirty wipe and grab a fresh one, reaching to wipe his neck down next. "if I weren't here, you would've been outta commission long ago."

you notice his throat bobbing while you cleaned around his jaw and exposed collar, now littered with fresh cuts still oozing blood and deep purple bruises that looked like they'd take weeks to go away. he angles his gaze away to give you more working room but also because he couldn't bare to look you in the eyes. you pretend not to notice, but you chuckle at the small pout on his bloodied lips.

"shirt off." your command rings cold but gentle. this had already become a routine for the both of you, every other friday night, you'd tag along to another one of his matches, praying he wouldn't get as beat up as the previous time. of course, that prayer was never heard by anyone that cared enough.

"why do you even put this back on after the fight?" you ask absentmindedly, a part of you genuinely puzzled as to why he would even bother to put on a shirt when he was too worn out to even walk properly.

yuma parts his lips but no words leave them. "because I hate it."

"hate what?"

he takes a deep but shaky breath. "how I look. I feel…"

his breaths turn shallow, "…I feel small."

your hands stop their routine movement just so you could stare at him, really look at him. "you're so stupid."

his eyes search yours, looking for something he doesn't know himself.

you take one scan of his torso and notice a large cut, larger than the ones sprinkled all over, on his shoulder.

"christ, yuma, we might have to get you stitched up again this time." you try to clean around the gash as much as you can, minimizing the sting and trying to hurt him as little as you could. "how did this even happen?" you mumble, a tinge of annoyance in your tone. "how do you let them do this to you?"

"leave it." he looks at you before looking down at his tired, calloused hands, "just leave it. I'll be fine." his jaw is clenched, eye still avoiding yours.

"you're hopeless, you know that?"

he doesn't respond. he only stares at your hands methodically working at his wounds.

you pull his gaze up to yours, your fingers under his bruised chin. "if I were to leave you right now, you'd be back within three days tops, maybe four if you manage to cook something."

he rolls his eyes and lays his head back against the padded post, a soft chuckle shaking his being. "is that a challenge? I'm sure I'll survive."

"no it isn't. I'd rather you not burn yourself again on the stove." you lightly smack him on his cheek, "don't think I can spend another week helping you wipe your ass."

the corners of his lips curl into a small smile, the best he could muster with the skin on his face red and sore. the feeling of your hands dressing his wounds calms him, brings him back down to the ground, tethering him to the quiet of the moment.

he carefully reaches his hand to your cheek, fingers grazing your skin so lightly it feels no different from a small gust of wind. his hand is trembling, too tired and weak to move gracefully, but it's enough, enough to express the thoughts running through his head. thoughts of shame, shame that he carried with him every day, lodged in some dark crevice in his mind, regret, regret that he couldn't do better for you, that he couldn't give you the life you deserved, doubt, doubt about whether he was even enough for you, about much longer you'd bear to be by his side, and hope, hope that whatever cosmic force or hand of god that led you to him in the first place would remain strong enough to hold you close to him.

"you're not small." you take his hand in yours and hold it steady against your cheek, leaving a small kiss on his palm. "you never have been, and you never will."

yuma forces a lump down his throat.

"don't leave."

his words beckon you for an answer but his eyes don't push you.

you lean forwards, close enough to smell the sweat, blood, and grime on his skin. the scent of fresh antiseptic stinging your airways. yet, you don't pull away. you brush the tip of his nose with yours, and rest your forehead against his.

"never."

author's footnotes: slight diss to everyone that complained and told him to stop working out. ya'll are real trash. anyway, lots more coming soon! i have so much in the vault rn ya'll wont believe.

[lacedwithmsg]

moisturized | nakakita yuma | fluff, crack

tags: fluff, crack, afab reader, menstruating!reader, tease!yuma, little fucking bitch!yuma if you ask me warning tags: none, except lots of cursing(by reader) length: ~900 words note from author: wrote this sum bitch in one sitting in bed on my phone. yeah you read right, a fucking menace, that's what I am. jk. no but I actually did forget to put on my lip mask and wrote this up instead of going to get it. priorities, people.

You're in bed. Flat on your back like a sad, deflated pancake that's been left out on the table for too long. The bottom half of your body is tucked snugly under your blanket. You head is resting comfortably, or at least as comfortable as you can get in your current state, on a pillow. You're pretty much all ready for bed.

Yuma is on his phone next to you, similarly tucked in under the blanket, back perched on a slightly raised pillow, and ready to go to bed. His sweater pajamas look beyond comfortable, the soft fabric probably feeling like a cloud on his skin. He's focused on whatever's on his phone, not noticing the way you're staring blankly up at the ceiling.

Then it hits you. Dawns on you. You're not done. You can't go to bed. You know why? You haven't put on your sleeping lip mask yet. Now, to anyone else, this may not sound nearly as bad as you're making it sound, but for you, this was end-of-the-world levels of bad. For someone who needs to count the number of steps they take to get to the bathroom every morning to make sure it's the same number every day, this felt like undershooting the A+ by half a percent, felt like a door with a faulty lock creeping open after you were certain you pulled it shut, or, to put it simply, felt really fucking bad and there was no way you could go to bed now that you had attained this knowledge.

But, on the other hand, you feel so fucking comfortable right now— not to mention the raging cramps ravishing at your insides. Yes, you so happen to be on your god forsaken period as well. You really are in between a rock and a hard place.

Wait. But then, you turn to your side again and suddenly, you're crafting up the most intricate, complex, and well thought-out plan known to man.

"Yuma?"

"Mhm?"

"I'm in bed right now."

"Yeah?"

"Next to you."

"Uh huh."

"And I'm really comfy."

"Okay."

"And cozy."

"Good for y-"

"And I really don't wanna move."

"Wait-"

"But I forgot something really important."

He lets out a dramatic sigh, despite already putting his phone down in preparation to get up. "What is it?"

You pause for a moment.

He asks again. "Hmm? Whaddya forget?"

It's time. You bust out the prettiest, soft girl, puppy eyes along with the smallest, cutest pout you could muster and mumble," I forgot to put on my lip mask."

You see the color drain from his face, along with any and all desire he may have had to help you. He grabs his phone from where he placed it down earlier.

"Yumaaaa," you plead. "Pleaseeeeee?"

"No."

"But my lips will be dry."

"Drink water."

"It's not enough, though."

"What makes you say that?"

He caught you there. "Okay it's hard to explain but pleaseeeeee. I'd go get it myself but my cramps hurt too bad right now."

He puts his phone down again and turns to you. "You are in bed."

"Yes."

"And so am I."

"Yes."

"Next to you."

"Mhm hmm," you don't know where he's going with this.

"Also tucked under the same blanket you're under."

"Uh huh."

"But you want me to go grab your lip mask becau-"

"Because my cramps hur-"

"Hurt too bad right now. Is that right?"

"Yes..."

Now it's his turn to pause. You see it, in his eyes. He's thinking about something and you're absolutely certain that 'something' is not him getting up to go fetch your lip mask.

"You don't want dry lips, right?"

You nod slowly.

"So all I have to do is help you get them moisturized, right?"

"Uh huh-"

He leans in and takes your, admittedly not even dry, lips in his.

This motherfucker.

You go wide-eyed for a moment, unable to withstand the degree of audacity flowing out of the man in front of you.

But then admittedly, his lips are so soft. And warm. And sweet. Why the fuck do they taste sweet? It doesn't matter, you don't have enough time to ponder anyway since you're already closing your eyes and drifting into that state of bliss that comes over you every time Yuma decides to slot his lips so snugly against yours.

You curse him out in your head. Then you lean deeper into him. This dichotomy of man was so jarring it could put all fanfiction writers to shame.

Just when you thought you were free from his lips and were returning from kiss-induced blissland, it seems the devil himself has possessed your boyfriend as he fiendishly starts leaving small licks all across your lips. What. The. Fuck. Is what you think in your head but in person all you really manage to get out is a slurred delivery of his name.

"There." He pulls away. "Moisturized."

This motherfucker. You're in love with him. God forbid you're going to let him have that over you right now, though, so all you do is glare at him through your lidded eyes and your lips still pink, plump, and pursed.

He chuckles and grabs his phone.

author's notes: this lil brat, amirite? (I need his lips on mine right this instant.) am working on other pieces right now as well but decided to release this one in the meantime. hope you enjoyed! have a good day!

[lacedwithmsg]

lip mask | nakakita yuma | fluff, crack

tags: fluff, crack, afab reader, mutual pining, tease!reader, tease!yuma, violent thoughts and tendencies, little fucking bitch!yuma if you ask me, nicho and maki cameos warning tags: some borderline nsfw thoughts about yuma but nothing explicit/graphic (mainly just reader thirsting), lots of cursing(by reader and nicholas) length: 3.09k words note from author: thanks a bunch to mani (@1009prod) for proofreading and edits! I spent way more time than I'd like to admit on this fic... hope ya'll enjoy!

his lips always looked so supple. so soft. so delicate. every time your eyes searched for him, they'd land first on his eyes, the curve of his lashes adorning his perfectly shaped pupils. your eyes would then drift down to his lips. how could they not? not when you've daydreamed about biting down on them for hours on end, thought about sucking on them until both of you were dizzy, wished you could slide the tip of your tongue across his bottom lip before slipping it beyond to explore the rest of his mouth.

“are you horny, again?” nicho snaps his fingers in front of you in an attempt to wake you from your daze.

his attempt succeeds, and you're brought back to reality, shaking your head and looking down at the condensation dripping down the side of your glass.

“when you said you'd help me study, I didn't think that was a code word for gooning over my friend,” nicho scoffs as he focuses his attention back on the textbook.

“am not! I just haven't been sleeping well and must've dozed off a bit.” you try to convince nicho but also a part of yourself, one you’re scared to admit even exists.

“anyone can tell you were eyefucking yuma just now.” nicho doesn't even look up at you. probably for the better since you almost choke on your iced tea. “at this point, I don't even know how he hasn't noticed.”

nicholas scratches up a large portion of his notebook with his pen before flipping to the next page.

“you're sure he hasn't?” the words slip out before you realize. nicho raises an eyebrow at you. “I mean, judging by what you just said, I'd bury myself on the spot if he ever did notice.”

and that was to put it lightly. if yuma ever found out about your not-so-small, not-so-innocent liking towards him, you'd find yourself backed up against a wall of cringe, shame, and sudden murderous intent, specifically towards whoever broke the news to him, and if there were no one to blame but yourself, you'd have to face the wrath of your embarrassment alone.

nicholas punches something into his calculator before pulling out his phone and taking a picture of his textbook. “either he really hasn't noticed or he's pretending like he hasn't to fuck with you.”

you think about it. could he have already known? from months of watching yuma in his natural habitat, like you were a wildlife researcher, you had learned quite a handful of different behaviors and reactions he had a tendency to exhibit. but if you had to revisit the moments yuma exhibited extraordinary levels of pest— which really was more than one could count on one hand, or even two hands, since yuma truly was a smug, teasing rat—, you couldn't argue that watching you unashamedly gawk at him for the hell of it was something he'd do on a whim, be it purely for entertainment or something to boast about to his friends.

this idea being implanted into your head by one of yuma's closest friends doesn't help.

“what?” you return to the present.

nicho doesn't respond and continues taking pictures of his textbook.

“what do you mean?” you pry again.

still no response. you reach over and swipe his phone from his hands. at a quick glance at the screen, you can tell he's trying to feed his biology questions into an ai chat bot.

“bro? give that back!” nicho looks at you both in alarm and confusion. he also has to make sure he doesn't knock over his drink that's placed a little too close to his books for comfort.

“not until you tell me what you mean,” you smile at him sweetly, definitely not dangling his phone behind your head as you stare into his eyes.

your little friendly spat catches the attention of the boy across the room. his eyes find the back of nicho's head, catching the way nicho tries to reach for the phone in your hand while trying to keep his drink from spilling over.

in less than a second, yuma makes his way over to your table but you're too focused on interrogating nicho to notice. but once you do, it's too late.

“quite the study partner you got there, nicho,” yuma’s voice tears through the bubble you were in just a moment ago. your throat dries up immediately at the sight of him standing over your table. your eyes widen and your lips twitch, not able to form anything close to human speech. nicholas notices this and has to control every fibre in his body from cackling.

“yuma! what perfect timing! my study partner here,” he glares at you with the most sickening grin you’ve ever had the displeasure of witnessing, “has a question for you!”

yuma's eyebrow quirks up before turning back to you, "a question?"

if you weren't in such a public place, you'd have thrown his phone square at nicho's face.

"oh no, he's lying. don't worry about it. were we too loud? I’m sorry I uh-" your attempt at a relaxed response makes your insides shrivel up. it takes more effort and self-control than you'd care to admit to stop your eyes from wandering.

"wait no, I’m curious now." he pulls up a chair from a nearby table and sits down at your table.

"actually guys, I'd prefer if you guys moved to that table over there," nicho points at a table shrouded in shadows on the other end of the room, "kinda have some studying to do and she's done everything but let me focus."

before you can even utter a retort, yuma grabs your drink and stands up. you just sit and stare at him, trying your absolute hardest to gauge what was happening, what he was trying to do, and how you were supposed to react.

"well you heard him, come on." he takes your drink and drags his chair away, very loudly making his migration known to the entire cafe. the prolonged shriek of the metal chair's legs across the floor was loud and obnoxious enough to wake a hibernating bear. you don't know how yuma keeps a straight, infuriatingly attractive, face.

"there. you're welcome. if you want to thank me, send me your bio notes later." you'd comment on how stupid nicho's smug face looked but the pit in your stomach right now held higher priority.

"nicho, fucking help me. what am I supposed to do?" if it weren't for how packed the cafe was right now, you'd be screaming instead of mouthing vague curses at him.

"fuck if I know. go on now, I need to work." he doesn't even bother to look up at you anymore.

just then, yuma's voice travels across the room, "hey, what's taking so long? I'm waiting!" about a dozen different heads turn in either yuma’s or your direction.

you mutter small apologies as you begin the walk of shame towards him.

"finally, sure took your time." yuma sits down and slides the drink he swiped earlier to you.

you hesitantly sit down, "that was…loud."

"good thing I took your drink. if not, you probably would've run out the cafe instead." yuma leans back in his chair, tilting his head when you don't respond immediately. "or at least pretended you didn't know who I was."

when you do say something, it comes out softer than you intended it to. "you're…enjoying this."

"what was that? you're enjoying this?" he chuckles and perches his head on his hand. "I figured. though I'll admit, you're a lot quieter than you make yourself seem."

"huh?" there are a lot of things going through your head right now— wanting to ask him what he meant, telling him to get his ears checked, among other things— but all you could muster up was a furrow of your brows and a small, "what is happening?"

"you tell me. nicho said you had a question?" he smiles and you don't miss the way his cheeks puff up, before, of course, being reminded awake by the sweat forming in your palms.

right. you almost forgot what led you here in the first place. in your head, you start plotting how you'll replace all the keywords in your bio notes to various curses when you send them to nicho later.

"what's going on in that pretty head of yours, huh?" he takes a sip of your drink. you only then realize your drink was in his hand. "what? it was getting cold!"

"what did you just say?" you struggle to process his words, maybe you were the one who needed to get your ears checked.

"your drink is getting cold," he keeps gulping down your slowly depleting drink. "come on, let me in on what you're scheming. you are planning something right?"

to anyone else, you'd look like two friends— that maybe despised each other's existence just a tad bit— just catching up, but that couldn't be further from the truth. it was a life or death situation, and you were two steps away from embarrassing yourself in front of the boy you’d been fawning over for the past four months.

you're now faced with a major dilemma: do you forego all restraint and just stare at yuma's annoyingly gorgeous face or do you forego all your remaining dignity and ask him if he just called you pretty? neither option sounds particularly desirable.

you're not proud to admit what you decide to do next.

"pretty?" the word catches his attention. "did you just say I was-"

"pretty?" yuma cuts you off. "surprised you actually caught that, I was starting to think you had the hearing of an eighty-year-old."

he chuckles before downing the rest of your drink. "thanks for the drink! now I owe you an answer," he wipes his lips with a tissue, "an answer to the question you had earlier."

you'd be lying if you said your eyes didn't wander down to his lips.

"my question…," you don't know how long it's been but one can assume you've been staring longer than socially acceptable.

"what? are my lips chapped?" he smirks, fully aware of what stole your attention.

---

"-and then she called management and complained about me! can you believe that? what a real b-"

"-give that back!" a familiar voice rings from the other end of the cafe.

"dude, are you even listening?" maki waves a hand in front of yuma's face, "earth to yuma?"

prior to that, yuma had been relishing in your unwavering gaze on him. hyper aware of his actions, making sure he batted his eyelashes at specific intervals as if he was the main protagonist of a coming-of-age anime, all whilst fighting his own urge to stare back at you. alas, curiosity killed the cat— yuma, the cat was yuma.

yuma takes one last sip of his already empty drink and stands up, "maki, hold that thought for a bit, yeah?"

"what? bro?" maki's voice fades quieter as yuma walks away, his eyes locked onto the table the voice came from.

there you were, your arm outstretched behind you, holding nicho's phone hostage. the look on your face is priceless. the raw, unfiltered crazy from your eyes is so visceral, yuma swears he feels chills down his spine. when he gets close enough for you to notice, he finds the way you freeze your movements cute but he decides not to dwell on it for long.

“quite the study partner you got there, nicho." yuma doesn't miss the red creeping up your neck. when you look away, he feels a small sense of relief, like the calm before a storm. if you stared at him any longer, the calm, chill facade he was trying so hard to uphold would've shattered on the spot. but he also wants you to stare at him again. keep looking at me. he pushes the thought away when nicho speaks up.

the next time his composure resurfaces, he's already dragging a chair he doesn't remember grabbing, a drink he doesn't remember acquiring in his hand.

he rests his elbows on the table and leans forward to get a closer look at you. he's been waiting and he's grown so impatient.

when he calls you pretty, it's half a slip up and half intentional. it's hard to hold his tongue when you're right there, within an arm's distance.

he sees the faint print of your lip balm on your drink and he's taking a sip before he can stop himself. cold and hard, and tasting slightly of berries. still, the mug doesn't do your lips justice, he thinks. he wonders how your lips would feel on his own.

yuma doesn't remember when he started paying so much attention to you. he doesn't even remember when he first noticed your glances directed towards him. he only remembers not giving it a second thought for the longest time. until one day, he saw you kicking and shaking a vending machine because it ate your money. if not love at first sight, the initial wave of fear after witnessing that definitely morphed into something closer to intrigue, and eventually infatuation.

he'd watch the way you stare at the desk you stubbed your toe on with so much vitriol he was afraid you'd kick it over. watched how you'd stare back when someone asked you a question so obvious you thought your pet fish could've answered. how did yuma know you were thinking about your pet fish? because you said out loud, "that's so dumb my pet fish could've given you the answer."

he remembers one time you told the teacher his private email inbox was showing on the projector and that he should probably get his mole checked at the doctor's instead of asking on reddit. it took all of him and then some more to hold in his snort.

so now that you were sitting in front of him, staring at him like you couldn't decide between running, kicking him, and jumping onto him, he's going absolutely insane.

he gets a little too excited when he catches you staring at his lips.

"what? are my lips chapped?" he wishes oh so dearly for you to latch yours onto his. "you can stare as much as you'd like but you'd have to buy me a drink first."

"buy you a drink? considering you've downed my coffee, you're asking for quite a lot."

maybe it was the slight quiver of his lips when you asked if he called you pretty, or the way he gulped down your very bitter coffee like it was water, or maybe even the way he's been tapping his feet underneath the table the whole time, but the playing field was leveling out again. he's just as fair game as you were to him.

"I was doing you a favor, didn't think you'd be one to enjoy lukewarm coffee." yuma snickers and turns away, praying to whatever god was listening that you couldn't notice the heat engulfing his ears.

"didn't think you'd be one to call the first girl you talk to pretty." you chuckle, noticing how his finger kept tapping at the already empty mug.

his eyes flicker to you, his head still turned away. "you're not the first girl I talked to."

"thanks, what a heartwarming compliment." you swipe the mug from his grasp and peer inside, it really was empty. "if anything, you owe me a drink."

he finally turns to you, his eyes wide and brows raised in an almost shocked expression. "get you a drink, huh?" the corners of his lips curve into a smug smile, the type you can't decide whether to kiss or slap away. "does that mean you want to see me again?"

"if you come packaged with a coffee and snacks, sure."

it's hard to combat the sheer cockiness that yuma's exuding all of a sudden, but you also know that it's well within your ability to match it. and so, you muster up as much brat as you possibly can, tilt your head at a tight 35 degree angle— an angle you had predetermined to be the most efficient when pissing someone off, verified by the countless times you landed in the principal's waiting room—, and poke the corner of your lips with your tongue in an attempt to hide the oncoming smirk. yuma sees it anyway and decides to take on the challenge, head on.

"not the best way to ask me out on a date, but I'll take it." he stands up and offers you his hand. "come on, as your soon-to-be-date, I need to make sure you get back home safe," his insufferably adorable grin already showing, "or at least back to your table in this case."

you chuckle and take his outstretched hand, but before you can stand on your own, he tugs you up. a lapse in judgment on your part, you must admit, you should not have lowered your guard so carelessly. as it turns out, his outstretched hand was a cover for his true intentions. while he used his annoyingly perfect face to pull you in, his leg was also outstretched, conveniently in your way, right out of your field of vision.

you feel yourself falling, against gravity, your body no longer fighting, the ever-so-slightly sticky floor of the cafe approaching, but what do you have it. as you accepted your fate, already having decided to take the impact over reaching out and grabbing onto the culprit, a hand conveniently wraps around your waist, barely stabilizing you. you feel weightless, if only for half a second. around your body now, a grip dripping with so much intent, you didn't know whether you wanted to crawl closer to him or run, screaming bloody murder.

"gotta watch your step, pretty girl." yuma innocuously puts his other hand on your back, "if you fall too hard, you might end up back in hell."

"I'd say I'd take you with me, but something tells me you'd enjoy that." you regain your balance, your palms flat against his chest, keeping your gaze locked onto his. this was a battle you weren't going to let up so easily.

"can't say I'd turn down the offer." and he didn't plan on forfeiting anytime soon.

back at your table, nicho is still wrestling with chatgpt about what the krebs cycle was. maki had moved and was sitting with nicho, talking about the krebs cycle being about crab life cycles.

author's notes: hope you're all having a good day! I'm so happy to finally be back writing! I'm on tumblr every day but haven't been able to write :// but I've returned!!! now a new member of @lune-net as well!! new stuff coming soon as well, perhaps even some angst???

[smidare]

i love when a male idol is pretty like a girl . . . ૮꒰ྀི˶ ˊ ། ິ ` ˶꒱ྀིა

[binnieverssse]

Doors - h.hj

✿ Author: binnieverssse

✿ Summary: based on Doors - Noah Kahan.

✿ Pairing: Hyunjin x f!reader

✿ Word count: 1k

✿ Tags/Warnings: angst + comfort, self-sabotage, reader deals with abandonment issues

✿ Author’s note: Two posts in one day??? :o The Great Divide has meant sm to me since it’s dropped. Not sure if this is too niche, but each song has given me sm inspiration through my groveling. I hope you all enjoy (:

It would be easy to blame your dad for the irreparable emotional damage that shapes who you are as a person.

In reality, your father was only concerned; he never wanted you to turn into someone that hurt others.

Why is it that, now, you’d hurt anyone you could?

Anyone who dared to get close to you always left.

It wasn’t easy being with someone that always carried a storm everywhere they went.

Malcontentment wasn’t many people’s specialty.

That was until Hyunjin entered your life, unsuspecting.

He wasn’t aware of the trouble that you would bring.

You’d always put a strong shield around yourself. People couldn’t get hurt if they couldn’t get close.

It was Hyunjin’s fault for being curious. After all, he was the one that knocked on the door to your heart.

One thing about Hyunjin is that he is both patient and preserving.

Once you realized that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, you realized that you’d have to show him why you’re unlovable. Considering everything, he was a visual learner nonetheless.

Any time that Hyunjin got close to the sensitive parts of your personality, you’d lash out. Even on the days when you didn’t want to fight, it was so easy to return to your natural defense mechanism.

On nights when you brought yourself to tears, Hyunjin was persistent in comforting you the whole time.

“I don’t deserve you,” you sniffled as Hyunjin held you close.

“You deserve the world,” he gently reassured you as if it were a fact, even if you had just berated him moments ago.

Once you realized that your cold heart had grown a warm spot for Hyunjin, you panicked. It was rare for you to open up to other people. This was an uncharted territory.

As he had for the past few weeks, Hyunjin came to visit you one Saturday night. He found you in your backyard staring up into the midnight sky. You immediately felt his presence.

“Have you ever stared directly into the sun?” you asked, acknowledging the boy behind you.

While he wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed, Hyunjin allowed his body to nestle into the grassy area beside your head.

“Yeah?” Hyunjin’s statement came across as a question, showing you that he wanted you to keep going.

“The sun imprints on you,” you mindlessly spoke as you leaned toward Hyunjin’s presence. “A lot like people do, too, you know?”

He mumbled a gentle ‘mhm’ to acknowledge what you were saying. His fingers effortlessly found themselves tangled in your hair as you continued to ramble.

“The sun is blinding. It burns - literally and figuratively,” you took in a sharp breath, unsure of where this confidence came from.

“But, the sun doesn’t leave…” you trailed off before derailing the conversation again, “Have you ever been close to anyone before, Hyunjin?” you asked, slowly turning your head to meet his adoring gaze.

“Of course I have,” he answered with ease. This wasn’t a trick question for him like it would be for you.

“With people, it’s easy to get close and be so open. Someone can know you inside and out and still want to leave. I grew tired of being so exposed just for people to spit it back at me.”

Hyunjin watched you carefully as you opened up to him. This was the most progress he’d made since meeting you. Slowly, he was opening the doors that you tried to conceal.

“I think that I don’t deserve positive relationships. My track record proves that,” you sighed. “Why put in effort for something I’ll never get?”

“Maybe one day you’ll see what I see,” Hyunjin barely spoke above a whisper. He never tried to invalidate your feelings; you had no clue what you did to deserve his gentle love. “For now, you don’t need to work hard for me. I just want you to keep being yourself.”

You found yourself chasing his fingers as they ran through your hair. While you didn’t believe what he said, it was nice to have that feeling of comfort for even a fleeting moment.

It wasn’t long after that conversation that you began to push Hyunjin away.

You realized that you couldn’t leave him. You were addicted to everything that was Hwang Hyunjin. Knowing that you couldn’t leave him, you were left listing reasons for Hyunjin to pack up and leave.

“I’m not emotionally available.”

“I have difficultly controlling my anger.”

“I don’t know who I am.”

“I am too impulsive.”

“I don’t know how to keep a stable relationship.”

“I can’t always be open for you.”

Hyunjin never saw these as a determining factor for ending the relationship that you two had built. If anything, he was grateful that you shared the ugly truth with him.

These aspects of your personality weren’t going to scare him away. Instead, knowing this information taught him how to handle you with care.

Regardless of how many doors of opportunity you gave him to leave, he wouldn’t open them up. He was here to stay.

He wanted to work with you, because that’s what you do when you love someone.

Even after realizing that love was present in your relationship, you still couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that Hyunjin wanted to stay. Each morning, you prepared yourself for the breakup/ghosting that was never going to occur.

Early in the morning, when you hear the rattle of his keys, you immediately jump.

“Are you leaving?” you ask with a small voice.

“No, babe,” Hyunjin answered. Rolling over in bed, he wrapped an arm around you to be closer. “I’m just waking up.”

Looking over, you notice that his keys remain on the nightstand. The rattle was simply from him grabbing his phone, which was left right beside of his keys the night prior.

It was hard to believe that he was content with staying, but he proved his devotion time and time again.

One thing is certain: Hyunjin wouldn’t be giving up on you any time soon.

Taglist: @seung-min-the-building @melancholicw @karlee10261990 @emmalabo @stronglychanbiased @hanjisungsbunny

[moonlitnicho]

ꕤ｡˚⋆ every night leads back to you ⋆˚｡ꕤ

✧ yuma comes back from drinking with the members a little tipsy, a lot clingy, and impossibly soft.

✧ yuma x reader | established relationship, fluff, drunk/tipsy yuma, clingy behavior, soft romance, kissing, comfort, idol au | wc: 735

✧ author’s note: short and sweet yuma drabble to end the night hehe

✧ keep reading if you want to stay a while ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵)

the apartment was quiet when yuma got home.

you heard the front door open, followed by the soft shuffle of his shoes against the floor, and looked up just in time to see him standing there in the hallway.

his hair was messy from the wind outside. hoodie half-zipped. cheeks slightly pink.

and the second he saw you, he smiled.

small.

immediate.

like finding you there was enough to make the whole night settle properly.

“hi,” he said softly.

you smiled back. “hi, baby.”

he stood there for another second like he was deciding something.

then he walked straight over to the couch and quietly climbed into your space without a word, curling up against your side.

you laughed under your breath as his arms slipped around your waist.

“tired?”

“mhm.”

“did you drink a lot?”

he shook his head against your shoulder. “just enough to miss you extra.”

your heart gave the tiniest ache.

yuma sighed softly once you wrapped your arms around him, like he’d been waiting for it all night without realizing.

for a while, neither of you talked.

he just stayed close, cheek pressed against your shoulder while your fingers played with the ends of his hair.

then quietly:

“i kept thinking about coming home.”

you looked down at him. “yeah?”

he nodded once.

“i think my favorite part of going out is getting to come back to you after.”

the way he said it was so simple.

so honest.

like it wasn’t even meant to sound romantic.

you felt him shift slightly closer after saying it, like he instinctively wanted to hide from how affectionate that sounded.

“you’re being really cute right now,” you teased gently.

“no, i’m not.”

“you literally just said your favorite thing is coming home to me.”

yuma went quiet.

then he tightened his arms around you a little and mumbled into your shoulder:

“…because it is.”

you completely melted.

a quiet silence settled after that, warm and heavy in the nicest way.

then suddenly, yuma tilted his head up and stared at you for a second like he’d just noticed something important.

“what?” you laughed softly.

he didn’t answer.

he just looked at you with that sleepy, unbearably fond expression for another second before one of his hands slid up gently against your cheek.

then he leaned in and kissed you.

slow.

warm.

the kind of kiss that lingered before it even really started.

you could still feel his small smile against your lips, soft and sleepy and completely full of you.

when he finally pulled back, he stayed close enough that your noses still brushed.

“…there,” he murmured quietly, like he’d been meaning to do that since he walked through the door.

then he tucked himself back against you again without another thought, arms tightening around your waist like coming home to you was something his body already knew by heart.

[wanyangii]

❤︎ soft! yuma x reader

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ soft! yuma boyfriend thoughts ~ no specific plot just a whole bunch of imagines!!

tags ⸝⸝ gn! reader, kissing, fluff, cuddling, playful! yuma, boyfriend! yuma. it’s all in good fun and superrrrr cute.

soft! yuma . . leaving small love notes on your desk or dresser before he leaves. the handwriting sloppy from his early morning drowsiness.

soft! yuma . . nuzzled in your side, his hands gently rubbing against your hips. the soft purr of his voice slowly slurs as he falls asleep.

soft! yuma . . spraying an extra spritz of cologne near his pillow before you wake up, he knows the scent comforts your anxious mind. that tendency you had to turn over to his side of the bed before washing up.

soft! yuma . . never fighting you on apartment decor— even if he wanted something different his thoughts only prioritized seeing the dorky smile, “really?!!” squeaking as your fingers shift moving to ‘buy now’.

soft! yuma . . hands always working to relax you, massaging the sore tissue of your shoulders, the tension in your scalp, his soft hums making your brain foggy.

soft! yuma . . his giggles whispered as your fingers trace the tattoo near his hip. he squirm around as your fingers reach his ticklish hips.

soft! yuma . . throwing his slightly worn hoodie into the dryer turning it to ‘quick dry’, his feet scurrying to the kitchen. rummaging through the large snack cabinet, picking out your favorite treats. lighting your favorite scent of candle. throwing the now-warmed hoodie to you, hands full of snacks as he comforts you in bed, already snuggling with your favorite plushies, letting the stress of a long day pass.

soft! yuma . . notes app full of all your favorite things, long lists noting small details. whether it be your all-time favorite food to your favorite niche brand— he studies them between shows, interviews, practices, etc.

soft! yuma . . humming your favorite songs in that soft velvety way he does on stage, almost as if it’s a lullaby your eyelids heavy, the tension in your body slowly relaxing as your head buries on his chest, the only disturbance being his playfully hands teasing your hair, twirling the strands between his fingers.

soft! yuma . . his chin perfectly placed on your shoulder, nudging the back of your neck. “what?” your head is busy messaging your work GC. “guess~” his teasing tone lowering, the words vibrating in your eardrums. soft giggles escaping his fluffy lips. evidently, his favorite free-time hobby was annoying you.

soft! yuma . . sending you short videos/photos of his day —from the awfully close-up videos of him eating to the shenanigans his members pulled when unsupervised. your phone constantly buzzing ‘10 new messages’ full of his mediocre photography skills practiced on the spring bloom. or even the pouty tone he texted in “nico teased me about my outfit again (¬`‸´¬)”

soft! yuma . . recently, along with his usual acts of love, he never fails to throw in a brief mention to adopt a cat. whining into your ear about how cute it’d be to name it after your favorite food. how “responsible” he’d become in taking care of the small kitten.

soft! yuma . . letting you popcorn kiss, blow raspberries, and nip at the moles on his shoulders, even if he squirmed at the sensation— he’d never interrupt you.

soft! yuma . . gluing his lips together, barely uttering a word as your eyes gaze at his beautiful face, more specifically at the perfect mole under his eye. the sharp cat-likeness of his features admirable in your love-drunk brain.

soft! yuma (play-full). . continuing with his favorite hobby of annoying you, whenever you try to recall a memory or forget a word/sentence you were about to say— he chirps in, his nasally voice whining in your ear about random unrelated nonsense. he does this just to see your forehead tense, and the adorable gestures you do trying to quiet him down.

soft! yuma . . instead of setting his wallpaper to a photo of you — or even a couple photo, instead sets it to your favorite things— spending an hour every month to put a collage of your favorite colors, foods, characters, etc. he never forgets to add a photo of an animal he associates with you. whenever he does this he rushes to show you and his band members his proud work.

soft! yuma . . whenever you’re home together he refuses to use his own chapstick, always bugging to borrow one of yours— even just curling into your lap till you popcorn kiss enough onto his once dry lips. once he’s satisfied he eskimo kisses you and prances away to continue what he left off on.

🗒️ hiiiii~!! please interact with this post and/or my page if you finished it, it helps motivate me to write more!! if you have any requests or ideas you’d like to share my inbox is open atm!!♡

[wanyangii]

❤︎ imagine — soft! jo

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ a whole bunch of cute imagines with everyone’s favorite rice ball— jojo

tags ⸝⸝ fluff, cuddling, kissing, imagines, super cute~

soft! jo . . his big eyes stare up at you, cheeks full of rice, glaring between you and the half-full rice bowl you haven’t touched in a minute. never uttering a word, just that silent stare until you hand him the rest of your rice. with one long sigh never being able to say no to his pleading eyes.

soft! jo . . whenever he feels down he always nuzzles his cheeks into the palm of your hands, feeling your warm skin against his soft cheeks. like a little puppy letting out soft whines until he calms down.

soft! jo . . he loves to hold you like a cat, his hands digging into your sides, swinging your legs around until you get so motion sick you have to stop him. after you sat on the floor, trying to steady your brain he pats your head gently, poking your soft cheeks, his fingers brushing your hair.

soft! jo . . he’s super soft spoken, even when he gets mad at something you do— he’d never raise his voice, instead take a deep breath, followed by a very gentle reminder of what you’re doing wrong or what you’re doing that’s annoying him.

soft! jo . . even when you're busy— he always sends a short message, inviting you to watch him play basketball. if you do show up every time he makes a shot or does something impressive he looks at you like a proud kid. having to nod and cheer pretending you know how anything works.

soft! jo . . he leaves you small love notes all over your desk, often doodling chibi versions of your favorite characters. his hand writing rather messy compared to the intricate details of his art.

soft! jo . . jo love love loves to be clingy— despite being rather quiet for most of it he wraps his arms around, giving you back hugs, peppering kisses all over you until you finally give up fighting it, letting his clinginess interrupt your chores.

soft! jo . . most days he's sat in the corner of the room, fingers typing away at his laptop, between work emails and organizing schedules he disassociates for most of his free hours. until you come over and curl in his lap, head nuzzled into his chest— reading and pointing at the unfamiliar words, asking questions about his schedules. trying everything to make him feel a little less overwhelmed. he gives soft nods and hums, smiling gently as his heart melts from how adorable you are in his eyes.

soft! jo . . when he has the energy he is oddly playful, almost like a cat— begging for your attention, always having to be in your presence. even if it’s while you're showering he’ll sit outside of it— scrolling on his phone listening to you talk about whatever, as long as he was in the same room as you he was happy.

soft! jo . . sometimes maki teaches him stuff off of tiktok— jo will return home, a proud smile plastered “baby~?” he will chirp, head peaking around every room until he finds you. “look at what maki taught me!!” followed by him repeating/acting out a tiktok trend that had already died down. “wowww that’s great.” lying through a large grin, trying to hold back the cuteness aggression that burned towards him.

🗒️ hiiiii~!! please interact with this post and/or my page if you finished it, it helps motivate me to write more!! if you have any requests or ideas you’d like to share my inbox is open atm!! do not copy or translate any of my works.

[wanyangii]

❤︎ dear. my darling— soft! yuma

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ all the days you spent in the hospital room, deathly ill, waiting for the day you’d go under— your once distant friend made an effort to spend time with you. bringing you food when nobody else would. on your last day, he showed up, late at night. “wanna go for a walk?”

tags ⸝⸝ angst, reader is sick, use of medication, talks about being numb, neglect from parents, yuma is your only friend, refusal to eat, friends leave you, a soft confession at the end, kissing, emotional, crying, readers fate is on a cliffhanger at the end… ᥫ᭡.

now playing ‹𝟹 dear. my darling — boynextdoor

side note . . this is inspired mostly by bnd’s film: finding home.

the curtains near the window barely blocked the painfully bright light. soft steam gently blowing from your mug of soup— still untouched.

every small thing in the hospital made you feel sick, homesick. knowing your condition you knew you didn’t have long, your sickness had yet to die down.

doctors whispering outside your door, the kind with a solemn knowing tone. your parents' soft sobs filtering through.

Most of your friends had dropped you, they didn’t want to get too attached before your passing. it was stupid, nobody visited. that was until yuma made his weekly visits, always bringing you hot food from the convenience store.

sometimes he experimented in the kitchen, tried to make your favorite dessert, and ended up sending you into the bathroom with terrible food poisoning.

you never really acknowledged him, always brushing off his visits and pretending to be asl, pretending time while he babbled about school to you.

deep down you just wanted everyone to leave you alone, the deep, disgusting, nauseating thought of it being your last month was enough to make you emotionally detached.

instead of living that last month on the open beauty of nature, you were stuck in the stuffy dry hospital room eating hospital food.

you now lie, eyes staring at the grey ceiling. your hands playing with the hospital gown, tugging at the soft fabric.

your legs are nearly numb from the medication, that painful ache in your heart— just wanting to go home. the desire to wake up in your own bed, hear your mother's voice when she wasn’t sobbing; that emptiness of never having your mother cooking you breakfast again.

it felt as though the hospital was your home, you’d never return to your ordinary life.

your hands weakly grab for the small diary on your bedside table, the humidifier gently lighting the room.

the weak bones were barely able to pick up the book, hands trembling as they held the pencil. You wrote:

I walked around for a while

Not knowing where I was

Where is my home?

I wondered

it was that deep feeling, the knowingness of spending half a year here, yet it still felt like a stranger. you didn’t know the halls outside of your room.

your brain was too foggy to remember the faces of anyone who’d taken care of you. that day, you picked up your feet, finally stepping outside the door you once entered… it was all dark and blurry; you couldn’t even remember coming here in the first place. it felt like you spent every hour of your life here.

the agitating pain sprang you awake, hands holding onto your head for dear life. throbbing pain deafening your ears. your hands reached for the case of pills, quickly sitting up and chugging water— trying your best to push down the disgusting taste it left behind.

you sat, on that same window seal, your head ringing, legs numbing.

you stare, watching the sunrise. watching as the city roars awake, cars driving to work, people pushing past the large crowds; traffic brewing.

“you’re up early today.” the caretaker folds your sheets nicely. her voice soft, in that way they talk to you knowing you’ll be out of here by next month.

you ignore her, never having enough energy to hold a conversation. your eyes stare out the window. that familiar figure prancing through the streets, holding his typical delivery food bags. it was something he did on the job, it was his way of getting by. his mother was ill, couldn’t work, so he’d taken it upon himself to support her.

with one deep sigh, you bring yourself to the small balcony door in your room, stepping outside for the few moments of fresh air. before you became nauseous from standing.

those parts of your day always felt a little more colorful, the dull grey room you live in was a sort of jail.

the night fell, lying in your hospital bed, hands playing with the wall above your head, the bones of your back digging into the stiff mattress.

a soft knock broke you out of your daze, your ears perking, not daring to look who it was.

“I brought pizza let’s eat!” his soft voice ringing in your ears, the gentle smile you could hear in his tone.

the rattling of the plastic bag, a sweet scent followed him. it felt like the only scent you could tolerate without gagging.

“i’m not eating,” you responded, not acknowledging him one bit, eyes glued to the window, counting the twinkling stars.

he sat gently on your bed, something you got used to— him invading your space.

“not feeling well?” a low hum followed.

“wanna go for a walk?” he chirped, hands placing the pizza box beside him. one hand still tucked into his black raincoat, still a bit wet from the weather.

“no.” your voice is cold.

he starred at you, a blank expression plastered on both your faces. without a word he grabs your wrist, yanking you up. it was silent, your face met his, a small bit of shock covering your cold face. before you could speak he dragged you out of the room, your feet tripping over each other as he ran out of the hospital with you.

he was silent, his expression blank, his jacket leaving a small trail of water behind him. his sneakers squeaked against the floor.

it was silent, gently wrapping your hands around his waist as he sped on his motorbike.

“yu- what the fuck.” your voice cracked, head buried in his back. your nails dig into his sides.

he didn’t utter a word, didn’t fight back, just hit the gas and drove you down the city. passing every old memory, the katsu place you’d always eat at after school, passing the arcade you two would meet at for club activities.

he even drove you past your parents' home, the lights still on, silhouettes visible through the curtains.

“they had time for guests but not to visit me..” you murmur against his neck, eyes stinging.

he moved a hand to grasp your thigh, squeezing it tightly before moving it back to the bar handle.

“forget about them—“ his voice low, sympathetic.

“where to next?” trying to change the mood.

you shrug weakly, wind brushing through your thin short hair. “surprise me.” you smile softly, chin planted on his shoulder, hands still fisting the fabric of his jacket.

that night felt alive, made you feel more emotion than you ever had. you two spent hours driving around the city, feeling the cold breeze against your skin.

he never talked much while driving, it was almost like he knew you wanted to just enjoy the moment.

when you two finally stopped in the middle of the quiet bridge it all seemed well. you felt like you finally felt the heaviness of your heart slowly chip away. you head buried in his back, hands around his waist, softly holding onto him with every last bit of strength.

“yu-chan,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“hm?” he hummed moving a hand to pat your head. he could tell you were emotional- but didn’t know for what reason.

“i’m sorry i’ve been so…” you pause not finding the right words.

he stayed quietly, hearing your soft voice against his back, the gentle kneading your hands did when you were anxious, everything you did warmed his heart.

you sign, heavy, filled with the built-up turmoil.

“i’m sorry for being so distant.” you catch your breath the words heavy.

“i didn’t want you to feel attached… i didn’t understand why you kept coming back, i expected that one day you’d just disappear like everyone else. but you kept coming back— why?” the tears sting in your eyes, streams flowing down your cheeks, down to his jacket.

he hummed gently, his hand softly patting your thigh. “i didn’t want you to be alone— i knew we weren’t the closest before you were admitted in. but i saw the way your closest friends didn’t even show up, the way they tensed when i asked them if they wanted to visit with me.” he squeezed the soft plump flesh gently.

a lump forming in his throat. “i just couldn’t bare the feeling knowing you were dying, knowing that even your own parents would leave you.” he feels the sharp sting in his throat, but he continues. “i know i wasn’t the ideal person to stick with you, but i hope my company made you feel less lonely.” he turns to face you, his eyes red, lips swollen from sobbing.

you meet his eyes hands cupping his cheeks before pulling him into a kiss, you both sob, tears mixing with your saliva.

the sadness is heavy between you two.

“yu… I’m scared.” your voice cracks.

“i don’t want to leave you…” you pause hands cupping his cheeks harder, your thumb moves to brush one of his tears. you let out a heavy sigh.

“my surgery is scheduled for tomorrow… they say the mortality rate is 70%.”

he stayed silent, the soft sobs hiccupped out of his lips, and the shaking of his hands as they held your arms. it all felt so comfortable.

you couldn’t remember much the next morning, only clinging to the now dry raincoat he left you with.

the rain poured down outside your window, almost like the world knew. the loud beeping from your heart monitor is almost piercing.

the nurse quickly rushes in, your chest tightening.

“we have to start surgery early— do you consent to the following…” you couldn’t make out much of what she was asking you, it was a whole bunch of medical terms that didn’t really register in your brain in the moment.

you nod halfway and grip the soft fabric of your hospital gown. she was in a panic, her hands and feet moving immediately, her mouth moving faster, shouting random codes.

the other nurses are helping wheel your bed into the surgery room.

“we need all outside items to be removed.” your hands grip the scratchy raincoat Yuma left you. the tears you fought back— “please return it to its owner.” your voice barely above a whisper. she nodded, you didn’t know if she’d actually return it but you’d hope that the small chance of you making it meant you could see him again.

the last thing you remembered before you fainted was the blinding surgical lights, stinging your eyes until the anesthesia got to you.

🗒️ hiiiii~!! please interact with this post and/or my page if you finished it, it helps motivate me to write more!! if you have any requests or ideas or even just thoughts you’d like to share— my inbox is open atm!!♡