here, i'm on the hall of fame

𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒛𝒚, 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒅𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚‬ ☁️‪‪ tracking #hallofskz

[hallofskz]

WELCOME TO HALL OF SKZ

──── An open library for skz fanfics and other writings!

What’s better than a good read after a long day? Here you can find amazing stories and writings that will help you relax.

Feeling angsty? Feeling fluffy? Feeling spicy? In a mood for some intricate storylines?

I probably have it somewhere here in the Hall Of SKZ.

𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒛𝒚, 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒅𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚

Tracking #hallofskz ☁️ about | tags

[skzophreniic]

Tucked into blankets between the wall and Chan’s chest, there is no place you have ever felt more safe.

More loved. Ruined, even, which is a synonym for love.

Chan’s strong arms are wrapped around your middle, pulling you in closer now, inhaling deeply into the crook of your throat. 

“Let’s have a baby,” He murmurs groggily, half asleep, lips grazing your skin, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

You snort. A baby? At this point in his career? It’s ridiculous. Still, as he drifts off back to sleep, fingertips grazing the skin of your stomach, you can’t help but dream.

day 1 of the drabble challenge where you have to create a strictly 100 word drabble based on the word prompt of the day: ruin :) lowk kinda harder than i thought lol

[hhlix]

YOU BELONG TO ME, BABY.

— lonely star, part one of the trilogy series. pairing. street racer! chris x fem! reader. (+ hyunjin, minho) genre. past lovers, angst, heartbreak, hurt/comfort, stripper!(y/n), interlocked stories. warnings. profanity, jealousy, smut, public sex, unprotected intercourse, alcohol abuse, mentioned violence, name calling, blowjob, rage fuck. tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @hyuneater, @lix-ables, @byskzfilms, @danyxthirstae01, @enluc, @skz317cb97. word count. 7.5k

OCT. 2019 — SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA.

Very early in your life it was too late.

You stare at the text message, watercolor tears blurring your vision. The stranger’s hands are numb, her legs heavy.

She needs to go. Away—from him. She loves him very much, but there has to be life after him. She loves him very much, but God, it is unbearable, it is all consuming, it is a coffin six feet down, buried alive, hands never again to touch his.

If it’s not happening to you, you think you can get through with it. It is not your hands, it is hers; it is not your heart bleeding, it’s someone else’s, the stranger’s. The one that’s never met Chris. The one that will board the plane, the one that will survive, live on, away away away—

You look at the words on the screen, and there’s heavy rain, thunderstorm warning—your phone is wet. The watercolor bled, Hyunjin would be mad.

02:38AM chris— you’re the only good thing in my life.

02:41AM chris— if you go i’m dead.

03:02AM chris— YOU ARE BREAKING MY FUCKING HEART ANGEL. REPLY TO ME.

Very early in your life it was too late.

You will your body to move.

JAN. 2022 — SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA.

Chris was drunk.

It had been a long inebriation, settled deep between his bones, holding him there, over the edge. It had a name, but Chris refused to give into it just yet. Soon, but not yet.

There was a rage in him. It’d built a house in his rib cage, and there’d been no stopping it from growing. And it was growing; had been growing for a while—eight hundred and fifty two days, to be exact.

Chris had counted every.single.one of them.

Sitting on top of his black 2015 Chevrolet Camaro, he threw another empty bottle of beer on the dull pavement, with all the little fucking cracks, and bumps, and mistakes—

Yes, there was rage, and it was sizzling white, blinding him. There was rage, because there was grief. And God knows you’re not coming back, so anger is all he has now.

The bottle smashed, as the engines roared. Jisung was getting ready for another race. It hadn’t been but a couple hours since they got there, and they’d already made more than three thousand dollars. Chris had won the first round, and drank himself oblivious after that.

To celebrate, was tonight’s excuse.

If he closed his eyes, he could picture you. Beautiful, astute, waiting, hand extended for him to grab. There—always there with his eyes closed.

Nowhere to be found when he opened them.

“Hey, Bang!”

Chris barely turned to the sound of his surname. The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He took another swing of his new beer, watching as Yeji brought the scarf down, indicating for the racers to start. Jisung’s Nissan growled and he was gone, people cheering all around. Chris followed the cars with his eyes, up until the Devil’s turn and then tilted his head up at the night sky, leaning back on the hood.

“Bang!” The voice was closer, now. Seo Changbin.

“What the fuck do you want?” Chris replied, indifferently, not even bothering to address him.

“Race me. I’ll give you a thousand.”

“Fuck no.”

Changbin groaned, but didn’t give up.

“Upfront.”

Chris peeked at him at that, studying his face. His excited expression betrayed naivety, and Chris wasn’t in the mood to steal money from a rookie. Not only that, but Changbin’s car wasn’t anywhere near race ready, and well, that would probably be classified cheating, wouldn’t it?

“Hard pass, Seo,” he said, and stuck his hand out. Changbin clapped it, obviously disappointed. “But hey, I’ll come help you replace that stock down pipe. Saturday, yeah?”

The man nodded, smile back on his face. “Fuck yeah, bro! Take care of yourself, no? You look like shit.”

Chris chuckled, gaze back to the stars. “Fuck off, Changbin.”

“Say less.”

Changbin had been a high school friend, but after graduation the two drifted apart, Chris sticking with Jisung and Hyunjin, while Bin went off to university and joined a fraternity. Their love for cars remained, and even now, they would sometimes get together and work on Changbin’s Supra, but it would never be like before.

Something broke between them, and it could never be fixed. Maybe it was after he met you.

His murderer—cold case.

Chris chugged the beer, getting off his car. He needed to go for a drive, before he started a fight again. No one could call the cops on a street race, and he was sure—if he started, there was no stopping.

He threw the empty bottle harder this time, getting in. Turning the key, the engine roared—Chris pressed on the gas, car still in park. People close to him turned their heads, admired the smoothness of the sound, the sleek black of the exterior.

Chris ignored their stares, focused on his killing.

The glass smashed, shattering into a million, tiny fucking pieces. He smiled, bitterly.

So, that’s how it looked. His heart.

FEB. 2022 — SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA.

Hyunjin was reading Henry Miller, waiting at Arrivals, gate A2.

A regret was in process, but he swallowed it entire. You had asked, you had no one else. A favor to you—his sweet, precious friend—it couldn’t be wrong. And it wouldn’t be.

At last, you appeared. A myth taking shape; all these years passed, they all thought they dreamt you up. Had she ever been real, Chris had wondered one particular night, crying over a bottle of liquor, always Lark, always whiskey; Chris never drank before you, not the hard stuff. But frequenting at your bar had changed him, watching you dance in front of tens of men, undressing for their eyes—it cracked him. Fucked with his head.

‘Only but a shadow lifted,’ Hyunjin had replied.

‘A dream, then,’ he’d mourned. ‘A dream.’

Now, you were back, corporeal, and there were no words. When your eyes met, your own were glossy, sad with longing.

Hyunjin closed his book, and smiled softly at your figure, slowing down, taking him in. He opened his arms, overcome with relief.

No more of this knife turning, this terrible fucking horror of watching his best friend kill himself bit by bit. The angel had arrived, to breathe life back into him, to stop the torturing pain, the never ending punishment.

What were you, if not part of the Bible, returning to save them all. A salvation.

“Welcome back, sweetheart.”

You nuzzled into him, tears running hot, staining. Your arms squeezed tighter around his torso, missing the clean scent, the softness of his clothes.

Hyunjin had been like a brother to you, in a time where you had no one. He’d been patient, and kind, offering up his life, expecting nothing in return. He gave you Jisung, and eventually Chris, and the three of them filled you up in ways you’ve never before known possible.

You were back at the scene of the crime. Why? Because love is an anchor that settles over home, it is a resurrection, an open door that you leave, a candle that you light—

Because, despite you leaving, you never truly went anywhere if he was here all along. Love unmoving, terrifyingly still.

The both of you walked to Hyunjin’s car, your hand in his. He opened the passenger door for you to get in.

“You know you could’ve stayed with me,” he said, pulling out of the parking spot.

It was already evening in Sydney, the sky in flames. You had missed your city; Perth was wonderful, open, the people friendly enough, but Sydney is your soul. There was something about growing up there, being familiar with the streets, your friends…your club.

You’d missed dancing. You’d sworn off it the minute you decided to leave—Perth had been a standstill, a necessary pause from the rest of your life, completely separate. There you were the girl from before, naive and innocent, a stranger that had no memories, no recollection of fast cars, stripping, money, so fucking much of it—him.

Was it wrong of you to miss eating your own heart? Perth had been nice, it had been lovely, but it wasn’t real. It didn’t exist. The you that tried to escape—she’d failed, and now she was back. Starting from zero.

“No, Hyun. I have to do this on my own this time.”

He glanced at you, red light bringing him to a stop. “Who’s going to give you rides to the bar? Make sure you’re eating?”

You sighed, taking his hand, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his palm.

“I was by myself for two years. Alone—do you know what it means, Hyunjin?”

Your friend didn’t look convinced, but humored you anyway. “I understand very well, (Y/N). It was a choice we all had to live with, whether we liked it or not.”

His words hurt you. You had no right to play victim when you had up and left, abandoning the only people in your life that loved you unconditionally. Hyunjin had been your roommate for four years, and you hadn’t even bothered to leave a note on your way out.

He had to come home and find half of your clothes gone, your toothbrush missing. He had to wait six hours before his calls could go through, his messages delivered. And then he had to wait two months before you showed him any signs of your being alive.

So yes, Hyunjin knew aloneness. He felt it everyday seeing your furniture intact, still in his guest room, he felt it every time he visited his friend, every time he had to carry him out his car, make sure he wasn’t dead. Every time Chris would hide his face, asking him to leave, embarrassed, devastated.

Being alone felt a lot like a girl boarding a plane and ruining a perfectly fine man.

“I’m sorry. I’ve hurt you irrevocably, and you should never forgive me,” you choked out, tears burning unshed. “But Hyunjin, if nothing else, please know I love you with everything in me.”

He nodded to that, swallowing hard, both hands on the wheel, knuckles white from his deathly grip on it.

“He still goes,” he revealed in a voice barely above a whisper. “To Lonely Star. He looks for you.”

You sobbed, then. Silently, hand over mouth, gaze locked out the window, buildings passing you by, the last bits of sun scorching your skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, and let it all spill out over the dashboard—emotions bouncing on the windshield, no escape for them now.

Now you had to deal with them. No more running away, no more pretending they weren’t there.

If running, why not go towards the things you love?

Hyunjin’s own eyes were wet, too. A regret was in process, and this time he’d let it take over. Because he felt it, the love annihilating, the time destroying. The heart that won’t do the beating, the words that won’t speak.

He hoped for this. If you were regretting, that means it’d hurt you just as much as it had them. So then, the hurting would’ve been for something.

“Will you tell him?” You asked, trying to will your tears to stop.

But your body will betray you, and your will won’t save you. You did this, it whispered, echoing inside of you. You caused it. Deal with it. Set it right.

“No. It’s not my place anymore,” he replied. “Either way, he’s been hanging out with Jisung lately. They’ve been racing a lot, making good money.”

What was racing to Chris Bang—an extension of him. Like an arm, or a lung, vital for his existence. You used to think he could survive without the adrenaline; the gas pedal, the stick shift, his tire grazed streets. All these things were fun, but they weren’t necessary, you’d thought. And it was true—to an extent, you could live without your arm, or one of your lungs, or your leg—but it wouldn’t ever be quite the same again, would it? It’d always feel like something’s missing.

Only then had you understood the nature of him. He breathed cars, he thrived off the thrill of a good race. He was incomplete without those things.

‘You think you have limits, yeah? Until you get out there, and you try this limit, and you think ‘okay, this is it, I can only go this far.’ But then you press down a little bit more…suddenly you’re limitless. A line that has no fucking end.’

God, how you missed him. The sound of his voice, the sight of him. The way he used to fuck you into the steering wheel, those arms that you remember so vividly holding you tight against him while you pieced yourself back together.

His patience with you. His autumn eyes, the way you fell and kept falling in them. This man had been carved of the same soul as you, you felt him entirely your own.

Which is why you let him go. It had gone too far, you had to pull the trigger first. God knows he could never hurt you.

“And you?” You asked, taking a good look at your friend. His hair was longer, covering the nape of his neck, dyed midnight black. His features carved, beautiful as always.

“Renowned artist, Hwang Hyunjin, at your service. I have a gallery now,” he smirked, sensing your need to change the subject.

You were nearing your destination—your new home.

“Of course you do. I saw all about it,” you smiled proudly at him. “You really deserve it, Hyun. You were born to paint.”

At that, he snorted, getting shy. “Perhaps.”

You tried not to think about yourself. What were you doing with your life again? Taking your clothes off for fast money. And yet you couldn’t seem to feel sorry for yourself—this world doesn’t spin the same for everyone.

Money was money, at the end of the day. Lonely Star always provided.

The club was drenched in blue light.

A solid crowd, all eagerly awaiting your first show back. A dark stage, and a spinning pole; low, hypnotizing music, bass heavy. It was all calling to you.

The owner sat at the bar, scanning the scene. You had been his favorite dancer, his most popular employee. When you left, you’d taken a lot of money with you. There was no way he’d lose you again. Not with a full house like this.

Chris got out of his car, locking it behind him. It was after hours, and the Lonely Star seemed an oasis amidst the driest desert for him. He’d gotten a call from Minho to pass by.

‘It’ll be worth your while,’ he’d promised. Something in his voice had convinced Chris to go.

Maybe it was instinct, his gut leading him. Maybe it’d been you, and your red string of fucking fate.

Because nothing was worthwhile for Lee Minho and his club, unless you were there.

God his witness, if he passed through those doors and saw you on that stage, he’d fucking lose it.

How long had you been hiding from him? Who knew and hadn’t told him? He was seething, jaw locking and unlocking, fingers fidgeting with the keys in his hand, trying very hard not to punch the first thing he saw.

Oh, he’d burn the fucking place to the ground. Take you with him and fuck you senseless, drill you to his fucking bed frame so you could never fucking run again.

The neon blue light encased him whole, invading his eyes. The bass of the music bounced in his chest, as he headed straight for the bar.

The stage was empty still, but it looked set up, like someone was about to perform.

“Whiskey. Straight,” he said to the bartender, clapping Minho’s back.

The man in question turned around, a cryptic look on his face. “How’ve you been, Chris?”

Chris scoffed, a quick thank you for the drink, before he kicked it back. The burn in his throat was nothing compared to what he felt throughout his entire body.

Every hair on him was on full alert. The idea of you being backstage, getting ready in one of your ridiculous little outfits that covered nothing but your cunt—two and a half years.

Two and a half fucking years and the first person that got to see you naked was Lee goddamn Minho. Did you really hate him that much?

Had he not given you every fiber of his being?

“Another one,” he ordered, hands clenched into fists on top of the counter.

Chris hang his head, gritting his teeth. All this time, he was dying a thousand deaths, every day, for you to just—

“You’d be wise to calm down,” Minho advised, calmly.

“You’d be wise to shut the fuck up,” he snapped, glaring at the grey haired man. “She’s here, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

Chris’ hand came down on the counter. The sound got drowned by the music, but the bartender jumped nonetheless, eyes wide staring at him.

The second drink was gone as soon as it came.

“You’ve been hiding her from me,” he growled, getting in Minho’s face.

The man remained unfazed. When drunk, Chris would usually get like this. If he wasn’t his friend, Minho would’ve thrown him out countless times.

He supposed there was good enough reason for his behavior today, and he couldn’t fault him. You and Chris had a tumultuous affair—something very intense, and dark, that Minho couldn’t quite understand.

When you left, everything crumpled. Entirely.

“Not exactly,” he said. “But in a sense. She’s staying at one of my apartments.”

Chris furrowed his eyebrows, swallowing needles. His mouth was dry. Pain shot through his chest. So it was true—you really were back.

Only feet away from him.

“You don’t deserve her. I can take care of her now. I swear, Lee, if you touch a hair on her goddamn head—” he fumed, grabbing him by the shirt.

Minho looked down at his now wrinkled shirt, smirking. “You do know I own this place, right? There’s people way bigger than you that don’t like you very much right now.”

Chris chuckled darkly, bringing him closer. “You think I give a fuck about your fucking bodyguards?” he spat.

“You will, if you don’t let go of me.”

The two men measured each other in the swimming lights, before Chris caved, taking a deep breath, and moving away from him.

He drank that third glass slowly, his anger barely contained. It was there, though, waiting, lurking to be set free. Chris would not find peace until he exploded.

“I am not interested in your girl. Business wise, yeah, she’s the best I got. I’m planning on keeping her around for a long time. But that’s it.”

The song changed to something sultry, with heavier bass. Lights dimming, whispers erupted through the crowd. Minho smiled, turning his attention to the stage.

Chris had never looked away.

And it would always be like the first time he ever saw you; walking out from behind the curtains, your hips swaying seductively, you grabbed onto the pole, twirling slowly. Everyone seemed to be hanging from your next move, leaning closer, holding their breath.

You were a vision. A dream his mind conjured up, stained in pretty pinks and blues, the lace on your body made of the finest nightmare—he’d finally gone mad. It couldn’t be you, real, there, right there, so close he could touch you?

Surely not. Surely you wouldn’t mercy him so generously.

Nothing else mattered. You, up on that stage, spinning like a fucking goddess on that pole, your smooth skin sparkling, your angelic, beautiful face—his fucking hell on earth.

He moved towards you in a trance, his love and hate for you having a bar fight. You had made it so incredibly clear—he was not worthy of you, did not deserve you. You left him for dead, and disappeared for what felt like an unbearable eternity.

Now you’re in front of him, his cruel, beautiful girl, a graceful ballerina upside down on that pole, doing the splits, and all he can think about is—you don’t give a shit about him.

You never fucking did. He loved you, loves you, so entirely, would give his soul, whatever there was left, sacrifice himself to the fucking Devil if it meant you’d be his again, and you just—

Felt nothing. You punished him like this?

Oh, he’d show you pain. He’d make it hurt so good.

Chris stood right under your feet. He could hear the other men around him curse at him, call out for him to get out the way, but he dared them to do something about it. He had to make you see—he was there, he knew.

Your eyes recognized him as you fell to your knees, discarding your top. He stared you down, his eyes glistening, his face set, hard lines around his mouth. His luscious, full mouth.

Chris. Real, mad at you. Clad in black jeans and a white shirt, hair styled away from his sharp face. Your heart, looking at you like a stranger.

A gasp escaped your lips, frozen in place. ‘He still goes. He looks for you,’ Hyunjin’s voice echoed in your head.

Bills flying all around you, life played out in slow motion as you saw the stack of money on his hands. You blinked at it, tears stuck to your eyelids.

“Dance,” he demanded, squinting down at you. “That’s how you get these, right?” He shook the bills at you, his hands shaking for another reason entirely.

You saw it, the hate in his eyes. From his perspective, you were a terrible woman, a woman that played him like a fool, and disappeared on him afterwards, once the fun was over. He was dirt poor back then, had nothing to offer. Why would you entertain a loser like him, right?

He couldn’t be further from the truth. But there was no way to show him. And you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You had no control of your body.

To disappear. To disappear completely.

You looked for Minho, who was sitting at the bar, watching the scene play out. You looked a lot like a fallen angel, to him. He was interested to see the ending of this.

He lifted a hand to his bodyguard. Stay put.

The lights were blinding you, there was nothing beyond the man standing in front of you. In your chest, panic. There was no way you could do this. No way in Hell.

“I said fucking dance,” he leaned down to grab your chin, roughly. “That’s all you’re good for, yeah?”

What it took for you to not curl into yourself, then. He had hurt you with your biggest insecurity. You couldn’t escape the club, knowing your dancing always brought you a lot of money. He knew this—he used it against you.

“Don’t look at me like I’ve hurt you,” he said, close to your mouth, gaze scorching.

“What the fuck, man! You’re not supposed to touch the girl,” one of the customers said, getting up from his seat.

More retaliated, but got drowned out by the music. Chris turned around, a deadly calmness settling over him.

“That’s my fucking girl. I can do whatever the fuck I want with her.”

You used his anger as fuel to get up from the ground, and grab the pole once again. Falling into it, you used your momentum to jump and latch your legs around the cool silver, twirling while extending your arms, your hips moving slowly to the beat of the music you’d chosen for the night.

He wanted a show, you’d give him one. For old times sake.

Letting your head fall back, you saw his face change, pain morphing back into unadulterated anger, as he started throwing dollar bills your way.

You closed your eyes, tears finally escaping you, as you came all the way down, knees hitting the floor. You were disgusted with yourself, with the way his money fell on you, so you escaped to the top of the pole, your entire body hurting.

Most of all your own soul. A betrayal. He’d thought you betrayed him, all this time. And wasn’t he right to assume?

But it wasn’t the truth. And would he listen to you now? Did you deserve his time, after everything?

Chris had seen enough. He was fucking done. He dumped the rest of the money on you, watching it lick all over your skin, your back on the stage floor, your hand running over the crevice of your breast.

He was sick to his stomach with want, his own hands aching with yearning. His cock had never stopped getting rock hard just with the thought of you, but having you naked under him like this, and not being able to hide inside you was pure fucking torture.

He’d rather the poison. He’d rather the clean kill.

He turned to walk away, when fingers closed around his own, the touch faint, but there. Enough to stop him dead on his tracks.

Chris looked at your panicked face. He furrowed his brows at you, and shook your touch off. You were playing tricks, fucking with his head.

You wanted nothing to do with him. One thing he never gave you, he showered you with whole. And there was so much more where that had come from—Chris was fucking drowning in money. He had so much of it, he didn’t know what the fuck to do.

Four thousand was on the floor behind you. All hundreds. And yet you didn’t seem to care about it at all, instead trying to grab onto him again. This time it was his shirt.

He wished for death, then, truly, genuinely. What were you doing with him? Had you no mercy? Couldn’t you see you had him on his knees, gun to his mouth?

Let me die. Let me die, now, as she’s holding on to me. This will never happen again.

“Please,” he heard you say. Those weren’t crystals on your cheeks, they were tears.

You, crying for him. What fresh Hell, what godforsaken dream was this—

“Chris.” His name on your lips.

Oh, fuck him straight to the depths of the darkest fucking pit. Bury him alive. He wasn’t wasting this. If it hurt him again, so be it.

You were calling out his name. He was drunk, but that had been real. As real as his heart bursting into flames, a forest fire spreading to the rest of his organs, tearing him down from the inside.

“Curse the fucking pull you have on me—”

He took his shirt off, covering you up, and slid his hands under you, picking you up. You wrapped your legs around his torso, arms circling around his neck.

Home. Home, at long last. You sobbed from joy, as he walked both of you out of the club, everything else becoming static noise, background music.

There would never be anything more important than having you in his arms. You completed him in every possible way. He loved you in death, would follow you hands tied, eyes blind.

There will never be anyone else for him. Never.

You didn’t make it far. His lips had devoured yours as soon as the doors had closed behind you. Taking a turn into the club’s alleyway, he slammed you against the wall, his hands protecting your back, grazing against the rough wall—he breathed you in, lips never once leaving your mouth.

Your naked chests touching, your nails scratched over his toned arms, fingers wrapping around the nape of his neck. He’d filled in so deliciously, though his face had been full of edges.

You never wanted to stop kissing him. You wanted him to take you right there, fuck you raw. No one could possibly understand—this need inside you, it was raging against your very skin.

You needed him to fuck you. Needed him inside you to put out, to silence, to release. Please, please, please—

“Use me, baby. Take it,” he whispered fiercely against your mouth, staring deep in your eyes. “Whatever you need.”

You grabbed ahold of his wide shoulders, just as his fingers moved the thin material of your lingerie. He cupped your cunt, and you moved against him, lips falling open, a moan escaping you.

“Goddamnit, (Y/N). You’re killing me,” his fingers slipped inside you, taking, annihilating.

His touch, blazing against your cold skin, resurrecting you from the grave, goosebumps rising all over. This is how it felt, your body told him. This is what I feel for you, this is how I react to your touch alone—hide inside me. Come home now.

He was relentless, fucking into you with his digits, mouth attacking your mouth, your neck, your ears—his breath was hot, panting. You dug your nails on his shoulders, screams weak and raspy.

Then he stopped. “Open your mouth for me,” he ordered, sticking his fingers in, swirling them around.

You licked them, sucked them dry, tasting yourself on him. He watched you with hungry eyes, trapped against him, naked for him. You had returned—to him. He was going to ruin you until there was nothing left.

Until all you knew was him. He was fucking obsessed with your body, furious you’d refused him yourself for this long.

“My good fucking girl,” he removed his fingers with a ‘pop’, your hands already unbuttoning his jeans, getting lost under the waistband of his underwear.

You rubbed him a couple times, but it just wasn’t enough. You needed him in your mouth, you needed— fuck, all you really needed—

“Let me down,” you said, unwrapping your legs from him. He let you, dazed, and you quickly got on your knees.

When you took him in your mouth, both of you groaned simultaneously, overwhelmed. Chris put one arm against the wall, holding himself up, eyes watching his cock disappear between your lips. Heaven—pure fucking bliss to be like this with you.

“My girl. Mine, mine, mine,” he repeated, over and over, like a mantra. “Made for me.”

It felt a lot like racing, you blowing him. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, heart bursting. His two favorite things. Nothing else mattered, nothing else could fucking compare.

He bucked his hips, his other hand grabbing ahold of your head, his stomach muscles flexing. You felt fucking incredible. He wanted to go on forever, but your tongue was working him loose, your palm rubbing him just right. He’d blow, and he didn’t wanna do in your mouth.

He wanted to get lost inside you.

He tapped on your mouth, releasing himself, pulling you up. “Get up, my beautiful girl. Let me feel you,” his breathing was labored, his eyes ablaze.

Hands on your ass, he picked you up again with no difficulty at all. You kissed him hard, and his hand got lost in your hair, bringing you closer. Moving your panties aside, you positioned his hard cock on your entrance, rocking against him, moaning, panting, tears running down your face, mixing with sweat.

He pressed his forehead against yours, shushing you. “I know, baby girl,” he mumbled, eyes closed.

Then he pushed. You cried out, wrapping your arms around his neck. He slammed into you, bottoming out, and paused, taking a sharp breath. He was violently shaking; not because of exhaustion, but because he’d dreamt of this exact moment a million times, and every time he would wake up alone, realizing he was crying in his sleep.

That terrible half life away from you—and now you were there, and he was touching you, was inside you—his dream come true.

“Goddamn you for taking this away from me,” he choked out, visibly in pain, tears falling miserably from his beautiful, autumn eyes.

You wiped them away, your own still burning, and cried with him, as he fucked into you, slow in the beginning, getting used to you again, holding back in case you wanted to run again, giving you that time to obliterate him once and for all, but—after a point he was just too fucking gone.

There was no more holding back. He drilled you into the wall, all the while his knuckles raw and bloody against your back, his chest your chest, his breath your breath. He was fucking you like a starved man, arms enveloping you, mouth colonizing. Your voice was hoarse, your release near.

“Fuck me, fuck, Chris… God! Please, please, I need to, I need to, please,” you begged, scratching his back, drawing blood. He let you.

He let you have it all. His hands guided your hips on his cock, keeping you steady, allowing you your pace.

“I got you, angel. Fuck on me, baby.”

“Please, I’m so close,” you moaned, head falling back into brick.

He needn’t be told twice. He resumed pounding into you, taking your lips for his. His tongue fighting for dominance, open mouthed—he won. He would win every time, because he could have everything.

You didn’t care anymore. He could swallow you whole.

“Fuck,” he growled, death grip on your hips. “Baby girl, look at me.”

You did. You searched his eyes, nodding to yourself. It was too much, it was so much, he was so wonderful, so beautiful, ruined, sweaty, his smell, just his smell was enough, and you—

You came hard, all over his cock. As if he sensed it, he followed after you, walls painted white. He fisted your hair, pulling you into a sloppy, possessive kiss.

“No one will ever fuck you like I do,” he muttered, his lips dragging over your cheek. “No one will ever love you as much as I fucking do, baby.”

You breathed hard, coming down from your high, ashamed to look at him. He was suffocatingly close, promising you things that you didn’t deserve in the slightest.

“Look at me,” he whispered softly, his index finger guiding your face towards him.

You kept your gaze to his chest; his chiseled muscles, his strong arms, his swimmer shoulders, that thin chain around his neck glistening under the street lights, his big Adam’s apple, the way it bopped as he swallowed.

Chris put you down gently, zipping his pants up, and proceeding to pass his shirt over your head, hiding your breasts from view. You’d given enough of a show—the rest was for his eyes only.

“You’re regretting it,” he said, voice devoid of emotion.

“No,” you replied, sharply. “That’s not it. Chris, I’ve hurt you so much…” you trailed off.

“How can you still love me?” you asked, helplessly, hugging your arms.

He took a step forward, your back getting pressed against the wall once again. Both arms over your head, there was no one more beautiful, more enticing than him at that moment.

But you had been selfish. You’d taken and taken, and you’d dried him out. Back in the club, his image haunting you—he looked a dead man walking.

Absolutely devoid of life. And it had all been your fault.

“Because you’re mine,” he answered, tone deep, raspy. “I never stopped believing you’d come back to me.”

He grabbed your hand, put it over his heart. A sob wretched out of your throat, and you hang your head. He covered your fingers with his, squeezing.

“This goddamn thing—it’s only ever beat for you. There is nothing you can do to me now, that I haven’t already gone through, angel.”

You bit your lips, devastated, defeated. Here he was, offering himself up, to use and abuse him, and you were refusing him, again, because of your own weaknesses.

Oh, you didn’t deserve this man one bit. And yet, you’d be greedy, anyway.

One last time.

“Take me home, Chris.”

He sped through the empty streets, one hand on the steering wheel, the other over yours on the gearbox.

Looking at him now, handling his car so expertly, as easy as breathing to him, you wondered how many hours he’d dedicated to learning this vehicle so intimately.

Hyunjin told you he was racing more now. And all that money he’d thrown on you earlier…just how involved was he in illegal racing?

Before you left, he’d almost gotten arrested for it, and excessive speeding. He’d barely lost the cops, maneuvering through avenues and ending up on the highway, high on adrenaline, Jisung on speakerphone telling him how messed up he was.

Ever since you met him, Chris had been working on cars. Junk cars, cars that no one would give a second thought about. He took them in to his garage, and brought them back to life. That had been his job, when you two got together—he’d get scrap vehicles, make them race able, and sell them.

It didn’t pay much, but his eyes held so much passion doing it, that you could never bring yourself to mention anything to him. He was wasting himself, his talent. Regardless of what you thought, his knowledge and skills only got better because of that dead end job.

When he started racing himself—that’s when he realized his true calling. At first he sucked ass. But with trial and error, he studied the cars that beat him, their motors, and slowly started ordering the parts needed for the ultimate race car.

He bought his Camaro with Jisung’s help. Jisung had been a racer since before they’d graduated high school. He was one of the best in Sydney, but he also happened to be Chris’ best friend.

So with that extra push, Chris came to be what he was. Then you left, and everything else went to shit, except this. His car. The meet ups—his streets. It was the only thing that kept him from fucking shooting his brains out.

He was so focused, when driving. He loved going fast, it was evident in his face every time he stepped on the gas. You couldn’t help but admire him, the way he’d dedicated himself to this one thing, loved it so utterly.

You loved him. You loved him in a way that could raise the dead from their graves.

“Pull over,” you told him, as if waking up from a dream. “Please.”

He did, barely getting to pull the e-brake, before you straddled him. Chris adjusted under you, hands on your waist, gaze dark, watching your every move.

“Do you still hate me?” you asked, bracing your heart.

His eyes moved, trying to discern your expression, wishing he could read your thoughts. Your hips started grinding on his thighs, your mouth falling open.

“Yes,” he confessed, holding you in place, taken aback.

“Why?” You moved one of his hands underneath the fabric of your shirt, over your breast.

He growled, low, wanting to get in your head—what the fuck were you playing at? He was mad with desire.

“Because you can leave me.” His other hand went to your throat, squeezing, pushing your back against the steering wheel.

“Show me,” you whispered.

He attacked your neck, licking, biting, teeth grazing behind your ear. You wrapped around him like a vine, taking it all, your cunt getting wet just with the thought of him filling you up in his car, just like all those times before.

“Fuck me,” you moaned on his lips. “I need you.”

Your hands unzipped his jeans, pulling his fully erect cock out. You salivated at the sight of it, wanted to take him deep in your mouth. But you needed him inside you more, needed to feel him as part of you, to convince yourself that he was real, that everything would be okay now.

“Chris, please, please—”

“Shut up, be quiet.”

Chris lifted you by the waist, slamming you down on his dick, hissing as you clenched around him. Your eyes met, his cruel gaze dropping to your mouth, reaching and taking your bottom lip between his lips, biting down on it. You whined, fucking yourself on him, his hands guiding your pace.

“Goddamn you, (Y/N). Fuck,” he cursed, his head falling, resting against your sternum, forehead pressing on your collarbone.

And then he started pistoling into you. You screamed, death grip on his shoulders, as you felt the steering wheel dig into your lower back.

His hips moved incessantly, without rest, reaching into the deepest parts of you, taking, devouring, stealing. You could cry with the closeness of him. It was divine—your cunt was on fire, his cock pure gasoline.

“Fucking slut,” he growled in your ear, his mouth everywhere, his voice ricocheting on your skin. “You craved cock this much?”

“Yours,” you breathed, shaking. “Only yours.”

He laughed humorlessly, arms tightening around you, thrusting, killing you. “Yet she’s so willing to undress in front of other men.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, finding his eyes.

They were looking to wound. “Truth hurts, baby?” He asked, voice laced with poison.

You couldn’t breathe. His cock was ramming into you so hard, so fast, tears were stuck on your eyelids—it hurt. It hurt more because it was meant to.

“Tell me, baby girl,” he panted, bringing you flush against him, his hands moving your ass on him.

“I’m so close, oh my God—”

Your thighs were burning with exhaustion.

“Fucking tell me—don’t you dare fucking cum—has anyone else fucked this cunt?”

You scrunched your face, pain erupting in your chest, at the thought of this question replaying over and over inside his head. You’d ruined this beautiful shell of a man.

Now you had to glue him back together.

“Answer me, (Y/N)!” He seized moving, now shaking you violently. “You’re not cumming until you fucking tell me.”

“No! Fuck you, Chris, no, goddamnit.” You collapsed on him, overcome with grief. “Stop fucking acting like you were the only one hurting!”

He made no attempt to console you, his fingers still digging into your ribs. “Don’t you fucking dare turn this around—you chose to leave. I had no fucking choice.”

“Please…” you sobbed, brokenly. “I’m yours. No one’s touched me, Chris.”

His anger hit you in waves. You felt him physically restraining himself from doing anything too harsh, instead pushing you off of him, and onto the passenger seat, on your hands and knees.

You went to speak, before he slammed into you again. This time he was absolutely ruthless, searching only for one thing. Release.

His hand coming down on your ass, again and again, he fucked you hard until you came apart.

“You fucking whore, is this what you wanted? Atonement?”

You shook your head, unable to reply, unable to move. He loved you enough to let you finish, but he still didn’t trust you. You couldn’t blame him. You couldn’t blame him at all.

He pulled out of you roughly, leaving you naked and used. You’d asked for it; you’d been sure that’s what he’d needed. But you couldn’t help regretting ever asking for his honest feelings.

They burned holes through you.

You heard him fumbling with his jeans, and then the door slammed. Slowly turning to sit down, your back sore, you watched as he lit a cigarette, the way his body curved towards the lighter, how it hang from his full lips, as he rose his arms, put them on top of his head.

What a fucking man you loved. Shirtless, a God—if only you weren’t so toxic for each other. Oh, how your heart broke, watching him in conflict with his own self.

But that’s why you’d come back every time, for the rest of time. Because it’s him, because it’s you—together. Because this feeling is intoxicating.

You knew you shouldn’t—you got out.

He pierced you with black eyes. “Get the fuck back in the car.”

You didn’t dare move towards him. “We should break up.”

Chris looked at you bewildered. He huffed out a laugh, hitting his head with his hands, furious, drunk, out of it. What else? What fucking else?

“(Y/N), God my fucking witness, get back in the goddamn car, before I fucking do something I regret.”

“Chris, look at you,” you said, softly, sad.

Cigarette between his fingers, you saw his heavy boots move towards you, now standing before you. His chest was falling and rising, his hair a mess.

Handsome. Handsome as ever. You met his enraged gaze.

“This is what you did to me!” He yelled at you. You flinched, taking a step back. He paused upon seeing your reaction, turning his head away, licking his lips, collecting himself. “Who I am, it’s because of you. So, no,” he chuckled humorlessly, “we’re not breaking up. You’re stuck with me, baby. You’re going nowhere,” he finished, voice dangerous, but gentle.

“Now get inside, before I kill some motherfuckers,” he glared at the cars beeping, catcalling you.

“You’re staying with me.”

[chahnniesroom]

coming up roses

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: most of the time, you're grateful to have such a good relationship with your older brother, minho. but when you find yourself falling for his best friend, chan, you can't help but be worried how he'll react when he finds out. you soon find yourself struggling with the unexpected consequences of keeping your feelings a secret.

word count: 10.2k

tags/warnings: hanahaki!au (read a/n), brother's best friend!au, hurt/comfort, angst, lots of fluffy sibling dynamics between minho and y/n, bad communication by the reader, mentions of: coughing, blood, and vomiting

read it on ao3 | masterlist

a/n: i have finally written my hanahaki au!!! this took me ages, but i really really wanted to write a fic based on how this post describes hanahaki because i love this interpretation (hanahaki is from supressing feelings instead of unrequited love) a lot more than how it's usually written (not that that version is bad!). i actually wish i could have drawn this out more, but didn't have it in me haha

the phrase "it's all coming up roses" means that everything is going well with someone and i thought it was so perfectly ironic for a hanahaki fic where a character actually has roses coming up in the literal sense.

Minho has always been protective. You had felt cool and invincible as a child, having an older brother that was willing to have your back and scare away anybody that teased you. 

You’re grateful that he cares enough to be so involved in your life, but now that you’re in university, you can’t help but feel a little stifled. Minho takes his role as an older brother very seriously, especially since the two of you have moved out of your family home and are sharing an apartment closer to campus. It's a mixture of doting and enough teasing to drive you crazy.

Growing up, your family home had been the regular haunt of Minho and his friends. It was more common than not to get home from cram school and find the boys either lingering in the nearest convenience store or hanging out in your apartment. You wouldn't say that you were friends with the boys, but you were at least familiar enough that you would say hi to them if you saw them in the hallways and they would offer to walk home with you if you were ever leaving school at the same time.

Starting university had been hard for you, most of your friends had ended up moving to other cities or even going abroad. You, however, had decided to stick closer to home. Your program had a good reputation and your parents had promised that they would help you and Minho get an apartment close to campus as long as you lived together. Minho had readily agreed, he had commuted for his first year and had always complained about how long it took.

It was a difficult adjustment, moving out of your family home, balancing your course load, and making friends. Unlike Minho, who had used dance to find his close group of friends, you didn't have any hobbies that you were particularly passionate about and you weren't naturally outgoing or charismatic.

Especially in the first few weeks of classes, it feels like such a relief whenever you see one of Minho's friends that you latch onto them. It’s kind of awkward at first, especially because you don’t know his friends well enough to speak with them casually, but they get used to your presence. You would even consider some of them to be your friend, especially Seungmin, who shares a class with you, and Chan who usually has his lunch break at the same time as you.

You make your own friends eventually, slowly getting to know some of the people that share your program, but you’re definitely a lot closer to the boys than you were prior to university. While you spent most of your childhood calling Minho and his friends lame, you can now admit that you enjoy spending time with them, although you’d never say it to Minho’s face.

Still, Minho doesn’t always approve of who or where you hang out. Sometimes he’s even nosier than your parents were, always asking you about your schedule and calling when you’re out late. He warns you about spending time one-on-one with men and makes sure that you always have your location shared with him. You tolerate it for the most part, knowing that it’s his way of showing that he cares about you, but sometimes you just find him overbearing.

—

“I’m going out next Saturday,” Minho tells you one evening as you step out of your room to get a glass of water. “You’ll have to figure out something for dinner on your own.”

“Oh,” you say, suddenly a little nervous. “I uh- I also have plans that night.”

“Sure,” he agrees easily. “What are you going to be doing?”

“There’s a party that I was invited to,” you say, biting your lip when you see Minho freeze. You turn your gaze to the ground, but you can still feel Minho's stare intensify. 

“What party,” he demands, not even bothering to frame it as a question.

“Does it matter?” you whine, annoyed by how protective Minho is. It’s even worse that you have an audience, Chan is over and you can see out of the corner of your eye that he’s watching your conversation curiously.

“Yes.” His tone leaves no room for argument.

“I think it's at Taehoon's,” your voice is barely a whisper. Minho hears you anyway.

“Taehoon?” He repeats in disbelief. You glance up briefly. Minho's ears are flushed bright red and the tendons in his neck are standing out. He's furious. “Taehoon, who is four years older than you? Taehoon, who holds off-campus parties?”

You grimace and don't respond. There’s no way that he’s going to let you go, you resign yourself to a weekend stuck in your room watching dramas while your friends enjoy themselves. 

It’s bad enough that you had to mention Taehoon, who doesn’t have the best reputation, but you’ve forgotten that Minho would easily be able to recognize the type of party that he throws. You haven’t been to many university parties, but even you know that without the dorm restrictions, off-campus parties are often the wildest and were harder to get invited to. It’s not that you particularly care to attend this party in specific, you just don’t want to miss out since all of your friends will be there.

“Minho,” Chan steps in, clasping a heavy hand on your brother's shoulder.

“Who invited you,” Minho seethes, shaking Chan off.

“Just one of my friends,” you deflect.

“Minho,” Chan says again, this time jostling Minho enough that he turns his attention away from you finally. Your body sags in relief. “Chill, we're going to Taehoon's next weekend. It's just a party.”

“Yes, we are going. Not my baby sister! Y/n-ah, the answer is no.”

“Oppa!” you complain. “I'm not a baby anymore!”

“You don't know anything,” Minho hisses at you. 

“We were going to way crazier parties when we were Y/n's age,” Chan interrupts one more time. “Come on, at least we'd be able to keep an eye on her.”

Minho is about to reply when he stops and tilts his head in thought.

“Okay,” he says slowly, turning back to you with a gleam in his eye. “You can go, Y/n.”

“Really?” you brighten instantly even though you’re a little bit suspicious of his sudden change in heart.

Your breath catches in your throat as you excitedly make eye contact with Chan. He winks at you teasingly before turning his full attention back to Minho, who thankfully hadn’t noticed.

“You're coming with us,” Minho says, nodding decisively.

“Are you kidding me,” you reply flatly, all enthusiasm vanishing instantly.

“Yes. I'll make sure that everybody knows not to mess with you and you still can have fun with your silly little friends. Unless you don't want to go anymore?” Minho raises an eyebrow at you.

“Fine, I'll go with you,” you grumble.

“It'll be fun, Y/n! I promise that I won’t let Minho embarrass you,” Chan says, slinging an arm around your shoulder. You try not to shiver as he leans in to whisper to you, close enough that you can almost feel his lips touching your ear. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to find something or someone to distract him enough that he’ll forget you’re even there.”

“Okay,” you breathe shakily.

“Hey!” Minho pulls Chan off of you and into a headlock. “Whatever you’re scheming, cut it out. Y/nnie, don’t listen to a single thing this idiot tells you.”

“I try not to listen to idiots,” you say. “That’s why I never follow any of the advice that you give me!”

“Y/n-ah-” Minho starts.

You stick out your tongue at him childishly then dart to your room, slamming the door and locking it behind you so that Minho can’t follow you. The sound of Chan’s resulting laugh echoes through your head for the rest of the day.

—

By the time the weekend rolls around, you're a little worried that you’ve caught a cold. Your throat is achy and talking too much makes you cough, but you're not feeling any other symptoms so you don't think you're actually sick. Minho wasn't exactly pleased when you told him you were still planning on going, but he kept his word and didn't try to convince you otherwise.

Your friends are all getting ready together at one of their dorms, but your brother was adamant that he wanted you to go to the party with him and his friends. You're more comfortable getting changed and doing your makeup at home anyway, so it's not a big deal, but it's still not the same. 

Conversation pauses when you finally exit your room. Only Chan, Hyunjin, and Minho are still in the living area since most of Minho's friends are crowded around your apartment's entryway, shuffling to get their jackets and put on their shoes. Their eyes widen and you see Hyunjin choke on the drink he had just taken a sip of. You tug at the hem of your skirt slightly, suddenly feeling self conscious. 

You've worn this outfit before with friends and while it's definitely not the most conservative option in your closet, it's nowhere near as revealing as what you expect other girls will be wearing. It's just that you're not used to being around Minho's friends when you've put so much effort into your appearance and are showing off a bit of skin. They’ve seen you at your worst and are most familiar with the comfortable sweats and hoodies that you usually wear around your home.

Minho recovers the fastest. In a flash, he's made his way to you and has a death grip on your arm, trying to drag you back into your room. You resist, digging your heels in to try and make it harder for him, but it barely even slows him down.

“Oppa!”

“You are not leaving looking like this,” Minho huffs through gritted teeth.

“Minho-ya, come on. We're going to be late if you make her change,” Chan calls out. It draws the attention of the rest of the boys, who turn to look at the commotion. You hear Jisung wolf-whistle teasingly which only makes things worse. Minho's hand tightens even more around you, hard enough that you're sure it's going to bruise, and he whips around to glare at Jisung.

“Hyung, it's fine. Y/n-ah looks good,” Seungmin chimes in, before winking at you. You groan internally, knowing from the look in his eye that you're not going to like what he says next. “Is there a boy that you're trying to impress tonight?”

“No!” you deny immediately, still trying to pull your arm from your brother's grip to no avail. Your chest tightens at the idea of being forced to stay at home. Minho immediately latches onto the idea that Seungmin has thrown out, his expression darkening even further.

“Is it true?” he questions you.

“Oppa, I promise, I'm just matching with my friends. Which you would know if we actually go to the party!”

“If there is, you better tell me,” he warns.

“Yes, yes,” you groan. “If there was, which there isn't! You're just wasting time now.”

“At least put on a jacket, you’re going to be cold.”

“Fine.” You wrench your arm out of Minho's grasp and stalk to your room. You grab the first jacket you see, intent on ditching it the second that you get to the party, then head straight to the door, breezing past Minho on your way. “Happy now?”

“Thrilled,” he says in a flat voice that says he is anything but.

—

Your apartment is not too far away from the party, so it’s not long before everyone is unloading from their cars and approaching the party. You can hear the bass pounding even from outside the building and you’re sure that there will be a number of neighbours that file noise complaints by the end of the night.

When you make it in, your friends greet you enthusiastically, but are all a little bit weird, fixing their hair more than usual and giggling nervously. You’re not close with all of the girls that are in the group, some of them you can’t even recall if you’ve met before, but you can still tell that everyone is acting strangely. 

It's not until you turn around that you realise that Minho has practically stationed himself behind you and is glowering at anybody who looks your way too long. After years of being on the receiving end of his glares, you’ve grown immune, but everybody else is clearly at least a little intimidated.

“Oppa,” you hiss. He barely spares you a glance. “You're not seriously going to babysit me all night, are you?”

“I'm letting you do what you want so you should let me do whatever I want,” he replies primly. 

You know there's no convincing him on your own. From across the room, you manage to catch Chan's eye and nod your head in Minho's direction. Luckily, he knows exactly what you're trying to say and makes his way over quickly to stand beside Minho.

“Minho-ya, you don't have a drink yet?” he asks, before pointedly taking a sip of his own cup.

“I asked Yongbokkie and Seungmin to make me one,” he replies, unphased.

“And you trust them that much?”

At the same time, the two of them glance over to the kitchen. You follow their gaze to find Felix, Seungmin, as well as Jisung mixing together a concoction that looks not only toxic, but also disgusting. You want to gag when you see them add in soju, hot sauce, milk, and maraschino cherries in quick succession. That’s not even considering whatever they’ve already put into the cup before you looked over. There's no way they actually think the combination could taste good and Minho must agree because he stands up and starts stalking towards them, swearing to himself the whole time.

After Minho leaves, Chan wanders a bit closer to you and brushes a hand against your shoulder lightly. You have to fight the urge to lean into his touch.

“I told you, I got you tonight. Don't worry about your brother breathing down your neck,” he says lowly. Just like when he first promised to distract your brother, Chan winks at you, then follows after Minho.

You force yourself not to stare after him, cheeks flushing as the rest of the girls squeal. Some of your friends have met Minho in passing a couple times, but not any of his friends. Your brother's dance crew has become wildly popular this year, but luckily it's not widely known that you are close with them. You prefer to keep it that way, but it seems like revealing your relation to them is unavoidable tonight. It's just your luck that some of these girls are among the ‘fans’ that your brother has somehow amassed.

“Y/nnie,” a girl beside you pouts. “How come you've never mentioned you know Lee Minho and Bang Chan before? I can't believe you've never introduced him to us!”

“I-” you splutter, still flustered by how close Chan was to you.

“I saw you show up with all eight of them,” another girl interupts. Someone else gasps as if you've committed a serious crime. “You actually know them?”

“Well, yeah-”

“I heard that you called Minho oppa, are you two dating?” the first girl asks.

“What? No!” you quickly deny, disgusted by the very thought of that.

“Oh come on, you don't think that they're ridiculously attractive?” someone else chimes in. The whole group murmurs in agreement. They have more and more questions for you and start to talk over each other.

“Minho's my brother! As in, we share the same parents, that’s why I call him oppa.” you exclaim, before things can spiral further. “And ew, he is definitely not attractive!”

The group is stunned into silence for a moment before exploding in noise. There are girls offended on Minho’s behalf, some asking what him and his friends are like, and others who beg you to introduce them.

Your best friend chooses that moment to speak up, reminding you why she is one of your favourite people in the world.

“Let’s play a drinking game!” she exclaims loudly. She holds up a couple bottles of soju that you’re not sure where she’s been hiding and starts filling up everyone’s cup. Luckily the girls are easily distracted by alcohol, enough that the topic is changed without too much of a fuss. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

—

After a few drinks, you eventually excuse yourself to the bathroom. You’re definitely on your way to being tipsy, but not enough that you feel unsteady on your feet. The loud music makes it a bit difficult to focus and people have filled every corner of the house, but you’re somehow able to find an unoccupied bathroom.

You take an extra moment to splash yourself with water before you leave, you’re feeling a bit sticky from sweating and when one of your friends spilled a bit of their drink on you. When you finish, you swing open the door and immediately apologise when you narrowly miss hitting a guy who has been waiting in the hall. He waves it off, but doesn’t make a move to enter the bathroom, instead stepping a bit closer to you. 

“What’s a pretty little girl like you doing here all on her own?” he slurs, crowding further into your personal space. It’s dark, but you can still tell that his eyes are red and unfocused and hair is matted to his forehead. He's drunk. 

You swallow hard, trying not to panic. You have to treat this situation delicately and somehow make your disinterest clear without provoking or offending him.

“I’m not alone.” You can’t help but laugh nervously, taking a step back. Your stomach churns when your shoulder knocks into the wall behind you and you realise you have nowhere else to go. “My friends are actually probably wondering what’s taking me so long, I’ll just-”

“S’okay, I’m sure they wouldn’t notice if you were gone a little longer.” He leans in until he’s close enough that you can smell the sourness of his sweat and the alcohol on his breath. “I just wanna get t’know you a bit better.”

He smiles down at you in a way that he must think is attractive. It makes you want to vomit.

“No thanks, I’m just going to head-” Your voice is shrill with panic, you can barely recognize it.

You try to shuffle to the side, but the guy slaps his hand against the wall, trapping you even more. Your heartbeat pounds in your chest. He reaches out and traces one of your cheeks with a clumsy hand, ignoring the way that you cringe away.

“Aww c’mon darling, don’t be like that. I can promise you a good time.”

You know a bit of self defense, but this is far from a fair fight. This guy is significantly taller than you and probably double your weight. Even drunk, he can likely overpower you without even trying.

Before you can make a move, an arm slings around the drunk guy’s shoulder, jostling him to the side. Your heart sinks. There was a small chance that you’d have been able to escape, but not if you’re outnumbered.

“Hey mate,” the new person says. Your head shoots up at the familiar voice. Chan. “You seem pretty sloshed.”

Chan nudges the guy again, this time creating a little space that makes you feel less trapped. His body language is loose and relaxed, but the expression on his face is another story. His gaze is intense as he scans you, softening by a fraction when you nod that you’re fine.

“M’not,” the guy argues. He squints up at Chan. “Do I even know you? Get lost, I’m busy right now.”

“Why don’t you go outside and get some air? It’s gotten pretty stuffy in here.” It’s not a suggestion. Chan’s words are friendly, but the tone of his voice sends shivers down your spine.

The guy opens his mouth, likely to protest, but promptly shuts it when he sees the look on Chan’s face. The two of you watch as he stumbles away without a fight, bumping into a few other people in his haste to leave. Now that you’re alone, Chan backs up, giving you more space to breathe.

“Sorry about that,” Chan says, hand scratching at the back of his neck nervously. “Didn't want to be too aggressive. It just- you looked like you needed some help.”

“Some people just don’t know how to take no for an answer,” you say quietly. It’s just another thing to be grateful for when Chan doesn’t comment on the shakiness of your voice. Instead, his expression darkens further before he composes himself.

“Are you okay?” he asks tentatively. 

“Yeah, you came at just the right time.” You look away, a bit embarrassed that he had to step in and rescue you, but he puts a finger under your chin and uses it to turn your face back to him. It feels so different from when the drunk guy touched you that you don’t want him to stop. His eyes search yours for a moment and whatever he finds must satisfy him.

“You should probably rejoin your friends.” Chan starts to step away, but you reach out and snag his sleeve before he can go. 

“Chan-oppa.”

He pauses, turning back to look at you again.

“Yeah?” There’s a hopeful lilt to his voice, although you’re not sure what he’s hoping you say.

“Please don’t tell my brother about this,” you plead. Chan’s expression drops a little, clearly that’s not what he wanted to hear, but he’s still quick to reassure you.

“No, yeah, of course. I won’t say anything.”

“I don’t want him to worry about me.”

“Of course,” Chan repeats.

“And… thank you.” You rise up on your toes and kiss his cheek quickly, then slip away towards where your friends are before you can see what his reaction is. 

—

It takes a few days for you to recover from the party. You hadn’t drunk enough to be hungover, but just remembering your interaction with Chan makes you want to bury yourself in your bed and never leave. Luckily Minho hasn't questioned your change in behaviour much, but you can tell that he's getting sick of your wallowing, even if he doesn't know the reason behind it. 

“Yah, Y/n-ah!” Minho bangs on your door. “We’re heading out for gukbap in 5 minutes, are you coming?”

He doesn’t specify who the ‘we’ is, you know who to expect. Of course, Chan is included. It’s easy to make a decision.

“Go without me!” you yell back.

“Eh? Open up.”

“Just come in, it’s unlocked.”

You hear the door open and Minho approaches. He prods at your prone form with one of his feet.

“What’s up with you? You never say no to gukbap.”

“Nothing!” you groan.

“You’ve been acting strange since that stupid party, what are you hiding?” He pokes at you again, this time a bit harder.

“Oppa,” you complain, lifting yourself out of your blankets to swat at his foot. “I promise that I have nothing to hide, I just don’t feel like hanging out with your friends today.”

“They haven’t done anything, have they?” Minho asks, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Channie-hyung asked me if you were doing okay.”

“No! I-” you choke on your spit in your haste to answer, leading to a coughing fit that leaves you with tears gathering in your eyes. You clear your throat roughly then continue. “No, Chan-oppa and the rest of your friends have all been nice to me.”

“Oppa?” 

Whoops, you hadn’t meant for that to slip out.

“What?” you whine. “You’re the one who forces me to hang out with them all the time! You told me to stop being so formal around them. They kept telling me too, it got really annoying.”

“Hmm,” Minho huffs, not quite convinced.

“Really,” you insist. “I just don’t want to go out today, I promise.”

“Okay,” Minho says reluctantly before he gets uncharacteristically serious. “But you know, you're my little sister, you can always come to me if something or someone is bothering you right?”

“I- yeah of course, oppa.” You feel kind of touched, not used to Minho openly showing that he cares about you, even though you know he does. It's enough that your throat feels tight with emotion, but you force yourself to speak through it. “Thank you. I always know that I can count on you.”

“I'm the only one allowed to mess with you,” he says sweetly, ruffling your hair so that it sticks up the way he knows you hate. “If anyone else does, I'll make sure that they regret the day that they were born.”

You try to ignore the guilt that curls in your stomach as you watch Minho leave. You hate hiding things from him, but you're still confused by your own emotions and you're worried by how he'll react.  Minho has always been your biggest supporter in everything except for your love life, which he is strictly against no matter how much you try to reason with him. 

You can’t imagine how much worse it would be if he found out that the person you’re interested in is one of his friends. You’ve heard him warn the whole group that you were off limits. He’d use a joking tone, but everyone knew that he was actually serious about it.

In the end, it doesn’t even matter because you’re almost certain that nothing will ever come of your feelings, Chan is way out of your league so there’s no point in even imagining a relationship together.

—

Unsurprisingly, your attempts to avoid Chan fail pretty much instantly. You're not sure how the stars aligned exactly opposite to what you were hoping, but the studio that Minho's (and therefore Chan's) dance crew uses had a schedule conflict that ended up shifting their practice times.

To your dismay, it works out so that multiple times a week, you're leaving campus at the exact same time as your brother. That in itself is not much of an issue, it's the fact that Chan lives close enough to you that the three of you commute back together. To make matters worse, Minho always invites Chan over to have dinner and Chan always accepts.

You can't fault Minho though, you know that he invites him over partly because he wants to hang out with Chan and partly because he knows that Chan might end up working throughout the night in an empty apartment and completely forget to eat. It does also bring you comfort, knowing that Chan is being cared for, that he's eating well and taking time in his day to not worry about school or dance. It's also nice for you, you've grown so used to preparing and eating dinner on your own that it's started to feel more like a chore than something to look forward to.

It's just hard. You haven't had a private conversation with Chan since the party, but you know that he wants to talk to you. 

You were so sure that he would never reciprocate your feelings, but now, you're starting to doubt yourself.

While you're on the bus home, listening to your music, you sometimes glance over to find Chan staring at you, though he's quick to look away. When the three of you are cooking in the kitchen, he's more affectionate, resting a light hand on your waist or back when he passes behind you or nudging your shoulder playfully after he makes a joke. During dinner, he makes sure that you're also engaged in conversation, asking about your classes or the few clubs that you're involved in. He sometimes brings you and Minho little treats from the convenience store and they're always in your favourite flavours.

The thing is, Chan is friendly and generous to everyone that he meets. It's hard to tell if you're reading too much into your interactions with him or if he's actually paying you more interest than usual. You've never heard of Chan dating, actually you can't recall if any of the boys in Minho's dance crew have ever had partners, but it's not for a lack of interested parties.

At times, it feels so impossible that you're embarrassed to even admit to yourself how much you like Chan. You're not blind, you know that there's a fair share of girls who are just as delusional as you are, giggling when he looks over and insisting to their friends that he's interested in them because he helped open the door for them or waved as he walked past.

In fact, some of the very moments that you keep closest to your heart sound so similar to experiences that you've heard other girls gushing about that you hate yourself for having hope that Chan would be interested in you of all people.

It's easier to pretend that there's nothing going on between the two of you. You know that if you were to confess your feelings to Chan, something you would never do, that he would be nice about it. You can almost imagine it, how flustered he would be, making up some kind of excuse about not being interested in dating because he was too devoted to school and dance. He would promise not to tell your brother about it and assure you that it wouldn't change the way that he treats you.

You've run through this hypothetical situation so many times that not only have you experienced enough mortification for a lifetime, but you've convinced yourself even further to lock your feelings up inside of you. There's no point in confessing when you're so sure that nothing will ever come from it.

—

One day, Chan is over as usual and the three of you are cooking in your tiny kitchen, elbows bumping and arms reaching over as everyone tries to make do with the small space available. 

The food is almost ready when Minho's phone rings, the special song that he has saved for Jisung. He picks it up instantly, shoving the pair of chopsticks that he's using into your hands in his haste. You can't hear what Jisung says, but Minho rolls his eyes and leaves to his bedroom, lecturing Jisung about something the whole way there.

“Hey,” Chan says softly. You try to keep yourself busy, picking up dishes and putting them into the sink for washing, but he tugs at your wrist lightly so that you face him. “Is everything good with you?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding quickly. 

“You just seem, I don't know, distracted or something these days.”

“No, it's-” You take a deep breath to collect yourself. “Thank you for asking, really. But I'm fine.”

“Okay,” Chan says, still looking concerned. “Listen, I know we haven't-”

You've never been so glad to hear Minho re-enter the room. 

“Eh? You guys haven't even finished with the food?” he complains in a whiny voice that he only really uses around Chan. “What have you guys been doing this whole time? Come on, Y/n-ah, go set the table. Hyung, I know you can't cook to save your life, but at least scoop out the rice into our bowls. I'm hungry!”

Chan drops the subject for the rest of the night, but you know that you’ve only delayed the conversation. 

—

The next day, you wake up to a dry and achy throat. This isn’t that unusual, you suffer from seasonal allergies that sometimes block your nose and force you to breathe through your mouth as you sleep. This time, it feels different. Your throat has been bothering you more than usual the past couple of weeks and while drinking a glass of water does help you wake up, it doesn’t dull the pain that persists. 

You shuffle out of bed to wash up, then head straight to the kitchen, brewing yourself a steaming mug of yuja tea. The taste is comforting, but doesn't help as much as you hoped it would. 

You get ready for school quickly, hoping to leave before Minho wakes up. You know that your classes start before him today, but he's always been an early riser, preferring to work out or spend time in the dance studio before it gets too busy.

“Y/n-ah,” Minho calls out, right as you're starting to put on your shoes. “You were going to leave without saying bye?”

“I didn’t know if you were awake,” you say, wincing when your voice still sounds rough.

“You didn’t even check.” Minho steps out of his room and unlocks the front door for you as you pull on your backpack.

“I was in a rush-” you start to say, but the rest of your sentence doesn’t manage to make its way out. Clearing your throat only irritates it further, triggering a cough that you can’t contain.

“Y/n,” Minho says, genuine concern shining in his eyes. “Are you feeling okay?”

He raises a hand to your forehead, but you slap it away weakly before he can check your temperature.

“I'm fine, I just have this stupid sore throat that won’t go away,” you reassure him. “I don’t think I’m sick though. The air has been so dry lately, I think I need a humidifier in my room while I sleep.”

“Aww.” Minho pinches your cheek and goes straight back to teasing you. “My delicate baby sister.”

“Ugh, forget I said anything.” You push your brother away. “Now let me go, I'm going to be late for class.”

Minho doesn't say anything in response, but the next night when you go to sleep, a new humidifier has been installed on your bedside table. 

—

In the next few weeks you find that the discomfort in your throat that has been plaguing you has evolved into something else. There’s a persistent feeling of something caught in your throat and you find yourself with a lingering dry cough that no amount of tea or medication can relieve.

One night, you wake up feeling like you can't breathe. In a panic, you untangle yourself from your sheets and get yourself into a sitting position. The change in position allows a deep cough to rattle through you, enough that you’re finally able to suck in a breath. 

Instead of phlegm or maybe a piece of food that could have been stuck in your throat, you feel something velvety in your mouth. You blindly reach for your bedside table to turn on your lamp and wonder if you’re still asleep when you find a single, dark red rose petal in the palm of your hand.

You squeeze your eyes shut and pinch yourself, hard, but when your eyes open, nothing has changed.

Suddenly, you’re wide awake and a cold sweat starts to form, making your pyjamas stick to your back.

You’ve heard of hanahaki disease, of course you have, but you’ve never known someone who has suffered from it. 

It makes sense, you’ve had a sore, scratchy throat and dry cough for weeks now with no other cold symptoms.

You can’t believe it though. 

Hanahaki disease was almost like an urban legend at this point, having been exaggerated and twisted so much in media that you’ve almost forgotten the reality of it. While most of the shows and books that cover this have a somewhat romantic take on it, declaring that it's caused by unrequited love, you know the real cause is your refusal to admit your feelings.

You knew that lying, to Chan, to your brother, to yourself, would have consequences. You had heard stories about how people who kept their feelings a secret were slowly choked by them, petals and leaves representing every time you had held yourself back. 

You just never thought it would happen to you.

Sure, you were interested in Chan. You found him kind, hard-working, funny, and attractive, but it's not like you were in love with him.

You crumple the petal in your hand and throw it into your garbage can. If this is your first time finding petals, you still have months until things progress to be more serious. A part of you hopes that this was some sort of one-off, that this would be the first and last time your body creates any flowers.

You turn off the light and pull the covers tightly over your body, praying that you'll wake up in the morning and find that this was all some crazy stress-related dream.

You don’t fall asleep for the rest of the night.

—

You had thought that you were pretty good at covering up your tracks, but it doesn’t take long before Minho starts piecing things together. It doesn't help over the past few days, your symptoms have steadily worsened. You’ve found yourself coughing up petals every day, enough that you're starting to grow concerned about how quickly things are progressing.

It starts when he calls you into your shared bathroom one evening. You don’t think much of it, until you find him staring at something on the ground.

“What’s this?” he asks. 

“It’s a rose petal,” you say easily, stooping down to pinch it between two fingers and dangle it in front of his face. “You’ve never seen one before?”

Minho rolls his eyes at that, swatting at you half-heartedly. You manage to dodge out of the way, but lose your grip on the petal. It flutters to the floor, but Minho swipes it out of the air.

“What’s it from? Is a boy giving you flowers?” he asks warningly, crushing the petal in his grip.

“Oppa, stop jumping to conclusions!” you groan. “It’s from a bath bomb that I tried out, I guess I missed this one when I was cleaning up.”

“Since when do you take baths?” 

“Since I got a bunch of bath bombs on sale. I thought it would be relaxing.” This time you’re the one rolling your eyes. “But if I knew that it would lead to you interrogating me, I wouldn’t have bothered buying them in the first place.”

“Fine, sorry, just- just clean up next time you’re going to make a mess in the bathroom,” Minho says, before throwing the petal at you and leaving you alone.

You watch as the petal falls onto the tiles, crumpled into a little ball from being in Minho’s fist. When you reach out to pick it up, your fingers are trembling. You’ve never been a good liar, but it seems that at least this time, your acting skills have been good enough to fool Minho.

You hear the front door close and you finally give in to the cough that you've been trying to suppress the whole conversation. 

Tears spring to your eyes, but you can't stop the coughs that wrack your body. This time, even after you spit out a couple of petals, it still feels like there’s something stuck in your throat. After what feels like forever, that something dislodges and you find yourself holding a tiny rosebud complete with a short stem.

You stare at it in horror, you haven’t had more than petals until now. There’s a deep sense of dread that fills you. You thought that you’d have more time, it hasn’t even been a month since you had started coughing up anything.

You throw the flower into the toilet, flushing quickly so that the red petals swirl out of sight. Even after you rinse your mouth, there’s a tinge of iron that lingers.

—

You don't often visit the boys when they're at dance practice, in fact you actively avoid going to the studio. It's one thing to know that their dance crew is quite popular and another to experience it yourself.

But today you don't have much of a choice, in your rush to leave for an early lab, you completely forgot to pack an assignment that was due the same morning and had begged Minho to bring it to campus for you. You were lucky that he hadn't left the apartment yet, but he only brought it on the condition that you brought him coffee and picked your assignment up from him directly. 

It's just before 10am when you head over, which means that there's a lot of students waiting for their dance class to start, but it still surprises you to find a fairly significant crowd outside of the studio that Minho had texted you to go to. You can hear music faintly from the closed door and, as you push your way closer, find that there's a large horizontal window that has caught everyone's attention.

You get more than a fair share of dirty looks as you squeeze through the crowd and one girl even stops you as you move to open the door. 

“Sorry, excuse me,” you say politely.

“You're not allowed in,” she says in a haughty voice. Her acrylic nails bite into your arm, surprisingly strong for how thin she is. “Their practice isn't over.”

“You're not allowed in, I don’t need an invitation,” you say under your breath, rolling your eyes. You must not have said it quietly enough because she gasps dramatically.

“Please, you think you're special?” She looks you up and down dismissively. “You wish any of the boys would talk to someone like you.”

“You must be referring to yourself, they would never want to have to associate with someone as desperate and pathetic as you,” you snap, shouldering your way past her. She squeals, but finally lets go of you, maybe hoping that you'll get in trouble for interrupting.

You open the door just enough to slide through and carefully close it behind you so that you don’t disturb them. It’s mesmerizing, watching them all dance. They’ve been together for so long that it looks so natural for them to move in sync, although you know it’s more to do with long hours of practice and Minho’s eagle eyes pointing out any mistakes. 

None of the boys notice you at first, caught up in the chorus of the song that they're practicing, but Jeongin catches sight of you after a moment.

“Noona!” he says excitedly, abandoning the dance to run over to you. “Is that coffee for me?”

“Innie if you drink that coffee you will not survive long enough for the caffeine to make it into your bloodstream,” your brother warns from across the room. 

Jeongin falters at that, but when you shake the cup enticingly in front of him, he throws caution to the wind and takes a sip.

“Yah! What did I say, Yang Jeongin?” Is the only warning Jeongin gets before he’s chased around the room by an angry Minho. The familiar chaos is almost enough to lift your mood and make you forget about the terrible interaction you had outside.

“You look annoyed, did something happen?” Chan asks, approaching you from where he had gone to turn off the music on his laptop. You curse how observant he is, you thought you had done a pretty good job of hiding how you felt.

“Nothing, just had a weird encounter with a defensive fan out there. It's like you guys are idols or something” you joke, nodding your head towards the window where people are watching curiously. You can still feel the sting from the girl’s nails digging into your wrist and when you lift it up to examine it more closely, see a little bit of blood beading at the deepest crescents.

“They’re not fans,” Chan says in disgust, before he does a double take. “I- you’re bleeding?”

“It’s nothing,” you say quickly, wiping at the wounds but only succeeding at smudging the blood so that it looks even worse. “It doesn’t even hurt.”

“Come here, we have a first aid kit somewhere. We don’t want it to get infected.” 

Chan takes your hand delicately, making sure to avoid the inflamed areas, and leads you over to the bench closest to where all their bags are piled up. You sneak a glance over to the girl that stopped you and can’t help but feel smug when you find her, pale and slack-jawed. Chan sits you down, only leaving your side to pull the blinds down on the window and dig around until he finds the first aid kit.

“Sorry, it might sting a bit,” Chan apologises as he pulls out the disinfectant wipes.

You peek at Chan and your breath catches in your throat at how concentrated he looks, brows slightly furrowed as he tries to gently dab at the scratches. Most of his hair is hidden under a baseball cap, but you can see a little duck tail forming at the base of his neck which draws attention to the trails of sweat that disappear under the collar of his shirt. You must make some kind of noise, because Chan looks up, eyes wide with concern.

“Sorry, does it hurt a lot?”

“No, you're good,” you say, cheeks flushing.

“I’m almost done,” he says, searching around for a bandage. He’s just finished applying it, tongue sticking out in concentration, when you hear someone else approach.

“What's going on here?” Minho asks.

“Nothing!” you say at the same time that Chan says, “I was just helping Y/n put on a bandage.”

“Did you hurt yourself?” Minho's eyes widen and he reaches out to take a look at your wrist, even though he won't be able to see anything under the bandage. You pull your sleeve down and stand up in a rush.

“It’s nothing, really oppa! I'm sorry, I have to go, my class is starting soon!” you call out, lying through your teeth as you run out of the room, clutching your assignment. “Thank you, Channie-oppa!”

You rush into the nearest bathroom, not even caring that there are people in the other stalls, and throw up an explosion of petals. By the time that you finally make it to class, just in time, your throat stings more than the wound on your wrist.

—

You start trying to avoid Minho and well, you never really stopped in your attempts to avoid Chan.

You leave early in the morning, only come back well after the sun has set, and do everything in your power to contain your cough when you're at home.

You know you're not solving the problem, only prolonging it, but every conversation, every lie, seems to accelerate the growth of the roses that have taken up residence in your lungs. You know that it's not helping, that keeping this secret is just strengthening the flowers that are slowly choking you. It's just that no matter how many conversations you've rehearsed in your head or texts that you've drafted, something seems to stop you.

You're just so so scared that waking up with a mouthful of petals and thorns, bloody coughing fits that you can't prevent, and the raspy tone of your voice that has developed is preferrable. 

As much as you hate him sometimes, you've looked up to your brother for your whole life. You don't know what you would do without him and the thought of losing him terrifies you beyond belief.

You don't always get what you want, though. It's not long until Minho confronts you again.

It's not really a surprise, when you look in the mirror these days, you're shocked by your appearance. Your face is pale and drawn, you have deep bags from not being able to sleep at night, and you've lost weight since most solid food irritates your throat enough to trigger a coughing fit. Add that to the fact that you know your apartment's walls are paper thin which means it's impossible that your brother can't hear you coughing at all hours of the day.

“Y/n-ah. I know that you're not doing well right now. Don't even try to deny it,” Minho says. He closes his eyes for a moment before seemingly deciding something. “I- you don't have to tell me what it is. I would prefer it if you did, but just- what can I do to help?”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself to reassure him that you're fine, but regret it when you start choking instead. You lurch upright and head directly to the bathroom, Minho trailing behind you worriedly. 

“I-” Trying to talk just makes it worse. You're used to it now, the way that the thorns seem to claw at your throat on their way up, how even the brush of soft petals against the raw flesh hurts, the metallic taste that you can't seem to get rid of no matter how many times you wash your mouth. Still, it doesn't make it easier.

Minho watches in silence as you heave over the toilet. He puts a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles to try and soothe some of your pain. Your eyes water, partially from coughing and partly because you're mortified that your brother is finally witnessing this.

You throw up finally, mostly petals and blood, which is a relief. The stems have been the most painful by far, each thorn digging into the already abused flesh of your throat.

When you finally finish rinsing your mouth, he's holding out a tissue which you accept gratefully. Minho doesn't comment until you've finally caught your breath.

“Y/n-ah-”

“Yeah,” you say miserably, tearing at the leftover tissue in your hand. Your voice both sounds and feels like you've been swallowing gravel. “Hanahaki, who would have guessed that I'd be a romantic at heart?”

You laugh weakly. Minho doesn't.

“I knew it. All those times you locked yourself in the bathroom with the water running… That stupid bath bomb story you told me… I hear you up at all hours, coughing your lungs out… You’ve been hiding it this whole time, haven’t you?” he accuses you.

“I can explain-”

“Go on then,” Minho says impatiently.

“I- It's-” You bury your face in your hands, unable to get the words out. “It's stupid.”

“Y/n-ah, it's obviously not stupid. Whatever it is, it's bothering you enough that it's hurting you physically.”

“I like someone,” you say in a small voice. “Okay? That's it.”

“Why won't you tell them?” Minho demands. “Why won't you tell me who it is?”

“No, I can't. There’s no point, it wouldn't work out,” you insist, shaking your head.

“What are you talking about? No point? Y/n, can't you see it's killing you.” You've never heard Minho sound so desperate. He's angry, he's frustrated, but most of all, he's scared, you realise.

“Oppa-” you say cautiously, but you're interrupted by yet another coughing fit. You can't hide it from your brother when the tissue that you've used to cover your mouth is tinged red by the time you're done. You can feel there's still something lodged in your throat, it takes everything in you to ignore the urge to continue coughing to try and get it out.

“I can't lose you, Y/n,” he whispers. Your eyes widen when you realise his are filled with tears. You don't think you've ever seen Minho cry. “I can't let you do this to yourself, please.”

“I need more time-”

“You don’t have time!” Minho interrupts frantically. “Have you even seen a doctor about this?”

You look away guiltily at the question.

“No, but-”

“Are you kidding me?” Minho says exasperatedly. “We’re booking you an appointment right now.”

“Is it going to make a difference? I know what’s wrong-” As if to prove your point, you can’t stop yourself from coughing again. “It's not that bad yet, oppa,” you lie, the croakiness of your voice giving you away.

“Y/n-”

“I promise! I promise that I am trying my best. I- if it doesn't get better, I'll see a doctor in two weeks.” 

“Not good enough, Y/n-ah. If you can't tell me, at least talk to whoever you like,” he pleads. 

“Fine,” you say. “I- I'll talk to him in the next few days. And if the flowers don't go away, then I will see a doctor.”

Minho lets out a heavy sigh of relief, pulling you into his arms for a tight hug. You try your best to sink into his embrace, but just can't ignore the guilt that seems to consume you.

—

Chan catches you outside your last lecture that night. You're not sure how exactly he found out your schedule, but you exit the lecture hall to find him leaning against the wall directly across from the doors.

It could just be that he knows someone else taking this course or that he has a class in the same room, but somehow you know that he's waiting for you. Not ready for this conversation, you try to keep your head down to pass by unnoticed, but you know that he's spotted you when he calls out your name.

“Hey.” Chan reaches out, tugging on your sleeve without actually touching you. You turn around, stomach sinking slightly. Yes, you had promised your brother that you'd confess to Chan, but you didn't think it would happen so soon. “You're heading home right?”

“Yeah,” you say warily. “What's up?”

“I'm going back too, can we walk together?”

“Sure,” you agree slowly, not able to think of a way to get out of this situation. 

The two of you walk in silence towards your bus stop. Chan's being uncharacteristically awkward and you're not sure what to expect.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says suddenly.

“Okay?”

Chan stays quiet for so long that you’re about to ask if he’s okay.

“I like you,” he blurts out, right as you open your mouth to speak.

“What?” Of everything he could have said, this is what you're expecting the least. There’s no way that you heard him correctly, you must need to get your ears checked.

“I like you,” Chan repeats. You blink up at him, stunned. “But if you don't feel the same way, it's- don't worry about it. I promise that I'll respect it. I'll back off and everything will stay the same. I just wanted to get it off my chest. And maybe, I don't know if I was just making things up, but I thought that you liked me too?”

“You can't,” is all that escapes your mouth.

“I… can't like you?” Chan asks, baffled.

“No, it's- you can't- we can't,” you stammer. “My brother-"

“What, you think I'm afraid of Minho-ya?” Chan asks cockily, raising an eyebrow in a way that you can't help but find attractive.

“I just- he always said-”

“Y/n-ah,” Chan says gently. “I like you and I don't care what your dumb brother thinks. He can complain all he wants, but as long as you're happy, I'm happy. And-”

“You actually like me?” you interrupt.

“Yes, is it really so hard to believe?”

“I just always thought, you only saw me as Minho-oppa's baby sister,” you say glumly, kicking at the ground.

“I did when you were younger for sure,” Chan laughs. “But since university, I feel like I've actually gotten to know the real you, to see how funny, talented, kind, and thoughtful you are. I like you for you, not because I'm friends with your brother.” 

“But there's so many other girls you could choose from that are much prettier or smarter than me,” you argue, still not wanting to get your hopes up.

“Y/n-ah, are you actually trying to convince me not to like you?” Chan pouts. “If you don't feel the same way, just say so, it's okay.”

“No! I-” you trail off, suddenly feeling incredibly shy.

“You what?” Chan prompts you gently.

“I like you too.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but you know that he's heard you from the smile that grows on his face.

“What was that?” Chan asks cheekily.

“I said I like you too!” you say louder this time, before hiding your face in your hands so that you don't have to look at Chan. 

Even though you're beyond embarrassed, you feel better than you have in a long time, giddy with the idea that Chan actually reciprocates your feelings.

But when you breathe in, instead of relief, there's still that familiar tightness in your chest. 

You have to talk to Minho, you realise. As much as you've been keeping it a secret from Chan, you know that a majority of your inner turmoil stems from hiding our feelings from the closest person in your life. You had hoped that talking to Chan would instantly cure your hanahaki, but clearly you were wrong.

—

For the first time in weeks, you purposely seek out Minho. Luckily, you don't have to look far, when you get home, Minho is stretched out on the couch watching anime.

“I told him,” you say. Minho immediately sits upright, turning his attention to you. “The guy I like. But it didn’t help, the flowers are still-”

“And he feels the same way?” Minho interrupts you.

“I- yes, he’s the one that confessed first.”

“Wow,” Minho whistles. “Who’s crazy enough to have feelings for you?”

You had already made up your mind that you had to tell your brother, but his reaction makes you even more confident in your decision. Maybe it's the way that Minho is treating this so lightly, but you’re no longer nervous to say it out loud.

“It's Chan-oppa,” you say, bracing yourself. 

“Chan?” Minho repeats, shell shocked.

“Channie-hyung? Like-” he takes out his phone and pulls up the photo he has of Chan in his contacts.

Chan has the craziest bedhead and his face is puffy from sleep in the photo. He's squinting up at the camera, a hand coming up to try and block his face. He looks adorable.

Minho watches your face carefully as you visibly melt a bit looking at the picture.

“You really do like him, huh,” he says in a quiet voice, no longer joking around. “This whole time?”

“Yeah.” You look down. “I'm sorry.”

“That's it? That's the person you've been so scared of telling me that you liked?"

“I- yes? You don't think it's weird?” you ask tentatively, looking back up at your brother. “The two of us being together? He's one of your best friends.”

“Oh no, it’s definitely weird.” Minho laughs. “I do not understand it at all. But Y/n, Channie-hyung is one of the few people in my life that I trust. Do I want him to be dating my baby sister? Of course not! I don't want you to be dating anyone. Do I think he’s out of his mind for being interested in you? Definitely.”

“Hey!” you interject. Minho carries on like he can’t hear you.

“Do I think he fully understands that if he hurts you in any way, directly or indirectly, on purpose or on accident, that I will hunt him down and make him regret the fact that he ever existed in the first place? Yes, I think he knows.”

“Oppa,” you say in horror. “You will not give your best friend the shovel talk.”

“I don’t have to.” Minho smiles brightly, a picture of innocence if you didn’t know him. “My reputation precedes me. Channie-hyung's one of my closest friends, he would never expect anything less from me.”

“Oppa-”

“Y/n-ah,” Minho softens his voice. “I also know that of all the people that I've ever met, Channie-hyung is one that is least likely to ever hurt you. I trust him, but I also want you to know that I trust your judgement.”

You look away, sniffing. You never could have imagined that Minho would accept your relationship so easily that it's making you feel emotional.

“Aigoo, Y/nnie,” Minho coos. He pulls you into a tight hug, ignoring the way that tears finally escape from you and stain his shirt. “You were really worried about this, weren't you?”

You nod into his shoulder, unable to provide a verbal response.

“I'm sorry that I made you feel like you couldn't tell me about this. It's definitely going to take a bit of time to get used to it, but I'm happy for you, really. I know I can seem overbearing sometimes, but I just worry.”

“I didn't want you to be upset at Channie-oppa or me,” you murmur. “I didn't want to do anything to hurt your friendship. I didn't want to hurt our relationship.”

“Y/n-ah,” Minho says gently, but firmly. “I want you to know that there is nothing that could hurt our relationship. You're my baby sister, I'm always going to love you.”

After months of keeping all your feelings bottled up, of denying your feelings for Chan, of dreading Minho’s reaction, you’ve felt a constant dread, guilt filling your insides. Now, you’re just filled with an overwhelming sense of relief. It’s as if an enormous weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

It feels like you can breathe again.

read it on ao3 | masterlist

[leeknowlore]

a series of phone calls with increasing time zones, proving that not even distance can break true love

idol!seungmin x reader, 5k words, fluff, long-distance au (seungmin on tour), angst, one argument, explicit themes but not graphic!! (implied masturbation, sexual intercourse) so mdni!

you both knew tour was going to be a challenge. the time zones, the silence between texts, being apart for too long.

but real love sticks. real love dials in the middle of the night with a sleepy voice and a hotel duvet pulled up to his chin. seungmin is in australia. one hour ahead of you.

“hey, baby” seungmin whispers, the sound barely above the static. “you still awake?”

you roll onto your back, staring at your ceiling like it might answer for you. “yeah.”

“did you cry?” he asks gently. not mocking but curious, like he’s asking about the weather.

“a little,” you admit, voice barely holding. “why are you so hard to sleep without?”

he exhale. “i don’t know,” he says, “maybe i cursed you.”

“maybe,” you whisper back.

there’s silence for a while. not awkward. just full.

then, “han jisung is asleep like two feet away, and if he hears me say sappy shit he’s gonna roast me into another dimension.”

you smile a little.

“but,” seungmin adds, quieter now, “i miss you. like. a lot.”

you close your eyes. “don’t whisper like that. it makes it worse.”

“oh? does it?” he says as his voice dips lower. “what, like this?”

“seungmin.”

“i can picture your face right now” he says with a light chuckle.

you groan into your pillow. “i hate you.”

“no you don’t.”

“no,” you sigh. “i don’t.”

“i’ll call you again tomorrow night,” he murmurs, yawn crawling into his voice. “maybe i’ll read you the hotel shampoo ingredients like poetry.”

“that’s so romantic.”

"i know. i’m basically shakespeare,” he whispers, smug and sleepy.

you let out a soft laugh. “then what’s your sonnet about tonight, romeo?”

“hm.” there's a pause. you hear the rustle of sheets as he shifts, the soft creak of the bed frame. “ode to the cotton bed sheets that smell like lavender.”

you snort. “beautiful.”

“i try,” he says. “for you.”

your throat tightens at that. it’s so quiet on the other end, and you can almost picture him—eyes half-lidded, phone pressed to his cheek, hair messy from the long day, the glow of the hallway light slipping through the crack under the hotel door.

“you should sleep,” you say.

“you should stop sounding like you’re about to cry again,” he says.

you blink fast. “sorry.”

“don’t be,” he says. “it hurts for me too. more than i wanna say out loud because jisung has ears like a bat.”

“tell him i said hi.”

“i will. in the morning. right now, i’m all yours.”

you smile into your pillow. “even if you’re like... thousands of miles away?”

“distance isn’t real,” he says, like it’s obvious. “you’re in my phone, in my head, and in my heart.”

you murmur, fingers curling in the sheets. "i love you."

you can hear him smile. not the smug kind. the quiet one, the one he saves for you.

"i know," he whispers. "i know, baby. i love you too."

your eyes sting again.

“i wanna hear you say goodnight, before i go,” he says softly. “like i’m still right there.”

you tuck your face into your pillow, pretending he is.

you whisper, “goodnight, seungmin.”

he lets out a long exhale. “again.”

“goodnight, minnie.”

“one more time,” he murmurs, voice already halfway to sleep.

you smile, heart squeezing. “goodnight, love.”

“mmm,” he hums, already slipping under. “that one’s my favorite.”

the call doesn’t end. he never hangs up first. not when he’s on tour. not when you’re the only quiet thing that feels like home.

seungmin was always your plumber. doing it alone felt harder than it should’ve.

"okay, okay—stop. stop touching it. you're gonna break it."

"i have to touch it, kim seungmin.” you huff in frustration adding a mocking tone to his name.

“not when you’re doing it like that.”

“how would you know? you’re in a limousine.”

on the other end of the call, there’s a soft rustling of leather seats, then a distant snort of laughter—probably changbin. then hyunjin’s unmistakable voice in the background.

you roll your eyes and crouch down by the sink again. “just walk me through it.”

you hear him sigh dramatically. “you're gonna need both of your hands. you’re holding the flashlight with your mouth, right?”

“yeah.” you say, slightly muffled

“cute,” he says.

you smile.

“okay, now reach in with your left hand, gently, and find the little hex socket.”

“the what?”

“the six-sided bolt, babe.”

you find it. “got it.”

“good. now take the wrench, the L-shaped one. the baby wrench.”

you laugh around the flashlight. “you mean the allen key?”

“i said what i said.”

you fit it into place, and it clicks. "what now?"

“turn it slowly. coax it back to life.”

“you’re stupid.”

“you’re smiling.”

he’s right. you are.

the background laughter comes again, through your phone. you take the flashlight out of your mouth and furrow your eyebrows, now glaring at the phone.

seungmin huffs. “ignore them. they’re just mad no one calls them to fix things with love and precision.”

“why love?”

“you think i’d be guiding you through garbage disposal in a limousine if i wasn’t in love with you?”

you pause. heart full. “i love you too, minnie.”

“i know,” he says. “now finish the job, so you can text me a picture when it works and i can brag to those idiots about how you’re the best mechanic alive.”

“deal,” you grin.

"and hey?"

"yeah?"

“don’t go getting too good at this independent thing without me, alright? you’ll end up not needing me anymore.”

you roll your eyes fondly. “bye, seungmin.”

“bye, love.”

your phone buzzes unexpectedly—no text, no facetime request, just a straight-up call. that never happens unless something’s wrong.

“hello?”

you hear a shaky inhale on the other end of the line. not completely panicked, but definitely not seungmin’s usual hello either.

“minnie?” you say, sitting up straighter. “everything okay?”

he exhales again, this time more controlled, like he’s trying to reset himself mid-breath. “yeah, sorry, i just—sorry, this is gonna sound really dumb.”

“are you okay?” you ask again, softer this time.

“yeah. yeah, i just—” he pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully. “we were walking into this venue, right? and i wasn’t thinking, just messing around with jeongin, and suddenly…”

he trails off.

“suddenly?” you prompt.

“i caught this scent. like perfume. i don’t know who it was, just someone walking by, but it,” he lets out a shaky breath. “it smelled so much like you.”

your heart clenches. “me?”

“yeah,” he says, voice low, almost like he’s embarrassed. “and i just, i didn't know i could recognize it so easily, y’know? i never paid attention to that stuff before. but it hit me so fast. like my brain was like, oh, she’s here, and i looked around like an idiot.”

you’re quiet, lips curling into something helpless and warm. “you’re so cute.”

“shut up,” he mutters, and it sounds half-defensive, half-melting. “i was just—i don’t know, kind of spiraling.”

“i should’ve given you the bottle before you left,” you murmur. “you could’ve sprayed it on your pillow or something. maybe your hoodie. made it easier.”

“okay well, actually,” he says, suddenly brisk. “i’m in a fragrance store right now.”

your eyebrows shoot up. “what?”

“i literally walked away from the guys and came in here. i don’t even know what i’m doing.”

you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “so you called me to ask what perfume i use?”

“maybe,” he says quietly. “maybe i just wanted to hear your voice while i looked for you in a bottle.”

you bury your face in your hand. “seungmin.”

“don’t make it a thing,” he grumbles, but his voice is soft again. “just tell me what it is. i wanna spray it on my wrist or my hoodie or something, and maybe then i won’t look around every time i smell it.”

you tell him, and he repeats it back softly, twice—like he’s memorizing it.

“okay,” he says, “i found it.”

you smile into the phone. “go on then, give it a try. you gotta confirm it’s really me.”

there’s a little silence. the soft pop of the sample nozzle. then—

he gets quiet.

too quiet.

you wait, lips parted, holding your breath like the silence might break if you exhale too hard.

“minnie?” you say gently.

on the other end of the line, there’s a small rustle—like he’s pulling the test strip closer—and then a faint breath, nearly soundless.

“...yeah,” he says, but it’s barely there. hushed. careful.

“is it the right one?” you ask, smiling even though you can’t see him.

another pause.

“it feels like you’re right here.”

you chest tightens.

another rustle—probably him turning away from the counter, footsteps echoing as he walks deeper into the store.

“i need to hang up.”

you blink. “wait, what? why—”

“just—thank you,” he says, quickly, like it hurts. “seriously. thank you.”

“min—”

but the line clicks before you can finish.

your phone rings just as you're brushing your teeth, screen lighting up with minnie calling. it’s early—too early for your brain to do much thinking—but your heart wakes up faster than the rest of you.

you swipe the call and press it to your ear, foam still in your mouth.

“hi, seungmin,” you mumble around your toothbrush, voice muffled and lazy.

he doesn't answer right away. just… breathes.

low. slow. deliberate.

you pause mid-brush. “...minnie?”

“baby,” he says, and something about his voice makes your hand freeze midair. deeper than usual. lower. like he’s under the covers, talking into the pillow.

“what time is it over there?”

“past midnight.”

“shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

a quiet chuckle. “couldn’t. been thinking about you.”

your cheeks warm instantly as you flicked the light switch and made your way to your bedroom.

“earlier today, your scent,” he adds, voice dragging a little now, like he’s letting each word settle before moving on. “you really messed me up with that.”

you sit down on the edge of your bed, heart pounding. “what are you doing?”

he inhales, slow—like he’s giving you a hint without actually saying anything.

“mm… i'm in bed,” he says, voice velvety. “lights are off. window’s open a little.”

you smile, because he’s playing. “and?”

he’s silent for a beat. then—softly, “jisung’s not here.” his designated hotel roommate.

you lean back into your pillow, a little breath catching in your throat. “where is he?”

“went to see chan. they’re doing a livestream in his room.” a pause. “won’t be back for a while.”

you don’t say anything—can’t, really—but the line’s quiet in that loaded kind of way. your breath hitches just enough.

he hears it.

“you gonna keep pretending you don’t know what i’m doing?” he says, voice dipping into something firmer, smoother. “or are you gonna be good and ask me what i want you to do?”

your legs press together on instinct, pulse suddenly very loud in your ears.

“we haven’t had a call like this yet,” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

“i know, baby. for now just stay with me.”

distance could do terrible things to people who loved each other. it stretched silence into assumptions, turned waiting into resentment, made every little misstep feel like betrayal.

and tonight, it was doing its worst.

“i just don’t get why you didn’t say anything,” you snap, hands gripping the steering wheel. “you waited until now to bring this up?”

“because i knew you’d react like this,” seungmin fires back, voice tight, like he’s trying not to be overheard.

“like what? like i have a problem with you being honest?”

“no,” he says, “like you twist it into something about you. like you always do.”

“wow.” you pause. blink. “don't have soundcheck right now?”

“yes.”

“then why the hell did you call me now if you don’t even have time to talk about this properly?”

“because it’s been eating me alive and i didn’t want to go on stage feeling like this, okay?” his voice wavers. not loud. just frayed.

you exhale, eyes stinging. “i’m not your emotional dumping ground.”

you suck in a shaky breath, throat tight.

“and you could’ve talked about this without raising your voice at me,” you say, quieter now.

there’s silence on the line.

you hear him shift, maybe press his palm over the phone. muffled voices in the background—staff calling him.

“anyway,” you continue, forcing the tremble out of your voice. “i don’t want to bring you down before your show.”

he’s still silent.

“i’m sorry, seungmin. i really am.” your voice softens further. “i love you. are we good?”

a beat. then—

“yeah, i'm sorry too. we’re good.”

your heart clenches.

you wait.

just for a second.

just long enough to hope he says it back.

but he doesn’t.

the line goes dead.

you sit there, phone still pressed to your ear, staring at nothing.

it’s been hours. half a day, maybe more.

you haven’t heard from him since.

you’re at your desk, legs curled under your chair, coffee cold, unread emails glowing in tabs you haven’t touched.

your phone buzzes.

seungmin: just got back. wanna call?

you stare at the message, thumb hovering.

you: it’s late over there

a few seconds later:

seungmin: it’s alright. are you busy?

you glance around your office—empty, quiet, dim with the afternoon light pooling through the blinds. the answer’s obvious.

you: no.

the typing bubble appears. disappears. then your screen lights up.

incoming call. your heart skips.

you hesitate just a moment but you answer anyway.

“hey,” he says softly, voice scratchy, tired.

you don’t say anything right away.

he waits.

“you should be asleep,” you murmur.

he chuckles faintly. “couldn’t. been thinking about you.”

you exhale, shoulders dropping just a little. “me too.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you rest your chin on your hand, eyes tracing the little scratches on your desk, voice still quiet. “how was the concert?”

he breathes out a small laugh. “we did well. it was great.”

“were you tired during the dance sets?” you ask gently, genuinely. “you didn’t sound winded, but i know you’ve been pushing your knee too hard.”

there’s a pause.

he says, voice low with something like awe. “yeah, it was sore. but i iced it after. chan made me”

you laugh.

then, soft again, he says, “i’m sorry.”

you close your eyes. “me too.”

and it’s not everything, not the whole conversation. but it’s enough for now.

“i love you,” you whisper, trying again.

you can hear him smiling, even through the static.

“i love you too,” he says. “so much.”

you smile back, cheeks warm and aching in the best way.

but then—softly, almost before you mean to say it.

“i don’t wanna get used to this.”

there’s a pause. the kind that makes your throat tighten.

“used to what?” he asks gently.

you swallow. “being apart from you.”

he breathes in through his nose. slowly. “you think that’s happening?”

you shrug, even though he can’t see you. “some days it’s easier. and i hate that. like… am i supposed to be okay with not hearing your voice until midnight? with seeing you through screens more than in person?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just listens.

so you go on, voice smaller now. “are we starting to miss each other less?”

and then he says it, soft but sure.

“no.”

“i’m scared i’m gonna,” you admit, a little too quietly.

he exhales. “you won’t.”

“how do you know?”

“because i’m still here,” he says. “and every time you call, every time you say my name, it still feels like the first time. i’m never gonna be something you forget how to want.”

you blink fast, throat thick.

“even if it gets easier,” he adds, “it doesn’t mean it means less. it just means we’re learning how to carry it better.”

you nod, tears prickling—but this time, they feel okay.

safe.

like love you can live inside of.

“you’re still the first thing i think about,” you whisper.

“good,” he murmurs. “same.”

you pick up and immediately the screen is sideways, showing a very blurry jisung laughing so hard he’s bent over the hotel bed.

"hellooooo," jisung yells directly into the phone.

you blink. "uh… hi?"

the screen rights itself. seungmin appears—barefaced, hair messy, eyes way too shiny to be sober. he’s lying on his stomach, chin squished into a pillow, voice soft and dangerously sweet.

“hi, baby,” he says, all low and slurred and dangerous.

“oh no,” you whisper. “how drunk are you two?”

“not drunk,” he insists.

“he’s drunk,” jisung confirms helpfully, popping into frame again and waving.

“shut up,” seungmin mumbles, blindly swatting at him.

you snort. “what’s happening over there?”

“he has something to tell you,” jisung says smugly.

seungmin groans, burying half his face in the blanket. “jisung…”

“tell her what you told me,” jisung insists.

“han jisung, shut your entire mouth.”

“too late. he said—” jisung gasps dramatically, clutching his chest. “‘if she were here right now I’d let her ruin my life.’”

a beat of silence.

then seungmin smacks him off camera with a pillow.

seungmin flips back into frame, completely disheveled and pouty. “seriously, come over sweetpea.”

“i’m in a different country.”

“weak excuse,” he grumbles, already rolling over onto his side like the call’s exhausting him.

jisung peeks in again, holding up a half-eaten macaron. “if you were here, we’d give you one of these.”

you laugh, cheeks sore from smiling.

“save some for me then,” you say, voice soft but playful.

seungmin doesn’t hear it—he’s already buried back into the pillow, mumbling something incoherent about what the bed smells like.

but jisung hears it.

he freezes, mid-bite, eyes snapping to the screen.

you meet his gaze.

he widens his eyes, mouthing: really?

you bite back a smile and give the tiniest, most deliberate nod.

his entire face lights up, but then he clamps his mouth shut, physically slaps a hand over it, and glances at Seungmin, who’s currently face down and humming the mario kart theme into the blanket.

“oh my god,” Jisung mouths again, silently losing it.

you put a finger to your lips, shhh.

he nods rapidly, then mimes zipping his lips and throwing the key.

seungmin groans. “why is it so quiet now? what—are you guys passing notes like it’s high school?”

“no,” jisung says, biting into his macaron and struggling not to beam.

seungmin rolls over again, squinting. “weirdos.”

you just smile.

“see you soon,” you whisper, quiet enough that only jisung catches it.

and he grins like he’s holding the world’s best secret. because he is.

the screen lights up with a familiar facetime ring.

you answer, already smiling. “hi.”

seungmin's face appears—dim lighting, hoodie up, hair messy like he’s been running his hands through it all night. he’s lying on his side in bed, camera slightly tilted. there’s a stillness to him tonight. the kind that feels heavier than silence.

“hey,” he says, voice low. a little tired. a little distant.

you tuck your legs underneath you on the couch. “how long’s it been now?”

he doesn’t even pause to think. “five months.”

you nod. “we’re halfway.”

“only halfway.”

your breath catches at that. you weren’t expecting him to say it like that—like it’s a sentence.

you sigh, fingers tightening around your phone. “yeah.”

for a moment, neither of you say anything.

“i know you’re tired,” you say gently.

“i’m fine,” he replies, but there’s no weight behind it. like he’s used to pretending. “it just… feels really far tonight.”

you nod slowly, throat tight. “i know. it feels far for me too.”

he looks at you for a second longer—eyes a little glassy, lips parted like he’s about to say something, then thinks better of it.

but he does.

“i miss you, sweetheart.”

your breath catches in your chest.

he rarely calls you that. only when he means it. when he’s feeling something he doesn’t know how to explain in full sentences.

you swallow hard. “soon.”

he nods, slow. “yeah. soon.”

he has no idea just how soon.

no idea that your suitcase is already packed. that your flight lands tomorrow morning. that the hotel front desk already has your name and a keycard.

and as he murmurs, “i wish i could hold your hand right now,”

you smile.

“you will,” you say softly.

you keep replaying it in your head—seungmin’s face when he saw you in the crowd. that second of shock, then the dumbest grin as he stumbled over a lyric and tried to play it off like he meant to do that. you’d almost cried. almost.

and now it’s past midnight, the concert hours behind you, and you know he’s taken his time wiping off the sweat and glitter of it all, probably still tangled in post-show chaos and crew goodbyes.

which is why, when you hear the knock at your hotel room door, your heart does that fluttery thing. you don’t even hesitate—you’re off the bed in seconds, bare feet padding across the floor, and you already know who it is before you check the peephole.

you open the door.

and there he is.

hair slightly damp, hoodie pulled low over his forehead, backpack slung over one shoulder. tired eyes—but shining. always shining when they’re on you.

most of his face is hidden in the shadows of the hood, just the curve of his cheekbone catching the hallway light. you can’t really see him, not fully. but you’d know that silhouette anywhere.

you don’t even get a word out. he drops his bag, wraps his arms around you, and pulls you into him like you’re the only thing holding him up. you let out a small squeal, laughing, your arms looping around his neck just as he lifts you straight off the ground.

“seungmin!” you giggle as he spins you in a circle, your feet kicking in the air.

“i missed you,” he breathes into your shoulder before setting you down slowly. “oh, i missed you so bad.”

once your feet touch the carpet, you're grabbing the front of his hoodie and tugging him inside. the door swings shut behind him with a soft click, and before he can blink, you’re kissing him.

he melts immediately, like he’s been waiting all night for this because he has. his hands slide back around your waist, pulling you in tighter and you giggle into it—completely overwhelmed and completely in love.

he stumbles forward a little, still kissing you, until your back hits the wall with a muted thud. you gasp softly into his mouth, grinning now as he presses into you, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, dazed.

“what…” he breathes, his lips brushing yours, “…what are you doing here?”

you blink at him, still catching your breath, still grinning. “i wanted to come surprise you.”

he just stares at you for a beat, like he’s trying to figure out if you’re real. then he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “you’re a crazy, crazy girl, you know right?”

“you think i’d let you go out of the country for ten months and not visit you?” you say, voice light. “you really thought i could go that long without seeing your dumb face?”

he doesn’t answer. just lets out this soft, wrecked little sound—half-laugh, half-sigh—as he wraps his arms around you again, tighter this time. he buries his face into your hoodie, right against your collarbone. you hug him back instantly, arms wrapping under his and holding him close. he clings. like he’s cold and you’re the only source of warmth he’ll ever need.

“come on,” you murmur, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head gently. “let me see you, now.”

he shakes his head against you, just the tiniest movement. doesn’t loosen his grip. doesn’t lift his head.

“seungmin,” you whisper again, a little firmer, leaning back slightly so you can reach up and tug his hood down.

the fabric falls away. his hair’s tousled, still a little damp from a shower or maybe the rain outside, and his face is hidden—tilted down, eyes trained on the floor. he still hasn’t looked at you properly.

all he does is lift his hand up to his face. wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. you catch the tremble in his fingers.

a sniffle.

“oh, minnie…” you whisper, your heart cracking wide open.

despite the way he towers over you, he looks smaller, his head bowed low like he’s trying to disappear into himself.

you coo softly, barely a sound.

that does it.

he lets out this weak, shaky sigh like he’s been holding it in since the moment he saw you at the concert, maybe longer—and your chest seizes with it. he turns his face just slightly, burying it into your shoulder again, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he's scared you'll vanish if he lets go.

your hands are already moving—one smoothing over his back, the other stroking his hair—your body swaying with his as he starts to let out shaky, quiet gasps.

he sniffles again, shoulders still trembling, but when he finally speaks, it’s muffled into your hoodie. “the members were betting on me. on whether or not i’d cry when i saw you.”

you let out a little laugh and reach up to cup his cheeks, gently swiping away the fresh tears still clinging to his lashes. “and who said you wouldn’t cry?”

he hesitates. “me.”

you laugh again—soft and a little breathless—as your thumbs brush gently under his eyes. “of course you did,” you murmur, fingers sliding up to smooth through his damp hair.

he lets out a weak chuckle, eyes fluttering closed at your touch. he leans into your hand for a second before straightening up a bit, pulling his shoulders back like he’s trying to regain a sliver of composure.

even now, red-eyed and sniffling, there’s still something solid about him. the way he holds you, the way he stands just a bit in front of you like he’d protect you from the world if it even looked at you wrong.

seungmin's lips part, like he wants to say something but the words won’t come. instead, he just stares at you, eyes darting across your face like he’s trying to take in every inch of you he’s missed. like he’s scared you’ll be gone if he blinks too long.

“you have no idea how much i needed this,” he whispers.

you step closer, hands finding his again. “that's why i'm here.”

he shakes his head, fingers tightening around yours. “no, like—” he exhales hard, eyes shining as he glances down at your joined hands. “you don’t get it. every night, i’d come back and just... lie on the hotel bed and pretend you were next to me. i missed everything. your voice, your stupid little yawns, the way you poke me when i zone out.”

you let out a laugh, watery and soft. “i do not poke you.”

“you do,” he insists, eyes wide like it’s the most important fact in the world. “you go like this—” he imitates a jab to your side, making you laugh and swat his arm. he chuckles, bright and breathless, and then quiets.

your heart flutters and you don’t even try to hide how it shows on your face. you tug his hand and backpedal toward the bed, flopping onto it with a gentle bounce. propped up on your elbows, you tilt your head at him. “c’mere.”

seungmin shrugs off his backpack, then tugs his hoodie off by the back—grabbing it near the collar and pulling it over in one smooth, practiced motion. he holds it in front of him for a second, then slips out of the sleeves with the opposite hand.

his t-shirt clings in places and hangs loose in others, fabric soft and worn and framing the lean lines of his torso. your eyes fall on the way it shifts with every movement—subtle dips of collarbone, the slight curve of his waist.

your fingers curl slightly in the blanket beneath you as he steps closer, and your breath hitches. you missed him. not just his face or his voice, but all of him—how he moves, how he fills the space around you like no one else can.

seungmin gets onto the bed. the second he's close enough, your fingertips graze his forearm, his side, like you’re checking if he’s really here.

then he leans in, arms bracketing either side of your body, and your whole world narrows to just the space between you, until finally his lips brush against yours.

it’s soft. barely even a kiss at first, more like the ghost of one, like he’s still afraid he’ll break the moment if he moves too fast. but you kiss him back, and then he presses in more fully. it's full of all the things you’ve both been trying not to say out loud.

he kisses you again, and again, each one a little deeper than the last—like he’s making up for every single day you were apart. one hand comes up to cradle your jaw, his thumb sweeping tender over your cheek.

“i love you so much,” he whispers, like it’s a confession. like it still stuns him just how badly he felt it.

you nod, blinking back the sudden sting behind your eyes. “i love you too.”

he exhales shakily, and then he kisses you once more—slow, full of longing—and you swear you feel the world right itself a little, just because he’s here.

he pulls away, just slightly, and rests his forehead against yours. your noses bump, and he closes his eyes, smiling so softly it barely lifts the corners of his mouth. “i was scared you’d forget about me.”

you shake your head, hand settling over his heart. “you’re impossible to forget. trust me, i tried.”

“me too,” he breathes. “it was unbearable sometimes.”

you tilt your chin up and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, slow and lingering. his skin is warm under your lips, and you feel him exhale shakily, his body softening against yours like your touch is the thing holding him together.

his hands wander a little now, like he can’t help it—tracing slow lines along your back, the dip of your waist, smoothing down your arm and back up again. his hand slips beneath the shirt under your hoodie, smoothing over bare skin, and your breath catches.

you let him pull the layers of fabric over your head. let him take his time. he kisses down your neck, your chest, every press of his lips asking, are you sure?

and every answer you give is yes.

you wake up slowly, feeling hazy. the curtains are still drawn, soft light peeking through just enough to glow against the sheets.

and then you feel his hand resting on your waist. his thumb tracing little circles on your skin, like he never stopped touching you even in his sleep.

you blink your eyes open.

he’s already awake, head propped on one arm, looking at you with the calmest expression you’ve ever seen on him. the kind that makes your heart ache just a little because you know how much he doesn’t show easily.

“you’re staring,” you murmur, voice rough from sleep.

“you’re pretty when you’re confused and squinty,” he says, lips curving just barely.

you smile, still half-asleep, but it turns real fast when he leans in and kisses you, his fingers brushing your cheek like he’s still making sure you’re real.

“good morning,” you whisper.

“technically almost noon,” he teases. “but yeah. it’s good now.”

he pulls back, just enough to give you room as you sit up, blanket tugged up to cover your chest. your fingers instinctively rake through your tangled hair, and he watches you with a little too much amusement.

then he shifts, reaching over the side of the bed to dig through his bag.

“i have something for you,” he says casually.

and then he turns back around—with a box of macarons in his hand.

you gasp, grinning instantly. “you didn’t.”

he takes one out, and holds it to your lips.

“if you were here,” he says, softly now, “you’d be eating one of these. and you are. so.”

you roll your eyes, but open your mouth anyway, taking a bite.

“sweet enough?” he murmurs.

you swallow, cheeks warm. “almost.”

he leans in again, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“now?” he asks.

“perfect,” you whisper.

and he smiles like he never wants to be anywhere else ever again.

[straywrds]

the taste of honey | series masterlist

pairing: young aristocrat hyunjin x (afab) reader | genre: non modern-au, arranged marriage to lovers, smut, romance | warnings under the cut. 18+

warnings: angst, sorta tsundere elements, hyunjin's father is a bad person and hj takes after him, loss of parents (mentioned), mentions of murder & revenge (not hj or reader), arranged marriage, explicit sexual content (hyunjin is a horny mf, reader is a virgin), voyeurism & fantasizing (hj). ; each chapter will have its own warnings. 〉 ↬ not written with the intention or desire to be historically accurate. don't ask me exactly when or where this story takes place... I don't know, it's just for fun.

You were promised to Hyunjin before you were even born. Every year, he writes you a letter for your birthday and you write him one in return. Twenty years after the first correspondence, it's time for you to move to the Hwang Estate and meet him for the first time.

— chapter one: honeyed milk — chapter two, part one: if honey is pure, it will burn — chapter two, part two: if honey is pure, it will burn — chapter three: whiskeyed darlings — chapter four: like ink on paper, like red wine on white silk (tbr) — chapter five: title tba (tbr)

[sithskz]

『 the revenge game 』

୨୧ summary: you hate chan because your boyfriend hates chan, and you’re pretty sure he hates you too. so when he proposes a fake dating arrangement after you get cheated on, you accept only for the revenge plot. but that doesn’t exactly go as planned, because maybe you two never really hated each other after all. ୨୧ pairing: student!bang chan x fem!student!reader ୨୧ genre: college!au, enemies to lovers / fake dating, a lil fluff, a lil angst, smut MINORS DNI ୨୧ word count: 20.6k ୨୧ featuring: jaehyun of nct and mina & jihyo of twice ୨୧ warnings: 18+, cheating (not between reader and chan), mentions of alcohol, explicit language, poor communication, some arguing, overuse of italics (sorry!), oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (pls dont do it), breast play (+ one slap !), creampie, multiple orgasms, spitting, dirty talk, teasing, pet names (baby, princess), afab reader ୨୧ author's note: let's play a game of how many tropes can i fit into one fic! i did all of my college courses online so not too much on me and my unrealistic depictions pls… also obviously this is not an accurate portrayal of jaehyun, i love that man down okay!! and i got a lil lazy midway through this and rushed it to get to the smut lmao sorry!

You hated parties. You hated parties because they were loud, because spaces with that many bodies on top of each other were too suffocating, because men always tried to hit on you with boozy breath and wandering eyes.

Now you hated parties because they made your boyfriend want to stick his tongue down other girls’ throats.

Jaehyun had managed to destroy nine months within three minutes – that’s the length of time you’d convinced yourself you’d spent standing there, unable to avert your gaze from the horror unfolding in front of you. Three whole minutes that he hadn’t even noticed your presence, too preoccupied. Too focused on kissing this random girl like he had something to claim, as if you weren’t enough. And worst of all, he hadn’t even cared enough to bring it somewhere private. They were in a corner of the living room, tucked away but not hidden. It had only taken a little bit of squeezing between partygoers and quick apologies to make your way to them. 

They had gathered a crowd, too. A few spectators, voices meant to be whispers – drunk people can’t seem to mind their own volume. 

“Yo, is that Y/N?” 

“Nah, I just saw her getting a drink.” 

“Shit…she’s gonna be so pissed.”

At least the alcohol hadn’t made them completely brainless. You were, in fact, pissed. There was the unmistakable heartbreak too, but you weren’t going to let anyone see that. Instead, you blinked back your tears and cleared your throat to make sure the words didn’t get stuck. Each step you took towards him made it more real, until you were close enough that you knew he could hear you over the raging music.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hiss, far from an actual question. Your voice still broke on the last word, and you hoped he hadn’t noticed. As soon as he registers that it’s your voice, his girlfriend, Jaehyun tries to push the girl away, feigning disgust. It’s almost pathetic in a way, his little act. 

“Shit, Y/N,” he curses. “I didn’t mean to – fuck, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I just – ”

He stumbles on his words as if his mouth wasn’t working perfectly fine just seconds before. When he tries to inch towards you, you step back, refusing to allow him the comfort. 

“You’re fucked, Jaehyun,” you say flatly. That’s as much of your energy as you would give him, at least for now. He’d embarrassed you enough by kissing another woman in the middle of a party; you decided against escalating your humiliation by shouting at him and causing a scene. You turn on your heels and begin pushing through bodies again, away from him, and you can tell he’s following. You can hear your name, barely reaching your ears but definitely there. 

Once you make it out of the most concentrated pool of people, he staggers soon after and latches onto your wrist. The same fingertips that used to run across your skin so gently now felt like betrayal and poison. 

“Let me go,” you snap. His grip loosens slightly, but he still holds you there, determined to defend himself. 

“I fucked up, I know, but please just hear me out,” he begs, as if he has the right to. His excuses are the last thing you want to hear right now, and you know that’s all they would be. Stupid excuses for a stupid “mistake,” and it makes you sick to even think about listening to him explain why and how he ended up making out with another woman in the corner of a party he asked you to go with him to.

“No! Fuck you, seriously,” you spit, words laced with venom you prayed would hurt him even a fraction of the way he hurt you. 

And perhaps they did, or at the very least stunned him, because he drops your arm entirely. Now, you take the final steps towards the door, reaching for the handle. He tries to follow you again, unsatisfied, unrelenting. “And if you follow me out this door, I promise you I’ll never speak to you again.”

That stops him in his tracks. Maybe gives him some hope that if he just lets you cool off for the night, you’ll let him explain in the morning. Regardless of how he perceives it, you lunge at the opportunity to escape, finally making it out the door and into the crisp night air. It hits your skin viciously, your skirt and halter top offering little protection from its bite. You’re cold, heartbroken, and, worst of all, not even nearly drunk enough to mask it. 

Without the vivaciousness of the party, you can only see Jaehyun kissing her in your mind, can only hear the hushed whispers of the onlookers, replaying on a torturous loop. You’d only made it down the steps of the house before the tears began to fall. Now you let them, assuming you were away from prying eyes. 

Unfortunately, you hadn’t noticed someone standing right next to the door while you and Jaehyun had your little spat. A certain someone who would get far too much enjoyment out of such a scene. You had been followed once more, but this time not by your stupid cheating ex boyfriend, but by his equally as stupid “rival.” It was still a mystery to you why they hated each other, and at this point, you didn’t care at all to find out.

“Those were some harsh words,” he chuckles, and you don’t even need to turn around to recognize the voice. The same way you don’t need to turn around to know he’s smirking. You hurriedly wipe your eyes, careful not to smudge your makeup; the last thing you need is him to see you crying, another thing for him to derive sick pleasure in. You wouldn’t dare grant him that.

Because it was an unspoken relationship rule that an enemy of your partner is an enemy of your own. So, for no real reason other than the fact that Jaehyun hated him, you hated Bang Chan. 

“Fuck off, Chan,” you snarl, quickening your pace. It doesn’t matter, since he catches up to you in a few short strides. “Why the hell did you even follow me out here?”

He steps in rhythm with you, making it clear he had no intentions of leaving. Not until he got what he wanted, whatever that may be. The satisfaction of seeing you broken? The chance to remind you how shitty Jaehyun is and how great he is? You aren’t sure, but you keep walking anyway.

“I just didn’t expect to hear you say such things to your boyfriend,” he answers. His emphasis of “boyfriend” makes you both angry and repulsed, then bitter and devastated. Nine months of your life gone in minutes, and now you had the displeasure of dealing with Chan on top of it.

You scoff and finally stop, turning to face him for the first time. His eyes twinkle with something devious, and it infuriates you. “He’s not my boyfriend. Not anymore.”

“Oh?” he draws his head back in shock. He’s silent for a moment, and you fold your arms across your chest, glaring at him in a way he finds cute more than intimidating. “I’m surprised you two lasted this long, actually. Figured it was about time for Jaehyun to do what he does best.”

You blink at him incredulously, his careless words cutting deep. There’s no reason anything he says should bother you, but there’s something about it that stings. And Chan notices, too, watching your entire face shift from rage to sorrow. Your features soften in a way he’d never seen before – you’d only ever looked at him with hatred and annoyance – and it deflates him. 

“I don’t know why you two don’t get along. Seems like you should be best friends – you’re both fucked up,” you retort quickly, though it comes out as a strained whisper. 

Chan hates being grouped with him, especially in your mind where Jaehyun now seems to be synonymous with evil. He never expected to be giving you of all people an apology, but he figures he needs to. For his own consciousness, of course. Definitely not because he felt an odd pang in his chest when you looked at him with something other than disdain for once.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said all that. Are you alright?” he asks cautiously. He never thought he’d be so relieved to see someone roll their eyes, but when you do, he swears he feels ten times lighter. Your hostility he could navigate, but your sadness was uncharted territory; he was glad to be back to familiarity. And since you hadn’t walked away from him yet, he takes the chance to dig deeper. “What did he do?”

“Like I’d want to talk to you about it. Just give it a few hours, you’ll hear about it from someone, I’m sure,” you shrug, trying to pretend that you’re unbothered. That you don’t care that you’ll likely be the talk of campus, the woeful ex-girlfriend people will look at in that pitiful way they look at small, broken things. 

As much as you hate Chan, you’re grateful he isn’t looking at you like you’re small or broken. He’s looking at you the same as always, like you’re a challenge, a puzzle he hasn’t yet solved. Maybe that’s why you decided to keep standing there, holding more of a conversation with him than you’d likely ever had before.

“Probably. But I want to hear it from you. So tell me, what happened?” he asks again.

He doesn’t say it with demand or snark. It sounds almost unsettlingly genuine. It sounds like someone that isn’t Chan, or at least the Chan you’re familiar with. You hesitate, conjuring up another smart remark, but you let it die in your throat. 

“He fucking cheated on me. He was making out with some girl in front of everyone. Can you believe that?” you chuckle sarcastically, forgetting who exactly is standing before you. “Nevermind…I’m sure you can believe it. God, I’m so stupid.” 

“No, you’re not stupid,” he says adamantly. “He’s stupid. An even bigger idiot than I thought, actually.”

It angers him more than it should that you’re degrading yourself over Jaehyun’s horrible decisions, and he has a fleeting thought of going back and telling him off for it. And as the thought passes, he can’t understand why. He knows you hate him. He knows you have likely been fed lies and half-truths by Jaehyun for months. He knows he shouldn’t care about any of this. He can’t seem to figure out why he does. 

“I just can’t get that image out of my head. It’s making me sick,” you mumble, and it replays all over again. The ear-splitting music, the crowd, his lips on hers, that look on his face when he saw you. All your emotions bubble back up to the surface and come out as a loud groan, though internally you just want to scream until your throat is raw. “I wish I could make him feel even half of what I feel right now.”

The idea that pops up sounds ridiculous in his head and likely even more so said aloud, but his mouth opens before he can stop himself. “Well, maybe you could,” he trails. 

“I know it may be hard for you to believe, but I’m actually a good person,” you sneer. “I would never cheat.” 

He laughs dryly and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, awaiting an explanation. “Believe me, I know you’re just a perfect princess,” he mocks, and you’re certain if you roll your eyes any harder they’ll get stuck like that. “But who said anything about cheating? Besides, you’re not together anymore,” he reminds. “And there’s only one thing I can think of that would drive him just as mad.”

You’re intrigued now, though doubtful there’s anything that could reflect the same level of hurt you currently felt. Anything rational, at least. Still, you wanted to hear whatever silly idea Chan had, if not for your own amusement. 

“Which is what?” you question.

“Being with me,” he answers, too quickly, too plainly, as if it was something entirely normal and not an absolutely insane statement. When your eyes widen, he continues, waving his hands urgently to indicate you had gotten the wrong impression. “Okay, not for real, Jesus. Like faking it, you know? Just for him to see and lose his mind.” 

That was quite possibly the last thing you expected, and you’re forced to laugh at the absurdity of it. You wait for him to join in, to tell you he was joking just to fuck with you. That would have been the Chan thing to do. Instead, he stares at you, a half-smile playing on his lips. 

“Yeah, okay, you’re insane,” you scoff. 

“Is it that insane?” he says smugly, poking his tongue in his cheek. “Think about it, imagine how pissed he’d be seeing us together.”

For a moment, you can’t help but realize how attractive he actually is. It’s not that you hadn’t noticed before – you had perfectly functional eyes – but now being single and also inches away from him, it was an unavoidable fact. It made you almost begin to consider his idea. Almost.

“Yes, it’s insane! Just because I gave you five minutes of my time on a shitty night doesn’t mean I want to talk to you ever again, let alone pretend to date you.”

“Oh, Princess Y/N gave me five minutes of her precious time, thank you so much,” he quips, and this time he’s the one to roll his eyes. “Whatever, I gave you a guy’s perspective on how to get back at him. You’re not gonna get any better revenge than that.”

“And what do you get from it?” you ask, certain there must be some mutually beneficial aspect beneath it. There’s no way he would suggest something so outlandish without thinking of his own gain, and you know that’s true when he grins wickedly.

“Just the satisfaction of seeing his face when he realizes he lost his girl to the one person he hates more than anything.”

You aren’t sure why you hadn’t grasped that from the beginning. All Chan wanted, as always, was to get under Jaehyun’s skin, to take something of his, to win. The idea is still crazy, and far more theatrical than you’d usually approve of, but you’re a lover scorned.

Then, you think back to the unspoken rule, the sole reason and origin of your hatred for Chan. Jaehyun hadn’t even followed relationship rule number fucking one: don’t cheat on your girlfriend. So, you figured you could break some rules and allow some theatrics.

“Okay. Okay, fine, I’ll fake date you or whatever,” you huff, trying to ignore his triumphant smirk. “But nothing weird, alright? And once it’s all over, we go back to hating each other.”

He throws his hands up like it’s offensive you’d even insinuated it. “Believe me, that’ll be no problem,” he agrees.

“Good,” you say simply, a forced tight-lipped smile on your face.

“Good,” he repeats.

The silence that falls over you two is uncomfortable, only disrupted by the sound of the wind lifting leaves along the sidewalk and the faint thumping of music. You can still see the house down the road, and it makes you wonder if Jaehyun is still inside and if he went right back to her. Suddenly, you feel the need to get home and cry in the shower with your carefully-curated sad music playlist. 

 “Well…I’m gonna go back to my dorm now,” you finally speak, shifting on your feet awkwardly.

“I’ll walk you,” he offers without a second thought. 

You can’t help the way you exhale a little too harshly. Truthfully, you just wanted a short walk on your own to process all of the nights’ events, including the proposal you’d just accepted. And you had already spent more time than you’d like with Chan for one night (although you know you’ll have to spend much more now).

“Uh, no thanks. I don’t think we need to start the whole fake dating thing right now,” you reject bluntly. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, trying to stop himself from saying the wrong thing. He’s just trying to do a nice thing, the right thing, but you have a way of getting under his skin. The next few weeks are surely going to be a challenge. “It’s not for that, Y/N,” he sighs. “It’s late and dark out. Just let me make sure you get home safe, please?”

The roads are lit only by streetlights and the moon shining above, and you shiver from both the chilly air and the thought of making the walk to your dorm alone. You’d expected to be going home with Jaehyun, definitely not on your own in the middle of the night. 

“Fine,” you agree reluctantly. “But can we just walk in silence? Not really in the mood to talk anymore.”

You deliberately exclude that you feel like if you keep talking, you’re going to break. You’d kept a relatively strong front – far stronger than you thought you’d be after being cheated on – but it was slowly crumbling. Maybe it was all the adrenaline that kept your emotions contained, because now everything was slowing down and soaking in. 

“Sure,” he nods, following closely behind when you turn and begin taking steps forward. Your dorm is ten minutes away, and you walk side by side, arms occasionally brushing against each others. You only make it about two minutes in before he stops, shrugging off his jacket. Then, he holds his hand out, gesturing to it when you stare dumbly. 

“Here,” he offers. “You’re freezing.”

There’s no denying that he’s right, but that didn’t mean you were going to wear his jacket. You could survive a few more minutes of the cold, even though your skin was covered with goosebumps that hadn’t gone away since you’d first left Jaehyun at the door. “I’m not wearing your jacket, Chan,” you shove his hand back. 

Before you can start walking again, he drapes it around your shoulders, ignoring the glares you send his way. 

“Do you always have to be this stubborn?” he groans. “You’re literally shaking, but God forbid you wear my jacket.”

You click your tongue and pull your arms through the sleeves anyway, mumbling a grudging “thank you.” The newfound warmth was a great comfort, and you’re so wrapped up in it you don’t notice the way he steals short glances over at you. His eyes drag down your body, drinking in how his jacket sits on your shoulders like it belongs there. How the sleeves fall past your wrists and the hem lines your thighs, still mostly exposed from your skirt length of choice. How you look good wearing something of his.

And then he curses himself for even thinking it, tearing his eyes away even though he really doesn’t want to. He clears his throat loudly, awkwardly, trying to ground himself, and you look over wordlessly. Any words you were going to say get caught in your throat when you notice how muscular his arms are now that they’re no longer covered. 

Still, neither of you speak again, both thinking silent thoughts that you’d never let the other know. Once you arrive at your dorm building, he walks you all the way to your door despite your protests, muttering something about you being stubborn yet again. 

“Thank you for walking me home,” you force out, gratitude sounding like exasperation. Your back is pressed against the door, hand wrapped around the handle. All you want is to throw yourself in bed and sob and sleep at this point, but Chan’s presence keeps you in the hallway.

He nods, combing a hand through his hair, wondering when it became so difficult to think of the right words to say to you. “Try not to think about him too much tonight, alright?” he sighs. “I know that’s hard, but just try to get some sleep or something.”

Such gentle advice sounds odd coming from his mouth, and he waits for your sarcastic reply. Counts on it, actually. 

It doesn’t come. Instead, you smile at him weakly, telling yourself you simply don’t have the mental capacity to go back and forth with him anymore. Not that you were actually hating him a little less. 

“I’ll try,” you assure. “Oh, yeah. Here.” 

You pull off his jacket, the one that had begun to feel a little too comfortable, and fold it over your arms towards him. 

“Keep it. You can wear it around or whatever,” he suggests indifferently. It would make your fake relationship more believable, but beyond that, it would appeal to that small part of him that enjoyed seeing you in it. 

Fuck, what had gotten into him?

“I won’t,” you sass, bringing the jacket back to your chest anyways. 

He runs his tongue along his teeth, chuckling. “Of course you won’t. So stubborn.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Stop being that,” he shoots back.

Seemingly, you’d met your match. Someone who could keep up with your quick retorts, your mouthiness. And it came in the form of a man your ex boyfriend hated, a man you hated. You weren’t sure why that made it all the more exciting for you. 

His gaze lingered, a curious glint in his eyes. He was trying to piece you together bit by bit, but you were a more difficult puzzle than most. 

“Have a good night, Chan,” you say, finally turning the handle. When the door swings open, he finds himself looking around unintentionally, another opportunity to figure you out. He can see a few plushies on your bed, posters lined on the walls, and framed photos he can’t quite make out. There’s probably some of you and Jaehyun, and he hopes those are long gone by the next time he ends up at your dorm.

You slip inside hastily, and he realizes he’d been too engrossed in examining your room to respond. The door comes to a close in front of him.

“Yeah, you too,” he breathes out when you can’t hear, standing there just a few moments longer.

Once inside, you wait to hear the sound of his footsteps padding away, and when you do, you crack. The pictures of you and Jaehyun sit on your bedside dresser, mocking you, and you slam them down against the wood. You’re partially inclined to throw them against the wall and hope they shatter, but you don’t particularly feel like cleaning up glass shards through tears. 

At least you let the teddy bear he gifted you stay on your bed, unharmed. An innocent soul caught in the crossfire, a child of divorce even. 

“Fuck Jaehyun, fuck parties, and fuck this whole night,” you curse, though it comes out in choked sobs. And fuck Chan, your brain wants to say, but you bite it back. He had walked you home, given you his jacket…and become your fake boyfriend (soon to be, anyways) within the span of thirty minutes. Still, he was annoying, arrogant, impossible-to-deal-with Chan.

 As much as every fiber of your being yearned for the soft comfort of your bed, you trudge to your bathroom and start the shower, making sure to put on your playlist while the water warms. Because if you were going to be heartbroken, you were at least going to be heartbroken while listening to Cigarettes After Sex.

After thirty minutes of crying and scrubbing your body of any traces of Jaehyun, you finally step out and decide to check your phone for the first time since everything had completely unraveled. Apparently getting cheated on was all you needed to reduce your screen time, so maybe that was a positive?

Naturally, there’s a few texts from people you could hardly consider friends but would now act like you were with feigned sympathy, full nosiness. Among them, however, is a text from a number you hadn’t saved.

y/n? 

who’s this?

I’d say the guy you hate the most but i think someone else might’ve taken that spot

Chan. It was almost impressive that he managed to sound annoying even through texts.

ha. and how’d you get my number…?

I asked someone for it. you think they’ll take the bait?

they’ll probably just think you’re a freak who goes for recently heartbroken girls.

Nah. that’s not really my type.

oh yeah? what’s your type then?

You watch as the typing bubble pops up and disappears a few moments later, and then nothing. Minutes pass and you assume he’s leaving you on read, and that’s fine. It’s late, anyway, and after such a thorough cleansing and crying session, you’re exhausted.

So it’s no surprise when your phone buzzes again just as you manage to get comfortable in bed. 

Just because that’s not my type doesn’t mean i have a type

“Liar,” you mumble to yourself. Whatever, it’s not like you care who or what he’s into. In fact, you’re glad he didn’t answer. Who knows what kind of weird things he’d come up with, if not just to irritate you. 

okay, boring

What about you then? what’s your type?

You’re torn between giving him a genuine answer or something along the lines of “basically the antithesis of you.” Then, you realize you can probably do both at once, since you don’t consider Chan to align with any of your dating criteria.

i like someone who’s warm, attentive, and can make me laugh. someone who notices the little things, too

Yeah, definitely not Chan. But then again….

That can’t be right. i mean, you ended up with jaehyun

Also not Jaehyun. That was something you could admit now, but it was different coming from someone else. Like you were the only one who couldn’t see the flaws, the incompatibility. You feel stupid all over again, trying to ignore the way your throat began to tighten once more.

i’m going to sleep.

HahahaAw man. i was having fun.

goodnight, chan.

Goodnight princess

The nickname might’ve been a term of endearment from anyone else, but from Chan, it was a thinly veiled taunt. You save his contact with a very fitting eyeroll emoji just to spite him, finally drifting off to a surprisingly peaceful sleep soon after. 

“What an asshole,” Jihyo hisses. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, you know I would have ripped into him.”

With all the craziness of the night, you hadn’t even thought to text any of your friends. It was one of the rare times none of them could make it out with you, and now you were being inundated with questions over lunch.

You wave her off, poking at your plate idly. “It’s fine, I promise,” you sigh. 

“Has he texted you today?” Mina asks, glancing down at your phone on the table. You look down too, half-expecting to see another flurry of messages from Jaehyun – he’d already sent about twenty since the morning, all going unanswered. 

“Yes,” you groan, unlocking your phone and passing it to the two girls for them to read the same desperate pleas you’d been spammed with. They scroll through, mouths slightly agape. “Should I answer? I’m worried he’s gonna end up showing up at my dorm if I don’t.”

“Here, let me answer,” Jihyo says, and you reach over and snatch the phone out of her hands before she can type. It wasn’t that he didn’t deserve whatever insults she’d send his way, but that you worried any response would entice him at this point. 

To satisfy her, you finally text him back, telling him to leave you alone and that you would let him know when you were ready to talk. You truly had no idea when that would be, but any more silence from your end would inevitably have him tracking you down on campus. 

Then, you remembered the other half of the night, the part where you agreed to fake date the same man your friends had heard you complain about more than once. There was no way you were going to keep that from them, nor would you be able to, but you weren’t even sure how to approach the subject. 

Hey, by the way, I’m pretending to date that guy I hate. For the revenge plot of course.

“There’s actually something else that happened last night,” you begin, studying their reactions. They wait expectantly, eyes wide with curiosity. “Chan heard us arguing and we…talked a little.”

“Yeah, well, that sounds like Chan. He basically feeds off of Jaehyun’s misery,” Jihyo chuckles.

Mina catches onto the end of your sentence, the words you had said just a little too quickly and quietly. Intentionally so. “What do you mean you talked? You can’t stand him.”

Now, both girls are staring at you, disbelief etched on their faces. You and Chan had never talked. You insulted, glared, and mocked. Talking? They weren’t even sure you two were capable of holding a conversation without spitting names at each other.

“It’s stupid…” you trail. “He had this idea, and…I don’t know, I guess I just agreed to it because I was so angry and emotional.”

You’re stalling, obviously, and they’re growing more impatient with each delayed sentence.

“He suggested we pretend to be together to get back at Jaehyun.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then Jihyo laughs, a full-body laugh that has tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. Mina just blinks at you, unamused. “Y/N! You can’t make me laugh like that while I’m eating, you know,” Jihyo scolds, still releasing occasional giggles.

“You’re not joking,” Mina says flatly. “Are you?”

Realization strikes both their faces when you don’t answer, swirling your straw around absentmindedly. Next comes their looks of disapproval. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you groan. But what did you expect? You had just thrown into question a fact they knew more concretely than grass being green or the sky being blue: you hate Chan. So did your need for revenge trump your hatred, or was your hatred truly never that deep after all? They suspected the latter – they always did, especially when you would go on about how insufferable he was while eyeing him from across a room.

“Like what? Like you’re crazy? Because clearly, you’re crazy,” Jihyo whisper-shouts.

“And with Chan of all people, seriously?” Mina adds. 

Okay, neither of them were wrong, but they’d also never been cheated on to understand all the complex thoughts and feelings you’re experiencing right now. And yes, with Chan, because the plan simply wouldn’t work with anyone else (nor would anyone else be stupid enough to go along with it). It just had to be your ex boyfriend’s worst enemy.

“I know it’s crazy and you know I’d never agree to something like this, but – ” 

“ – but she just couldn’t resist me,” someone interjects from behind you. Then, he throws himself next to you, leaning back against the table on his elbows.

You aren’t sure how long he’s been there or how much he heard, though you guess not much since one of them definitely would have warned you. Either way, add his stupidly good timing to the list of things that piss you off about him. 

He hadn’t texted you in the morning –  not that he was supposed to, or that you expected him to –  and it almost made you wonder if the whole night was a fever dream. Evidently not, seeing as he was sitting a few inches away with a wide grin plastered on his dumb face.

“Are you stalking me across campus?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He huffs out a hollow laugh. “You wish. You guys sit in the same spot almost every day.”

Is he right? Yes. Does it make sense for him to know that? Not really. Unless he’d been paying more attention to you than you thought, which also didn’t make sense. 

“Okay, so you’re not stalking me,” you conclude. “Just watching me.”

“Why does it have to be you? There’s two other lovely ladies here.” 

“Ew,” Mina says.

“Don’t be gross,” Jihyo adds.

Now it’s your turn to laugh, though Chan is unamused. You want to poke him further, to find out why he knows the specific time and place your friends typically eat lunch, but you decide to save it for another time. Especially since those two are sitting right across from you and would hang onto every stupid thing he says, pestering you about it later. 

Chan spins forward, now facing Jihyo and Mina. “Do you girls mind if I steal Y/N for a bit?”

“I mind,” you scoff, but he ignores you entirely.

The two girls look at each other suspiciously, knowingly. Then, Mina shakes her head, basically sending you off to your demise (another uncomfortable walk with Chan  – two in less than twenty-four hours has to be considered cruel and unusual punishment). “Sure,” she shrugs. “We were just finishing up, anyways.”

Were you, though? The conversation hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down until he arrived. 

With the approval of your friends, not yours, he clasps his hand around yours and stands up, trying to bring you with him. You can’t move, you can’t function at all with his hand holding your own, and once it hits you, you yank it away from him. 

And then you stand anyway, as if your body was betraying you and doing everything your brain said not to. 

“I hope you don’t plan on hurting her, too,” Jihyo cautions, an unspoken threat behind her words. 

Her intentions are sweet, but you can’t help but feel the need to chide her for making it seem like you two are actually together.

“I’m not going to cheat on her, if that’s what you’re implying,” he jeers, picking up your bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “Don’t worry, princess, you’re the only fake girlfriend in my life.” 

He must think he’s so funny, putting on a show in front of your friends, but you’re not laughing. However, Mina and Jihyo are. Snickering under their breath, actually, and probably going to gush all about this odd interaction after you leave. 

The three of you exchange goodbyes, Chan already walking away from the table. You have to take larger strides to catch up to him, and when you do, you reach for your bag, trying to pry it from his arm. 

“Is it going to kill you if you let me be nice and carry your stuff?” he huffs, readjusting the strap. 

“It might,” you glare, but you can tell he’s not budging, so you resign. You wait for him to speak, to offer an explanation. Instead, he scans your face like he’s looking for something beneath the surface. “Is there a reason you took me from my friends just now?” 

“Are you okay?” he asks, answering your question with…a question? So. Annoying. 

But it sounds sincere coming from him, unlike how everyone else had asked you since last night. You can tell the difference now between girls who asked because they wanted to know if they had a chance with Jaehyun, guys who asked because they wanted to know if they had a chance with you, the complete randoms who asked just to be in the know, and now…this. Someone who genuinely wanted to know if you were okay, nothing more, nothing less, no underlying motives. 

“I’m alright,” you shrug, “just numb, I think.”

He swallows hard, then nods. And suddenly the Chan you recognize is back. “Well, you look good for someone who just got cheated on.”

Maybe the compliment would have felt good if he hadn’t tacked on the last part. You had enough reminders throughout the day, so much so that your phone had been on DND for hours. And the reminders came in other forms, too, like your lonely walk to your first class in the morning, the one Jaehyun would always accompany you on. Or the song that came on shuffle that you two had once added to a shared playlist (which you now had sole custody of). 

“Do you know how to give an actual compliment?” you snap, already knowing the answer. Chan would probably drop dead before he complimented you. 

“So you’d rather I just say you look good?” he questions.

Yes, yes you most certainly would. But there was no way in hell you would tell him that and make him think his words actually mean something to you. You can just picture his smug look of satisfaction already. 

So you lie through your teeth.

“No.”

He chews the inside of his cheek, carefully mulling over what he says next. “You do though. Look good, I mean,” he states matter-of-factly. And to your surprise, he doesn’t drop dead afterwards. 

What should you say in return? Thank you? No, that implies you’re appreciative, grateful he complimented you, which you aren’t. You look good too? Absolutely not, unless you want to have him use that against you for the foreseeable future. Ew, don’t say those things? You’re not even sure you can feign disgust like that. 

You end up not saying anything at all, but your face says a lot. Too much. It heats up and your cheeks dust with red, a far worse response than any of the others you’d contemplated. 

“Aw, you’re blushing,” Chan teases, bumping against your shoulder lightly. “Getting all shy on me, where’s that smart mouth?” 

“Shut up,” you grumble, and then you realize you’ve been following him blindly for the past minutes. You see that he’s led you to the heart of campus, the vast field of green where couples, friends, and classmates alike all congregate. He heads straight for a bench, pulling you down next to him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“When’s your next class?” 

You don’t answer.

“You took me away from my friends to bring me here?” And then you look around, convincing yourself everyone’s eyes are on you. “People are staring.” 

He looks over at you, your bag now acting as a barrier between your bodies, and quirks an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“I just don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.”

“Yeah, well, newsflash, princess. We’re doing this so they do get the wrong idea,” he reminds, tucking your bag by his side. With the new space, he hooks his arms around your thighs and shifts you towards him, pulling your legs onto the bench and draping them over his lap.

“Chan!” you hiss, trying to move, but he holds you there. 

If you thought people were staring before, they must be drilling holes through you now. Realistically, you’re just being dramatic  – everyone is too entrenched in their own problems, their own conversations, their own world to really notice you. But you know people will talk, because that’s what people do, especially when it involves two individuals who are quite well-known on campus. 

“Relax. The more obvious we make this, the quicker people will see, the quicker Jaehyun will see. And then it can all be over, right?” he explains, and you huff in response. You sit there like that long enough that it becomes comfortable, his fingers tapping idly on your leg while he scrolls on his phone. At the same time, you trace mindless shapes onto the bench, pretending you weren’t melting into him slowly. 

No.

Being like this with Chan shouldn’t feel this normal, and you refuse to accept that it does. So, naturally, you have to say something to ruin it. Almost like an innate reflex.

“I should’ve just stepped out in a revenge dress, but nooo, I had to agree to your stupidity,” you mumble. He laughs, and then his face contorts to something more serious.

“You have a revenge dress?”

He says it hopefully, a glimmer of interest in his eyes. 

“If I do,” you begin, leaning in to whisper in his ear, “you’ll never get to see it.”

His entire body deflates, and you take the opportunity to pull yourself off of him. You had a class across campus to get to and also needed a serious mental debrief to process the last twenty minutes. He hands over your bag, lifting off the bench as well. “Do you want me to like, walk you to your classes and stuff?” 

“Nope,” you decline easily. “Unless you’re willing to walk me to my 8:30 on Tuesdays.” 

It’s supposed to be a joke, and he must know it because he scoffs, shaking his head like you’d just said the most egregious thing ever. You laugh and start in the direction of your class, the feeling of his body so close to yours still lingering.

The weekend comes and goes quickly, with you swearing off any more parties for the time being despite Mina and Jihyo’s pleas. They both mention something about alcohol and loud music being the perfect remedy for a break up. But you already only really went to parties to appease your friends (and Jaehyun, previously), who dubbed them an “essential part of the college experience.” Now, you had the perfect excuse not to. Even Chan texts you to ask if you’ll be going out, though he doesn’t have nearly the same level of disappointment as your friends when you say no.

Instead, you spend your days clearing your camera roll of pictures of your cheating ex boyfriend and boxing up all the things of his you no longer wanted to have in your possession. Maybe you could get Chan to burn it all for you (except for the teddy bear, of course). 

And then Tuesday morning rolls around and there’s an incessant knocking on your door, which is not only irritating but unusual, given the time. You’re in the middle of getting dressed when you answer, top half still in a tank top, bottom half in jeans. 

This person is about to feel all your morning wrath, until you blink a few times and register that it’s Chan of all people.

“What the hell?” 

“8:30, right?” he confirms, leaning against the doorframe. 

You fold your arms across your chest, resisting his charm as best as you can. “That was a joke,” you groan, opening the door wider. “I’m not done getting ready and it’s gonna look weird if you’re waiting outside.”

He steps inside happily, immediately noticing the now barren space on your dresser. You had gotten rid of the pictures, good. He also recognizes his jacket draped along the back of your chair in a way he knows you’ve worn it, or at least moved it recently. It hangs off a little unevenly, one of the sleeves wrinkled in on itself. 

“Yeah, because it’ll look so much better if we come out of your dorm together at eight in the morning,” he chuckles while you walk into the bathroom to change shirts in peace.

“Don’t even think like that,” you shout. Then, you walk out, throwing the tank top at him (which he catches, unfortunately), feeling emboldened. “Everyone knows I wouldn’t fuck you.”

The smirk on your face is wiped away immediately when he grabs your wrist as you bend down to reach your bag. “Yeah? Do you know that?” he whispers. His whole demeanor shifts, gaze intense, grip strong but not painful. You attempt to force out a stammered reply, but admittedly, you’re flustered. Your own body is a traitor, clearly. 

Thankfully, he releases your wrist and breaks the tension with a devilish laugh. “You’re so easy to fuck with,” he says, sounding completely like his usual irksome self. 

Now that you had a glimpse of a different, enticing side of Chan, you craved more and hated yourself for it. After all, you had just said you would never fuck him. And you wouldn’t. 

But can’t a girl just think about it?

You grabbed your bag successfully this time and slipped on a pair of shoes, heading out the door with him right behind. 

“So why did you do this, exactly?” you question, still fighting off sleep yourself. 

“When I commit to something, I go hard,” he explains, though it sounds like a double entendre. “So if we’re going to fake date, I’m gonna be the best damn fake boyfriend you ever had.”

How wonderful. You thought you were agreeing to get revenge against Jaehyun, not to fuel Chan’s ego. Maybe you’d need another fake boyfriend down the line just to knock him from the top spot.

“Well, good thing we probably won’t need to keep this up for very long. I’ve already had people text me asking what’s going on between us,” you click your tongue. “No Jaehyun though.”

“Poor guy’s probably losing his mind thinking his fuck-up made you realize you had repressed feelings for me all along.”

“Oh, I had feelings for you?”

“Well, yeah,” he shrugs. “That’s how my story goes, anyways.”

When you make it outside, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you just a little bit closer. And now that you understand there’s no reasoning with him, you let him. It’s too early to argue, anyways, but you still roll your eyes where he can’t see. 

“God, you’re insufferable. Can’t even give me some dignity in our fake love story,” you sneer. 

“Okay, fine, I had feelings for you,” he relents, and for a second, it sounds like a fact, not a fabrication. “That sound better?”

You hum in approval, satisfied with the change. Whether he would actually follow through with it, you weren’t sure. 

“So, are you gonna stay cooped up in your dorm this weekend, or are you going out?” Chan wonders, seemingly forgetting why you didn’t want to go to another party in the first place. They were kind of ruined for you at the moment, especially when you never really enjoyed them to begin with. 

“I’m put off of parties for a while,” you wave your hands. “And I need to study, anyway.” 

He squeezes your shoulder, displeased with your answer. “C’mon, Y/N, don’t let him ruin your fun,” he urges.

It was too late for that, though; all “fun” had been sucked out the moment you caught your boyfriend sucking face, and you knew he would probably be there, too. Just because he was playing the regretful, devastated ex in your texts didn’t mean he was depriving himself of his favorite pastime. You wouldn’t even be surprised if one of his “please forgive me, I’m so sorry, I miss you so much” texts had come while he was balls-deep in another woman.

“I’ll have plenty of fun in the library, thank you,” you shoot back.

“Oh? In public? Wow, princess, I didn’t know you were into stuff like that,” he grins, and you shove his arm off of you, staring at him in disgust.

“Oh my god, you’re a fucking freak!”

“I’m the freak? You’re the one that’s going to – ”

“Chan. Stop talking.”

“Okay, okay,” he throws his hands up defensively. “But just so you know, I don’t judge, and if you want some company…”

Fuck this smug bastard, and more importantly, fuck the way he was starting to get into your head. 

The rest of the walk is relatively normal, at least in the sense there’s no more talk about public sex, and you reach your class promptly at 8:28. 

“Well, have a good day,” he says a little awkwardly. “Let me know when you’re planning on grabbing lunch?”

“Unlikely,” you scoff, leaving him open-mouthed as you head inside.

So how you end up with Mina, Jihyo, and Chan at your usual lunch spot, you’re not sure. 

“You guys missed it. Then she goes ‘fuck you, Jaehyun!’ and he looked terrified,” Chan laughs, and your friends join in, loving the cheater lashings. 

“He did not look terrified,” you correct. 

“She’s being modest. Even I felt a little intimidated,” he draws in a sharp breath, “but it was kinda hot, too.”

You’re not sure where that came from, and you kick his foot under the table where Mina and Jihyo can’t see. In return, he places his hand on your thigh, squeezing. 

“You guys sure you’re faking this?” Jihyo questions, her chin resting on her hand while her eyes flicker between the two of you. Like she would be able to figure you out if she just looked hard enough. Impossible, considering you couldn’t even figure out what was going on at this point. He was still annoying, painfully so, but he was also alluring, and the heat between your legs was starting to do most of the thinking.

“Yes,” you and Chan say simultaneously, almost rehearsed. 

“Right,” Mina nods, drawing out the word. “As long as you believe that.”

His hand moves now, rubbing along your thigh softly, and you have to grit your teeth to not snap at him. “I do believe it, because it’s true,” you say harshly (but not convincingly). “I’d rather drink a jean jacket through a fucking straw than actually date him.”

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop his wandering hand; in fact, it only pushes him further, now sliding lower until his fingertips brush along the inside of your thigh. You shift awkwardly, keeping your eyes locked on your friends. You wouldn’t let him see that he was undoing you. 

“I’m not particularly fond of you either, but a jean jacket through a straw is insane,” he smirks, finding enjoyment in your fidgeting. 

“Then I guess it does a good job of conveying how much I can’t stand you.”

This time, you do snap your head towards him, eyes shooting daggers into him. They gave a silent warning, a threat he didn’t quite think you truly meant. After all, your body had a different message with the way your thighs clenched and shoulders stiffened. 

“So sweet, isn’t she?” Chan smiles sarcastically, drawing his hand back. And you’re grateful – at least, that’s what you tell yourself, ignoring the small voice that said you wanted more. He reads something on his phone before typing quickly and rising from his seat. 

“Anyway, thanks for the invite Y/N, but Minho’s locked himself out of the apartment, so I’ve gotta swing by before class,” he sighs dramatically.

“I absolutely didn’t invite you.”

“Sure you didn’t,” he winks, already gone before you can argue. 

Once he’s out of earshot, Jihyo groans, covering her face with her hands. “God, I think if I’m subjected to that level of sexual tension again, I’ll actually pass away,” she huffs, muffled. 

Bad time to take a sip of your drink. 

“Sexual tension?!” you repeat, nearly choking, completely stunned by her words. 

“We weren’t sure of it when you were with Jaehyun, but now it practically radiates through the air whenever you’re around each other. It’s suffocating,” Mina agrees, only adding to your embarrassment. Your face is heating up quickly, and it makes it hard to deny their accusations. 

“Can you just hate-fuck and get it over with? Maybe you’ll find out you actually do get along in some ways,” Jihyo adds, exasperated. 

You laugh dryly. “Oh my god, do you guys hear yourselves? I’m not having sex with Chan, that’s disgusting.”

“Well then can you two at least not make lunch feel like the build-up of a porno?”

Needless to say you would be informing him he could not join you and your friends for lunch anymore, lest you get lectured again on your “radiating” sexual tension. 

By the time Friday comes, things have quieted. Chan listens when you tell him Mina and Jihyo requested your lunches stay reserved for the three of you (it’s not quite true, but the best excuse you could come up with without mentioning that your friends think you two want to fuck each other). So, you don’t see him much, aside from the couple of times he shows up outside your classes.

His texts, however, are frequent. They’ve developed into something expected, a normal part of your days. You talk about mundane things like grades and annoying lab partners. You talk about personal things like favorite songs and future goals. Each conversation is still filled with sarcastic quips and quick insults, but they don’t hold the same edge they once did. It felt more like comfort – like if you kept up the hatred act, you could protect yourself from what it was becoming.

And at the same time, the texts from Jaehyun had resumed because, although he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he had heard that you and Chan were seen together. On multiple occasions. He had even shown up at your dorm finally (the week of freedom you’d had was far longer than you’d expected), and you had slammed the door in his face, telling him it wasn’t any of his business who you hung out with anymore. 

After that encounter, you were grateful for some peace – which was becoming rare in your life – throwing yourself nose-deep in your notebook. With your headphones on and such intense focus, you don’t notice anyone else’s presence.

Until someone makes their presence impossible to ignore. 

“Hey, princess,” Chan greets, a cup of coffee in hand. He slips into the seat in front of you, placing the cup down and sliding it over. You have to pull your headphones back to hear him, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. 

He shrugs. “You said you were studying, I thought I would bring you some coffee to help your brain.”

He says it so calmly, and you have to fight against the way your heart swells at the simple act of service. Though really, it wasn’t so simple, because this was Chan showing up to the library unannounced on a Friday night, when he would usually be far away from anything academic. For you.

“Well, thanks, because I feel like my brain has basically disintegrated,” you complain, taking a sip. It was your favorite, too – he must’ve asked Mina or Jihyo for your order. “Did you skip out on the party?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t feeling it. Kinda just wanted to chill tonight. I thought a library date might be fun,” he muses.

You scoff, watching his lips curl into a satisfied smile. “Date?” 

Chan blinks at you like you’ve wounded him, although you know it’s all part of his (perfected) act to get into your head. 

“You wouldn’t call it that?” he says, disappointedly, leaning his head against the palm of his hand. 

“No, I’d call it me studying for hours and losing my mind and you showing up uninvited.”

He points behind him with his thumb, turning halfway in his seat, an empty threat. “So, should I leave then?” he challenges.

This is probably the part where you should say yes. You should demand it, actually. But he had brought you coffee, liquid gold for your overloaded brain, and the chances of him listening to your request were slim to none regardless. 

“It’s fine,” you concede, hoping it sounded indifferent. You even shift your focus back to your laptop to play up the act, writing down “notes” that don’t quite make sense. Chan accepts this, tapping his fingers on the table obnoxiously, purposely so. After a few minutes, he straightens in his chair, leaning forward against the table.

“I must say,” he whispers, “I’m a little disappointed to find you actually studying. You had my hopes up the other day.”

It takes you a moment to recall that conversation, and once you do, the realization spreads across your face in red hues. “There is something seriously wrong with you,” you frown.

And there may have been something seriously wrong with you for enjoying it.

“Maybe. But I think you like it. You were basically writhing when I touched you at lunch.”

Now you know you definitely should have told him to leave. He pokes his tongue in his cheek, in that way that could drive you crazy if you let it (which you weren’t). 

“No, I wasn’t,” you argue weakly.

He finds your denial cute, truly, since he remembers your body’s responsiveness so vividly. It was essentially engrained in his mind, spinning it in circles. He could elicit that reaction from just touching your clothed thigh, and it made him feel powerful. And curious.

“Oh, you weren’t?” he chuckles. “So if I come sit next to you now, that’d be fine? And if I touch you like that again, you wouldn’t start to melt under my fingers?”

“I did not melt under your fingers.”

“But you would have,” he says confidently. He drops his voice to a whisper again. “If your friends weren’t there, and I kept going, you would have.”

You’re staring at each other now, wondering who will break first, though his eyes shine with excitement and yours narrow with annoyance. Or rather, desire that you try to disguise as annoyance. 

“You think too highly of yourself,” you snort, scribbling gibberish into the margin of your notebook. 

He releases a small, humorless laugh. “I don’t need to think it,” he corrects. “You’ve shown me.”

You snap now, slamming your laptop shut a little too aggressively. Because you refused to allow him to continue talking with so much confidence, like he knew what you were thinking better than you did.

“I’m sorry, did you forget the part where none of this is real? All of your little touches and stupid remarks have nothing to do with what we agreed on.”

But your boldness only encourages him, biting his lip subconsciously. “No, they don’t. That’s just for my enjoyment. Like I said, you’re easy to fuck with.”

“That's why you decided to come see me in the library on a Friday night instead of going out? To ‘fuck with me?’” you say pointedly, to emphasize how unreasonable it sounded. 

“Well, you didn’t tell me to leave.”

“I asked a question.”

Chan drags his hand along his face, suddenly far less arrogant. For once, he looked like he was struggling to conjure up a smart response. And he was. But you were refusing to back down, finally having a sense of control. 

“I don’t know,” he finally says, and you glare at him. “Really, I don’t. I just wanted to see you.”

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. “Don’t be dumb.”

Because there was no way he meant it. Or maybe you had misheard him entirely. But his whole demeanor had changed, and you no longer recognized the Chan that sat before you without his smugness.

“Right. If I tease you, I’m ‘insufferable,’” he recites, “if I’m honest with you, I’m dumb. Tell me, princess, what can I do then?”

You swallow harshly, trying to ignore what his words entailed. Honest. He said that he wanted to see you and he meant it. The air around you had shifted now, thicker, heavier, falling on your chest in a way that almost made your voice get caught in your throat.

“Are you fucking with me again?” you grimace, waiting for him to laugh in your face. To snap back into the version of him you’re familiar with.

But he doesn’t laugh. “You tell me. Am I?”

“You can’t do that!” you groan, exasperated. “You can’t say these things and then act all cryptic after.”

You cross your arms across your chest, and he relents. “Okay. Yes, I wanted to see you. Is that bad?”

“Yes.”

Yes, it was bad. Very bad, actually. Because you were supposed to hate him, and you thought he hated you. Because none of this was supposed to be real, and once you’d gotten vengeance against your shitty ex boyfriend (however dramatic it may be), things would go on like nothing had ever happened.

But is that what you wanted? It should be. It had to be. 

“Huh. I guess I don’t care,” he breathes. “Do you?”

He awaits your answer, though he already knows what it will be. You had become easy for him to read now; he had studied you like you were his favorite subject. The unsolved puzzle he had finally pieced together. 

And though you try to force yourself to lie and say yes, you simply cannot. All your resolve has vanished since he made such an unexpected confession, leaving you dazed.

“No,” you mumble, and your breath hitches. 

His smirk returns, though it’s different now. Less of an attempt to get under your skin, more of an acknowledgement that one day he’ll get to touch every inch of it. 

“Didn’t think so,” he reaches across the table, trailing his fingers along your hand. You snatch it back, ignoring his snickers. 

He would be the death of you, you were certain. And for some reason, you find yourself thinking that it may not be such a terrible way to go out.

Neither of you are sure how to proceed after that night in the library, an obvious tension lingering between the two of you. You knew you weren’t going to be the one to address it, but you were growing exhausted with pretending that it had never happened. 

It seemed like Chan was perfectly content with that, however. He hadn’t even mentioned it once, continuing to text you and show up outside your dorm and classes like it was all still part of a plan. And maybe it was. Maybe he was a great liar, but that didn’t explain the rift that had settled between you two. If he had lied that night, why could he hardly meet your eyes now?

You didn’t ask, because you feared the answer – both possibilities. Though when you turned to Mina and Jihyo for advice, they were adamant. They were convinced they were right all along, that there was a budding romance beneath the hatred. So, it was quite hard to get any sort of unbiased guidance from them. This was something you’d have to navigate on your own.

And by navigate, you meant continuing to avoid it. Hopefully Chan would crack before you did.

After almost two weeks of letting the unspoken words nearly suffocate you, you had begun to believe you really would have to forget it had ever happened. If he wanted to speak on it, he would. Nevermind that he could say the same thing about you; it was him that had started it, so he had to be the one to acknowledge it. It was only fair.

Your phone rings in the middle of the afternoon, during your thirty minute interval between classes. It’s Chan, which isn’t the surprising part (he had learned your entire schedule by now). 

“Let me take you to dinner tonight,” he says only a few seconds after you pick up. 

You roll your eyes, hardly registering his proposal. “A ‘hello’ might be nice.”

“Hi,” he utters. “Let me take you to dinner.”

If you agree too easily, he’ll know you had been waiting for him to say something like this. And with how straightforwardly he had asked (or stated, rather), he clearly expected your agreement. You could make him grovel just a little bit. 

“You wanna see me again?” you quip, the most you’d allude to the library incident. 

But Chan could match your attitude ten times over, so he has a quick retort. “I just figured if we go to dinner you could post a picture on your story, really commit to the bit,” he explains flatly, and then laughs when you’re silent. “What? You wanted me to say I want to see you?”

“Fuck you.”

“You said you wouldn’t,” he reminds. “Remember?”

If he could see you, he would undoubtedly point out how flustered you were, then follow it up with a dumb joke about how the offer was always open. And you would have to hold back from taking him up on it. 

“Really doing a good job of making me want to say yes,” you chide.

“Please let me take you to dinner. I’ve been thinking about our library date, and I wanna take you on a real one.”

You huff loud enough for him to hear over the phone. “That wasn’t a date,” you correct. “And I’m busy tonight.”

A lie, but he didn’t need to know that yet. There’s shuffling on his end, and then his voice comes out sharply. 

“Busy with what?”

“That’s really none of your concern,” you can’t help but grin at your own mischief. “But if you must know, I’m seeing someone tonight.”

“Y/N,” he growls, and it’s hot. You try to imagine the look on his face (why couldn’t he have FaceTimed you?), and it makes you weak. 

“So, what time are you picking me up?” you ask, voice syrupy sweet despite your antics. Like honey masking poison. 

He exhales loudly, and you can hear all the unease release from his body. If he was going to be so wound up about you even potentially seeing someone else, why had he taken so long to address your ever-present tension?

Maybe he was just as confused as you. 

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he groans. “I’ll be there at seven.”

He hangs up before you can hound him about the first half, not even sparing a second to confirm the time. No, you don’t know what you do to him, but it was inevitable that you would find out. And he would make sure that you understood to the fullest extent. 

It’s difficult for you to decide on an outfit for dinner with Chan, one, because you’re still tossing with the idea internally and two, because you aren’t sure what’s an “appropriate” amount of dressed-up. If you look too good, he’ll think you’re trying too hard to impress him, and you’ll never hear the end of that.

Though, you had already agreed to going to dinner with him, so you probably wouldn’t hear the end of that, either.

Mina and Jihyo choose an outfit over FaceTime (and so kindly remind you to “at least make him wear a condom”), one that teeters right in the middle of simple and dressy, and you’ve fixed your hair at least a dozen times by the time he’s knocking on your door.

When you open it, he stares at you, and then tears his eyes away to roam all over your body. He draws in a sharp breath, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Wow,” he rasps. “You’re beautiful.”

The compliment comes with no snarky follow-up, and he doesn’t even tease you when you feel your face heating up. He takes your hand and holds it the whole way to his car, only letting go to open the door for you; you would have never taken him for such a gentleman.

He doesn’t tell you which restaurant he’s picked, but the drive isn’t long before you arrive and are seated, his hand finding its way back to yours while you walk through the aisles.

As you sit there scanning the menu, you can’t help but realize you’re at fucking dinner with Bang Christopher Chan. And he’s staring at you like you wouldn’t notice.

“What?” you question, and he drops his head, chuckling.

“Nothing,” he says. “Just can’t believe how much things have changed.”

“You’re still annoying, don’t get it twisted.”

“Yeah, well, you still agreed to get dinner with me,” he shrugs.

He thinks he’s won with that, turning his attention to the menu. But even if he’s right, you aren’t letting him shame you so easily. “You would’ve begged me if I didn’t,” you smirk.

His eyes snap back to yours, the mischievous glint forcing him to fight back the more impure thoughts. “You know, that mouth is going to get you in trouble one day.”

“Yeah? By who?”

“Careful, Y/N,” he warns, words coming out through clenched teeth. 

You flash him an exaggerated smile, thanking the waitress when she returns with your drinks, and Chan curses himself for being turned on by how quickly you switch from a temptress to the sweetest angel. He stumbles over his words while giving his order, and you giggle softly without even knowing you’re the cause of it. 

Considering Chan had brought you to dinner, you felt confident enough to bring up the subject of what the hell was going on between you two. Specifically the Friday night you’d left unaddressed. “So, is it finally time we talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

“This,” you motion between the two of you.

He doesn’t even pause to think about it. “We’re having dinner,” he replies coyly.

You figure admonishing him for his feigned ignorance won’t bring you closer to an answer, so instead you push further. 

“But why?”

“I told you, you can post it on your story or whatever. I’m sure Jaehyun still stalks your socials.”

You’d seen quite a few random spam names in your story viewers, so you knew it to be true, but you also knew that couldn’t be his reasoning. 

“You also told me you wanted to take me on a ‘real date,’” you mention, and he throws his head back against the booth.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Can we just have a nice dinner and worry about the semantics later?”

Obviously, the answer was a resounding no, which he should have expected since he understood your stubbornness better than anyone. “Oh, for you to pretend it never happened and leave me wondering for weeks? Sure thing, Chan,” you sneer.

You probably should have excluded the part where you admitted you’d still been thinking about that night, because he latches onto it and uses it to evade answering any more questions.

“I really get in that pretty little head of yours, huh?” he grins.

“Or maybe I get in yours,” you shoot back. “What did you say? Something about ‘I don’t know what I do to you’?”

He rubs his jaw, exhaling through his nose loudly. Because you really didn’t know what you do to him.

“Princess, you don’t get into my head. You’ve never fucking left it.”

Your food is brought over moments later, right on cue, leaving you sitting idly, stunned. Chan pretends not to notice, already moving past his previous admission. 

“God, I am starving,” he groans. He takes a bite of his meal, and then blinks at you when you haven’t even slightly shifted. “What’s wrong? You wanna take that picture for your story now?” 

If you heard the word “story” one more time, you were convinced you’d actually implode. And you’d take him with you, just to annoy him in the afterlife. 

“Don’t do that,” you hiss. “Don’t act clueless.”

“Well sorry for trying to be a believable fake boyfriend.”

Nothing about this felt fake anymore, and when he says it, it feels like a harsh reminder. That vicious awakening from the middle of a good dream, pulled to the surface of reality when you’re in such a deep slumber. 

“That’s all you are, right? My fake boyfriend? So why do you say and do all these things that make it feel so real?” you demand. 

Your meals are all but forgotten now, and the booths around you are probably getting more of your argument than any of you would like. You swear you can see the lady in the booth to your right staring at you and then leaning over to whisper in her daughter’s ear. Hopefully she’d give her some advice to never get involved with idiotic men like Chan. 

He rubs his temples, growing more exhausted by the minute. “I’m trying to figure that out. I came up with a stupid plan, and somewhere along the way the lines got blurred.”

“You blurred them!” you whisper-shout, eyes widening in disbelief.

“You let me,” he says simply, and you can’t deny it. Though he’s still far more culpable for your current situation. “Listen, we can talk about it more on the way home, yeah?”

It’s his cop-out, and you should know this, yet you relent anyway. You aren’t surprised when he refuses to discuss it further in the car, either, and when he tries to put his hand on your thigh, you push it away. 

He deserves that, but it still makes him sulk internally. If he couldn’t offer you answers, you wouldn’t offer him any more of yourself. At least, you’d try your best not to (easy to say, harder to do). 

When he drops you off, you hardly give him a goodbye, so he knows he’s fucked up. His chest tightens at the thought of not being able to make it right. Of letting you go without telling you everything he’s been thinking for the last month. 

He isn’t even sure you’ll give him another chance, but he figures he needs to sort his mind out before he faces you again, for both of your sakes. 

The texts slow and then stop altogether, and you don’t see him at all for another week. Maybe you had pushed him enough that he had been scared off (still, he could at least fake break up with you). Though you had never taken Chan for someone who could be scared of anything, especially with his constant arrogance. 

“That’s just how men are. They run when shit gets too real,” Jihyo says, fixing her top. 

The three of you were currently getting ready in your dorm, because the minute you had texted the groupchat stating that you were desperate for a night out, they were basically busting your door down. And you couldn’t blame them, because you were never the one to initiate, but right now, it seems like the only distraction you have left. 

“I think he’s just a little confused,” Mina adds with more eloquence. “I mean, do you even know what you want?”

“Yes,” you grin. “I want to go out, have a good time, and forget about all of this.”

Mina rolls her eyes at your avoidance, and Jihyo clutches her heart dramatically. “My Y/N is so back, I could cry right now.”

You know very well that a party is not the magical cure for all your problems – in fact, it’s the indirect cause of nearly all of them – but your other option was to spend another weekend in your dorm preparing an internal monologue about Chan’s cowardice. So, yes, you were going to a party. 

“You know they’re both probably going to be there, right?” Mina advises. Both of the banes of your existence, though for drastically different reasons. 

“It’s fine,” you wave her off. “I won’t even notice that they’re there”

Between the three of you, there’s not a soul that believes your lie, but nobody questions it. 

Though perhaps they should have, because maybe it would have made you reconsider before you ended up in your current situation. Which was searching through a sea of bodies for one particular person, even if you weren’t sure what you would do if you found him. 

Mina notices, too, watching as your eyes sweep all along the room while nodding every once in a while, pretending to be engaged in the conversation. You really hadn’t caught a single word she’d said for the past three minutes. 

And although there were plenty of people there, you were confident you’d be able to spot Chan out of a crowd. But so far, there was no sign of him, and you couldn’t decide if you were relieved or disappointed. 

Unfortunately, however, you had spotted Jaehyun. In the back of the room, looking completely untouched, sipping on a drink with his friends on one side and a girl on the other. But he looked disinterested, not paying her any mind, nodding along indifferently. He looked like you, searching for someone amidst the chaos.

“Y/N!” Mina barks, and you turn to her immediately. “Are you even listening at all?”

“Uh, yeah,” you lie. 

She throws her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised. “Really? So what do you think, should I go over there and talk to him?”

She points to the left of you, but there’s at least five guys in the general vicinity she could be referring to. Of course, you’d know who she meant if you hadn’t been so checked out while looking for Chan.

“Um, who?” you ask carefully, and she groans, frustrated. “I’m sorry! I think I need another drink. To clear my head.”

You take off for the kitchen before she can argue, the counters covered in discarded solo cups and half-empty bottles of alcohol. Tempting. Instead, you open the fridge, pulling out one of the remaining unopened cans. 

When you turn around, you’re stuck in place, a firm chest blocking you from walking away. You’re about to complain, to remind whoever it is that there’s a thing called personal space, but one look up has the words refusing to come out. It’s Jaehyun, of course. 

“Y/N,” he falters, studying your face as if he’d forgotten your features. 

Your heart races, not from anything other than the discomfort of confronting someone who you once thought the world of.

“Leave me alone, Jaehyun,” you spit, and he steps back, granting you some space and the freedom to walk away if you so choose. But you don’t, not yet. 

He takes note of your stillness, encouraging him to speak again. “I will,” he nods. “But you haven’t given me a chance to explain, and I need you to know how much I regret what I did.”

“Yeah, well, good for you.”

He sighs, and a quiet moment passes between you, one that makes you picture him kissing that girl all over again. 

“Are you with him?” he asks, under his breath. You stare at him with feigned confusion, lips pressed in a taut line. This time, he speaks louder, intentionally. “Don’t play dumb, Y/N, please. Are you with Chan?”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

“You don’t. But I owe you an explanation, and if you’re with Chan…” he trails, and it sends you over the edge. You tell yourself your anger rises up solely because of Jaehyun, but it’s undeniable that half of it comes from all you’d bottled up during the days without Chan around.

“Then what? Then it doesn’t matter? You cheating on me just gets justified because I’m with Chan?” you snap, voice increasing in volume with each word. “Guess what, Jaehyun, your fuck-up is to blame for all of it.”

Even with the thumping music, your voice carries throughout the room, and a few people glance over, intrigued. Someone pushes through the crowd, entering the kitchen right as Jaehyun opens his mouth to argue back.

“Is everything okay over here?”

Both of you look over, though you don’t need to to recognize the voice. It had become your favorite, even when it was teasing you or whispering innuendos just to unnerve you. 

“Chan,” you whisper, and he heads straight for you, ignoring Jaehyun’s unwavering glare. 

In a few quick steps, he’s beside you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into him like he hadn’t ignored you for a week. “Hey, baby. Are you alright?” he asks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

Baby. That was a new one. He had called you princess more times than you could count, but it had started as a taunt and never really felt like anything more than that. Baby, however, had your heart pounding and mind racing. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you swallow, finding more interest in the ground now. For a second, you forget all about Jaehyun in front of you, and it reminds you that Chan’s actions are probably directly correlated. After all, the original plan was to get back at Jaehyun, and what better moment than right now? The final act to your months-long play.

“So you two are together,” Jaehyun concludes, frowning.

“Don’t look so upset,” Chan grins wickedly. “I’ll treat her better than you ever could.”

Try not to take his words seriously, you remind yourself. He doesn’t mean it. This is all for show. But as always, he makes them sound real, adding a layer of intensity you can’t ignore. 

“You’re not good enough for her.”

You’re about to chime in, to remind him he has no say in what or who is good enough for you, and that it was rich hearing that from him of all people.  

“And you were?” Chan laughs humorlessly. “C’mon, baby, let’s get out of here, yeah?”

He squeezes your shoulder, looking down at you, waiting for your agreement. And as you glance between him and Jaehyun, something takes over you entirely. You pull his face towards yours, hesitating briefly to gauge his reaction. When he closes the final inches, your eyes flutter closed, his lips crashing onto yours.

It’s quick, soft, restrained, and not at all like what you expected (or wanted) kissing Chan to be, but it serves its purpose. 

Jaehyun stands there, wordlessly, the most satisfying look of outrage plastered on his face. Chan sees it, too, a small chuckle leaving his parted lips. He’ll probably burn the image in his mind to remember it whenever he needs a pick-me-up. 

And while you’re a blend of emotions between the kiss, facing Jaehyun, and Chan’s declaration, you keep yourself together for now, yanking Chan’s hand to lead him away. “Yeah, let’s go.”

You maneuver through bodies, making it to a noticeably more empty section of the house before you finally release his hand. If you’re lucky, he’ll go back to ignoring you, and you won’t have to discuss whatever just unfolded.

Unfortunately, you haven’t had much luck recently.

“Bold move there, baby,” he quips.

There it was again. Only this time, Jaehyun’s not around, so there’s no explaining away the pet name. Does that make it better or worse? You aren’t sure.

“Shut up,” you mumble, “I really don’t want to be here anymore.”

Your night out had been ruined, and you swore you’d be done with parties for good. At least in your dorm you could save yourself from running face to face with anyone who either cheated on you or refused to share their feelings. 

“I’ll take you home,” Chan states, not offers. 

“I’m not getting in a car with you. You’ve been drinking.” 

It was an assumption, but a reasonable one. Though clearly incorrect, because he quirks an eyebrow and shakes his head immediately. “I haven’t had a drop of alcohol, actually,” he refutes, now pulling his keys out of his pocket and swinging them around his finger. 

So much for that excuse. 

“Whatever.”

He takes this as your reluctant surrender, now grabbing your hand and leading you to his car which was only a little ways down the street. And despite the kiss, you still had nothing to say to him –  or rather, way too much to say to him, and no desire to say it if he wouldn’t talk first. So a thick silence falls between you, leaving you with just the lingering feeling of his lips on yours.

“Quiet today,” he comments, stealing a glance you don’t return. You keep your head pressed against the window, a dull headache already forming from the night’s events and the alcohol. 

“I’m still mad at you,” you grumble. 

His hands grip the steering wheel a little tighter, tongue swiping across his teeth. “I know,” he mutters. 

“And I think I hate you again.”

“Well, the ‘again’ gives me some hope,” the corners of his lips tug upwards. “Means I had you on my side for a little, at least.”

“You did. Until you wouldn’t talk to me and ran like a coward,” you insult, watching his shoulders drop and smile fade as fast as it had come. You almost regret saying it. Because all your insults before had been quick, meaningless jabs that he could brush off. This one came with intent, a bitterness that wouldn’t be forgotten seconds later. 

“Yeah, I deserve that,” he sighs. “We’ll talk soon, okay? When you’re not tipsy and overwhelmed.”

“I don’t believe you,” you say flatly, still not lifting your head from the glass. 

He reaches across the console for your hand, rubbing his thumb against your skin. “I mean it this time. Because I’ve been going crazy without you. And that kiss just sealed the deal.”

“Please,” you scoff, forced. “It was hardly a kiss.” Hardly. Your minimization of it wasn’t wrong in a literal sense; it was short-lived, lacking the passion you knew you both had within. But regardless, it had completely hijacked your brain, so clearly it wasn’t hardly anything. 

“I know. That’s the problem. I need more.”

Now, you turn towards him, trying to decipher his expression. It’s unreadable for once, devoid of that familiar smirk. You want to tell him if he needs more to take it, that he can have everything he wants if he just says the words. But those words don’t come, not tonight, and you close your eyes against the window once more.

Before you leave for your dorm, he reaches for your hand again, pulling it to his lips. 

“Soon, I promise.”

You nod, trying to believe him, though you wonder if it would hurt less if you don’t. 

You didn’t particularly like loose ends.

That’s why after weeks of dangling a fake relationship in Jaehyun’s face and the culmination of it all at the party the night prior, you decided to confront him fully and at least hear what he had to say before you closed the chapter for good. You didn’t owe that to him, certainly not, but you felt like you owed it to yourself. An explanation for why he did it to quell the thoughts that had never completely gone away. Which he also said he owed you, anyways. 

And perhaps this was all amplified by the fact that most of the day had passed and there was no text, no call, no anything from Chan. He had only said “soon,” not “tomorrow,” but still. Some form of acknowledgement would be enough to placate you, but he hadn’t even spared you that.

So, with a final layer of lipgloss, you considered your makeup complete and mentally prepared yourself for the impending doom. You looked irresistible at least, everything Jaehyun could never have again. 

But nothing could ever go to plan (once again, luck hadn’t exactly been on your side), so you aren’t shocked when a knock on your door disrupts your evening. 

“Hi, princess,” Chan grins when you swing it open. Then, his eyes trail down your body, tugging his lip between his teeth subconsciously. “You look good.”

Well fuck. Why did he have to show up now? A text in advance might have saved you from unintentionally double-booking yourself, or maybe you’re at fault for assuming Chan was ghosting you again today.

“Thanks,” you smile half-heartedly, heading back to your mirror to look yourself over once more. It’s far too awkward to face Chan knowing you’re about to go see your ex, especially when you and Chan had almost established…something. Something real, beyond the pseudo-relationship. 

He senses that you’re withholding something, watching you suspiciously. “Going out?” he questions, and you curse under your breath. Bracing for the storm.

“Something like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His tone is already accusatory and you hadn’t even dropped the bomb yet, so you really had to prepare yourself for his reaction. At best, he would storm out and you could deal with it later, after you had dealt with Jaehyun. At worst, you’d have a full-blown argument in your dorm right before the other inevitable argument you’d have with Jaehyun. 

“I’m going over to Jaehyun’s,” you say softly, guilt washing over you when his face drops instantly. But you didn’t need to feel guilty – you were allowed to seek closure, especially when Chan hadn’t yet granted you transparency. Still, you can’t help but wonder if you were making the right choice.

Chan’s blood runs cold, and he waits for you to laugh in his face, to tell him how dumb he looks when he’s angry. Something snarky, something annoying. Something. Anything. He doesn’t care, as long as it means you aren’t currently getting dolled up to go see your cheating fuck of an ex boyfriend.

Instead, you say nothing, shifting on your feet uncomfortably.

“Y/N, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m just hearing him out,” you say flatly. “I don’t think that’s a crime.”

“No, it’s not a crime, but Jesus fucking Christ, you’re looking like that to go ‘hear him out?’”

You look down at yourself, a lacy bodysuit and skirt adorning your body – not to appeal to him, not at all, but to remind him what he had lost. Was it a little melodramatic? Maybe. Were you allowed to be melodramatic when confronting someone who had made you question if you weren’t enough? Definitely.

“Yes! What’s wrong with that?!” 

“Everything is wrong with that!”

“Oh my god, Chan, you got what you wanted,” you throw your hands up in frustration, “I’m sure you’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw us kiss last night.”

“You think his face is what I was thinking about after we kissed, Y/N?” he asks incredulously. “I was thinking about you, only you, and how right it felt.”

Was this his confession? It was beginning to feel like it. If only it hadn’t come at such a horrible time and in such a horrible way, maybe you would be happier. Now, the words sucked the air out of your lungs, leaving you speechless and uncertain. 

“So fuck what I wanted back then. What I want right now is for you to realize you deserve better than someone who broke your heart and your trust in the worst way possible,” he finishes, holding himself back from pulling you into his arms and screaming that it’s him. He’s the one who will give you everything you deserve; he’ll make it his life’s purpose to do so.

“I’m just hearing him out,” you repeat again, emphatically, though no matter how true it was or how believable you made it sound, Chan refuses to accept it. 

“Right,” he scoffs, running his hand through his hair. “Can’t wait to see you two all over each other in the corner of every party again.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he’s already heading for the door, unable to take another second of seeing your face and knowing you won’t be his. 

“Hope it works out, Y/N.”

The door rattles as he slams it shut, and the room feels colder, emptier. And not just because of Chan’s physical absence, but because of what it entails. The same man who you hated - and who you swore hated you - had made you feel more seen and valued in not even two months than Jaehyun had in nine. He had put more effort into a fake relationship than Jaehyun had put in a real one. You were letting that go for some semblance of closure from someone who broke you.

Previously, you had tried to convince yourself your feelings had never become real. That of course your heart would beat a little faster when Chan would remember things about you, that of course you would like the way pet names fell from his lips, that of course you couldn’t stop thinking about him in every single way possible, from pure to downright filthy. This all made sense, of course, because he was the hot guy you were faking a relationship with. It had nothing to do with Chan, and everything to do with your body and mind being too receptive of what you’d been deprived of before.

But you simply couldn’t lie to yourself any longer. And that’s why, for once, you knew what you needed to do. You type out another message to Jaehyun, deliberating each word carefully. It would be the last you’d ever give him, at least in this capacity, where he still felt like he had a small chance at getting you back.

actually, i’m not coming over. i thought about it, and nothing you say can make me forget what you did…i didn’t deserve that, jaehyun.

i know what i deserve now.

i hope you learn from this and treat the next girl better. 

His texts come in quick succession, frantic pleas and apologies and then the angry ones regarding Chan. You don’t answer him or even give him the solace of knowing you’d read them. Instead, you turn your phone on DND and throw it behind you, hoping it’ll get lost in your bed sheets. 

And though you’ve done the right thing, there’s still the unavoidable grief over something that once was. The only person you want comfort from right now is Chan, but you know you should give yourself the space to reflect and process properly. He probably wants some time away from you, anyways. 

So you don’t call or text him. You avoid all the spots you know he frequents. You make yourself as nonexistent to him as possible. And worst of all, he doesn’t even come searching. 

There’s no way for you to know how badly he wants to see your name pop up at the top of his screen, or how he waits for you outside the library on days he knows you usually study. You don’t know that he stayed up late that first night, hoping you’d call him. Each notification made his heart jump, and after the eighth one that wasn’t from you, he finally turned his phone off completely. 

He didn’t want space, nor time. He wanted you. And beyond that, he wanted you to know you deserved more - that he would give you more. But he can’t fault you for any of this; he can only blame himself for not telling you sooner. 

When a week goes by and it’s still silence on your end, he figures you’d forgiven Jaehyun and taken him back. And that’s just something he’d have to live with. 

The days pass by slowly, monotonously, and though you argue with Mina and Jihyo that it’s healing, they complain that you’re just wallowing in needless despair (“Girl, get your man,” had been the phrase of the week). 

And you wanted to, but you weren’t sure how to face him after the way you’d left things. There was a gnawing worry that he wouldn’t answer your calls or texts, so you don’t even try. No, you decide you’ll just have to show up at his apartment, and yes at nine o’clock at night, because you couldn’t put it off any longer. The yearning was almost consuming you. 

Though Chan had been to your dorm multiple times, you had never been to his apartment; it was way less convenient to go off-campus where he lived. You had to get Chan’s address from his roommate, Minho, who you had already known from a shared class last semester. And he had also texted you a few times begging you to do something about Chan’s moping, because it was “making his life miserable.” 

While it was off-campus, it wasn’t far, and your determination was enough to ward off the apprehension of walking alone at night (though Chan would definitely not be pleased). Still, you kept Jihyo on the phone for the whole fifteen minutes, slight reassurance for both of you. 

You can barely bring yourself to knock when you arrive, feeling much less composed now that you were actually there, separated from Chan by only a door and thin walls. Your fist meets the wood without you fully realizing it, and it swings open with ferocity moments later. 

“Hi,” you choke out, all of your composure gone when he’s standing before you.

“Y/N?” he asks, blinking in awe to confirm that you’re real. He’d started to accept that your presence in his life was a thing of the past, a treasured memory he’d hold onto. “What are you – Jesus, it’s so dark out. Come on, get inside.”

He reaches for your arm and drags you inside, leading you all the way to his room; Minho’s home, and Chan doesn’t quite want him to hear the moment the girl he’s been losing his mind over ends things for good. Is “end things” even the right term, since there had never been a defined “thing” in the first place? 

His room is not much different from any other college student’s room, with books and papers sprawled on the desk and empty energy drink cans filling the trashcan. But it’s his, and that makes your heart swell a little. 

“I can’t believe you walked all the way here this late,” he scolds. He gestures for you to take a seat on his bed, and when he sits in his chair across from you, you deflate a little at the distance.

“I had to see you,” you whisper.

He clicks his tongue, trying not to melt at your words. Because to him, you’re with Jaehyun, and there’s probably some other rational explanation for why you’d shown up at his apartment at nine o’clock. He doesn’t know what it could be, but it exists, surely. “You know if you had texted me I would’ve been there in minutes,” he asserts.

“Actually, I didn’t know that,” you correct, folding your arms over your chest, “considering the way you stormed out last time we saw each other.” Which may have been justified, but still. 

“Can you blame me? You told me you were going to see your ex boyfriend who cheated on you, by the way. And then you didn’t even bother to call or text, so what was I supposed to think?”

“You could’ve called or texted me!” 

“I thought you went back to him!” 

He stands, chest rising and falling heavily, and he looks so distraught your anger fades. “I didn’t,” you say, softer now. “I didn’t even see him that night. We haven’t even spoken since. Or I guess that’s not totally true, he’s spammed me and I’ve ignored him.”

His eyes soften, and he crosses those few feet to sit beside you, mattress dipping under the added weight. “Why?”

There’s a million ways to answer that question, and you aren’t sure which is the right one. So you go with what flows naturally, not giving it a second thought.

“Because I realized I need more too,” you confess. “No more pretending, no more lies.”

Though your chest feels lighter with the confession, the room feels smaller and your throat tighter because Chan doesn’t speak, or move, you don’t even think he blinks. He doesn’t mean to stare at you like this, but you’ve left him stunned with words he’d only ever heard in his dreams, and he worries if he speaks he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. 

You start to rise from the bed, fighting back tears of rejection and humiliation. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come  – ” 

His hand latches around your wrist, gently yet firmly, and you fall back to the bed with a quiet gasp.

“I haven’t been pretending. Not for a while now,” he breathes, and now you’re the silent one. “You’re right, I was a coward. I’ve wanted you so badly and I didn’t know how to say it.” He cups your cheek, thumb brushing along the skin faintly, confirmation that you and this moment are very real. “I should’ve told you everything. How much I think about you, how much I hate it when you’re not here.”

There’s hardly any space between you now, foreheads nearly touching, breaths intertwining. 

“How I can’t get that kiss out of my head,” he exhales. “How selfish I feel for wanting more.” 

You shake your head. “You’re not selfish,” you whisper, and the corners of his lips twitch into a smile. 

“I am, because I want you all to myself.”

“Then you have me,” you say simply, as though such a claim wouldn’t change everything. You’ve had me without even knowing. 

He can’t hold back anymore – he’s done enough of that over the past month – because those words are his absolute undoing. 

“Can I kiss you right this time?” His eyes drop to your lips, awaiting, begging for your permission. 

You nod eagerly, and that’s all it takes for him to place his hand along your jaw and draw your face towards his. His lips melt into your own, this time with all the passion you’d both held back before. 

And while the kiss starts soft, tender, moving against each other with the carefulness of a blooming love, it quickly plunges into desperate desire. Your fingers thread through his hair, delicately at first, until you tug at the roots and he groans into your mouth.

That sound. That devilish, sinful sound. It causes the heat within your core to grow tenfold, and you kiss him more fervently now, tongues swirling together. He sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently, then drops his head to your neck.

And when your head tilts instinctively, offering him more skin to mark as his, he can’t help but smirk because he loves having this effect on you. He’d realized it that day at lunch, when he couldn’t do anything but skim your thigh under the table. But you were offering, so who was he not to take? He nips at the skin and runs his tongue along each spot afterwards, soothing, claiming. 

“Mine,” he mumbles against your neck, and then he kisses his way back up to your lips, mouth hovering over your own.

“Chan,” you rasp, “I want you.”

His lips crash against yours once more, because he can’t help himself when you’ve just said you want him so desperately. “Yeah? You want me, baby?” he asks, breathless.

You shiver when his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt, tracing circles along your waist. “Yes,” you sigh, and then louder, “yes, God, I want you.”

He grips your waist, only sheer will keeping him from ripping off your clothes and fucking you right then and there. Because he wants to savor every last moment of this, but some small part of him is going feral – not a devil on his shoulder, but his throbbing cock trying to push through the seams of his boxers. So actually not a small part, because he’s big, you can see the imprint in his sweatpants.

 “Are you sure?” he questions. “Because if you want me, that’s it. There’s no more Jaehyun, no more anyone else.” 

Was he genuinely asking, or just trying to make you fall apart? You can’t tell, but you’re so needy, you answer regardless. 

“I don’t want anyone else.”

His hands hook under your shirt while he guides you onto his lap, and you raise your arms for him to pull it off while you settle against him. He pauses, drinking in the sight – you haven’t even taken your bra off yet – and then his palms find your breasts, massaging through the fabric.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, thumbs flicking over your covered nipples. The moan it elicits is so delicious that he does it again, and then again, cock twitching in his sweatpants.

“You only think that ‘cause I’m shirtless,” you quip, toying with the hem of his like you needed to make things even.

“No,” he says firmly. “Always thought you were the prettiest fucking girl ever.” He reaches behind his neck, yanking his tank top up and over his head, and you swear your breathing stops momentarily. This is what he’d hidden behind t-shirts and hoodies (and that jacket you still hadn’t given back to him), and honestly, how dare he?

But you can’t focus on that a moment longer, because he dips his head down to press his lips against the tops of your breasts hungrily, dragging wet kisses all the way to your sternum. “So fucking pretty,” he repeats, fingers unclasping your bra and tugging the straps down. 

His mouth is on you again before it even hits the ground, like he’ll keel over and die if he isn’t tasting you, and right now, he really thinks he might. So, for survival, he wraps his lips around your perked nipple, tongue swirling around it, then flicking. 

Each careful movement of his tongue causes your breath to hitch, hips rutting against him for any sort of friction, and he moans against you. His hands grip your waist, stilling your movements, and as a punishment – if you could call it that – he bites gently and tugs the sensitive bud between his teeth.

“Chan,” you moan, and when you feel the curl of that signature smirk, you become emboldened. “Who knew your mouth could actually be useful?”

Because although you definitely didn’t hate him now, you could at least reflect on that history, if not just to drive him a little wild. And hopefully he’d fuck you just a little bit harder. 

He growls then, his hand sweeping along your side to squeeze your other breast, kneading the soft skin in his palm. And when you least expect it, his hand comes down, slapping your breast with enough force to make you gasp.

“Fuck, I’m gonna miss that smart mouth of yours. Always thought it was so hot the way you’d act like you actually hated me,” he chuckles, now massaging the skin.

“I did hate you,” you rasp. You aren’t even sure if that’s true anymore, because you can’t think. His cock pressing into you has your mind in a frenzy. One where your only thoughts are of having him inside you, stretching you open, filling you up. 

When he lifts his head from your breasts, his eyes are dark, lidded, and boring right through you. Daring you to say it again. To lie and see where it gets you.

“You sure?” he whispers, tauntingly. “Because I always saw that look in your eyes.” His fingers dip lower, slipping into your panties, and he laughs when you shudder. “Deep down, you wanted to know all the filthy things I could do to this gorgeous body.”

Maybe you did. It matters little what you wanted back then, because you could only think of what you wanted right now, and his fingers were drifting dangerously close to it. But he was playing with you, not bringing them any further, waiting for your admission. 

“You flatter yourself,” you whisper. The wrong answer, clearly, because he pulls his fingers away, gripping your chin now. Forcing you to look at him, because he knows you won’t be able to keep up the act if he’s staring at you so intensely. 

“Say it’s not true then,” he orders.

You should be able to say it. You should be able to look him in the eyes and tell him he was once everything you wanted no part of. But he starts peppering open-mouthed kisses along your neck again, unfairly, and your voice betrays you. “It’s not true,” you mumble weakly.

Your fingers fly to his hair and tangle at the strands, but he won’t let you off that easily. Of course not. He grabs your face, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers. 

“No,” he growls. “Say it like you mean it.” 

His commands only add to the ache between your legs, and you accept that you can’t win. Your silence tells him everything, and he releases, hand patting your cheek like he pitied you. “That’s what I thought,” he hums, satisfied.

Your breathing becomes ragged when his hand trails down again, and this time you’re sure that he’ll relent and give you what your body was craving. Or maybe that was just you trying to convince yourself. 

“You never hated me. You hated that you knew I was better than your boyfriend,” he smirks, slipping his fingers into your jeans. They drag down, slowly, finally stopping right at your core. “You hated that you wanted to know what it would feel like if I touched you here,” he taunts, rubbing your pussy through the soaked fabric of your panties. 

“Shit, you’re this wet for me?” he groans, fingers gliding up and down, pressing harder when they pause at your clit. “I guess I was right, then.”

Any other time you would have been able to throw something sarcastic right back at him, but not now, not when he was teasing you like this. It was the closest he’d gotten to touching you where you so desperately needed him, and your hips buck unwittingly again. “Please, Chan. Need you,” you moan.

“Yeah, I know baby,” he coos. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you everything I’ve been dreaming about doing to you.”

And then you’re pushed off of him and onto the bed, hitting the sheets with a quiet squeal. The same fingers that had been rubbing your clothed pussy now hurriedly unbutton your jeans, and you lift off the bed slightly to help him drag them down along with your panties.

Once you’re completely naked before him, his movements lull, now taking in every inch of exposed skin. 

You feel like you’re drowning under his eyes, because the last person to see you like this had betrayed you, had touched someone that wasn’t you. This was the reality of infidelity – the insecurity, the nagging, cruel insecurity that seeped into places it shouldn’t. Because Chan would never.

And he sees it, too. The way you begin to falter and drift elsewhere. Your head turning against the pillow, refusing to face him.

“Hey,” he whispers, cupping your jaw, pulling your face back towards him. “Where’d you go, baby? Don’t hide from me, please.”

You swallow harshly, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Not hiding. Just…worried I’m not enough,” you mumble, and the words break him. He hated Jaehyun before, but he despises him now, because he made you  – who he considered the most beautiful girl to ever grace the earth, even when you were calling him an idiot – feel less than. And that’s something Chan would spend the rest of his life undoing if he had to.

His thumb strokes your skin now, trying to wipe away the remnants of anyone’s touch that wasn’t his. “No, stop that. You’re more than enough. You’re perfect,” he says. 

Your cheeks heat up from the affirmations, and he kisses you to cement them. But it's short, subdued, as he moves further down, lips grazing your neck, your chest, then your navel. He sinks lower, hovering right above your cunt, spreading your legs apart. 

“So perfect for me,” he breathes, and you can feel the air hitting against you. “You’re mine now. You won’t have to worry about anyone else ever again.” 

The words can barely sink in before his tongue is on you, licking a slow, tantalizing stripe between your folds. It’s so sudden that your hips lift off the bed, and his hands come quick, wrapping around your thigh and pinning you down. He swipes his tongue again, and then he takes as much of your pussy into his mouth as he can, devouring what had been kept from him for too long.

“Fuck, Chan, please,” you moan, grabbing at his hair for something to ground you. He groans into you, both from your fingers tugging and the sound of you moaning his name like that. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he rasps. His lips wrap around your clit, sucking the sensitive nub hard, tugging, releasing. Then, he swirls his tongue, creating a pattern that has your back arching, threatening to come undone. 

You’d thought about this. Lonely nights in your dorm, touching yourself at the thought of how he would look between your legs, about how his tongue would feel against you. But there was no way to anticipate this. He lapped at your pussy like he was starved and you were the only meal he’d get again. He’d like that, truthfully.

Your body is trembling by the time he draws his head back, and the lack of his warm tongue causes you to whine. “Patience, princess,” he coos. 

Before you can beg him to touch you again, he spits directly onto your cunt, letting his fingers spread it as if your slick wasn’t enough. And the action is so erotic, so filthy that your thighs clench involuntarily and he has to hold them open.

Two fingers push inside you, and his tongue is back, flicking your clit with urgency. He pumps them languidly, curling them against your g-spot and then pulling back until you’re almost empty. His name leaves your mouth through choked cries and it only drives him further, because he needs you to unravel just like this. His tongue circles your clit in rhythm with his fingers, hitting your sweet spot with each pump, and his pace quickens when he can tell you’re close. 

“Chan, please don’t stop!” you pant. “Fuck, I’m so close.” 

It’s all too much - his fingers, his tongue, the lewd noises of them bringing you to the edge. “Go on, baby, give it to me,” he coaxes. “Come on my tongue for me, just like that.”

With his permission (which was much more of a plea), you let go, throwing your head back against the pillow. Your whole body comes alive with the intensity of your orgasm, ripping through you in currents while he continues lapping at your pussy lazily. It’s only when he pulls his fingers out for the final time and sucks them clean that you come down, chest heaving. 

“My mouth sure is useful, huh?” he teases, laughing when you roll your eyes. 

His laughter is cut short when you sit up on your knees and tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, head lowering. Your intentions are clear, but he grips your shoulder, halting your movements. 

“No, no, princess, it’s okay,” he huffs, using his last bit of self-restraint. He can’t believe he’s turning down head from you, but right now, being buried inside you is his priority. 

You can’t believe it either, blinking up at him sweetly, eyes wide with confusion. “But I wanna return the favor,” you pout.

Jesus, were you an angel from above or a succubus from the depths of hell, he wonders?

“Fuck, I know, baby,” he groans. “But I need to be inside you, right now.”

He sounds so desperate that you feel like you’re in control now, and you reach for his cock through his sweatpants. Wrapping your fingers around it, stroking softly. “You wanna fuck me, Channie?” you purr. 

“Yes,” he growls, grabbing your wrist – all your control, gone. “You want it too, don’t you baby?” He stands, ridding himself of his sweats and boxers at once. His cock springs free, precum beading on the tip, and he cages you against the bed. “Or can you not take it? Hm? Is one all this pretty pussy can give me?”

The flip switches in you instantly, arms slithering around his neck, yanking him to you. His lips crash onto yours, all teeth and tongue, both of you at your neediest. When your hand slips down to stroke him, thumb spreading precum along his length, he lets out a low guttural sound into your mouth. 

“Baby, shit, you’re killing me,” he rasps.

“Can you die inside me, at least?” 

That he could do. Happily. Willingly. He reaches over you, pulling open a drawer and rummaging inside. And though you shouldn’t, you bring your hand to his wrist, stopping him. 

“I’m on the pill, if that helps,” you whisper. “I need to feel you, nothing else.” Your words are sinful but your eyes are so sweet, looking up at him like you’d break if he denied you. 

“Fuck, princess, you’re trouble,” he groans, shoving the drawer closed and bringing his hand to your cheek instead. He swipes away a few strands of hair that had fallen, trying to soak in every inch of your perfect face. 

“You love it,” you giggle.

“God, yes I do.”

He grasps his cock and fists it a few short times, then guides it along your pussy. Your slick coats his shaft immediately, slow drags making your head spin. And when he slaps the tip against your clit, you know he’s doing it just for that. To drive you crazy, to hear your whines, to see you writhing for it. For him. Would it be appropriate to call him a smug bastard again?

“Stop teasing,” you beg, your voice a strained whisper.

“But you’re so cute like this,” he says. “What’d you say again? ‘Everyone knows I wouldn’t fuck you?’”

You buck your hips against him, a poor retaliation, and he laughs, positioning himself at your entrance. “Well look at you now, princess.”

He presses into you just the smallest bit, enough for the tip to slip inside, still teasing when all you wanted was for him to plunge inside you and fuck you senseless. That small amount of pressure is gone in an instant, leaving you empty once more. 

“Chan,” you whimper. “Please just fuck me, I can’t take it.”

You might cry if he keeps this up, still sensitive from your last orgasm but so desperate for another. And while he wouldn’t mind driving you to that point, his cock is painfully hard. Even he’s at his limit. 

“Oh, baby, you’re gonna take it,” he taunts, thrusting forward in one swift motion. He bottoms out and stays there, immobile, reveling in your cunt stretching around him. “Fuck. Jesus Christ, you feel amazing.”

“Would feel more amazing if you would move,” you hiss, and he actually listens. His hips snap against you with a purpose, slow and deep, watching every inch sink further. 

Each thrust reaches that sweet spot that has your back arching and nails digging into him. You can already feel the fire building inside you again, clenching around him in a way that has him wondering if you’re a dream. “Fuck, your pussy was made for me,” he groans, hips bucking faster now. Less restraining and savoring, more adhering to his primal urge to fill you up entirely.

“Funny. Jaehyun said the same thing,” you pant. You aren’t sure where the confidence comes from, especially when he’s the one pounding into you; maybe he’s fucking the attitude back into you. But you know it’ll get you into trouble, the good kind of trouble, the kind where Chan wrecks you mercilessly. 

And oh, he does. He thrusts wilder, rougher, almost carelessly, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing throughout the room. 

“Yeah? Well he fucking lied, baby,” he growls. “Because you feel that?” His hand presses down on your stomach. “That’s all me. My cock you’re squeezing like a fucking vice.”

His hand slides down, thumb rubbing tight circles against your clit. The added sensation brings you closer to the edge, and he’s nearly there as well. “Chan, oh my god,” you moan, nails dragging along his bicep. 

“You’re so tight,” he grunts. “Did he ever fuck you right?” He won’t even say the name, because it holds no meaning now. You’re his, and he’ll fuck you enough times that you won’t remember anyone else. 

Your walls clench harder around him, his thumb circling relentlessly. “No,” you cry. “Not like you. Not like this.” That answer satisfies him, and he pulls back all the way just to slam into you harder.

“I didn’t think so,” he muses. He leans down, nipping at your neck. “Forget about him. All you need to remember is me and my cock ruining you like this.” 

You’d already forgotten, only able to think about how Chan was the one currently fucking into you like he had something to prove. You’re so close to release, strangled cries of his name escaping your lips while your thighs clench around him. “Ah, Chan, I’m gonna come!” you whimper.

“Fuck, me too, baby,” he grunts. “You want me to fill you up? Leave your pussy leaking with my cum?”

His words are your final propulsion, and he emphasizes them with each rut of his hips. Your back arches off the bed, face contorting in pure euphoria, and Chan commits the image to memory. It matters little that he knows he’ll see it many, many more times; he wants to watch you ride every single high until the end of time. 

Your orgasm washes over you, setting every inch of your body aflame, and you want more. More of him. All of him. “Yes! Please fill me up, please,” you beg, voice breaking from the overstimulation. 

He can’t deny you, doesn’t want to deny you, and he couldn’t anyways. You’ve basically sucked him in, legs keeping him held in place. He thrusts into you one final time, a low groan emitting from someplace deep within, hips jerking erratically as thick, white strings of cum spurt inside of you.

When you’ve milked every last drop from him, he pulls out from your spent heat and falls to the bed dramatically, limbs flopping as if he’s dead. And maybe he is, because that was definitely heaven. 

You lay there side by side, chests rising and falling in sync, staring at the ceiling like it might offer an explanation for what just happened. How you ended up like this, his cum dripping from you, your scratches welting along his back, when just months ago you couldn’t stand each other. Supposedly. 

Then comes a knock on the door, and you both are struck with the realization that you’d forgotten Minho was home, in another room, hearing everything. Or rather, Chan had forgotten, and you’d never known. Never even considered it. 

“Are you two done in there?” he calls from outside. You lift your head and look at Chan with wide eyes, and he shrugs like he’s just as clueless.

“Uh, yeah,” Chan shouts back. You bury yourself under the sheets, expecting the door to swing open. Thankfully, it doesn’t. But the alternative might be worse.

“Y/N, when I asked you for help, I didn’t mean by moaning loud enough to wake the neighbors in my apartment.”

Minho’s footsteps pad away from the door, and you pull back the sheets, horrified. “Was I really that loud?!” you exclaim. He hadn’t said anything about your volume or even tried to quiet you, and you were far too consumed to notice. 

“A little…” Chan rubs his neck sheepishly.

You wish you could melt into the bed and disappear forever, because how would you ever face Minho again? And their poor neighbors, no less. The walk of shame was going to be unbearable. “Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing!” you groan. 

He shakes his head vehemently and kisses your forehead, a small reassurance. “No! No, baby, it was so hot,” he coos. And then it hits him. “Wait. Minho asked you for help?”

“I guess you were going crazy without me,” you smirk. This time he groans, and you laugh, nuzzling into his neck. “Don’t worry. You’re not getting rid of me now.”

“Like I’d ever want to,” he whispers. 

His lips press into your hair, and you can’t help but sigh against him. Because any remnants of hatred, if they even truly existed, are gone, and you’re left only with the peaceful acceptance that this was a glimpse of countless days to come.

[imfoive]

Wanna thank this site for once because it suggested this amazing masterpiece to me! What a great read! The perfect amount of angst balanced with smut!! Ughh loved it! Wonderfully written!Also fruck Jaehyun fr 😤

[hyunebunx]

. . . . . ◟੭˙ tornado warnings

the one in which Hyunjin, your long time boyfriend, finally reveals what he does for a living, and the double life he has kept away from you.

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: angst, hurt to comfort (kind of), drama and fluff

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. warnings: mentions of blood, bruising, cuts, fist fighting, hyunjin is a bit of a manipulator, and a liar (but he doesn't do it to hurt reader)

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. word count: 7k

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: after what, half a year? boxer hyunjin is here and I truly hope you enjoy him as much as I loved writing this!! please let me know what you think, and have fun reading <3

You loved rain. It never failed to soothe the doubts and uncertainties that weighed heavily on your soul, washing away all the hurt you experienced over the years, one drop at a time.

Rainy nights were your favorite. Those nights where you could stay awake for hours on end, just watching the raindrops crash into your window before rolling down, slowly, defeated, into big puddles on the ground. Rain was quiet, a silent whimper not many paid attention to.

You would have never thought a day would come when you’d attribute that same description to your boyfriend, Hyunjin. In your eyes, he has always been the sun. He was bright and happy, smiling through everything like a saving grace sent from above just for you. Hyunjin was tough, resilient, nothing could break him.

You were always meant to be the rain, the gloomy sky that took over when he needed to rest, when he couldn’t keep shining. Yet, it seemed you hadn’t been paying attention either. Not enough to realise that Hyunjin has long been engulfed by darkness, broken into tiny pieces ,he struggled to tape together while in your presence.

Because your sun has been putting up a front for far too long, way before you met, never wanting to become a burden you could never rid yourself of. The gloomy season of your life that you might end up mourning forever.

It hit you on a rainy night like any other, when your thoughts were loud enough to prevent you from sleeping.

Hyunjin was out, catching up with some childhood friends he hadn’t seen in ages. He assured you countless times that he’ll take care and not go overboard with the drinking while also keeping his friends out of trouble. And you believed him. After all, why wouldn’t you? Your beloved would never lie to you – he has never done so before and didn’t plan on starting now.

Or so you thought.

It’s around one in the morning when you see his car pull up, parking in its usual spot, as close to the apartment building as possible. Usually, your boyfriend would wait out the storm before coming inside, not a fan of the rain you loved so much soaking him to the skin. However, his door opens almost immediately, slamming shut the moment he gets out and starts walking towards the building, not in any hurry.

He seems relaxed, a little too out of the ordinary in the capricious weather, dark hood over his buzzed head obscuring the beautiful features the moon longed to caress as much as you did.  

Thinking he’ll be in your arms soon enough, you finally tuck yourself in, waiting for him to crawl into bed beside you so you can cuddle to sleep.

You hear the familiar sound of his keys, the way he carefully shuts the door, afraid he’ll wake you. He’s shuffling out of his shoes, footsteps a little too heavy as he walks around the living room. Hyunjin had the grace of a ballroom dancer, steps so light he often sneaked up on people without meaning to.

This felt strange.

You expect to hear him make his way to your shared bedroom on the other side of the apartment, creaking your door open before greeting you with a bright, but tired smile.

However, that never comes. The only thing you hear is the sound of another door closing, and that’s when it dawns on you that Hyunjin has taken refuge in the bathroom down the hallway. The one he never uses, that’s meant for your friends whenever they come over or decide to spend the night.

You sit up in bed, a little concerned. The apartment is so quiet, you bet you could hear a pin drop, the only noise coming from the rain outside and your pounding heart. Hyunjin couldn’t stand the quiet.

Your heart races, unnecessary fears – of him being injured, in need of help or a shoulder to lean on – overwhelming your already tired mind to the point of alarm. To most, this would be nothing, but you’ve loved Hyunjin for enough time to recognize something is wrong by the simple way he walks around in the apartment he calls home.

That’s precisely why you waste no time in getting out of bed, to search for him, and put your worries to rest. Best case scenario, you’re overthinking, and Hyunjin is merely taking a shower, not wanting to disturb your rest.

The wooden floor is cold under your bare feet, yet a drop of sweat rolls down your spine, causing a shiver to run through you. Engulfed in darkness, the apartment resembled a modern day horror movie, the type that would get the worst reviews, and make Hyunjin cackle like no comedy ever could.

To make matters worse, thunder strikes the moment you stop before the bathroom door, startling your fragile heart. You exhale, one hand soothingly pressed to your chest, before shaking your head and managing to knock.

“Hyun?” Your voice is meek, but in this quiet, he was bound to hear you.

Silence stretches on, save for the sound of running water that gives his presence away. And yet, Hyunjin doesn’t reply, but you feel yourself slowly calming down, comforted by the mere idea of him behind this wooden door.

You knock again and wait. Ten seconds, twenty, and by the time you reach a minute, you decide to just burst in without another word, not being able to handle this deafening silence any longer.

His head snaps towards the door in an instant, whole body freezing like a deer caught in headlights. Hyunjin is there, and in one piece, but on closer inspection, you see cuts and bruises painting his unblemished skin in a dark shade of red. The same that’s currently going down the drain as he scrubs at his hands with alarming vigor.

“Hyunjin…?” Your voice comes out as a whisper, feet frozen on the spot by the doorway. You don’t say anything else, you can’t, the sight of him like this making you feel like this is all nothing but a nightmare that has materialized before your eyes, thanks to your self-destructive tendency to worry about everything. Anxiety personified.

“Baby – “

“You’re hurt.” You mutter, tears welling up in your eyes as you dare take a step closer, afraid any sudden movements would startle him. “What happened?”

Hyunjin just stares at you, mouth agape, before something like shame seems to creep in and he’s looking away, the hot running water burning his hands. Without thinking, you approach to turn the tap off, and the proximity causes him to flinch the tiniest bit, hiding his hands behind his back like a kid would a big secret.

This close, you’re able to inspect his face thoroughly, as much as he’s allowing you to, anyway. You manage to spot a cut above his eyebrow, a busted lip and a quickly forming bruise around his left eye before he’s turning away, hiding from your intense gaze. Without warning, your hand reaches for his chin, your fingers cold against his heated skin, gently coaxing him into facing you again.

And Hyunjin is a weak man, melting at the mere touch of your skin on his, unable to protest even if he wanted to. So much weaker than you could ever imagine.

“You’re bleeding.” The only thing you can do besides bursting into tears is point out the obvious, afraid to venture further in case your touch or your words could potentially hurt him more than he already was.

Hyunjin shakes his head, still not meeting your eyes. “I’m fine. It actually looks worse than it feels, I promise.”

But you’re not convinced.

“Let’s patch you up.” You murmur, letting go of his face in favor of searching for the first aid kit that has to be in one of those cabinets.

You can feel it radiating off of him – shame. Hyunjin wants to protest, tell you to leave, even, needing to deal with all of this by himself, but something in him doesn’t want to. It’s not letting him. Pushing you away pains him physically, eats away at his core until he’s nothing but a shell wandering the world like a ghost until you’re back by his side.

So, he complies. Hyunjin hoists himself up on the counter, side stepping the soaked, grey hoodie he discarded on the tiled floor the moment he entered the bathroom.

You’re by his side in a flash, and his legs naturally part to accommodate you, allowing you to step closer and see all of his flaws despite his initial reticence. Hyunjin would do anything to make you happy.

Silence settles in the room, like an unwanted guest, as you raise a cotton ball to his lip, trying to be as gentle as possible while cleaning the fresh wound, needing to get rid of all the dried blood that’s currently making his life harder.

Hyunjin hisses like burnt, but doesn’t flinch away, staying still for you. But you’re not as strong.

“I’m so, so sorry – “ You’re on the verge of tears, heart dropping all the way to your stomach with a loud thud as your hand freezes.

Shaking his head, Hyunjin’s calloused hand finds the soft skin of your cheek, hesitating for a moment before he brings you in for comfort. “My angel.” He breathes out, reaching for your hand. “What are you apologising for?”

His voice is soft, but not as soft as his eyes that look at you with so much love and admiration, in a way nobody has ever looked at you before. In the quiet apartment, where your only witness is the crying moon, his voice is like a sweet melody, meant to shoo all of your worries.

“I’m hurting you…”

To prove you wrong, his hand tugs yours, connecting the cotton ball soaked in iodine to his wound once again. This time, Hyunjin doesn’t react, most likely used to the stinging pain. “You could never hurt me. I only manage to heal when you’re by my side. How dare you speak such nonsense?”

Just then, thunder strikes once again, and suddenly, you’re engulfed in darkness. You yelp, startled, which only makes Hyunjin braver, one of his arms wrapping around your shoulders to hug your body close and bask in your warmth.

“Shh, I’m here with you.” He mumbles into your hair, one hand running up and down your back in hopes of bringing you the same comfort you always give him.

You settle into his embrace, cheek resting on his chest, feeling at home as the rain continues pounding against the small window. “I’m sorry, I’m not usually this jumpy.”

To your surprise, Hyunjin lets out a short laugh, half-assed. “Will you stop apologising?”

Usually, his laugh is your favorite song, but only when it doesn’t come from a beaten-up face that makes you hurt, almost like you were the one with bruises all over. Hyunjin was not a violent man; on the contrary, he was composed and sensible, a gentle soul in love with the arts and everything beautiful.

He has never made you worry before. Although he has never shown up at home in this state, either. That you know of, anyway.

Something serious must’ve happened. A bar fight; he jumped in to protect someone. Maybe he just tripped and fell?

Whatever it was, you were going to take it easy until he told you himself.

“Only if you tell me what happened.” Or not.

Your voice lacks the softness from before, the quiver that told him you were on the verge of breaking down. In search of the truth, you managed to pull yourself together surprisingly well.

Hyunjin inhales sharply, looking down at you as your chin rests just below his collarbones, wide eyes examining his every feature even in the darkness.

He can’t seem to find the words, unable to say anything that’s not a complete lie. Because he’s aware you’ll see right through him. Lying is easier when he’s not bloody, and his head isn’t pounding with the worst migraine of his life. It’s all easier when you don’t know he’s hiding the truth.

But how can he hide anything in the predicament he’s found himself in?

Just as he’s about to answer, he’s saved by the metaphorical bell.

“Wait, just let me…light some candles first.” You step back reluctantly, the smell of your sweet body lotion lingering on his damp clothes.

“Candles?” He blinks, confused and a little woozy.

You nod, already rummaging through the cabinet next to the sink. “I can’t tend to your wounds if I can’t see them. Just give me a second.” You mumble, though in the quiet space, Hyunjin hears you loud and clear.

All this beating around the bush is helping you both pull yourselves together, calm down enough to think of new ways to approach the current situation. It’s not ideal, but it will have to do. It’s not every day that your beloved comes home with blood all over his face.

Even in this pitch black room, that’s only illuminated by the occasional moon ray that decides to sneak in to caress parts of his face, soothing his red and raw wounds, you can tell Hyunjin is terrified.

Of what’s about to come, your reaction to his big reveal, maybe. Either way, this is the first time in his life when Hyunjin is not looking forward to having a conversation with you.

You light up three medium sized candles, placing them around the room, with the last one finding a home right next to him, far enough to prevent any other accidents from happening.

“They smell nice.” He forces a smile, welcoming you back in between his legs as he leans back against the cold mirror.

“I got your favorite.”

“Sandalwood…” Hyunjin blinks before you can notice the small gems sneaking into his waterline, standing completely still as you finish catering to his lips and move to the cut on his eyebrow. Thankfully, it’s not deep enough to need stitches.

You work in silence, concentrating on your task as Hyunjin fidgets and struggles to remain calm, chest heaving up and down with all the emotions he keeps under wraps. When you reach for a small, Hello Kitty band aid that ends above his eyebrow, he exhales deeply, leaning into your touch that has cupped his now blood free cheek.

“When the power comes back on, we’ll put some ice on that bruise.” You say, not even daring to touch the sensitive skin around his eye, afraid you’ll hurt him.

Hyunjin nods, agreeing to your every word, leaning closer until you’re sharing the same breath. “Thank you, my little angel.”

The sight of him like this, bent and bruised, feels like a stab straight to the heart, an ongoing torturing session that’s meant to break down all of your walls until you’re bare, exposed to the world’s cruellest actions. Until now, you had a hard time believing people who described how painful it was to see the one you loved hurt as something incomprehensible, the type of anguish that never goes away until they’re healed.

Something that has you doubling over, falling into rowdy waters that were bracing themselves for an upcoming storm you could not escape from or prevent. Maybe you were selfish, or maybe you have never loved someone in the way you now love Hyunjin.

Nimble fingers find the hem of his t-shirt, and that’s when Hyunjin freezes up completely. “Off with this. I’ll bring you a dry one.”

For the first time in your life, Hyunjin refuses, shaking his head vehemently. “I’m fine, really. I’ll do it myself later.”

You’re taken aback, perplexity written all over your face. “Baby – “

“Please don’t make me feel worse than I already do.”

That shuts you right up, and you look away, feeling worse. There’s no time for you to dwell on it before his big hands settle on your hips, dragging you forward into his embrace, as warm and comforting as it always is, despite his wet clothing. Hyunjin looks deeply into your eyes, almost like he wants to memorise the galaxy behind them, draw a map only he can decipher.  

“What happened to you?” You whisper, speaking the question over his lips, caressing his face and neck as his grip on your hips tightens, using your body as the anchor needed to get back aboard.

“I got into a fight.” He exhales, trying everything in his power to hold himself back. You’re so close, a little nudge and you’d be kissing all of his worries away. But that’s not your goal here.

“To protect one of your friends? Did a fight break out at the bar – “

“For money.”

Silence, like the world has suddenly stopped spinning. Like Hyunjin is a magician with otherworldly talents who has managed to stop time, freeze you and everything around him into place.

“What?”

Now that he has decided to let you in, your beloved is not shying away from the truth. “I box. For money. Five nights a week.”

Your eyes are so wide, he’s afraid they will pop out of their sockets and take their leave, unwilling to look at him any longer. Too disgusted by the monster that has been hiding under pretty smiles and shiny jewellery all of this time.

Your hands drop to his shoulders, and that’s when his sneak beneath your shirt to feel your skin and remain grounded.

This revelation is too much for you – a truth you’re not able to wrap your head around. Your Hyunjin was no fighter; he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Were the chapters you’ve written together, the love story straight out of fairytales, all a lie? Were you too enchanted by his kind heart, his intoxicating love you couldn’t get enough of, to see the truth that has been under your nose all of this time?

“I – “ your voice breaks, and as Hyunjin expects you to pull away, run, you surprise him by wrapping your arms around his shoulders and holding him close, resting your forehead on his chest. “Why? Since when? We have plenty of money, I don’t understand – “

With a tender kiss on the top of your head, he mumbles. “I ran away from home when I was seventeen.”

Your head snaps up, baffled at the news. Not only that, but the fact that you were suddenly getting all of this information, seemingly out of nowhere. You’ve known Hyunjin for years, and yet, he’s never told you about any of this. Who were you exactly in love with? The version of him your heart created and idealised, or the lie he’s been selling you this whole time?

“My parents, uh, they’re powerful people. Too rich for their own good.” He continues like everything you’ve known about him until now wasn’t a complete lie. “I had my life planned out for me from the moment I was born.”

“Go to this private school. Eat this, wear that, don’t talk to that kid, he won’t elevate your social standing.” You can see the disgust slowly morphing into his face as he presumably remembers his parents’ exact words. His dark circles are suddenly more prominent, exhaustion weighing him down. Not only physically, but emotionally too.

Hyunjin never spoke of his parents.

“Get into the best university in the world, away from here, study business management and then take over their empire once they decide to retire. The child brought into this world with the sole purpose of having an heir.”

Hyunjin is spilling his heart out, letting you into his world, yet you’re unsure of what to say. Unsure of what he needs to hear, too much information being thrown at you all at once for your brain to process in a timely manner.

Because you’ve been kept in the dark for so long. You’ll need time, adjusting to this light, to truths you’ve asked for but never given until now. Should you freak out, or try to be understanding?

Eventually, you take a few steps back, and Hyunjin notices the distance you’re trying to put between you, hands falling back to the counter. He doesn’t blame you – this was a lot. He’d surely react in the same way if the roles were reversed.

With a sigh, you run a hand through your hair and look away, trying to wrap your head around everything. “So, were you really staying with your grandmother?”

He nods. “That was not a lie. I was a kid with many dreams. I wanted to dance, paint, write and create my own path and future. But turns out making all of these things happen was too expensive for my old grandma to handle. She could barely support herself – add a stubborn, 17-year-old with too much energy to the mix and life becomes almost impossible.”

Even out of the loop, you can admit that you had always felt it, his silent sadness, the struggles he never spoke of. Sure, Hyunjin was the sun in your eyes, but even the sun puts up fronts when covered by grey clouds. And just like the sun, you had no idea what he went through when he wasn’t instilling happiness in everyone around with his bright smile.

You’ve always known he was different, not fortunate enough to get a family as loving as yours, despite being a man full of warmth and kindness, who’d jump at every opportunity that presented itself to help someone.

You just never saw the full picture, too hesitant to peer behind the shiny, red curtains in fear of upsetting him, but never being granted access backstage, either. Torn between blaming yourself for being afraid of what you’d possibly see, and blaming him for not showing you. Should you have dug deeper?

To see beyond the Hyunjin you put on a pedestal, above everyone else, untouchable, your number one ally in the world that hasn’t been the nicest to him?

“She’s not from here.” You nod, already knowing most of her story. “So, I had to transfer schools, start from scratch in this tiny village I’d only visit during summer break.”

He rolls his eyes, most likely relieving the memories, though, an almost fond smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

“And of course, since I was the new kid, the outsider in a school where everyone knew each other, I became a target of sorts.”

You couldn’t imagine it. Hyunjin was so lovely, so polite and kind. Who could ever dislike him? Why would they dislike him?

“On my very first day, I got challenged to a fight by those so-called bullies who wanted to intimidate me.”

Your heart drops, hurting for the man before you, despite the faint stings of betrayal. Slowly, you reach for him again, grasping his hands as his sharp eyes watch your every move, tense like he can’t believe you’re still trying to comfort him.

You hold them into yours, running a thumb over the rough skin, which prompts you to finally notice the fresh bruises on his knuckles.

Without a word, you bring them to your lips, wanting to kiss his pain away as he continues spilling his sorrows in the privacy of these four walls, which he’s often felt were closing in on him.

“I never wanted to fight anyone, but I also didn’t want to get beaten up either.” He exhales, letting his head fall back against the cold mirror, now set on opening the door fully to let you walk into the light that was him. Or, the light you saw him as.

His eyes flutter shut, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to reveal next, things he’s never told anyone before. “So almost every day after school, new guys would be waiting for me, wanting to avenge their friends from the day before.”

You pause, looking up at him with your lips still pressed to his skin. Hyunjin does not meet your pleading gaze.

“I took up boxing in 8th grade.” He laughs, but the sound is strained, not genuine in the slightest. “My parents insisted I needed to know how to defend myself, like every respectable Hwang man before me. Dad suggested martial arts, but I wanted to learn the most intense sport a 14-year-old could, out of spite.”

“Long story short, people started to notice how I fought. That I was good.” Air quotes, like he couldn’t bring himself to believe he was that impressive. His hands fall on the cold countertop, out of your grasp. “And among them was my P.E. teacher, who introduced me to the world of underground boxing. I had no life experience back then, so I was surprised to know that something so violent was apparently a blooming business in that run down village.”

Despite yourself, you can’t help but interrupt, curious. “Didn’t your parents come after you? Try to bring you back home?”

Hyunjin shakes his head, a bittersweet smile on his split lip. “No. They were convinced I would break on my own and would return in due time, when I realized how incapable I was of living outside the lap of luxury. That I will come running, begging for their forgiveness.”

“And to an extent, they were right.” He admits, full of shame, long legs dangling off the high countertop.  “I was struggling, and so was my poor grandmother. I couldn’t bear seeing it, her pain, how she tried so hard to provide for me despite her old age.”

Your stomach turns, and you hate to admit you know exactly where this story is headed.

“So, I took up his offer. One victory and I was already able to pay all of the bills, and still have some pocket change.” Yet, there is no sign of pride in his voice.

“I never lost a fight either, so by the end of the semester, I was able to support both of us and live comfortably. That’s when people stopped picking on me, too. Life seemed good.”

Without his knowledge, it seemed his activities instilled fear into the other kids. Like a dictator ruling with an iron fist, though Hyunjin has never wanted to become a leader.

Who on their right mind would pick on a kid who beat up others for a living?

The rain outside showed no signs of stopping, wind picking and banging outside your window, resembling the storm that was currently taking place in your beloved’s heart. And yours, though yours has crumbled the moment you saw him in this current state, unable to handle such a sight.

“Your teacher introduced you to illegal fighting? You were a kid!” Your brows furrow, arms crossing over your chest.

Hyunjin snorts. “Yeah, and he made a shit ton of money out of it too. The rich would always come there to be entertained – the smaller the village, the slimmer the chances of the authorities getting involved.”

His reality was so much different from yours; you had a hard time processing it all. You have always been too empathic – but now that he was involved, that empathy has reached new heights. And you were terrified of the fall that would surely follow. Because you knew that by the end of it, you won’t be able to hold him accountable for keeping, essentially, his whole life away from you.

Even in the dim lighting provided by your scented candles, you could see the conflict on his face. How it wrapped itself around his wounds, threatening to submerge him until he was nothing but a stuttering mess. Eating away at his conscience. “Anyhow, the more money I made, the cockier I got. I finished high school, bought this apartment and moved on to doing the same thing, but in the big city. University is expensive, and no flimsy part time job could allow me to pay my tuition.”

One part of that statement has you do a double take, blinking up at him in incredulity, breath catching in your throat.

“I – “

Wanting to hear nothing of it, Hyunjin leans in incredibly close, warm hands reaching for yours to drag you close once again, until his nose bumps gently into your own, voice dropping with purpose and fondness. “You loved this place. How could I ever say no?”

“We could have lived somewhere else! Rent – “

He shakes his head, rejecting that reality. “Why rent when I had all the necessary resources to make you happy? It’s not a big deal. It’s never a big deal when it comes to you.”

“Hyunjin…”

He cups your face with both of his big, calloused hands, finally not shying away from your gaze. “You’re the love of my life.” He states in a hushed voice, sealing the promise with a brief, delicate peck to your lips. “My forever. I’ll always strive to make you the happiest person in the world.”

And you were happy. You have never experienced such happiness before him. You were like a flower, and his love the necessary nutrients needed to bloom and grow into the best version of yourself.

You’d hate to think that while you were busy thriving, feeling like you can conquer the world in his arms, he was withering away, one petal at a time, in a shady boxing ring that could one day take him away from you.

Is this what it means to build your happiness upon someone else’s misery?

Your rose-colored glasses were finally coming off, unable to fathom a reality in which Hyunjin kept sacrificing himself for everyone around. For their comfort, joy and childish dreams.

“My happiness is not worth all of that trouble.” You say, hands moving over his on your cheeks. “I’m not happy if you’re in pain.”

Hyunjin scoffs, silver piercings dangling in his ears as he shakes his head. “I’m fine. This is just a scratch, me not paying attention. I’ll be back in tip top shape tomorrow.”

Your eyes narrow, and you pull back enough for his hands to let go of your face. “Yeah? Take off your shirt then.”

He falls silent, and so do you, waiting to see what new excuse he cooks up this time. But when you’re quiet, the rain still speaks, whispering the truth in your ear.

“You can’t, right? Because you’re hurt.” Your hands travel downwards to land on his abdomen, pressing a little harder around his ribcage to which he inhales sharply, blowing his cover.

“Or maybe I’m just turned on by your beauty – “

“I will murder you.”

A laugh escapes him, husky before he clears his throat and licks his lips, careful of the wound that has finally stopped bleeding. “Can you really live without me?” He whispers, lowering his voice purposely to get under your skin, right where he likes to reside the most.

His hands find your middle, not hesitating to sneak beneath your shirt and travel upwards, making a shiver run down your spine in hopes of distracting you. Just like he’s been distracting you for all of these years. “Wake up every day without me by your side?”

You exhale, looking away briefly as you try to keep your wits about you. Because you are well aware of his plan, and the way he loves twisting situations in his favor, so he’ll get off the hook. You might not be good at seeing through him and his lies when it matters, but right now, you’re able to, even though your traitor body betrays you and reacts to his presence like a stoked fire.

Hyunjin had too much power over you.

 “I can’t.” You shake your head, keeping your voice just as quiet. “But it’s something I now have to take into consideration since you apparently insist on going out there, every night, to put your life on the line for some dirty money.”

Hurt flashes across his features, but it’s gone in a second, unwilling to let you see your words have struck a nerve. “You don’t have to think about it.” Then, his voice drops, serious. Seems he doesn’t like being reminded of his own mortality. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Sure, he might not be going anywhere today, or tomorrow, or the day after. But what about in a week? Or a month? Who can guarantee you that Hyunjin will never get hurt and left there to bleed out, or that nobody will attack him one day, because they’re sick and tired of him winning? What if someone has a grudge and –

“Stop overthinking.” He frowns, softly pinching your side.

“I’m not allowed to think now?” Your brows furrow as you attempt to take a step back, needing space.

His hands pull you back in immediately, splaying across the warm skin of your back. “No, because it’s all nonsense.” He says lowly, eyes sharp. “You’re never going to lose me. Not until we’re both old and grey, sitting on our porch watching the sunset as our grandbabies play on without a care in the world.”

Your whole being softens, tears trying to force their way out of your eyes once again. “You want that…with me?”

“Of course I do. I don’t see myself growing old by anyone else’s side.” He smiles, and for the first time tonight, you can tell it's genuine. He means it. He’s not trying to mask any other emotion or fool you into believing he’s completely fine.

Hyunjin loves you. He cherishes you. He wants to grow old with you.

But will he be able to?

“I don’t want to see you hurt.” You finally admit, voice barely above a whisper, allowing him to see the fear that almost cripples you just at the idea of him getting into unnecessary fights.

“I’m sorry.” His soft touch finds your face, wiping away a stray tear you haven’t felt escaping. “It’s not going to happen again.”

“Liar.”

Where you expect laughs, you meet a sad smile, one that barely tugs at the corners of his bruised mouth. With a loud sigh, Hyunjin runs a hand over his buzzed head before letting it travel down to rub at his face, visibly distressed. Then, unexpectedly, Hyunjin jumps down from the counter, and half of you is bracing itself for his departure as you take a few steps back.

One that doesn’t come.

Because, in the next moment, Hyunjin closes the space between you in two strides, making your breath hitch as his plump, rosy lips meet yours in a sweet kiss, one so intense that it almost knocks you off your feet. He’s holding you close, wanting to ease all of your worries, gently cupping your face as your arms wind themselves around his neck instinctively.

You melt against him, forgetting all about the rain, dark in the bathroom and even what you were talking about before he decided to steal the air from your lungs and keep it for him, for safekeeping like a souvenir.

He feels sturdy against you, as strong as always and yet, you do notice the way his hands seem to tremble as he holds you, a little unsteady on your skin. Be it the pain from the wounds he dismissed, or your fear bleeding into him slowly but surely, you can’t actually tell for once.

His lips glide over yours, sweet and warm, as his hands travel down your body, caressing every nook and cranny until they stop at the back of your thighs. Without warning, Hyunjin lifts you, encouraging your legs to wrap around him as he supports you with a hand on your lower back.

You gasp into the kiss and he takes this as an opportunity to taste you, timid tongue finding yours and licking into your mouth in a way that has your head spinning, eyes rolling back. In the next moment, you’re the one perched on the counter, right next to the sink and melted candle he’s been resting by minutes prior.

“And you dared to say I was hurt.” He mumbles against your lips, eyes half lidded as he looks at you with the type of quiet intensity that makes you feel hot all over, breath hitching in your throat.

You raise a brow, chest already heaving up and down despite your earlier reticence, trying to pull back a little. “Because you are, in fact, hurt.”

He hums, not paying attention anymore, head dipping to leave a trail of soft kisses down your throat. His plush lips are warm on your skin, a feeling you could never get enough of as his tongue darts out here and there, to also lick at the skin briefly and drive you absolutely wild. Or, distract you from everything he’s revealed tonight.

“You know…” he exhales against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine, “I usually love the sound of your voice, but right now, you’re talking way too much.”

You pull away, until your back is pressed to the cold mirror, with the sole intention of pinching his nose and retaliating. But then, his face comes into view, the raw state of it that pulls at your heartstrings in a painful way. The bruises on his eye and jaw, the cuts and dark circles that seemed to have doubled in size, the slight bump you manage to spot on his buzzed head.

Hyunjin’s beautiful face was now tainted by the cruel world you live in, or maybe by his reckless choices that have brought him here. The consequences of his own actions, the ones he took in hopes of fixing everyone’s problems and bringing sunshine into an otherwise grey existence.

Hyunjin didn’t have a favorite color; he preferred black, but he had never wanted the people dearest to him to experience the darkness that came along with it, to get as lost as he felt.

Softly, almost as if afraid your touch will cause him to crumble, your hands cup his face, placing another kiss on his wet lips as you remain close and whisper. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

“I know.” He nods, turning his head to place a tender kiss on your palm. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.”

What an interesting way to look at it. While you pitied him, Hyunjin felt like he was on cloud nine as long as he could remain by your side, bask in your unconditional love and support that made all of his suffering worth it.

He leans in again, big arms on either side of your body caging you in, breaths mingling together as he plants a tender kiss on your nose, before dropping down to your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, hugging him closer as your arms wrap around his neck, never wanting to let go.

With every kiss and press of his lips against your skin, Hyunjin manages to stray you further away from the truth he’s just revealed, this double life he’s been living for so long. And God, does it work. You’ve always been too weak when it came to him and the way he succeeds in making you feel like the most special person in the world, no matter the circumstances.

As the kiss deepens and you get lost in each other, his hands begin to trail upwards your body, fingers digging lightly into the skin of your waist, then middle, until they reach just under your chest – no touching, just resting there. Your warm breath washes over his lips, pulling back for a moment to give attention to other parts of his face, pressing a kiss near his eye, to the new bruise, then his jaw, cheek, before finally meeting him once again.

Hyunjin exhales through his nose, humming as his hands move so he can wrap both arms around your waist and pull you closer, to the edge of the counter, prompting your legs to wound around his middle. The moment is intimate, sheltered from the world as even the moon has a hard time peeking through the curtain of rain just outside your window.

You’re chest to chest, breathing in tandem, hearts communicating in a language neither would ever be able to understand. Hyunjin groans low in his throat, raspy, as you lick into his mouth, his tongue meeting yours eagerly, like his wounds were healing the more you were touching and kissing him. In any other circumstance, he’d pull away and make a joke about ‘your magic touch’ but for now, he stays put.

His hands move to grip your hips, and that’s when you finally part for air, a barely visible string of saliva following as he chases after your lips for one last kiss that lingers, one he would never end if he could.

“Promise me something.” You whisper, resting your forehead against his as you look deep into his dark eyes.

“Anything.” Hyunjin can’t help it – he leans in for another kiss, calloused hands caressing the bare skin of your thighs, gripping lightly to drag you an inch closer.

Your hands settle on his chest, pushing him away the tiniest bit, giving you enough time to talk before he’s distracted again. “Promise you won’t get hurt again.”

Now this is something you’re both aware he can’t promise, nor that he’ll even consider. Your beloved has always been a free spirit, doing whatever he wanted without caring too much about what others thought or how they felt on the matter.

As he’s staring at you, lips puffy and still wet, with that tiny, pink band aid on his lower one, you can see the guilt in his eyes, the shame he can’t mask no matter how hard he tries. He brings you close by the waist, hugging you to his chest as he breathes in your sweet scent, voice barely above a whisper as his whole body seems to tense.

“I promise.”

Hyunjin doesn’t look at you; in fact, you’re sure he’d rather flee than face you head on. Because you’re both certain about one thing.

He’s lying.

[imfoive]

Finally got around to reading and omgggg this made me sad??? What do you mean he had a whole double life without telling us and he’s letting people HIT HIS BEAUTIFUL FACE AND BODY??? jail immediately those that beat him, his teacher, his parents 😤

A loverboy through and through, you wrote him so well :( poor babieeee we don’t deserve him

The last line made me soooo :( enough of this boxer!Hyune you gotta put you first!! I really hope we can see more of his backstory and perhaps his happy ending if you do continue to write about our boxer 👀

As always, your writing never seems to not amaze me, can’t wait to read more!

[abiaswreck]

Monarchs: Wildflowers

Pairing: Vampire Changbin x Human Fem!Reader

Summary: Normally Changbin doesn’t give most humans a second glance. He focuses on his work and expectations from Chan. However, the more he fights himself the more he realizes he’s fallen for a human. Out of practice and a bundle of nerves, Changbin is trying his best at courting. Bless Hyunjin for being the best wingman.

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI with adult content. Minor character deaths, mildly graphic injury to Changbin, blood feeding, unprotected sex/PIV, oral(f receiving), vaginal fingering, forced orgasm(consensual), overstimulation, strength kick, use of pet names and praising.

Word Count: 21,000 and some change. (Weight of Worth Minho is so mad at me right now.)

Author’s Note: Thought I’d drop this happier fic of the series. I wanted it to be stupid and cheesy. So hopefully, you guys like my bumbling idiot Binnie. He just wants love, and I want to get better with fluff. Also, thank you all who are so patient with me. I know this series is slow going. But be proud of me! I finished this before my damn surgery! So enjoy my word vomit, and I’ll see you on the other side. ✌️Also also be kind about my page breaks. I couldn't add them all. I'm so upset right now. 😭😭

‼️Tag List:‼️ As of September 2025 I no longer have a tag list. I don’t post frequently enough to have one and I’m lazy. If we have enough outcry I’ll start one again.

++++

In all the years Changbin has walked on this earth, he enjoys dawn the most. All the pink and orange hues peeking over the mountains are promising a new day approaching. The colors double as a pretty backdrop for his destination on the horse ride from the mine. The town he helped build from the ground up stands tall. It proves that time has been good to him and his community. 

He still has roughly an hour before he needs to head inside his home, where it’s safe from the dangerous sun rising above the outer wall that protects everyone. The remaining time allows him to witness humanity waking up. 

Guards at the gate are having shift changes. A lamplighter is already extinguishing the street lamps. The local newspaper agency is finishing its printing of the daily paper. If he strains his ears, there’s a blacksmith one street over already wielding a hammer against a hot chunk of iron. 

Each step of Changbin’s horse brings him further down where many businesses sit in their expanding market. The town’s butcher offers a wave as he flips the sign on his door to open. Rows of fresh produce line the outdoor market, including a sizable collection of apples from the orchard Felix grows on his strip of land.

And finally, on the corner sits his favorite shop. 

The scent of freshly baked goods wafts through the air, pulling him closer like a doomed sailor under a siren’s spell. Though there is a shorter route home, Changbin can’t help guiding his horse straight, finding himself drawn there each morning. Perhaps pulled by an invisible red thread of fate. 

At the first sight of movement through the wide bakery window, Changbin slips off his horse. Even if undead, there is a fluttering feeling where his heart once beat. He’s nervous. Not because he’s scared. No, he’s a powerful undead creature. There is no threat. Rather, it's the opposite. It’s you, the kind and beautiful human he’s fallen for.

You haven’t noticed him yet, engrossed in slotting a tray of fresh bread into a display case. The moment allows Changbin to take in the sight of you. Your hair is gathered up and away from your face, where a look of concentration turns into one of satisfaction at the full variety of goods ready to be purchased. 

He swallows the sudden lump in his throat. Move, he tells himself. Keep moving, get home and rest, and forget any silly crush that’s formed. His feet betray him, keeping him rooted, waiting till your eyes flicker up to the windows. Your shoulders relax, recognizing him immediately. To Changbin’s delight, a smile forms. At that moment, the approaching deadline of the sunrise ceases to exist, tucked so far back into his mind. 

You quickly untie the apron to leave behind the counter before coming to the entrance. There is no backing out now; Changbin commits to saying a few words to you. Surely, he can manage without making a complete fool of himself. 

The bell above your entrance chimes as the door opens. More ‌delicious smells waft out, almost wrapping around him. There is also a hint of something floral, either from the soaps used on your skin or a quickly placed perfume. It’s become one of his favorite scents. Whatever stress from the work in the mines melts away, bringing a peacefulness over him. 

“Good morning, Lord… No,” Your voice briefly stumbles over your words as you fight old habits. The lack of formality is still a struggle, even with his repeated reassurance. “Changbin.”

Changbin offers a small, hesitant smile. His hands slip into his jacket pockets to hide the way each finger trembles from nerves. It’s been a lengthy period since he’s allowed himself to feel an ounce of infatuation for anyone, vampire or human. 

“Morning.” He replies. Inwardly, he winces at how his voice lacks its normal confidence. He’s known for his loud, sociable self. The sturdy pillar of the community. Now he feels like a small, anxious child. Changbin clears his throat before speaking. “I…I wanted to thank you for the scones. The humans devoured them.”

“I’m glad to hear. You’re always welcome to come by for more.”

Just when he felt able to rope in all the anxiety, the heart in his chest cavity sank. Was your word an invitation or just the usual politeness? His self-doubt votes for the latter, ultimately souring the mood. 

Changbin shifts the weight on his feet before offering a small nod. There were other words he wanted to speak, to ask everything about your interests, to let you know how beautiful he thinks you are, and to ask if you would join him for dinner even though he doesn’t require food. Anything for another opportunity to be close to you. 

None of the words make it to the surface. 

Instead, he takes a step back, half turning to his horse. His hands slip out of his pockets to reach for the worn leather reins. “Well, I... should get going. The sun waits for no one.” 

“Wait,” you say with a hand raised in front of you to halt him. Your voice is softer and more timid with a request. “If it’s not too much trouble, could I borrow you again?”

“It’s never too much trouble.” Changbin answers before wrapping the reins around the nearby lamppost. There is no actual need to secure his horse. She may be a sassy thing like himself, but she’s a loyal beast. He knows it's because of all the carrots he offers. 

The moment is enough for Changbin to collect himself. From this angle, he’s sure you can’t see the smile that’s returned to his face. This is better than he had hoped for this morning. He expected a wave. Now he gets another moment with you, to be near you, to take all of you in, and selfishly have your attention. 

“I’m happy to help.” Changbin says, following you through the door as the bell above rings again. 

More decadent smells fill the tiny lobby. Despite being down a worker, your supply is still plentiful for the townsfolk to consume. Though, the lack of manpower is why you reached out. Changbin can’t help but ask about it. “Is Jae still on bed rest?”

“Yes.” You reply with sadness in your voice. “He is improving. Felix believes he can start small periods of sitting up.”

“And you said it was a fall?”

“Yes, an accident, but you know how young men are. Ever adventurous. They believe they’re invincible.”

“I’m sure he’s learned his lesson then.”

“Let us hope so.”

With those words said, you guide Changbin through the small bakery. Not much has changed since the last time he was here. On his left, past the lobby, is the kitchen. Inside are two other workers; one is busy with a sink full of dishes, while the other is icing a tray of cookies. There is an oppressive amount of heat coming from the room because of both of your ovens baking more goods. 

Further down the hallway is the door leading to the backroom. Rows of shelving hold the majority of your ingredients there. Large crates and barrels of a fresh delivery leave the room more cramped than usual when he steps through the doorway. 

Changbin motions to the nearest with his hand. “Would you like all of them open?”

“If you don’t mind. We’re just so busy, and I don’t have the time to wrestle loose the nails.”

It’s not much of a fight to open the crates. He doesn’t even bother reaching for the crowbar lying next to them on a barrel. Instead, Changbin takes one hand and reaches for a corner. His fingers pry under the rough edge of the wood to get a grip before pulling the lid up and away. The long, thick clout nails are no match for the vampire's strength. He fights to hide the swell of pride inside ‌him when he hears the cute surprised noise from your lips. 

Packed inside are several large bags of either flour or sugar. Changbin doesn’t take much time to look, choosing to move to the next one. In a handful of minutes, he removed every lid and tossed them into a neat pile in the corner. 

“What a beautiful display of strength.”

Changbin chuckles in response to your words. “Hopefully, it doesn’t scare you.”

“No,” you say breathlessly. “No, I’d say it's the opposite.”

Those words are a powerful lightning bolt through Changbin’s body. He’s no amateur with flirtatious behavior, having a few centuries under his belt. However, you still catch him off guard. He attempts his best at staying collected. “Well, I assure you I can do more than open crates with this strength.”

You raise an eyebrow in question: “Are you offering to demonstrate all your skills for me?”

“Depends.” Changbin casually takes a step closer. Deep under your skin, the beat of your heart ticks faster in response to the proximity. It’s so magnetic, drawing him in. “Any skills in particular you’re hoping for?”

“Perhaps.” You say, glancing down at the crates, then back up through your lashes. “But it would have to happen after business hours.”

Changbin playfully scoffs. “If I had known manual labor would earn me a look like that, I would’ve lifted some barrels.”

“I thought vampires didn’t sweat.”

“Correct. But we can test that theory.”

“I would like that.”

Silence falls between the two of you, letting Changbin take the moment to appreciate all the little details on your face. From the beauty marks to the specks of color in your eyes. Your soft, inviting lips twitch almost as if you want to spill more tempting thoughts out. He wishes he were anywhere else with you. Somewhere private, away from the rest of the world. Inwardly, he scolds himself for such a thought. It’s much too soon to think of you in this way. You deserve a gentleman. Someone who will court you correctly, like you deserve. 

A loud clang of a pan in the other room is enough to shake you from the moment. “Ah! I apologize for keeping you. You need to get home.”

“Unfortunate, but true.” Changbin sighs softly. The dangerous reality of the sun rising kicks him into gear. His shoulders sag like a punished kid as he solemnly makes his way back towards the front.

“Oh, wait!” You approach with a bundle of pastries. Before Changbin can object, he finds the wrapped goods handed to him. “Please take these as a sign of my appreciation.”

These were prepared for him. You were hoping to run into him today. That information alone nearly short-circuits his brain. “I… I would have helped for free.”

“I know. But these are special.” You say while nervously playing with your fingers. “They’re for kind leaders who offer their help even after a busy day of work.”

“Then I’ll enjoy them.”

With those words, he steps out into the city. The temperature was already warming the previously crisp air. During his time in your shop, the colorful hues in the sky shifted to a more solid blue as the sun rose. It’s not too late for him; there’s no need to panic, but he will cut his time close. 

Changbin quickly undoes the looped reins before hoisting himself ‌back onto his horse. The bound package of pastries stays tucked in the crook of his arm. He doesn’t require food, though he knows he may selfishly eat these treats himself. You wanted him to have them. It would be rude not to indulge. 

Your gaze remains locked on him when he glances back one last time. Satisfaction wraps around him in a comforting hug. You reached out to him again. The treats he carries are a token of appreciation. You also complimented him, and he dares to say you flirted with him. The all-consuming rush of happiness is a wave he will ride for the rest of the journey home. 

There is a sprout here between you two, and maybe if he plans his moves strategically, the relationship will blossom into something beautiful. 

When Changbin stepped outside the mine today, he quickly scrapped the idea of repeating yesterday. He frowns, taking in the sight of another vampire leader. Hyunjin is waiting for him with two horses. All plans no longer matter. 

He muttered his words with a grumble, not hiding the distaste. “What do you want?”

“Chan requests our company.”

“Can it wait?”

“No.” Hyunjin shakes his head before offering the reins. “It’s important.”

Changbin doesn’t reply. He just wants to see you. It’s been a long day, and the last thing he needs is to endure another meeting this week. Sullenly, he hoists himself up onto his horse, and with a click of his tongue, he follows Hyunjin back to the city’s outside wall.  

By the time the duo enters the city, Hyunjin has slowed down to match Changbin’s casual pace. There is no urgency while strolling down the path leading to the market square. The distant hum of vendors setting up their stalls echoes around them. New vibrant banners are being hung up to commemorate the upcoming season change. A human festival celebrating the fall harvest will happen in a handful of days.  

Hyunjin sits proudly on his horse, in perfect posture like some handsome prince, offering a greeting to each human that calls out to him. Instead of matching the energy, Changbin trudges along with a furrowed brow. There was an ache forming in his chest the closer he got to your bakery. 

He strains himself when searching for you through the large shop window. The shelves are only half stocked with fresh merchandise. You are nowhere to be seen, probably still in the back preparing trays. He sinks even further into himself. Not only does he not get to stop and talk to you, but he also doesn’t even get to see you this morning. 

Hyunjin watches with curious eyes. “Have you forgotten how to court a woman?”

Changbin let out a long sigh, lightly nudging his horse to pick up speed. He doesn’t want to have this conversation now. “I’ve been busy. The mine takes up all my time.”

“That’s your excuse?” Hyunjin scoffs, voice dripping with playful disbelief. “The mine. It takes up your time, but you can’t find a few hours to win the heart of the woman you are in love with?”

“I’m not in love,” Changbin replies, looking anywhere but at the other vampire. He felt something for you, though he’d never admit it aloud. No, instead he was just cataloging all the soft looks at him, the way your hand lingered just a moment too long on his arm, and finally your flirtatious comments yesterday. Naturally, he has a crush, yet he still struggles with whether you would truly reciprocate. Surely, he was just delusional. "And nor is she."

“Are we talking about the same woman? She practically fawns over you every time you’re near.”

“Stop speaking lies.”

“Lies?” Hyunjin questions, shaking his head. “I see the way she smiles every time you walk into a room. Her eyes never leave you when speaking at town meetings. She practically melts on the spot. I’d say that’s something.”

“You’re just twisting the truth to suit your own agenda.”

“No,” Hyunjin chuckles. “I’m just a witness to your eternal obliviousness. If you don’t make a move, someone else will.”

When reaching the street corner, the pair take a right turn. The stone path is more worn down here thanks to the amount of daily traffic. At the end of the road sits Chan’s estate, like some sort of capital building instead of a home. How Chan finds any peace here still baffles Changbin. 

From what he can see, there are a handful of carriages out front, far less than usual. Hyunjin doesn’t know what the meeting is about, though it appears to be regarding the vampire leaders and not so much the human councilmen. A minor victory. He’s tired of dealing with humans for the day. 

"Hm," the other mumbles, pulling Changbin out of his thoughts. A mischievous smile appears on Hyunjin’s face. "Maybe I'll court her."

“Don’t you dare!”

“Why not?” Hyunjin shot back, matching his aggression. “I'm not one to squander an opportunity."

Changbin grips the reins in his hands tighter. The heat of anger flushes through him. He knows the other is trying to get a rise out of him, and it’s working. There is a streak of possessiveness clawing at him over his human. 

You are not his human, but he wouldn’t shun the idea. These thoughts start another mental battle. He needs to earn the privilege of calling you his. Hyunjin is right; he needs to make a move sooner than later. Human lives are brief compared to his. 

Hyunjin gestures over to the flower shop the pair are passing. An older woman is arranging bundles in a wicker basket display. “Buy your human some flowers. It’ll get your foot in the door.”

Changbin stares at the flowers, then looks away, his jaw tightening. Doubt is a cruel being consuming him. Even if he attempted to court you, what is the end goal? A commitment to a vampire isn’t the same as with a human. What if he invests all this time and you wish to remain human? He loses the one he loves and then deals with centuries of heartbreak? Can you handle witnessing him feeding off a stock worker or off of you? Will that scare you away, seeing how much of a monster he is even if he’s shaped like a man? The thoughts are an endless spiral. 

“She wouldn’t want me. I’m a vampire.”

“What are these excuses? Where is this coming from?” Hyunjin responds, grinning wide. He continues, sarcasm making his words playful. “You’re right. Because women everywhere hate vampires.” 

“I’m serious.” Changbin muttered darkly. “Do you think she could love someone like me? She humors me because she’s afraid.”

“You dumb fool.” Hyunjin says while pulling on the reins to halt his horse. Changbin does the same, letting the other vampire study him for a moment. When he speaks again, his tone is quieter, with a rare seriousness in his voice. “You really like her, don’t you?”

“I... I do want to believe it’s mutual. Truly, I do.” Changbin’s words were shaking the more he spoke. “W-What if I’m reading the signs wrong?”

Hyunjin reaches over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Enough of this. She’s interested. I’ve witnessed it myself. You just need to take a chance."

Changbin managed a half-smile at the gesture. “Alright, I’ll try.”

“Good.” Hyunjin’s grin returns, full of affection, even when guiding his horse forward. “And if ‌she is scared of the vampire side of you, then prove it otherwise. It’s your job to make sure she sees you for who you are. Not just a bloodsucker.”

Changbin nods. Hyunjin is right. The wariness inside him was never about you being afraid. Hell, he doesn’t have an ounce of proof of that claim. His brain is latching onto anything it can reach to be cruel. Yesterday, you were definitely flirting with him, staring at him with love-filled eyes. What more is he waiting for? 

He needs to try courting you. 

The relationship he wants can’t grow if he doesn’t try.

Even after his conversation with Hyunjin, it takes Changbin two more days to gather the courage. Now, he finds himself a few hours before dawn in the middle of a field. He knows it would be easier to go to town and buy from the florist. The coins in his pocket could buy an impressive selection. Though it seems impractical to bring to your workplace. No, he wants these flowers to mean something, to be chosen carefully, and to be arranged thoughtfully. You would appreciate it more.

Changbin gives a glance back at the roadside. He’s completely alone out here. The mine is closed today, so there is no foot traffic from the workers. Traders haven't left yet, but he might see some as the sun crests the mountain. More importantly, there’s no one here to witness the vampire leader picking flowers.

He feels foolish, standing in a field with a handful of flowers in one hand and a knife in the other. 

However, he is much more confident regarding the bouquet. Changbin sought Felix out the previous night to give him a quick rundown of what to avoid. His knowledge was vital in making sure he didn’t pick something that would hurt you. Now he has a colorful range that he hopes you will love. 

Large sunflowers, daisies, poppies, and a couple of pink cosmos. Anything in these fields but wild roses will do. He’s shaken each one out, ensuring no lingering bugs. He even found the wild patch of baby’s breath Felix mentioned nestled closer to the woods. It’s perfect for filling out the bouquet. Though, the ribbon was the toughest decision. He settled on a simple green to keep the focus on the flowers themselves.  

With one last inspection of his work, he’s ready to present it.

Changbin wonders what the reaction will be. A familiar buzz of nervousness hums beneath his skin as he walks closer to town. Maybe if he were better at seeking company, this wouldn’t be such a foreign feeling. Companionship is tricky with him. He’s spent centuries around both humans and vampires, sharing celebrations, loss, and growth, and yet he’s never felt the need for anything deeper until now. 

It’s not as though people didn’t pursue romance with him. He would allow ‌courtship attempts. There were even times he would join people in bed or couples in bed, but nothing came of it. None of it felt like a genuine connection like he has with you. 

What did he want out of this? 

He stares down at the flowers in his hand. Love, he thinks. That’s what he wants. To be loved, cherished, and wanted. And most of all, to experience it with you. It would feel right if it were with you. His previous relationship was years ago. Maybe even decades. The memories blur with time, yet he remembers the feelings coursing through him. The comfort of soft touches when waking up with someone in his bed, the acts of service warming his undead heart, protecting them and keeping them safe. Just part of his love languages he didn’t realize he was longing for until now. 

What would you like? A forehead kiss? Someone to tie up your lacing on your outfits? Warm meals after a long day of work? Sweet praises whispered into your ear when he takes you in his bed? If that is the future, he will learn everything to make your heart swell with pride and joy.

Is that silly to say about someone he’s only spoken to a handful of times? Probably, he thinks. However, after centuries of life, you learn to recognize when a connection is real.

“Good morning, Changbin!” 

Your cheery voice pulls him out of his thoughts. He freezes, startled, already standing outside your shop. His body has moved of its own accord, and there’s no time to check if he’s presentable. Pollen from the flowers is all over his boots, and he curses himself for getting lost in his head.  

“Good morning.” He replies, taking in the sight of you. There is a towel in your hand and a bucket at your feet. The large window behind you practically gleams with cleanliness. “Another early morning?”

“The weekends are always busy for us.” You drop the towel into the bucket, drying your hands on the apron. Then, your gaze shifts to the flowers in his hand, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “Are those for me?”

“Ah… Yes.” Changbin stumbles over his words. Both of his arms shoot out in front of him to offer the bouquet to you. “I see them every morning, and I thought you might like them.”

“They’re beautiful.” You say, accepting the flowers. A couple of your fingers trace over the soft petals. “I don’t travel outside the city often, so I don’t get to admire the fields.”

“Then I’ll bring them to you. Every week they bloom.”

You shake your head. “I… I can’t inconvenience you like that.”

“It’s no trouble,” he insists. “A beauty like you deserves to be surrounded with pretty things.”

It’s happening again. Changbin can hear it all: the spiking heart rate, the change in your breathing pattern, and a cute gasp before you respond. “You think I’m pretty?”

“More than pretty.” No matter how hard Changbin tries, he can’t stop his words from spilling out. “You’re a field of wildflowers reaching for the morning sun. A beauty I don’t deserve.”

“You flatter me.” Your eyes avoid him now. “The centuries of existence have taught you exactly what to say.” 

“On the contrary, that’s all I had rehearsed.”

Your laughter rings out, and warmth blooms where his undead heart sits. That sound could cure every sorrow in the world. He wants to hear it for the rest of his life. Though now he can hear Hyunjin in his head, pushing him to continue. “The foot is in the door; face the risk head-on and take the next step.” 

Changbin clears his throat, his nerves returning. “Would… would you like to dine with me sometime soon?”

“Yes!” you answer eagerly. “I was worried I would have to ask you first.”

“I just needed a moment to be brave.”

“Lord Seo,” your tone turns playful to mock him while a smile stays plastered on your face. “Destroyer of armies, too afraid to ask a woman out?”

“Alright, I see how you are.” Changbin presses his tongue into his cheek, amused. You are a powerful force he wasn’t prepared for; it’s thrilling. It might be dangerous to have you and Hyunjin bullying him. “I’ll have you know, rejection is far scarier than a hundred soldiers.”

“I would never reject someone as miraculous as you.” You say while reaching for his arm, giving his bicep a light squeeze. “I must return to work. If you send a word, I’ll join you.”

Changbin nods in agreement. He doesn’t leave right away. Instead, he watches as you collect your things to bring back inside. The bouquet remains in the crook of your arm, protected and cherished like he did with the pastries you gave him. The familiar small bell above the door jingles behind you as the door shuts.

He finds that the corners of his lips are curving into a grin, as they often do around you. For a long moment, he just stands there, hands tucked into his pockets, gazing at the closed door like a fool. The image of you holding the bouquet, smiling like that, burns into his memory.

Hyunjin’s voice rings again in his head, smug as ever. “Told you to stop waiting around.”

Changbin huffs a laugh to himself. “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters under his breath.

With a renewed bounce in his step, he finally turns away to head home. His boots crunch over leaves already fallen from the season’s change. His work is still not complete. No, he needs to get planning. This first date with you is crucial, a foundation for the relationship. It’s his chance to show what he can offer you beyond just companionship, that he can maintain the level of care and thoughtfulness he did today. 

Oh, he can’t wait to see you again.

The estate Chan owns may as well be a second home for Changbin. He spends most of his free time here. If he’s not dealing with city affairs or newborns, he remains in Chan’s private quarters of the house. He is family, after all, bound by the sire bond to his maker. He has every right to be here. As long as there's no private company beforehand, Chan doesn’t care. Rather, he welcomes the distraction after dealing with tedious meetings with the human council. 

Changbin takes a seat in one of the worn leather chairs near the elder’s desk, his arms folded, and the musty stale scent of the mine no longer lingers on his skin after washing up. He would have preferred to bathe at home. However, Chan wanted to have a discussion tonight. 

The leader stands near the map strewn on his desk, fingers tracing a path between territories. He doesn’t look up when he speaks. “I need you out of the mines for a few days.”

One of Changbin’s brows lifts, intrigued by the demand. “What for?”

“There has been an attack on Hongjoong’s life. Minho and I are taking some fledglings with us for support.”

He tilts his head in confusion. Hyunjin spends most of his time training the newborns into warriors. It makes no sense to take Minho. “Not Hyunjin?”

“No. He will be with Jisung.” 

Changbin doesn’t hide the attitude in his voice. He’s not sure why his maker is hesitant to elaborate. “And where will they be?”

“They are going to what remains of The Marrow.”

He sits up straighter in his seat now, expression hardened. No, there is no reason for the pair to go there. Vampire hunters once owned it as a grand town. Now it might as well be a carcass of crumbling buildings that someone should flatten to nothing more than a graveyard. It’s never been safe for vampires, now more than ever. 

“Why?”

“Jisung believes there are hostages being held by the church.” Chan says as he pushes off the desk. He takes a few steps to stand in front of his fireplace. All attention focused on the dancing embers. Changbin recognizes the behavior. Chan hates the risk, and his decision is final, but splitting the coven so thinly endangers their humans. 

“Now, before you say anything, sending more with them will only draw attention.” Chan’s voice softens. “He’s safest with Hyunjin. And I need you here. I can’t leave the youngest in charge. They’re capable but…”

“Don’t fret about it.” Changbin says while cutting the other off. “I was going to be in town anyway. The humans and I are drafting new plans.”

“I thought the agreement was to shut the mine down.”

“We found gold.”

“Gold?” Chan questions, with brows knitted together, trying to process if he’s heard correctly. “In with all the copper?”

Changbin leans back into the couch cushions, the tension of the previous conversation melting away. “Yes, and no. The vein we found isn’t where we’ve excavated. Rather, it's further down the mountain range. We are still decommissioning the current mine and creating a new entrance where we expect to find more of the gold.”

“You don’t sound excited.”

“Humans don’t know when they ask too much of the world.” Changbin sighs, with a hint of bitterness in his tone. “We should have decommissioned certain tunnels already.”

Chan stares Changbin down. “If it becomes too unstable…”

“I’ll collapse it myself while they sleep.” 

Silence settles between them, not tense, just weighted. There are a lot of risks among the coven members. Chan and Minho are heading headfirst into a potential battle, while Jisung is dragging Hyunjin into vampire hunter territory. He doesn’t like any of this. Though he knows his words won’t say anything. All he can do is focus on keeping the city thriving and safe while the others return. 

Maybe there isn’t room for romance in his life right now. 

The next few days are fairly dull. He obeys Chan’s request and doesn’t leave the estate. Instead, he summons Seungmin to help balance the workload. Jeongin offers to assist, but Changbin keeps him on the wall in Hyunjin’s place. Someone needs to play guard dog to make sure no pests slip through the cracks. They can’t afford a repeat of last time.

Currently, one of his forepeople sits across from him. The first few rounds of drilling have brought up promising deposits. Several draft plans lie on the large desk for him to review. He already has a rough idea of where the entrance will be. They will need to rebuild a mill, another office, storage for supplies, and maybe even some housing. Though the delay on lumber is hindering the entire process. In a few weeks, the ground will freeze, and once that happens, work halts until spring. That’s weeks of wages wasted. Yes, there are other tasks to assign, and Chan will have jobs for the humans too, but it might not be enough. His hands are tied. What can he do?

“Sir, I have another matter to bring up.”

Changbin’s eyes lift off the floor plan when hearing the shift in tone. The earlier conversation was relaxed as they reviewed the sketches. Now the human is sitting stiffly, knee bouncing with nervous energy. He sets his pen in the inkwell and gives his full attention. “What did they say now?”

“Well…” Words trail off. The color drains from the human’s face, and for a second, Changbin wonders if he’s going to pass out. “Some humans have expressed concern about the presence of vampires in the mine.”

Not this again. How daft can these humans be? 

He tries to rein in his annoyance and fails. “If humans were more concerned for their well-being, I wouldn’t employ vampires. And if they are so uncomfortable with working with them, then they can go find a job in the sun. Problem solved.”

“I… I will talk to them again. I told them we’re still early in the stages. It’ll be months before you or the vampires can enter the mine.”

“When Chan comes back, I’ll hold a meeting. Either we halt all mining activities, or they accept the help. I own the property in case they have forgotten.”

“I understand, Lord Seo.” 

Changbin's shoulders slump, not enjoying the way the human shrunk into himself. He knows he’s always been on the intimidating side. He may be short in stature, but the broad, bulky frame held supernatural strength and speed. It’s still scary to some. He hates that. He doesn’t want to be feared. Not like this. “Forgive me. My frustration is not with you.”

The human’s face contorts from momentary surprise to something calmer. He’s speaking from his own belief. “Your demands are not outrageous. Frankly, I feel safer with the vampires with us. Do I want to be turned if I’m trapped? Not particularly, but it beats dying for nothing.”

“I’m glad you agree,” he says, stacking the plans into a neat pile. “I think this is enough for today. Bring me the estimates, and we will revisit this. I want an update on the lumber as well.”

The human nods and takes the papers. Before leaving, he hesitates, then says, “If I may, sir… your concern for the humans is commendable, even if they don’t all see it. I’ve worked for men who couldn’t care less about casualties. We are safest in your hands.”

Changbin only nods. Those words were more reassuring than the human would ever know. Safety has always been his concern. Humans die by the dozen at other mining sites. His stomach sours at the memory of researching statistics. Every life is so precious. Especially with how fragile humans are. 

This new project foreperson was a good choice. He's the one Changbin hired himself. There will be some shuffling with management; the rest of the crew doesn’t know it yet. His current superintendent is a thorn in his side and has been for years. He’s the one spreading fear about the vampires working with humans. Changbin wanted to fire him months ago, though Chan talked him down and told him to give him a chance to work with the creatures. 

That chance is long gone.

Changbin doesn’t want to dwell on his spiraling thoughts. However, boredom creeps its way into him and begins gnawing at him in the stillness of the quiet office. With no more meetings for the day and the remaining vampire leaders either scattered or holed up in their work, there’s nothing to occupy him.

If he truly wanted to, he could slip away to feed. A taste of warm, fresh blood, to distract him enough to forget everything for a moment. Forget the responsibility weighing on him. Forget the hours of work affairs he needs to finish for the new mine that’s on hold while he’s here.

Blood won’t solve his boredom; he knows this. It won’t fix the ache in his chest either. He’s tired of responsibility. Tired of being the one everyone turns to, the unrelenting demands, and the obligations. His duty will always come first, yes, but right now? He wants something else. He wants to be selfish for once.

He wants you.

It’s been several days without seeing you, and he deserves it after the week he’s had. Plus, there’s still a date to plan. You’ve been so patient with him, so understanding. How much longer can he make you wait?

Chan and Minho will return tomorrow. He will be relieved of his work to go do whatever he wants. 

With that sudden clarity, Changbin rises from his chair, a new purpose in his steps. He’s a man on a mission now. He knows just who can help him bring his half-baked plan to life.

The town’s small hospital sits on the edge of Chan’s property. What once was just a modest clinic has developed into something much bigger as the population has grown over the years.

After a brief search, he finds the vampire he’s looking for on the first floor. He’s barely through the door before speaking. “Lix, I need a favor.”

The new human apprentice under Felix’s care shuffles out of the way, perhaps sensing the importance of the conversation or trying to respect his privacy. Changbin realizes he should probably learn the human’s name. Some other time, though; he’s too caught up in his mission to worry about first impressions.

Felix doesn’t look up from his work, chopping chunks of beeswax with methodical precision. “Normally,” he says with a dry tone, “you greet someone before you make demands.”

“Forgive me,” Changbin replies, voice soft but urgent. “It’s of great importance.”

The other vampire raises an eyebrow, not pausing in his task. “Is it about the human who owns the bakery?”

Changbin shifts on his feet. He hadn’t planned on being open about the courtship. Not yet, at least. He wanted a solid relationship before the others would find out. Though there’s no use trying to deny it now.

“Yes,” he admits, “it is.”

“Hyunjin said you were lovesick. I didn’t believe him.” Felix’s grin tugs at the corners of his lips as he focuses on lighting the burner he plans to use to melt the beeswax. Changbin recognizes the supplies the human brings over. The pair are making more of the salve Seonghwa introduced to help the humans. Once the small fire is lit and consistent, Felix turns his attention back to Changbin. “What do you need?”

“I wish to borrow the greenhouse for a couple of hours.”

Felix’s head tilts, his gaze sharp as he studies Changbin. “So you are courting the human?”

Changbin winces at the teasing note in Felix’s voice. “Please,” he says, while motioning to the other to lower his voice. There is a mix of frustration and pleading in his tone. “Don’t make this harder than it already is. I want this to be perfect. I don’t want to disappoint her.”

Felix’s grin widens. There’s a flicker of something warmer beneath it, that brotherly bond Changbin cherishes. “I can help arrange something. When do you need it?”

“Two days. Is that too soon?”

The room is silent as Felix ponders before nodding. “No. I can make it work. I’ll have it ready by sundown.”

“You’re a saint.”

Felix gives a nonchalant shrug. “So I’ve been told. Now leave. I’m trying to teach.”

Changbin quickly apologizes. Once to Felix and again to the shy human for good measure. He feels lighter already, his steps surer as he makes his way back to Chan’s office. 

The relief doesn’t last long. He paces the length of the room while mentally debating his options. He should pen a letter to invite you. At least with a letter you can ignore it. Or if you don’t show up, Changbin can blame whoever attempted to deliver it. 

He sighs to himself, trying to ignore the nagging voice in his head: He should ask in person. 

No, he thinks to himself. A letter reduces the pressure to say yes on the spot. He can leave all the details with you and let you decide what you want to do. That’s easier for you, right? 

If only Hyunjin were here, he could ask him for an opinion. 

Changbin spends the next hour drafting his letter and another twenty minutes until he’s satisfied with his handwriting before sealing the envelope to send it off with a staff member. He sits at Chan’s desk, a flicker of anticipation mixed with a hint of dread running its course through him now that he has to wait. Hyunjin was right; he is a fool. A lovesick fool determined to win your love. 

Felix deserves Changbin's applause for his hard work. The greenhouse already stands tall and mighty. Although it’s the inside that holds the genuine beauty now that it's cleaned up. Its glass walls are aglow with a soft light from oil lanterns. The fall night air is still warm with the scent of blooming jasmine. Rows upon rows of plants are thriving from Felix’s care. Further inside, the soft cascade of water from a fountain creates a peaceful stillness. 

He waits near the back, hidden in the shadows of towering ferns, watching you approach. You didn’t notice him at first. Your eyes sweep over the flowers, the delicate row of lanterns above, and then to the small blanket spread beneath an arch of honeysuckle. It was a careful setup with the help of Felix. One put together better than Changbin had ever hoped to achieve on his own. 

Your soft laugh reached him before you did. “You really did all this for me?”

Changbin steps forward, attempting to keep his movements casual and to be more suave in his approach. Just believable enough to hide that a million butterflies are ready to burst from his chest from the excitement. Part of him thanks Chan for turning him so long ago. The centuries he’s been on this earth have helped him to master the art of composure. 

“Only the best for you.” He answers, voice smooth as ‌silk. He gestures toward the picnic. “Please sit. I’ve brought a selection.”

It’s refreshing to see you away from the bakery. You always dress nicely, though there is more personality in your clothing without being hidden by an apron. Your hair looks soft and pretty with your styling. Even your smile tonight seems filled with delight. And he’s the one who gets to see you like this, to enjoy your company when there are plenty of other suitors in this city. He’s currently the luckiest man alive. Or rather, luckiest undead creature. 

Slowly, you lower yourself onto the blanket. Once comfortable, you lean over to sniff a vibrant red peony. Changbin settles beside you, the distance close enough to feel the warmth of your body yet just far enough to be respectful. He knows he’s being selfish. His gaze lingers on your face, watching how your eyes shift from him to the arrangement between you and watching how your teeth sink into your bottom lip. You are as nervous as he is. 

Still, you look like a dream. Maybe even one of Hyunjin’s pretty paintings. He will have to ask how much gold it would set him back to commission one. 

No, that’s too much too soon. Don’t get ahead of things, he reminds himself. 

“This is beautiful.” You say while unwrapping the basket. “I feel spoiled.” 

His staff worked hard on the food, using the freshest ingredients money could buy. Small meat and vegetable sandwiches had each of the crusts removed before being wrapped delicately in fine wax paper. They harvested the fruit from his own land to cut and arrange it into adorable shapes. Even the jam tartlets didn’t escape the relentless hours of testing. He couldn’t allow any subpar desserts tonight, not with an expert like yourself in company. 

“I'm glad you think so,” he replied, gaze only leaving you long enough to pour two glasses of wine. “I wanted tonight to be… right. Slow.”

“Slow? What do you mean?”

He swallowed the lump that formed in his throat before answering. “I wanted to approach this traditionally. You deserve more than a rushed moment.”

You always stare in awe at his words; Changbin wonders if anyone has attempted to court you correctly. It would be a shame; you deserve it. Even if it is true, he is proud of his efforts tonight. He would do anything to preserve the look of fondness you have on your face as you reach to hold one of his hands. “I want this too, Changbin. Whatever we decide.”

He continues to hold your gaze. This was everything he wanted and more. Those cruel voices in his head were awfully quiet now, having heard your words straight from the source.  

When finally mustering up the courage, he leans in closer, his lips just inches from yours. The world felt suspended, the familiar weight of longing pressing against his chest; he cannot allow himself to backtrack here. He has to kiss you. 

Changbin closes the space to brush his lips against yours. It’s soft and tentative to test the waters. You responded immediately, eagerly leaning into him. Your free hand cups his face gently, a tenderness that is immediately addicting. He never realized how starved for touch he was. 

As the kiss intensifies, he forgets the rest of the world. There is no one else but you and him. Past lovers can’t compare to this moment here and now. Nothing has felt this right, this good. Fate intended him to meet you. 

Today was the day. Changbin rose for the night, feeling unease crawling around under his skin. Invisible bugs he couldn’t quite shake off. He should be happy. Hell, he should feel relief, and maybe when today is done, he will. 

It’s decommissioning day for the mine. If he had it his way, this would have happened sooner. Human greed prevented him from shutting down that dangerous death trap. Man sees a resource and needs to be selfish, taking it all for himself. Maybe that’s why he purchased the mine years ago. He never even wanted the damn thing, but the humans wouldn’t stop fighting, wouldn’t stop killing each other for some metals. At least under his authority, people would obey some semblance of rules.  

Tonight, Changbin will take a skeleton crew in to prepare the explosives. Bare bones compared to what he is used to. It’s a precaution. The mine is unstable thanks to a crack in a major support beam. Small ongoing tremors since then mean a potential collapse is on the horizon. Perfect timing to fight for the closure. There was no need to gamble with chance. Just move on to the new drilling location.

However, the humans were persistent in joining tonight. Even with the argument, it’s easier to excavate an undead creature that can preserve itself versus a fragile human. Changbin knows the humans are too cocky about their demolition crew. He relents only to make sure the sealing happens tonight. Then no one could venture inside the mine ever again. 

Changbin met the small group of vampires outside the mine nearly an hour after sundown. To his surprise, the humans proceeded without them. It’s a battle to keep his irritation in check, to not let it show on his face as he focuses on getting the fledglings to the lower levels. 

A familiar face is in the first tunnel. He places a firm hand on his superintendent’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “You started without us.”

“Oh, Mister Seo,” he says with a nervous chuckle. “I told you already we can handle this.”

“You should have waited like I asked.” He presses his lips into a hard line. The insubordination is an argument he will have later. Tomorrow will begin a search for a new supervisor. He will not tolerate this behavior. He uses more force in his tone. “Call. I want everyone out of the lower levels.”

“There isn’t much left to rig.” The human stands straighter, a hair taller as he scoffs. He’s trying and failing to intimidate the vampire. “We have this.”

The audacity. He is nothing but a twig.

Changbin’s annoyance is growing thinner with every word spoken to him. Any more of this attitude, and he may forgo Chan’s rules and use his compulsion to make the human perfectly compliant. He pushes onward down the slope, trying to avoid the temptation. “I don’t recall asking. I want everyone out. Now.”

There are reluctant steps behind him as the superintendent walks towards the wall where the line of bells hangs. Each individual bell on the rope rings out, giving the known signal to evacuate the area. This will be the last time he has to hear the annoying sound. The new mine will have telephones installed. Impressive things that cast iron will protect. One human tried to elaborate on the new technology, but Changbin will admit it’s above him. Frankly, he doesn’t care how they operate, just as long as it’s more reliable than the current system. 

Further down, the air in the mine is thick with dust and age. His strong eyes strain, searching for any movement. The low light from lanterns doesn’t illuminate much. They may as well be stars in the sky with the expanse of the tunnel’s length. The ore was truly generous in this land. 

Changbin finally reaches the designated area for most of the explosives. It’s a decent distance away from the cracked support beam. He’s not worried. The goal is to close off the main tunnels, allowing the earth to settle back into itself, and this controlled explosion will allow it to happen.

He’s fairly confident there are no humans beyond this point. A majority of the heartbeats he hears are faint. Good, he thinks to himself. The humans are listening to him. His eyes scan one last time before turning on his heel to leave. 

Back where he previously saw the superintendent, he now waits, head-counting silently to assure he will be the last one out. Humans are passing him now, nearly completing this final walkthrough. It’s almost over. 

Earth has other plans. 

Changbin felt it before he heard it. One tremor, shifting the bones of the earth. A hint of a warning, sent straight to the soles of his boots. Dread fills him quickly. Did something go wrong with the explosives? Did the earth finally break those weakened supports, or maybe something more natural like an earthquake? He doesn’t have time to ponder. 

“Move!” he yells, already sprinting toward the workers casually walking toward the exit. 

Heartbeats around him thunder in his ears, loud as war drums. The two workers near him and a few further up the tunnel. They’re close by but still so far away with the few seconds he has even with his inhuman speed. 

His anger from earlier boils in his veins. He told the foremen, the councilmen, all the humans here this was a liability from day one. The ground couldn’t handle all the excavation and would cave. No one listened to his concerns; no one cared. Now he will suffer here for it. If only the earth held up for a second longer. Just enough to get the humans safe, or at the very least, get them as close to the surface as possible. 

The ceiling above him gave out with a guttural roar. Timbers splintered like toothpicks. Stones the size of wagon wheels came crashing down. Changbin moved as fast as he physically could, shoving the two closest workers against the wall, throwing himself between them and the collapse. His arms shot up, catching a beam of rock and metal as it slammed down.

Pain erupted sharply in his shoulder. Something hot punched into his left bicep. A long, jagged piece of iron. He wanted to look further, to see the extent of the damage, but he couldn't afford to. His arms trembled as he locked them in place, muscles straining, spine arched like a bridge holding a mountain over the two humans. 

“Out,” he growled through clenched teeth. “Crawl. Now.”

One stared at him, eyes wide with panic. His face was bleeding and streaked with dust. “What about you?”

“I’m not human; I’ll be alright. Go!”

The two obeyed. He waited until he couldn’t hear them coughing anymore. Only then did he let the rubble shift. His knees buckled despite his best efforts. The inner voice pleaded, praying no one was behind him. 

Changbin forced himself to move, struggling to keep his footing. Still, he pushed forward until he couldn’t. Rock had buried him up to his chest by the time he met fresh night air. The damned metal bar was still lodged in his arm. His body was already healing around it. 

Damn flesh, he curses under his breath. 

From where he lies trapped, his eyes sweep the wreckage, watching dust settle as the last tremors fade. Rocks behind him continue to shift, including one pressing sharply against his back. He tries again to wriggle free, contorting his body. It’s useless. He only sinks deeper into the debris. He will have to wait to be extracted.

Around him, the humans gather in small clusters, checking on one another. A few sit in stunned silence, still reeling. His fledglings are reacting far better, calmer, and more focused. Some guide the injured away from the unstable ground while others work to help their leader. 

Additional help arrives rather quickly. Ever vigilant and paranoid, Chan had lingered at the wall, watching the vampires depart an hour earlier. The explosion being premature would’ve drawn his attention. Especially with his hearing.

Chan’s voice was calm but concerned when he spoke. “Bin.”

“I’m fine,” Changbin muttered, trying to rise, trying not to wince. Every inch of him ached. The weight of the stone began hindering even the smallest of movements. “The boys got out.”

Chan set down his lantern, barking a few orders to the fledglings before kneeling to help. His hands were precise and strong, lifting the rubble as if it were mere driftwood. Changbin never felt so much gratitude to his maker as he did when the pressure on his back lessened. 

Hyunjin appeared on Changbin's other side. His concern turns into disgust as he spots Changbin’s arm. “You’re impaled.”

“I know.”

“You let it heal around the metal?”

“They were going to die!” he snaps back, not bothering to hide his ire over such an assumption. 

“Two are still missing.” Chan groans, lifting a stone heavy even for him. “Your men say shaft four collapsed.”

Changbin went still. No, that can’t be right. He was careful. They must be mistaken. There were no heartbeats in the deeper part of the cave. He was sure of it. He ordered the humans to stay out of the lower levels. No one was that far down. It was a direct order. 

Every decision he makes is to protect them. Humans always come first. The fledglings down in the danger zones. Birds to measure oxygen levels. The repetitive training he instills. Reinforced exits, he argued for. There has always been a high chance of death in the history of mining, but not here. Not on his watch. He doesn’t repeat human mistakes.

“No,” he mumbles to himself. “No one dies in my mine.”

This was preventable. He should have done more to lock down the mine. He should’ve rigged the charges himself days ago. Anything to stop this. His hands are bloody for the first time since buying the land. He hates it.

The silence between the three leaders is heavier than the collapse itself. Chan doesn’t offer a positive narrative or false hope. Of course, he knows the truth. The humans are dead. There is nothing he can say that will soften the blow. Instead, he lifts the vampire to his feet, careful not to jostle the injured arm.

Changbin surveys the scene in front of him again. Eyes scan over the help Chan brought. Some of them are human, some are vampires, all working methodically to load the crew into two separate wagons.

Sure enough, two of his humans are missing.

Changbin pulls away from his maker and turns toward what was an entrance. His bloodied, dirt-caked fingers reach for a stone. Pain flares in his arm as the lodged metal shifts. It’s searing like a thousand suns and hard to ignore. He grits his teeth, fighting it as he shoves a large rock away. “I have to find them.”

They deserve to come home. Their families deserve closure. He will dig out the entire mountain if he has to. Is that a foolish task? Yes, and one he knows is impossible. 

Hyunjin speaks up from behind him. “You will not search while injured." 

“I’m fine. I have to.”

“Changbin, enough.” Chan's voice was low and stern. A tone not used lightly or often with the other. Even Hyunjin freezes. “As your maker, I forbid you.”

Rage rekindles tenfold. How dare Chan call upon their bond. He might as well have just compelled him. It’s no different. There is no fighting a sire’s command. Not without years of mastery. Already, Changbin feels his limbs betray him as Chan gestures him over. 

“Come.” Chan retrieves his lantern. “Let’s get you to Felix.”

There is a sterile smell throughout the hospital. A mix of disinfectant and clean linen. It means the area is sanitary and safe for patients to receive care. Changbin hates it, hates the way his nose hairs get tickled by it. 

Truth be told, Chan could have removed the rod outside the city. He doesn’t need to be here; he doesn't need a sterile environment. There is no risk of ‌infection. Somewhere deep down inside him, he knows Chan brought him here to keep him away from the mine. 

Chan’s call on the sire bond is still fresh in his mind. It’s been years since the last instance. He feels like a punished child. Changbin refused any additional help from the other leaders, ignored Hyunjin’s parting at the wall, and instead walked the remaining distance to the clinic with his head high. The faster this is over with, the faster he can get back out to the mine. He still has time before sunrise to assess the damage. 

A handful of his workers are here. None of the injuries are life-threatening. A few cuts and bruises. Those in shock just needed some rest. The collapse could have been worse. If Changbin was any later, he couldn’t imagine the casualties. Two were hard enough to stomach.  

He has one pressing question, and there is one human in this room who can answer. 

His vision floods red when his gaze lands on the superintendent. It’s pure instinct that drives him forward towards the human, faster than anyone in the room can react, even Chan. He grabs two fistfuls of the human’s shirt and hoists him right off the bed. The legs dangle helplessly in the air while his hands claw at Changbin’s attempting to free himself. There's no escaping this grip. He may as well be a kitten swatting at the vampire. 

Changbin draws his face closer, long, sharp fangs on display. Their faces are a mere inch apart now. The hiss that leaves his mouth is feral, fully intent on being intimidating. The human trembles in his hold like a leaf desperate to hang onto the branch during a storm. His eyes are wide, pupils dilating from fear; they look to Chan as a last resort, hoping to be saved by him. 

“Why were they down there?” Changbin asks, shaking the human to force eye contact once more. His speech isn’t as clear as normal, the fangs affecting his pronunciation. “I explicitly told you, no one was to go to the lower levels.”

“P-Please, I’m sorry.” The human croaks out. “They took the elevator. Something about a lunchbox. It wasn’t supposed to be longer than two minutes.”

A forgotten lunchbox. 

A fucking lunchbox of all things. 

An item that was replaceable. Human lives are not. More and more of Changbin’s thoughts spin into a whirlwind only to be another propellant for his anger. He hasn’t been this mad in a long time. Not since the hunters came into their town and took the life of Minho’s wife. 

The pain in Changbin’s arm is long gone, tucked far into brain as he focuses all his will to not crush this human or throw him through the nearest window. It wouldn’t help the situation, wouldn’t bring the humans back, but it would make him feel better. Now, he will have to tell the families that the reason for the deaths was that this man couldn’t obey one order. 

“Put him down, Bin.” Felix’s voice comes from behind. It's stern yet gentle. “Don’t handle it like this.”

Felix is right; it’s an awful example of his character, of his leadership. He is being tested here in how the situation forces him to reign in his emotions, to collect himself. He doesn’t want to be perceived negatively by his workers. If anything, he hopes they interpret it as his care for them. Everyone should be mad at this human right now. 

With that thought, Changbin sets the human back down on his feet and lets go. He backs up a few steps until there's a touch from Felix on the middle of his back. It is a way of silently giving him reassurance about the support he has in this room. 

However, it doesn’t offer much peace with the human screeching out. “This is proof!” A shaky finger extends directly aimed at Changbin. “You’re nothing more than a fucking monster!”

Changbin should bite that finger clean off his hand. If this human wants to see a monster, he’ll happily deliver. He doesn’t even get his reply out. Not before Chan does. “If you wish to keep your tongue, I would close your mouth. You are digging a hole you already can’t get out of.”

“How can you let one of your own act this way?” The human shifts his stance, now facing Chan. “To put his hands on one of us because of an accident?” 

“Because he has more concern for humans than you do.” Chan says while taking a step closer, shoulders square, causing the human to shrink into himself. 

The aura around Chan has always been dark and intimidating, miles different compared to the younger vampires. He also has the final say about all judgement here, and the human is quickly realizing how outnumbered he really is. His demeanor shifts, something softer to plead his case. Maybe not quite to manipulate their leader but more to appear innocent. “I didn’t know the collapse would happen!”

“I warned you!” Changbin shouts out. He can feel the heat of the stares on him. The vampire leaders, Felix’s staff, the fledglings that helped escort, and his human workers. Felix’s hand is now on his uninjured arm to remind him to remain where he stands. Changbin shakes it off with a huff before he continues speaking. “There were tremors all week! Their deaths are on your hands!”

“That’s…”

Chan’s grip on the human’s chin is sudden, like a snake lunging for a meal, and just as tight with the way his nails dig into the soft flesh of his skin. The leader forces eye contact and mutters only one word to the human. “Quiet.”

The human’s pupils contract to a normal size as the compulsion runs its course. Chan doesn’t like to use his powers. Typically reserved for interrogations or protecting his people. Rarely will he use them on one of the townspeople. Though with his age and practice, it's effective. The superintendent doesn’t say another word; he doesn’t move from his spot. Chan’s hand falls away just long enough to move to the human’s arm. 

Chan walks towards the exit, human in tow. His voice is dictatorial, no room for disobedience. “Lix…” 

“I’ll take care of it.” Felix cuts him off, already knowing what’s expected of him. 

Chan doesn’t particularly enjoy witnesses to his compulsion, especially his humans. It instills fear, something the vampires don’t need more of. Felix will go around to each of the humans here and see how the humans perceived the whole situation. If they notice Chan’s compulsion, only then will Felix subtly alter their memories as a safety measure. He will change just enough to make sure what they all thought occurred was simply Chan commanding silence.  

Felix's primary concern right now is Changbin. The vampire circles him, now stopping on his side to examine the impaled arm. There are a few light tugs on the bar causing Changbin’s face to scrunch up in annoyance. The pain is rather minimal until there is movement or other forces against it. He’s just grateful there is no silver in the metal. That would be an entirely different set of problems. 

“How’d this happen?” Felix asks while his fingers gently pull at the skin closest to the rod, testing the elasticity.  

“Does it matter?” Changbin shrugs slightly so as not to jostle his arm too much. “The result doesn’t change.”

“Why would you let it heal?”

“I didn’t have a choice!” His voice cracks as he stares at the rod in his arm like it’s mocking him. “It all happened so fast. I couldn’t stop it, and I sure as hell didn’t want this. I just… I couldn’t let them die.”

Felix shakes his head. A mix of disbelief and frustration contorts his face. He motions for Changbin to sit on the nearby bed. “I’ll have to force it through.”

“Bin!” 

As Changbin sits, his head whips towards the sound of your voice. The news traveled fast. Judging by the disheveled hair with nothing more than a thin robe over your nightclothes, so were you. You must have been freezing crossing the town.

 All to check on him. 

The more he assesses you, the more he can hear how your heart is hammering against your chest cavity, almost threatening to break through. Your breathing comes out in pants from the exertion. His stomach sinks with how much worrying you must have done. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, winding through the beds to close the distance. “I heard about the collapse.”

“I’m fine.” He says softly to reassure you. Your warm hands reach for him, and he offers his hand from his uninjured arm. You squeeze gently as he continues speaking. “We had two casualties. I couldn’t get everyone out.”

Felix sighs from beside him. “Every job has risks. We can’t save everyone. Don’t sit in that guilt. It does nothing.”

“I know.” Changbin nods. “I just want to get back. Make sure it’s safe.”

A noise of distraught leaves you when your eyes notice the rod pierced through his flesh. For a human, it's a lot to see, a lot to process even if he’s in no real danger. Tears well up on your lash line immediately. As comforted as Changbin is with your concern for him, you shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t see him in this state or have this as part of your memories of him. He tries to be reassuring with his words. “I’ll be okay. But I don’t want you to watch this.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

He should have expected that answer. He knew would be stubborn; it's part of your charm, it’s another reason he likes you. Denying you may also hurt whatever relationship you have. He has to trust you can handle this side of being with a vampire. He will get injured again. It’s unavoidable.  

“Stay looking at the door.”

You follow the command, nearly turning your whole body away. Your fingers stay intertwined with him while Changbin gives a glance towards Felix. The years of existence together have taught them a silent way of communicating. He’s as ready as he can be, and with that he extends his impaled arm just enough to hold on to the railing of the footboard. This leaves enough room for the other vampire to grip ‌the rod firmly. 

“On the count of three, Bin.”

Felix doesn’t wait; on the second count, he pushes with all his might, sending the iron rod straight down and out. Once more the skin shreds from the force, thick viscous blood splatters across the bed, and the dislodged rod clatters against the tile floor. That once sterile air shifts, now stagnant with the coppery smell of his blood. All Changbin can focus on is the pain, causing him to howl. His entire limb burns with the same scorching pain from earlier, though aches far stronger than the initial injury thanks to the lack of adrenaline to push him through. 

However, this time it's a struggle to heal. Skin and muscle are knitting back together at a snail’s pace. The exit wound under his arm heals after a moment. Though it’s the wound on the top of his bicep that can’t quite seem to recover.   

Both of your soft hands tighten around his. Quiet whimpers of distress almost distract him completely. His gaze shifts to you, and thankfully, your eyes remain focused across the room. His voice comes out timid. “The worst is over.”

Your face turns for a moment, eyes locking on the injury before darting away. “I thought vampires healed instantly.” There’s heavy concern in your voice as it trembles. “W-Why isn’t he healing?”

Changbin answers before Felix does. “It’ll heal once I feed.”

There’s a pause. He can see the gears shifting in your head, and he knows what the next words from you will be. He doesn’t want to hear it. Still, they come tumbling out of your lips. “Take my blood.”

“No. I can wait for a stock worker.” Changbin’s voice declines immediately. His stomach twists into a painful knot. He couldn’t ask that of you. He won’t. Absolutely not, he thinks. 

“Please,” you whisper, voice cracking. A whimper escapes before you can stop it. “Let me help you.” 

“I can not accept your blood.”

“Why not?” You whine. “I’m here and willing.”

He avoids your gaze now. He can’t bear looking at the hurt in your eyes; it's so raw, so desperate. The tears on your lash line nearly shattered him the first time. You are so good, so kind, and selfless. All to help him. It’s too much of a burden to take your blood. He’s not sure he’s ready for that step. Everything growing between you two is supposed to be slow and steady. How he wanted it to be. 

“It’ll complicate things between us.”

Out of the corner of his eye, your head tilts, confused by his response. “What do you mean?”

Felix speaks up when Changbin struggles to find the words. “When a human we care for offers blood, it becomes an intimate experience. It’s not a way to help or a token of appreciation. It’s a way to show love. You are willing to part with your life force for us.”

“Then I stand by my offer. Confidently.”

Adoration fills Changbin until he’s nearly overflowing. Every word coming out of your mouth is genuine, to assure him how serious you are. This is too soon. Without previous discussion, you want to take such a leap in the relationship? Is that what you two even have? He can’t do this. What if you regret it after? He won’t be able to live with himself. 

“I can’t accept it.”

“Lord Seo!” The abrupt change in tone causes him to flinch in your hold. He’s never witnessed your anger before. He dares to say it’s exciting, even feeling his cock twitch in interest at the scolding. Suddenly, he can understand Minho’s appeal to feisty humans. “You have suffered enough today. Take my damn blood.”

Felix is absolutely no help to him. The other vampire picks up the piece of metal and busies himself with the human approaching to clean the blood that spilled on the floor. There is a hint of betrayal that courses through Changbin. Typically, all the vampires here feed on stock workers. The rare exception is a consenting partner, and here is Felix saying he acknowledges you as a partner. 

He should feel flattered, honestly. 

Yet he doesn’t want you to offer because you feel obligated. 

On the flip-side, it’s the middle of the night, and most stock workers aren’t available for another couple of hours. He’s going to be forced to wait. Just another wrench thrown into his plans. That will take him away from the mine for even longer, and then the rising sun will restrict him. Plus judging how you are reacting, you’ll stay till he’s healed. 

It’s decided then.

He will accept your blood. 

Just enough to heal.  

Changbin rises from the bed, and without letting go of your hand, begins leading you out of the clinic’s main sickroom. He doesn’t have to go far. Across the hall are individual private patient rooms. It’s not a feeding room, but it’ll work for what he needs. He won’t technically be breaking any rules either. 

Chan banned public feeding nearly a hundred years ago. Once the vampire hunters became an increasing problem, he placed a handful of new regulations. It made sense; the less the humans saw, the less they would talk about. It took some time to adapt, but now Changbin can’t imagine any other way. Humans deserve privacy when in such a vulnerable state. 

After he releases his hold on you, Changbin motions for you to sit on the bed tucked in the corner away from the door. You follow the wordless command, sitting down, back straight with your hands tucked neatly in your lap. The silence is tense, but he doesn’t mind. He needs a moment to collect himself, to prepare himself for what’s about to occur. He’s not afraid of hurting you or overindulging; he’s experienced. It’s just to assure you have the time to back out if you want to. 

To no one’s surprise, you don’t. Instead, you pull up ‌the sleeve of your robe, exposing the skin of your wrist. Your voice is barely audible as you say, "Uh... Here."

Changbin takes a half step forward then stops. There’s one protruding vein close to the surface. Blood is right there, inches from him, taunting him. It’s water after a trek in the desert. It's a relief from the on and off pain in his arm. He just has to take it. He wants it; he wants it so badly his entire body buzzes with need. Saliva pools on his tongue, curious about the taste. Even his fangs ache to pierce through the delicate layer of skin. 

“I… uh,” he forces himself to look away to break the momentary spell he was under. “You use your hands for work. If I bite your wrist, it’ll ache until it heals.”

“Oh, what would you recommend then? I’m not familiar with how the stock workers present themselves.”

His internal voice is screaming in his head. This entire ordeal is being dragged out. He just needs to be direct and guide you. So he moves, choosing to sit next to you on the bed. He scoots far enough back to be in the middle. Changbin pats one of his thighs lightly before he speaks. “Come here, sit on my lap facing me.”

You follow the command wordlessly, rising and turning before climbing on top of him. Now you sit, hands on his shoulders to stabilize while you adjust your knees on either side of his hips. It’s a bit of a stretch thanks to the muscle he’s built on his thighs. He waits until you settle into a comfortable position and allow yourself to rest on him with your full weight. 

His hands move to adjust the bottom of the robe and nightclothes you wear to maintain some level of modesty the best he can. This compromising position shows off more of your pretty skin, particularly your own thighs, and Changbin has to bite the inside of his own cheek to focus. The image has already branded itself onto his memory. He can fantasize about those later on his own time on a better day.  

Changbin forces himself to make eye contact. He doesn’t dare look down again. Every time you take one of your shallow, anxious breaths, your breasts brush against his chest. He’s in a losing battle. If he makes it through this feeding session with any sanity, he will be happy. So for one last time, he asks, “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You nod slightly, voice firm. “Now just do it.”

He leans closer now, towards the crook of your neck. Your head tilts, offering more space. One of his hands comes up, his touch ever so gentle as he cradles the side of your face to keep you in place. His lips connect with the skin, feeling how flushed warm it becomes from your embarrassment. He traces a pounding pulse, stopping at a spot where he feels it the strongest. An elevated heart rate is common among humans before a feeding session. Even seasoned stock workers will have a spike.  

With that, his fangs puncture through the skin. 

You don’t whine, nor do you cry out from the pinch. Instead, a small gasp followed by your hands clawing to grip the fabric of his shirt. You cling to him while the rush of blood fills his mouth. He hungrily swallows it down, taking more greedy mouthfuls. Your blood is already helping while he feeds. His body finally closes up the remaining wound. 

There will be no scar; it takes more damage to mark his skin permanently. Any lingering pain fades quietly as he regains his energy. Your blood is revitalizing and honeyed, almost matching your personality. He expected this, which makes you that much more tantalizing. Being away from you will be even more of a struggle after this. 

When your frame sinks deeper into his hold, he retracts the fangs. A small amount of blood wells up to the surface of the skin. He can’t stop himself from dragging his tongue across the puncture marks. It's a force of habit for him. The pressure helps the blood clot quicker.

Both arms slip from his shoulders to rest on his chest. Your voice is weak, airy when you speak. “Are you better now?”

“Yes, much better now.” Changbin answers while adjusting his hands to wrap around your middle, to keep you close. The cheek he previously held now rests on his shoulder, and the warm breath you exhale tickles against his skin. Possessiveness arises in him with how defenseless you are until you recover your strength. He has to protect you. “You should be concerned with yourself.”

"I’m fine. I have you here with me.”

He won’t go anywhere. 

At least not too far. 

He really needs a bath. His clothes are torn, bloodstained, and coated with dirt. Hell, the threads are barely holding on. He needs to get back to the mine, check if it’s safe, and make note if there are aftershocks. Then there are families to contact. Sure, Chan is probably already doing what he can for him, but he should be there. It’s his people. It’s his mess. He needs to offer his condolences, discuss the odds of body retrieval, and set up any funeral arrangements. 

Yet it’s further down his list of priorities right now. 

Changbin stands, adjusting his hold before you can even process the movement. He gently turns and sets you down on the bed. There is no resistance; you simply lay your head on the pillow, eyes locked on him. His voice is low when he speaks. “Rest.”

“Where are you going?” 

“Just down the hall.” He replies, hand gently caressing your cheek. You lean into the touch, and Changbin fights to separate himself. The faster he is, the sooner he can return. “Let me wash up a little. I’ll only be gone for a moment.”

You offer a whisper of an agreement, and with that he steps out into the hall, shutting the door softly. He hasn’t even taken a step before Felix walks up to him with a bundle of clothing. “Chan sent someone with clothes. He asked you to come find him once you are free.”

Changbin motions behind him. “She’s resting. Is it okay if we stay until she recovers her strength?”

“Of course.” Felix nods, already walking back to the main sickroom. “As long as you need. I’ll have someone bring her some juice.”

“Thank you, Lix.”

When Changbin is less stressed, he vows to thank Felix and his team. Possibly a large gold sum they can use for supplies or upgrading the clinic. Donations help keep the hospital accessible to everyone here without cost. He sends one every year, and he can afford another. He needs to speak with his accountant, then arrange the gold's transfer. 

The washroom on this floor is communal. Though at this hour it is empty. Changbin doesn’t care who sees him right now. He places the clothes Felix gave to the side and pulls at the shirt on his frame. The fabric gives easily. It’s not even really a shirt anymore, more like remnants, crusted with his blood and dirt. He tosses it to the side, and the rest of his clothing follows. 

He stands under the cascade of water until it warms to a comfortable temperature. It’s a quick shower, washing away any lingering evidence of the collapse. It’s record time for him. He wants to be in and out to get back to you. You are safe; he knows this. He’s trying to reason with the anxiety coursing through him. It won’t be silenced until he can physically see you in front of him.

A new page has turned in this relationship. Every action can make or break this fragile cardhouse he’s built. Impressions matter. How you recover from this feeding session matters. The pit in his stomach sinks; present the entire time he dries off and pulls on the pair of pants. He tosses the remains of the originals into a waste bin and quickly pulls his arms through the sleeves of the shirt as he makes his trek back to the small room. 

You remain where he left you. The only difference is the glass of juice sits on a counter near you. Your spirits appear to have lifted; he gets a playful comment from you. “It’s a shame I only get a peek.”

“Patience, my precious flower.” He answers, still working the buttons to close the shirt. The pet name is new, foreign to his tongue. It feels right, something fitting for how he perceives you. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“Do you promise?”

“Oh, of course.” He answers while sitting on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Well…” Your words trail off. Is that confusion on your face? There’s a subtle shift over your thighs, both pressing tight together. “Technically, I’m alright. The bite doesn’t hurt much.”

Something is off, and he’s not sure why you won’t elaborate on it. Changbin reaches for your knee, thumb beginning to run over the soft skin to attempt to be reassuring. A quiet moan involuntarily slips past your lips. Your reaction is instant, slapping a hand over your lips and eyes wide. 

It then finally connects in his brain. 

Bless whatever higher being or beings there are for your creation. You are a rare type of human. One that takes pleasure in being bitten. You are a fever dream come true. Vampires beg for humans like you. Your body continues to shift, trying to alleviate that building desire, and it’s safe to assume you are in fact one of them. An interesting development, no doubt confusing for you. 

Pride swells up in his chest. His precious human. His human will allow his bite, and you enjoyed it. The smirk forming on his face is hard to fight. “Please don’t be embarrassed.”

Your head shakes slightly as your hand falls away. “I don’t understand why.”

“It’s a reaction to the bite.” He answers gently. If he focuses hard enough, he can smell the faintest hint of your arousal. It’s heavenly, almost more than your sweet blood coursing through your veins. He needs to distract himself; this is about you and your well-being right now. He continues to explain. “It’s rare, but not uncommon. Only two of our stock workers experience it.” 

“I’m so sorry.”

He knows his own face contorts into a look of confusion. “For what?”

“This isn’t the time or place.”

“You can’t help it.” Changbin subtly shifts his hand higher on your thigh. You don’t resist, instead letting your legs fall open, accepting his touch. He tests the waters, moving under the clothing to caress higher. “I find it flattering.” 

Your hand finds his, halting any movements. Your voice is now pleading with him. “You’re making it worse.”

“Then let me help you.” He says low, shifting to lie down next to you. He lets out a pleased hum at the way your body shudders at the offer. “Let me thank you for your kindness.”

“Here?” You ask, eyes darting towards the door briefly. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

Changbin props his elbow up for his palm to support his head. “No one will interrupt us. Besides, I welcome the distraction.”

You don’t reply, instead reach for the hem of your nightgown, pulling the fabric higher. Your bare pussy becomes visible as more skin is revealed. Even in the low light, it glistens, teasing him more than your veins ever could. He groans low in his chest. The smell of your arousal is stronger now. He can practically taste the wetness dripping onto the sheets below you. 

“All of you is just so beautiful.” He mumbles more to himself than to you. His hand cups your pussy, two fingers dipping shallowly between your folds to coat them. “So warm. So soft.”

Changbin takes his time exploring, running the pads of his fingers up to your clit to mindlessly circle the sensitive bud before back down to slip two fingers inside with ease thanks to the help of your wetness. He starts at a gentle pace, in and out, one he can gradually build up. 

“Feel good?” He asks, watching every little detail on your face, trying to memorize it all to the point the view will be ingrained behind his eyelids. 

“Y-yes.” You whimper out, voice timid as you use all your self-control to keep quiet. You already sound so fucked out, so overwhelmed with minimal effort. “Faster. Please.”

He obeys the command. Wet sounds fill the room as his fingers drive in and out with the occasional curl to find if there are any sensitive spots tucked away. The increased speed gets you vocal, to the point Changbin leans over to shush you with a kiss. You submit so willingly, not fighting his tongue when it slips past your lips and explores. 

His cock is fully erect and trapped in his pants. It nearly aches with the way your pussy walls cling to his fingers. Surely, you can feel it pressed against your thigh and, one day in better circumstances, he will fuck you till you can no longer remember your name. He’s not bound by a human’s stamina, and when that day comes, he’ll make sure he fucks you thoroughly to your satisfaction. That’s when he can enjoy how you feel around him, and see the mess you’ll make on his cock. 

You break away from the kiss, breathless. Words coming out in a broken moan as your head falls back against the pillow. “Oh, Bin.” 

“Wish we were anywhere else.” He murmurs. “I’d give anything to hear how loud you can get.” Changbin moves his attention to your clit, fingers applying pressure as he circles. Your back arches as the constant stimulation is pushing you closer to the edge. It’s only a matter of time now. He brings his lips close to your ear, voice still low. “The next time I have you like this, the entire town will hear how good you feel. I swear it.”

“Bin, I… I’m close.”

“Then come.” Changbin encourages. “Come for me.”

His words appear to be enough motivation. He watches, truly bewitched as pleasure crashes through your body. From the little noise of distress down to your trembling thighs. Even with all your squirming, his fingers persist, trying to prolong that high as long as he can. He pulls away when you fall back against the sheets, completely spent. 

Both of your hands weakly seek him out, wrapping around his neck to keep him close. He loses himself in your eyes, searching for any regrets. He’s met with a look of contentment and sweet words of gratitude. You poor little thing, barely making any sense. Not only are you tired from blood loss but from the exertion as well. It buys him more time to spend with you, more time to hold you against him till your heart-rate settles. It’s time he’s going to take selfishly for himself if it means he can escape the hell tonight was. 

“Can you kiss me until I feel better?”

“I would be delighted to.” He assures. “Whatever you need.”

Chan will have to wait. Everything has to wait. Just for a moment. Then he can get you home, accept the piling responsibilities he needs to face, and take care of what needs to be done. His precious flower comes first, though. If anyone has a problem with his actions, then he’ll accept their ire. 

Even with Changbin protesting, Chan took care of most of the fallout from the mine. He argues the other leader deserves time to mourn, not just the families. The two humans weren’t only his employees; they were friends. Chan also accepts the funds from the mine’s books for the two funerals without a fight. There was always a set amount set to the side just in case any accidents happened. 

Despite Changbin’s best efforts, the bodies were not retrievable. It was too risky to try. Instead, the area will remain sealed, like a scar on the earth. A horrible reminder every time he steps out of the city. This accident will not repeat. Perhaps that’s a bar set too high, but he will at least try to the best of his ability. 

Grief is a range of emotions for the vampire. He cried with the families and thanked them for their understanding. When reminded of good times, he laughed. Then another round of tears when donating a large sum of gold to the families for financial security. Anger came after. Usually when he sat alone in his office at night. All for the superintendent that was placed in isolation away from where Changbin could reach him. 

Chan made sure of that. 

It’s for the best. 

Especially after the round of interviews Chan conducted with the workers present that night. Nobody tried to prevent the two humans from continuing into the mine. No hesitation, not even a second thought. Accident or not, Chan said he would find a suitable punishment. 

Frankly, Changbin doesn’t care what happens. 

All he asks is never to see that man’s face again. 

For now, he can focus on happier things. Tonight is the harvest festival. A bit earlier than typically scheduled, but with three of the vampire leader’s birthdays coming up in one month, it's easier to push this celebration sooner. The festival is a favorite among humans. All their hard work over the year is flourishing, nearly overflowing the several stalls of merchandise. It’s one big final push for the outdoor market before the storms move in, shutting it down till the spring thaw. 

This year is moving faster than Changbin wants. 

And surrounding himself with that positive energy will be good for him. 

With the seasons changing, the days not only grow colder but also shorter. The sun setting earlier allows more freedom for the vampires in the city. More time for the leaders to mingle among the humans. It’s an opportunity to establish a level of trust and develop deeper connections. Chan’s vision for the city has always been about building a community. One that will promote growth but also defend itself when it matters most. 

Changbin gets to experience the public at its finest today. His favorite bakery is open outside of usual business hours tonight thanks to the crowds of people mingling in the market. He is here to visit you, though it’s business affairs first before enjoying the festivities. 

The properties Felix and he own have blurred over the centuries. Neither really cared about where the estate lines are. Instead, both work together to ensure the land flourishes. This includes not only the shared greenhouse but also the impressive orchard as well. This year's harvest is exceptionally abundant. Felix already sold a majority of apples to the townsfolk, then donated baskets full to the schools, and now he’s still left with too many for even his staff to take home or use. So instead of wasting them, Changbin brought the extra to you. 

“Are you sure you won’t take payment for these?” You ask, eyes wide at the amount of crates he continues to unload into the backroom. “It’s more than a few.”

“You are doing me a service by using them.” Changbin huffs out, stacking the last two crates. “So, no, I will not take payment.”

“Well, I’m grateful. Pies are always in high demand this time of year.”

Changbin dusts off the front of his clothes, sending a small cloud of orchard dust into the air. “Will your staff be upset if I steal you for a moment?”

“No, I don’t think they’ll mind.” You glance back towards the front of the shop. The line has died down a bit. It’s no longer out the door. “I promised we’d close for two days in return for the additional shift tonight.” 

“I won’t keep you long.”

You gently entangle your arm in his, fingers brushing the inside of his wrist. He focuses on the warmth of your skin against his as you lead him out the back entrance of the storeroom. “You can keep me as long as you wish.”

Tonight's temperature is surprisingly warm while the pair of you stroll around the marketplace. He seizes the chance to buy a bag of homemade caramels. He’s rewarded with more of your pretty smile and contentment. It's almost enough of a distraction from the stares of the townsfolk on him. It’s not anything new for him, though he expected some extra attention with a human on his arm. He’s never been one to display a partner publicly. 

He shifts his attention to you, eyes trailing to the uncovered bite mark on your neck. The healing time is longer than he remembers. His question comes out before he can stop it. “You’re not in too much pain, are you? Is the salve helping?”

“I’ll be honest, I haven’t been using it.”

“Why not?” Changbin asks, halting his movement. He leans closer to examine the bite. There’s no redness or swelling. Just two little puncture wounds. “Did it hurt to use it? Felix told me it’s not supposed to.”

“He also said if I used it, the bite wouldn’t scar.” You say with a nonchalant shrug.

Changbin sighs, one full of playful annoyance. “Use the damn salve. I can always bite you again.” 

Maybe he should apologize. The bite is so high on your neck; it's hard to hide with clothing. Guilt washes over him. He makes a mental note to only mark you where it won’t be visible. “The customers haven’t grieved you, have they?”

“Of course not.” You answer immediately, almost offended at such an idea. “And if they did, it wouldn’t matter. I wear this bite proudly.”

“I’ll drop it then. I guess I had a different question I wanted to ask.” Changbin pauses briefly to swallow the lump in his throat. You stare at him with such curiosity, and he’s realizing it’s not getting any easier to ask you out. “Will you be attending my birthday celebration?”

You blink, surprised. Briefly, your eyes flicker to the side, almost as if you were looking for an escape, but you meet his gaze again after a moment. “I’m not sure yet.”

“Why?” he asks, still trying to process the shift in the mood. Everything is going so well. Why was there apprehension? What did he do wrong? You don’t appear to regret what happened in the clinic, especially with the previous discussion. Was it something else? 

“I… I’d be honored if you came.”

“I’d like to but…” You untangle your arm from his, fingers curling into your palms. “I don’t think I have anything to wear that would be suitable for such an event.”

Changbin’s brows knit together. “What do you mean?”

“Those events differ from town meetings.” Your voice is so timid, so shy to speak your thoughts. Changbin hates it, and he hates this weird insecurity you are expressing. He’s never seen you like this before. You tug at the hem of your dress, the gesture small but telling. “You all dress so classy, and I don’t. Can’t.”

"That's not what matters. You don’t have to dress in the finest silk to celebrate with me.”

“Well, maybe you are the only one who thinks so, Bin,” you say, a teasing edge creeping into your voice. You motioned to your plain dress again, lifting a brow as if daring him to answer. “What would everyone else think if I showed up in this?” 

Changbin stands strong, squared shoulders, ready to fight for his argument as if he’s debating against Chan himself. “I think they’d be lucky to see you there.” 

“You’re impossible.” You sigh dramatically, lips curling into that familiar, half-amused grin. “I’ll try to make it. No promises, though.”

“Well, I hope you can.”

The surrounding tension may well be a thick fog. It drives pain into the pit of his stomach. This was not how tonight was supposed to go. Changbin had his spiel all rehearsed, replayed in his mind a hundred times to perfection, and now has fallen apart. He’s smart enough to know not to dig his fingers into this wound and pry. He won’t push his luck. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, Bin.” You say, giving a glance back at the bakery. “The line is growing. Thank you for the caramels.” 

He silently nods in understanding. Though he’s taken aback when you close the distance to press a kiss against his lips. It’s soft and brief, similar to the first kiss he shared with you. Changbin can’t stop himself, reaching for your chin to pull you back in for another and another after that. He ignores the noise of surprise and murmuring that follows from the small group passing by. He doesn’t care if people talk; he can’t walk away from you without being a little greedy with affection.  

You playfully swat his hand away. “Stop making this harder for me. Now go enjoy the festival.” 

He offers an apology, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays any hint of sincerity. You roll your eyes in response, and he feels more at ease. These reactions are more what he prefers. 

Just as you turned to leave, you called over your shoulder, “Don’t expect me to wear any of those ridiculous arm frills. No one will take me seriously in a gown like that.”

He remains where he stands, watching as you cross through the crowd back to your store. Hope is a finicky emotion in him. More like a small candle in his hands that he’s protecting from the winds of doubt and insecurity. He has faith. You will show up, and he will spend the celebration with you. 

++++

Hours later, Changbin is losing his mental battle. It’s pathetic, he knows. He tried to hold on to the hope from you. The longer he marinates in his feelings, the more his heart aches. It aches with a pain nearly matched to the one instance where a hunter almost killed him. A wooden stake to the chest that grazed his heart. 

Yes, that hurts less than this. 

Maybe he was being too greedy with you. Though it’s a birthday event, his birthday event. Your attendance should have been a definite thing. All he got was a ‘maybe’ from you. 

From behind him, Hyunjin slams a palm against the desk he sits at. “Changbin, if you sigh one more time, I swear I’ll open those windows, and you will learn to fly.”

“Have you no sympathy for me?” Changbin groans from where he lies on the couch.

“No,” Hyunjin huffs, his pen returning to whatever idle doodle he’d been working on. “Because every time I ask, you refuse to answer.”

Changbin let out another dramatic noise, burying his face deeper into the cushions. It’s too painful to think about, let alone speak. After that conversation with you, the harvest festival had lost all its appeal. He’d gone home instead, sulking, determined to drink his feelings into silence. 

Hyunjin wasn’t part of that plan. Changbin hadn’t turned him away when he showed up. He wanted the comfort and the reassurance that he wasn’t alone. Now, two bottles deep into a red wine, his composure is unravelling. Childish feelings be damned. 

The other vampire tries again to pry for information. “Did you ask if she would attend your birthday celebration like I told you to?”

“She said she would think about it.” Changbin answers while continuing to wallow in his misery. An arm now thrown over his face. “She didn’t have an outfit to wear.”

“Unfortunately, some humans don’t share our wealth.”

“She could show up in a flour sack, and I would think she was the prettiest human.”

“And I’m sure she believes you.” Hyunjin replied, tone softening, “But you forget humans can be cruel.”

“Then I only want her there. It’s my celebration, after all.”

There’s a snort from Hyunjin. “Don’t be ridiculous. You always look forward to your time with the humans. Especially when Chan fronts the cost.”

Changbin ignores the last comment. It wasn’t wrong to enjoy it when your creator spoils you. It’s common knowledge that Chan’s home can and will host town events. The large space is accessible to most and has the staff to take care of everyone. Why waste resources when Chan can manage it and has for years?

He moves his hand to stare up at the ceiling. Ideas brewing. He’s hesitant when he speaks up. “Would… would it be outrageous to send a dress?”

“No,” Hyunjin replies. His head shifts to glance at his art at a different angle. “I think it’s rather sweet.”

“Perhaps not,” he muttered, anxiety creeping into his voice. “What if it upsets her? I wouldn’t forgive myself if I crossed a line.”

“Ah, once again I must play savior in your life.” Hyunjin rises from his seat. He makes his way over to Changbin and plucks a bag of gold from the jacket he discarded on the back of the couch earlier. “Let me handle this.”

Changbin sat up abruptly. “What are you…?”

“Is there a preference in color?”

He ponders for a moment. You would look beautiful in anything. What he should have done was ask your favorite color during the date in the greenhouse. You talked for hours that night. Surely, it would have been the perfect opportunity. This dress is for his birthday, though, so maybe he should pick a color he enjoys. 

After a moment to decide, Changbin finally has an answer. “You know those pretty roses you painted? A pink like that. But no frills on the sleeves. She detests those.”

Hyunjin gives a curt nod. “I’ll take care of it.”

Changbin watches the other vampire leave in silence. Part of him wants to rush out that door and stop Hyunjin. He doesn’t. It takes fighting all of his instincts. No, he should let this happen. The dress would be another courting gift to you. Even if he were human, he would still go through with this plan. You can keep it, burn it, or sell the dress for a handful of coins; it doesn’t matter to him. All he wants is for you to show up. Be there for the celebration and make the night memorable. 

He rises from his seat, stumbling to cross the distance to remove the cork half nestled in the wine. He doesn’t bother pouring himself another glass. Instead, he brings the rim to his lips to drink straight from the bottle. All he can do is wait now. Maybe he will pray to some higher being in hopes of swaying the odds in his favor. 

The night in the greenhouse comes to mind. You couldn’t stop smiling. Nor did you want the evening to end. Changbin chuckles to himself at how you argued you couldn’t leave till you tasted all the food he brought. It was a battle getting you into the carriage so he could bring you home safely. Even then, you would have stayed seated until the sun rose. The only thing he could do to get you moving was promise another date with you. 

Of course, he would agree to those terms. 

Anything. He would do anything for you. 

Curiosity gets the best of Changbin. He reaches for the artwork left behind. Hyunjin found an old document, not caring about its importance. All along the bottom half of the paper is an array of wild daisies. Similar to those he picked just outside the wall of the city. There is a field ranging in color on the road towards the mine. Hyunjin appeared to use some of his wine to color a few of them in varying shades of pink and red. You would be so pretty in this field, running through it while the sun kissed your skin. 

His human, his beautiful little human. The same human he tasted in the clinic. That moment is ingrained in his memory. Your little gasp when he pierced through the skin, the moans when he touched you, and the look in your eye when pleasure peaked from his touch. All of it was so hypnotizing. He wishes he had more time with you. To properly worship your body the way you deserve.

With how things are progressing between you two, he knows the opportunity will come. He just needs to be patient. Though that simple kiss tonight sent fire through every nerve in his body. 

Perhaps that’s why the hesitancy from you tonight hurts so much. He’s not entitled to your time or anything for that matter. Why is how people perceive you so concerning? You willingly show off his bite, so it’s not about the vampire side of him. Is it really as simple as a wealth concern? 

Ah, it must be because if you showed up, he would want you at his side. The people would have their eyes on you. 

Who cares, he thinks. What does it matter what you are wearing? It’s so trivial. He knows he’s not involved in most human gossip, but such behavior from them would be childish. Talking bad about you is the same as talking bad about him. 

He doesn’t regret the decision about the dress now. If it soothes your anxiety about the entire ordeal, then it’s worth it. The seamstress in town is wonderful. You are going to be so beautiful. The prettiest flower in the field of people. 

Changbin feels alive. As much as an undead creature can be. The townsfolk have shown up in ‌impressive numbers tonight. Each takes a turn, coming up to share kind words with him. Their celebratory energy fuels him. Though his eyes scan the entrance to the ballroom every time the door opens. 

He received word a few days ago. You accepted a dress and some minor alterations. At no cost to you, of course. Hyunjin’s been teasing him since, refusing to share any details, only stating that Changbin must resist temptation. A comment like that ignites a small fire of desire that has been sitting, simmering inside of him the last few days. 

It’s just a matter of time now. 

Mercifully, you don’t make him wait long. 

Reality may as well be a dream when you walk in. The sound of live music disappears. As does the noise from all the chattering people. Everything else around him seems to turn into a blur of insignificant colors while all his focus lands on you. 

The seamstress did wonderful work. You donned a beautiful dusty rose-colored dress with some burgundy accents and no frilly sleeves to upset you. The daring neckline reveals a pretty expanse of skin he’s not sure if he wants to kiss or bite. You haven’t noticed him yet, eyes scanning the crowd as you work your way through the people. 

Changbin politely excuses himself from the small circle of people around him and ducks through the crowd straight to you. There’s nothing but happiness in his voice. “You’re here.”

You awkwardly shift your weight to the other foot. “I’m sorry I came empty-handed. I don’t know what to gift a vampire.”

Changbin shook his head at once, voice low, almost urgent. “Don’t. Your presence is worth more to me than any gift. You are more than enough.”

You playfully smack his chest. “Stop saying such things.”

“Never,” he grins wide, his cheeks almost hurt. “I enjoy how flustered it makes you.”

“Do I look pretty?” You ask, offering a little half spin. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“My reasoning was selfish. I wanted you to be here.” 

“It’s your birthday,” you say with such assurance. He almost calls out your previous hesitation but doesn't want to ruin this moment. “Of course, I would show up for you.” You pause, pondering a thought. “Though if I may, most immortals I’ve heard of don’t care for birthdays, and yet every year you are so excited.”

Another smile tugs at his lips. “Because it reminds me I’m alive in a sense. That I belong to this world. Yes, it hurts losing people I’ve cherished. But…” His eyes scan the humans in the room while he speaks. “I’ve seen wars, extinctions, and generations born and gone. I’ve watched medicine heal what once killed, and watched inventions change how people live. All of it because humans persist. Life continues to bloom, and that persistence is beautiful.”

When his gaze returns to you, you hold it, voice quiet. “You really are fond of humans.”

“I am,” he said simply. “Fragile, fleeting creatures, yet brilliant in ways immortals will never understand.”

Another round of music from the performing quartet swelled across the ballroom. The crowd shifted to make room for the couples who drifted towards the center. Even their town’s leader is among them, joined with a pretty human in tow. Changbin extends his hand, palm up in an offering. “Dance with me?”

“Gladly.” You answer, placing your hand in his, allowing him to lead you into the sea of people. 

It’s truly magical how easily you make him feel like the only being in this room with you. All his attention focused on the warmth of your palm, the same floral scent of perfume, and the way your laughter rose when he twirled you across the floor. Tonight was perfect. Everything was perfect. 

++++

Changbin has never been more grateful for his staff living in different quarters on the property. He doesn’t have to worry about anyone interrupting or hearing any of your pretty noises meant for him. This also means the house is quiet when he shuts the front door. He lets you wander in further, taking in the sitting room. Someone lit the fireplace before leaving, shrouding the dim room with an orange hue. 

You spin on your heel, and even in the low light, Changbin can see hunger in your eyes. You want him, and tonight, he will finally cave. He’s tired of fighting the suffocating sexual tension. Even at the clinic, he held back to be respectful, to honor human courtship like you deserve. He’s done. No more. Not when you are encouraging him. 

He closes the distance between you in a few steps, hands gently placed on your hips to guide you backwards to the nearest wall. “It’s so hard to keep my hands to myself tonight.”

You give a playful smirk. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

“But this dress is too beautiful to ruin.”

“It’s just a dress.” You huff, rolling your eyes. “You can buy me another.”

Something in Changbin’s mental wiring resonates with your words. Perhaps it’s your reassurance of the relationship between you, or the simple fact that it's true. He can buy you another; he will buy many more in the future. So he shouldn’t have any sympathy for a few yards of cloth. 

A second later, he brings his hands to the neckline of the dress, grabbing a good handful in each palm and pulling. The fragile material shreds into pieces away from your body, leaving you in a flimsy slip. 

You let out a hum of satisfaction at the display of strength. He should have known the brat inside you would relish ‌such behavior from him. He fell straight into that trap, but that’s fine in his book. You have no idea what’s in store for you, and he’s ready to humble you. 

Changbin crashes his lips against yours. This kiss differs from all the sweet ones he’s shared. This kiss is a fiery, passionate thing, full of want that still demands more. There’s no more holding back, no more dancing around desire. 

His hands find your breasts, kneading both through the thin material that’s separating you from being completely bare in front of him. Both of your nipples are hard under his palms and apparently rather sensitive, judging by the small whiny moans against his lips. 

He forces himself to just enjoy how you feel against him. This is real; you are here before him, allowing him the privilege of having you. What an honor it is. The familiar warmth of arousal blooms low in his gut. Cock already half hard as he presses you harder against the wall. 

The thin slip comes off next. It shares the same fate as the dress, ripped to pieces and an unrecognizable mess on the floor. You kick off your shoes, and now you are completely bare in front of him. The view makes Changbin feel more powerful than he already is. 

His hands find your frame to explore. Every inch of skin was soft under his touch. He kisses you once more on the lips and then again on your cheek, now trailing his lips down to your neck, where the slight scar of his bite remains. 

“Mine.” He speaks into your skin. Just to remind you. “Only mine.”

You sigh in contentment, back arching as his kisses continue over your collarbone and to your breasts. His teeth sink into one of your breasts. Just hard enough that when he pulls away to admire his work, there is a pretty mark from his teeth indented the skin. No, he won’t feed on you tonight. You’ll need all the energy you have to endure the night he’s envisioning. 

As Changbin bites the other to match, he knocks one of your feet with his own to spread you wider. His hand finds your pussy, cupping the bare mound in his hand. The response is instant; your hips rock as you grind against his palm. Maybe he should let you continue, watch as you pathetically rut against him till you are hysterical.

 “You’re already so wet.” Changbin teases while his fingers tease your folds to coat his fingers in the wetness. 

“I was the second I saw you.” You confess. “Every time I see the damn fabric of your shirts straining to hold together. Those muscles make a lady dizzy.”

Changbin laughs lightly and airily in response to your words. You have no filter, no tact with him. He wonders how filthy that mouth can be. So he takes his time to prepare you for his cock. Slowly working his fingers comfortably up to three before caving to your pleas for release. It’s only then that he teases your clit. His eyes stay glued to you, watching your less consistent breathing and tensed body as the orgasm overcomes you a few seconds later. 

Once he’s sure the high died out, his touch leaves, both hands now on your hips to help stabilize you. “Breathe, human. You need to breathe.”

You lean your head back against the wall, panting. “It’s your birthday, and yet I’m the one being worshiped.”

“You giving me freedom to use your body is the best gift.”

“Good.” You say playfully, a smile back on your face. “I’m glad you accepted it. I’m tired of waiting.”

“I’m sorry for my chivalry.”

“You should be!” You huff, fake annoyance in your tone. “I could have been yours months sooner.”

“Then tonight I will make you mine completely.”

That spoken promise seems only to fuel your want. A shaky hand of yours trails down his chest and further to palm his clothed cock, giving it a light squeeze. “Let me see.”

“Is this what you want?” he asks, his voice low and husky. “Can you even handle it?”

“I’m not as fragile as you think I am.”

"You say that," Changbin playfully pauses to nip at your bottom lip. “But I will fuck you like no man ever can. No one will ever compare.”

Still, you goad him with no fear. Not even aware of the door you are opening. “Then quit talking about it and prove it.”

Changbin reaches for his pants quickly, unbuckling his belt. He pulls harshly at the fabric, and the poor button holding the material shut lightly clatters somewhere across the floor as he forces his pants open and down his thighs, just enough to free his cock. 

At the same time, your eager hands tug at his shirt until it falls open. He lets you explore for a moment, enjoying the way you caress over his chest down to his stomach. You sound almost in disbelief that you finally have him at your fingertips. “Carved like a god.”

“I appreciate your flattery, but I’m far from one.” Changbin responds, reaching down to hook one of your legs around the crook of his arm. The new position keeps your beautiful pussy on display and prevents you from escaping. An involuntary moan leaves him when the tip of his sensitive cock brushes against you, so close to your wet hole. It’s so slick, so warm, and so inviting. The anticipation may kill him. 

“Please, Bin.” You beg. There’s such a desperation in your voice. “No more fucking games. I’ve waited long enough.”

“Put it in then if you want it so badly.”

Your hand slips down immediately between you, giving his cock a few good strokes before angling his cock where you want him. You both gasp at the sensation as the tip presses in with ease, the earlier orgasm aiding him as he sinks to the hilt. His thrusts start slow and steady, a calm pace to allow you to adjust to his girth. 

You feel better than he ever dreamed. 

Before you can protest, his free arm sneaks under the other thigh, hoisting you off the ground in one swift motion. He uses the brief moment to press your back against the wall, trapping you against him.   

“Shit, Changbin!” You squeak out in surprise. Both of your arms wrap tight around his neck. “What are you doing?”

“You wanted to see my strength, little flower. So I’m showing you.” He answers as if it were the most obvious answer. His palms press flat against the wall. “I won’t drop you.”

His words are not only to reassure you but also a promise. You may as well be a feather with his strength. Now here you are, perfectly caged against the wall, forced to take his cock as he continues to bully it inside you. You won’t be going anywhere. Not until he decides he’s done fucking you. 

“Oh, fuck.” Your eyes roll back as the pace quickens. “I can feel you deep.”

Changbin smirks to himself. He’s never heard so many curse words leave your pretty mouth, except ‌when you are fighting an impending orgasm. An evil part of him delights in it. 

“You like this, don’t you?” He asks, knowing you can barely form a sentence, let alone a coherent thought. “Taking my cock like such a good girl.” 

This proximity of your face next to his delivers every moan he punches out of you right in his ear. He nearly falters for a second, knowing he’s the reason you are making those delicious, pathetic sounds. His human, his partner, and now his lover. You shudder against him in response to the possessive growl that slips past his lips. 

“How much can you handle, hmm?” Changbin prods, pulling back to look you in the eyes. You don’t break contact, lips parted in a silent scream as his hips piston up against you. The sound of skin slapping against skin is deafening in the quiet house. “I’ll fuck you in every room in this house tonight if you’ll let me.”

“Don’t stop,” you plead, finally finding your voice. 

Changbin’s hips snap even faster, more urgent to bring you another sweet orgasm. He knows how close you are with the way your velvety walls tighten around his cock. It’s right there on the peak. Your nails dig into his shoulders as you continue to beg. He’ll give it to you. You just have to take it, take all of him. 

“Come for me.” He urges. “I know you want to. Don't hold back.”

“Fuck!” you curse out, your whole body tight as pleasure floods you. Another wave of wetness leaks from your pussy, now dripping down his cock to the floor. Changbin wants to see it and taste that sweet nectar on his tongue until he drowns in it. 

He moves faster than he safely should, depositing you on the nearby couch before you can process what is happening. His cock slips out right after, and he uses both of his hands to grip the meaty flesh of your inner thighs to keep you wide open for him. He falls to his knees with a harsh thud, bringing his eager mouth to your pulsating cunt. 

A low, guttural groan reverberates through his chest at the first taste. You are divine. There is nothing else on this earth that would be this delectable. Not even the finest blood. He could spend the rest of his existence here, face buried between your legs, and he would consider his life fulfilled. 

Changbin's gaze trails up to see how you are faring, and he moans at the view. You shut your eyes tightly. Both breasts still have indents from his bites. It only makes him hungry for more.

Seconds later, your usual gentle hands find the crown of his head, and you tangle your fingers in his hair. The hold is firm, yet not enough to hurt. Not that you could hurt him, but he appreciates the consideration. 

“Oh, my god.” You cry out, head thrown back into the plush padding. 

To think this was the same couch he sat worrying about the stance of this relationship a few days prior. Now you’re crying out to some higher being when the devil himself is lapping at your cunt. 

Your thighs jerk either in an attempt to chase his tongue or trying to shift away. Changbin simply adjusts the grip on your thighs. It’s a firm reminder that you will stay where he wants you. You can’t escape this. Not unless you tell him no or until you come again. He drags his tongue higher, now flicking against your clit to coax out another orgasm. 

“Gonna come again.” You warn. The desperate whimpers are growing in volume. You sound almost delirious. “P-Please, Bin. Please.”

The grip on his hair tightens, and Changbin half expects you to ask him to stop, to allow yourself a break from his relentless actions, but you use him for leverage to grind against his face, as if it’s the only thing holding you to this world. He’s not human; there’s no need to worry about breathing, so he will embrace this greed from you. 

Your orgasm finally peaks while another fucked-out noise leaves you. This high lasts the longest of them all. Changbin keeps his tongue moving until he feels the desperate push of your hands. He obeys on command, pulling away immediately, sitting back on his knees with a hand coming up to wipe his face clean. He drags his tongue across his palm, not wanting to waste a drop of sweetness. It’s more valuable than gold. 

The rise and fall of your chest is erratic as you collect yourself. “You’re a beast in the shape of a man.”

He grins smugly, sharp fangs peeking past his lips. This is one of the few instances he would proudly accept being called a monster. “I warned you. I won’t apologize.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

Once again, he praises the universe for your creation. Changbin leans forward, pressing feather-light kisses to the soft skin on your trembling inner thigh, right along the pulse he feels violently thrumming. He speaks against your skin to help fight the urge to sink right into the artery calling out to him. “Catch your breath, precious flower. I’m far from done with you.”

++++

Monarchs Masterlist

©︎Abiaswreck | Do not copy, repost, or translate | As always, reblogs are appreciated! Feel free to comment, reblog with feedback, or send me an ask. I’d love to hear from you; it helps with motivation. I hope today is kind to you. <3

[imfoive]

IM SORRY HOW DID I MISS THIS?? Criminal of me please lock me up 😔

And it was amazing!! As a sucker for vampire!skz and your monarch series, this really hit the spot. I need my very own lover vampire binnie right NOW 💳💥💳💥

“precious flower” agshshahs 🙈

Delicious and beautiful, as always you’re a wonderful writer and I can’t wait to read more of your stories 🫶

[cattolino]

slow fade.

pairing: bang chan x reader. warnings: infidelity. genre: angst. word count: 980

(this fic has been crossposted on my insta @cattoleeno)

The road was sombre under the whirls of grey clouds. The sporadic drizzle was intense enough to keep the heads of pedestrians hidden beneath their umbrella as they trotted on the pavement. Droplets raced down the windshield in a chain of cascades. Fog rolled over, stretching its arms around the dismal atmosphere in its chilled embrace.

But everything became a blur when your eyes caught the familiar sight of your sweet, dimpled boy sitting in the book cafe by the window. You momentarily wondered if Chan had subconsciously plopped down in your favourite seat as if it was born of muscle memory.

Chan had brought you there for the first time three years ago on the second date.

You vividly remembered how he’d brought over a stack of his own personal favourite fictions to the table. You vividly remembered the contented grin on his face as he listened to your distaste towards the protagonist’s lack of self respect in a babbling mess. You vividly remembered how he’d resisted to let go of your hand as you both talked, jumping from one topic to another completely different subject until the dreary tone of night had morphed slowly into more welcoming shades of pale blue. You vividly remembered how you both had walked home hand in hand that early morning.

Every single minor detail about that night was carven in the recollection segment reserved and coded especially for your precious ones.

But it seemed like it no longer had a room in his memory.

Chan had his elbows easing up on the edge of the table while his chin propped on both palms as he was speaking. A pile of novels and two cups of tea were set aside.

Across the table was a woman.

The same woman Chan had introduced when you’d walked in on them chatting in his studio during lunch break three months prior. The same woman who’d triggered the first and most terrible argument in the history of your three-year relationship two months prior. And the same woman Chan had told you not to worry about.

The woman took a sip from her cup and leaned forward, mirroring Chan’s posture.

Her perfect pouty, red lips turned up into a teasing smile as she was telling something that made him laugh so hard his little dimples came into view and his eyes turned into a pair of the prettiest crescents.

Chan looked so happy.

You used to make him laugh like that, too.

“We were just talking about work.” He had said that a month ago when you’d walked in on them in his studio. Again.

Eyes don’t tell lies, Chan.

You wished you had said that. Instead, you had smiled at them and left his lunch on the desk before walking out. You wished you were a little braver.

You looked away at the same time Chan stood up and offered his hand for the woman to hold before they headed towards the cafe entrance. You started the engine.

Four detours and the songs in the playlist Chan had made for you blasted alongside the constant sound of the rain beating against the windshield. You pulled over to a familiar neighbourhood where Chan’s studio was only a few blocks away.

The digital watch wrapped around your wrist read nine minutes past the time Chan was supposed to clock out of work. Four detours should be long enough to give him time walking all the way from the book cafe. Besides, the sidewalk would be a little less crowded in this weather.

Then the door opened.

Chan grunted as he was struggling to fold the wet umbrella and tuck it in the vacant space under his seat. The lovely little dimples you were beginning to long for were as usual, nowhere to be seen.

“Long day?” You started.

He nodded without sparing a glance. He fixed his hair and rubbed off the wet patches all over his jacket, before turning to you when he realised you hadn’t started the engine.

Hey, what’s wrong?

But it would be something only the old Chan would say.

And it was annoying how you could exactly guess what the present Chan would say instead. “What, are we not going?”

You pulled up the best smile you were confident to feign, looking away from him, “let’s just go home.”

You could feel his eyes on you.

“You’re tired. Our date can wait.”

As if it wouldn’t have been the first date in six months that you had been anticipating all way too eagerly in hope that it’d stitch the broken seams of your and his hearts back together.

“Okay.”

Oh.

Leaning towards the driver seat, Chan mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ and planted a chaste kiss on your cheek. Even the cold in his heart had made its way to his lips.

When you were about to start the engine, Chan had already reclined back and had his eyes glued to the glum skies. Warmth slowly trickled down your cheek as you stared at the back of his head, having forgotten what his soft curls felt like beneath the soft caresses of your palm.

“Chan.” You called in a voice just above a whisper.

He looked back at you and hummed.

And there it was the dark brown irises that used to glimmer when he looked at you, now vacant and distant. Like a cold droplet carved razor-sharp at the end, it pierced right in the middle of your chest all the way through your back. As if a reminder that the last thread of hope you had been holding onto was lost long ago, at that moment when he had first let her take your seat in that book cafe you had thought was reserved just for you.

“I love you.” You said.

And he smiled, a dimple just barely appeared, “I know.”

[jehhskz]

Third time's a charm

pairing: nonidol!hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: fluffy romance, fastburn, he falls first

wc: 6k

summary: hyunjin just wants a chance - okay maybe three - to make you fall for him

jé's note: my little gift to my beautiful @hyunjincanraptoo, happy birthday amiga, you're a light in my life, our chats always makes me so happy, i love you and i hope you enjoy this little fic and have an amazing day celebrating your life ❤️ ps: send some brigadeiro to me 🤭

my other fics

After a hell of week with noses buried into books and never ending lectures, friday night finally arrived and everyone could finally relax, and if you lived around the campus you'd surely get plenty of options to pick: whether it be night clubs or rooftop bars to karaoke or crashing into fraternities, the dorms would be completely silent, unless… you decided to enjoy some other type of fun.

Hyunjin was walking down the hall with his phone in hand blowing up with messages.

Lia (library) - how come you aren’t at Jack's? 😔

Cecilia (class) - hyun, come to the rooftop, they are having dj’s battle

Angel - bro, they are giving double drinks until 2 *attached: a picture of a blue bottle*

Kelly (café) - Felix told me you just left, right when I arrived? 💔

“So clingy…” Chuckled to himself, putting his phone in his back pocket, stopping in front of his door, pressing the keyword.

Hyunjin coming back to his dorm before midnight and all alone? That was a new.

Because the boy did love to party. You could always know that if there was good music and girls, Hyunjin and his friends would always be there. It was like a pattern, they didn't even need to do anything, the boys simply would leave traces and suddenly be stumbled upon by coincidence by them. It was fun but after some time it got boring, all those hollow girls felt and acted the same, the only difference was their faces, sometimes not even their names.

Hyunjin was bored, he wanted more. He wanted someone new, something different…

The chuckles and muffled chat coming from the end of the corridor caught his attention and he looked over, seeing you opening the door of your dorm with a boy waiting behind, poking your sides.

…someone like you.

The only girl from the building that didn't try to get his number, the one that he only knew the name because you were classmates and still, you never bothered to look for excuses to study with him. In fact, you looked pretty annoyed this morning, when the professor paired up you two for a new project.

Neither you nor Yunho noticed Hyunjin before you entered your dorm. But he thought it would be better that he would get inside too, before calling Felix.

“Hey angel!”

“Changed your mind after seeing the drinks?” The blonde teased when he picked up the call.

“Tonight I'll pass. I'm actually calling because I need a little help” Hyunjin plopped down in bed, kicking off his shoes.

“Sure, what is it?”

“Ji’s there, right?” There was a moment of silence before Felix confirmed.

“Ok, great. I need you to ask her to call y/n, say she needs help” He reached for the bubblegum on his bedside table, unwrapping one and popping it into his mouth.

“What?” Felix chuckled, curious about what his best friend was up to now.

“I will explain it all later, now just do me this favor, alright?”

“Yep” Felix beckoned for Ji to come where he was “Gonna talk to her now”

“Ok, great, oh and tell her to be careful, we don’t want to scare y/nnie… just need to interrupt something” Hyunjin smirked, thinking about his next steps.

“Ok, I get it now” Felix also had a smirk while staring at the girl beside him

“She will be calling soon. May I help with anything else?”

“No, thanks. That was all, have fun!”

“Oh, I definitely will…” Felix winked at Ji, that was twirling her hair around her fingers, staring up at him.

~ ♡ ~

Exactly 10 minutes later Hyunjin heard footsteps outside. Waiting just a bit, he opened the door and peaked to check if the area was clear before stepping out.

You were putting your jacket back on when you heard a soft knock on the door. Smiling, you walked there, imagining Yunho changed his mind, deciding to be decent and not letting you risk go out so late all alone.

“You?” Your smile faded when Hyunjin popped the bubble, offering you one of his stupid (and perfect) grins.

“Hello to you, too. May I come in?” His ask was useless since he was already doing it, his shoulder brushing against yours as he casually stepped inside.

You groaned in annoyance, watching him stop and gaze around. The small lilac couch matched the dark purple fluffy rug and pink cushions, beside it there was the desk with your computer, a panel with colorful sticky notes and some pictures, his mouth twisted when he saw a polaroid of Yunho there.

“Nice place…” His eyes roamed over again, everything was so neat and well organized, exactly how he imagined the straight A's room would be. He stopped in front of your bookshelf, noticing how the books were perfectly organized by colors, he couldn’t help the urge to pull the blue and pink out and switch them.

“Stop it!” You grabbed his wrist as he picked the yellow one, ready to switch it with another too. Hyunjin laughed, sitting in your bed while watching you put them back in order.

“As much as I wouldn’t love for you to stay and chat, I gotta a place to be so you need to leave” You grabbed your purse, and paced around looking for where you left your phone.

He sat down in your bed, picking the teddy bear that was lying against your pillow, he scoffed before chuckling lightly, running his finger on its head “Cute”

“So… where are we going?” He looked up at you with mischief when you came by his side and grabbed the phone.

“We aren’t going anywhere. I'm calling an Uber” You drew the password code and opened up the app, Hyunjin shook his head.

“There’s no way I'm letting you get into a stranger's car this late at night” You stopped typing, side glancing at him

“How could it be any different from getting into your car?”

“C'mon, you can't be serious right now” He rolled his eyes.

“I mean, we aren’t friends, I've never even spoken to you before. How could I know if you aren’t dangerous too?”

“Yeah, if it wasn't for Mr Park you'd still be ignoring me…” He gazed at you with wide eyes before narrowing his eyebrows in suspicion “Aren't you the strange one, then?”

You slapped his arm and he let out a fake ouch as if it hurted

“See? I should be the one afraid to get inside a car with you!”

You raised your hand to smack him again, but he quickly grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer to face him, making another bubble. Your free hand landed on his knee and you ignored the way your heart skipped a beat and your sudden wish to lean even closer and pop it before he did it, smirking devilishly at you after snapping you back to reality.

“Hey hey, easy there doll. If you wanted to touch me, you should simply ask” He teased and you pulled your hand back with an annoyed groan, straightening up again.

“Ugh, you're so annoying!”

Hyunjin stood up, too close for your liking so you took a little step back, making him chuckle.

“Annoying? Oh, I've been called a lot of stuff before, but that's new” He teased with that damn smirk glued on his face, you crossed your arms in front of your chest, looking away.

He was loving it, it was refreshing although it surprised him at first. How come you could be so unbothered by him when girls would always be gravitating around him, trying to get his attention, hoping to get in his bed?

“Oh, I know” You scoffed. Of course you knew, every girl loved to brag when they had a chance.

Could you blame them?

You wouldn't lie, you weren’t blind, he was handsome, way too handsome… With that black long and silk hair, his cute nose and plush lips that insisted on tugging into that annoying smile you wanted to rip off his stupid pretty face.

Yes, you could blame them!

Gorgeous or not, he was just a boy at the end of the day, not just that, but one with commitment issues too, which only made everything worse. They should be wiser and use their brains instead of thinking with theirs...

“You know? Oh good, so it means you weren’t so oblivious about me, after all” Teased again, poking your side. You took one more step back, frowning at him, a silent warning for him to stop if he wanted to keep those five fingers intact.

“Yeah, I know exactly what type of man you’re”

“Hmm, why are you making it sound like it's something bad?”

“Because it is” Your cold reply caught him by surprise, he wasn't expecting it, he wasn't used to someone being so bold with him like this.

You couldn’t read his expression while he stayed silent and looked at you, as if thinking about something, and for some reason you felt bad, realizing you should have chosen your words carefully. You felt awkward now.

“One chance!” Hyunjin grabbed your hands, sending a sudden jolt of electricity through them, your eyes widened.

“Uh?”

“Give me one chance, to prove you I'm not as bad as you think”

“Hyunjin…”

“Please” You couldn’t tell if he was playing or being serious right now.

“Why do you care so much about what I think, anyways?” You tried to laugh it off, it wasn't a big deal, but he stayed serious, gazing at you.

“I like you…” He said so casually with a shrug “...Plus, you're stuck with me for the rest of the semester as we work on our project, so I think at least we should get along”

You shook your head, he couldn’t be serious.

“Hyunjin…”

“Two…” He showed two fingers up, biting down his bottom lip, then shook his head, lifting one more “Three!”

“You really won’t leave it, will you?”

“Obviously not” He shook his head, mischievously smiling and poking your sides again and you squirmed “C'mon, y/nnie… just three dates, imagine all the girls who would be dying to be in your shoes right now”

“Yeah, I'll text them on the group chat” You waved your phone “Who wants to volunteer?”

“Ha ha, aren’t you so funny?” He asked sarcastically, picking the phone from your hand “But I already told you, I don’t want them, I want you!”

~ ♡ ~

20 minutes had passed and your heart was still thrumming, stealing glances of Hyunjin while you sat on the passenger's seat of his car.

I want you.

Three little words being repeated inside your mind over and over again.

He was quiet during the whole drive, which was actually surprising, the only sound being the soft balad playing on the radio, but there was a little grin lingering in the corner of his mouth as his gaze was focused on the road ahead.

You couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his mind.

As for Hyunjin? He was just hoping your friend wouldn’t ruin his plan when you’d arrive at the pub.

You texted Ji to let her know that you arrived, but got no response, thinking she could be drowning her sorrow with alcohol after being dumped by her man, you decided to walk in and go after her. Hyunjin followed you, grabbing your hand and guiding you inside, you noticed the not subtle glances from some girls towards you, after they would greet Hyunjin, you rolled your eyes and held his hand tighter without even realizing, but he did, gently stroking your hand with his thumb, a smirk playing on his lips as you walked around looking for the blonde.

“You've got to be kidding me!” You exclaimed when you spotted her, or at least who you thought was her…

The colorful lights that danced around them were making it difficult to tell where Ji started and Felix ended.

Hyunjin's eyes widened up in surprise when he heard your gasp and a wide and proud grin appeared on his face. You started walking towards them, but got pulled back by him, gasping in surprise when you crashed against his chest.

You looked up at him and there it was, that annoying thrumming inside your chest again, but not only that, there was also a subtle dizziness too, as you inhaled the woody scent of his cologne. His hands rested on your arms, and you shivered slightly when he leaned closer.

“Wait, wait. What do you think you're doing?” He whispered and you rolled your eyes, peeking over his shoulder, noticing the blondes’ heavy makeout session was still going on. “Don't you know that’s rude to disturb? Let them have fun!” Hyunjin chuckled, which only annoyed you even more.

“Ugh, I can't believe Ji did that, she was crying just minutes ago”

“Well, it seems like Yongbok saved the day, then” Hyunjin wiggled away just in time before you smack him.

“Y/nniiieeee!” Arms were thrown over your shoulders as an excited Ji hugged you from behind.

You turned to face her, noticing the girl had lipstick smeared all around her lips, pretty much like Felix did when he came around with two cups in hand. You twisted your mouth, watching him talk with Hyunjin, your drunk friend giggling by your side.

“I'm so happy you're here, y/nnie. We are gonna have so much fun!” Ji side hugged you, squeezing you against her.

“Ji, you were crying, what happened? Where's Hong-joong?” You looked around “I'll fight him, what did he do?”

“Hong-joong, uh?” Her eyebrows raised up a bit, looking at you with slightly confusion, Ji noticed Hyunjin's silent plea for her to play along, so she did it. Small nodding, rubbing her forehead “Oh yeah, about that…”

“He isn't worth it, I'm okay…” She waved off as if it wasn't a big deal and then she grabbed your hands, her eyes sparkling with mischief “...now, tell me, you and Hyunjin, uh?”

“There’s no me and Hyunjin, he simply just drove me here” You shrugged, quickly glancing at him just to find out he was already staring at you while chatting with his friend. You turned back to Ji, trying to ignore him.

“He said he wouldn’t let me get into a random's car so late at night”

“Awwn, that’s so sweet!” Ji excitedly clapped and you looked down, feeling a little flustered, it was sweet indeed.

You glanced at him again, noticing he was beckoning at you to go there and you shrugged again at your friend, acting nonchalantly.

“Anyways, it doesn't mean anything” “Of course it does, Hong-joong never offered to do it for me…” Ji admitted and then chuckled, but the humor didn't reach her eyes “...damn, he would call me over and make me pay for the ride to his place…”

Ji's voice was becoming a faint sound as you came to realize how neither did Yunho. The cute boy that you met at the library on a random friday and had been ‘talking’ ever since.

Cute boy skipping a party at some random frat house to focus on his exams that would happen in two weeks? That felt like a huge green flag!

Or maybe he just needed every single point if he didn’t want to fail that semester.

Hyunjin held out a cup for you, but you shook your head.

“We are leaving” You simply told him, crossing your arms.

“Uh? Not even my girlfriend yet and you're already bossing me around?” He grinned and you flustered right away, gritting your teeth.

“No, that’s not what I meant, it's just that we came together and… ugh!”

Hyunjin chuckled, taking a sip of the soda he just offered you “Relax, y/nnie… I'm just teasing you” He took one step forward, invading your personal space as he leaned in before you took one step back, which only made his grin get wider “Has anybody told you how cute you look when you're all flustered?”

“Stop that!” You scoffed, looking away.

“Even more cute when annoyed”

“You seem to enjoy it a lot, don’t you?”

“Oh, I surely do” A new step forward, another step back. Hyunjin smirked, taking one more step and picking a little strand of your hair between his fingers, playing with it then gazing back at you.

Looking into his eyes for a moment that felt way too longer than actually was, your breath hitched and you felt speechless.

“I wanna leave…” You cleared your throat, feeling awkward.

“Oh c'mon, we just got here. Let's stay for a little while” His fingers were still caressing your hair, a mischievous smile playing on his lips “Please…”

Damn, how could you say no to that cute face?

“Okay, fine. Just a little more” Hyunjin's smile got wider and he suddenly hugged you, taking you completely by surprise and also intoxicating you with his delicious cologne that would get stuck on your skin and give you trouble sleeping that night.

“Stay with me and I'll make you glad you came” He whispered in your ear. It wasn't in reference to the lyrics of the song that was playing, Hyunjin knew exactly what he was doing and the way you got tense between his arms, he noticed it worked.

“You really think you're funny” You pulled back, rolling your eyes.

“Oh I can be that, I can be a lot of things actually and I'm sure you'll love every single one of them” His words dripped like honey and a funny sensation rushed down your body like little electricity jolts.

“Very cocky too” You did your best to not let it show, but you were enjoying that side of him, maybe a little too much for your own liking.

“I can be that too…” Hyunjin held your hands, pulling you to dance with him. His hands rested on your waist and you let your own rest on his shoulders, a little too close and a little too good, but you wouldn't dare to say it out loud. So you would turn around when it would get too much, a moment of clarity when the invisible pull to kiss him would become too strong, making Hyunjin fight his own urges then, to not hold your hips and pull you flush against him.

Obviously he was losing it, but could you blame him? So you let him, but just for a second or two, before you'd pull away again, cheeky.

That was the first time you danced with Hyunjin. That was also the first time he didn’t even get a simple kiss when the night ended.

And as ironic as it could sound, he loved it.

~ ♡ ~

You clutched your cardigan tighter around your body, it was particularly chill in that morning and way too early to leave the comfort and warmth from your bed. Stepping inside the bus, you sighed with relief when you felt it was warmer inside, your destination was the natural park, a school trip to do some research for the project you were working on.

Finding an empty seat, you slid down, leaving your backpack by your side and resting your head against the window, your eyes closing instantly, you were tired from staying up until late studying, didn't notice your bag being moved or the shoulder brushing against yours, your head being gently tilted to the opposite side and you let out a little sigh while nuzzling your face against the soft fabric of his hoodie, that known woody scent filling up your nostrils, warming you up inside.

Hyunjin looked down at you all cozied against him and his hand reached out, gently running his fingers on your hair, breathing in the floral scent of your shampoo, he smiled, feeling good and he noticed he could get used to it.

You sleepy groaned, trying to brush his hand off when he poked his finger into your ear, Hyunjin chuckles woke you up.

“Hey, sleepyhead, we arrived” Blinking a few times, you jolted in your seat when you noticed you were basically laying on top of him.

“Slept well?” His tease came along with his chuckles, watching you fix your disheveled hair with your hands. You rolled your eyes.

Looking out of the window, you noticed the trees that surrounded the entrance of the park, a big sign hanging on the trunk of the biggest one with the draw of the map of the site and some instructions for the visitors, glancing back at Hyunjin, you watched him stand up, picking both your bags, you stood up too, following him out.

“You should have woken me up…” You murmured, standing by his side.

“Yeah, but you were so cute talking in your sleep, I didn’t want to interrupt you” He side glanced at you, leaning closer, his tone low just for you to hear, as the other students gathered around, listening to Mr Park's instructions.

“What? I don’t talk in my sleep!” You scoffed.

“Oh Hyunjin, just give me a kiss” He mocked with a tiny voice and your cheeks burned high so you smacked his arm.

“Stop it or I'll ask Mr Park to pair me up with someone else” You hissed at him and he made a zipper motion on his mouth.

“...and you're all adults with internet access so be smart, I'm here to help you with your projects and not to play baby-sitter!” Mr Park didn't bother with the laugh of the students when he finished his talk, turning around and guiding the group to the cabins area.

~ ♡ ~

“I can't believe you got a cabin just for yourself!” Hyunjin followed you out of the reception in the direction of your cabin, still carrying your stuff.

“Why wouldn’t I?” You smiled, admiring the diversity of flowers that made a pathway towards the little matching wooden cabins, it was charming like a little village, with windows adorned with flowers too.

“We're partners, you should stay with me” He said it nonchalantly, as if it was the most obvious thing.

“Project partners, there's a difference” You corrected him, unlocking the door and stepping inside.

The interior was simple, but as charming as the outside, there were two beds looking cozy with the white wool covers and fluffy pillows, a small bedside table with a lamp, a fluffy white rug between them, a small wardrobe and a door that you assumed was for the bathroom.

“I'm gonna change that soon” He placed the bags on the floor next to the bed.

“A little too confident, aren’t we?” You teased giggling, sitting down on the opposite bed.

“I mean, I've got some credits…”“Just two…” You reminded him when he sat on the bed in front of you, casually resting his hand on your knee, the other going to play with a strand of your hair again.

He was too close again, you wondered what was this boy's problem with personal space. And also with your heart, you definitely should make an appointment to check those random beat skips…

“I thought we agreed on three…” His eyes widened in surprise, letting the strand slip between his fingers.

“We did, but you already used one” You nodded, smiling.

“When?”

“That day at the pub, the Ji emergency…” You didn't notice how soft you sounded, remembering how you danced together but luck for you, neither did him.

“No way, that one doesn't count, I wasn't ready!” He whined dramatically smacking his forehead

.“Of course it does” You insisted, nodding again and chuckling.

“I'd try harder if I knew…” He murmured under his breath, clearly talking to himself as he looked down, his lips pouting as if he was concentrating, contemplating.

You couldn’t help but laugh, it was funny how it looked like he was really taking it seriously “As if you were the ‘try hard’ type”

“You're right, I'm not” His behavior suddenly shifted back to cocky again and you laughed out loud by accident.

You covered your face, letting your laugh calm down and he smiled, admiring you, leaning slightly closer again while the room became silent as you stared at each other.

“Hmm, let’s go look around, we need to find some samples before it gets dark” You stood up suddenly, already making your way out.

Hyunjin followed you, not bothering to take his bags out of your cabin.

~ ♡ ~

Your exploration time had to be cut short due to the weather changing, after waiting for the rain to end, you and Hyunjin decided to go back and explore a little further into the woods, not too far because the sun would set soon, just a quick look to find a very specific flower you wanted, known for its strong healing properties it would be perfect for future works.

“Are you sure they grow in places like this?” Hyunjin was getting tired, it felt like you’ve been working in circles for hours.

“Yeah, they don’t enjoy much sun, so it's probably around here” The path was surrounded by big full trees and pebbles, lots of them, you frowned when you looked down at your feet, the dirt became mud and not only was it slippery it also ruined your allstar.

“What does it look like again?” “It looks like a pink heart, with tiny lilac dots at the end of the petals and… I found it!” You squealed excitedly when you spotted the flower almost hidden between the rocks. Hyunjin chuckled with your excitement, but also felt relieved that the search was over.

In the hype state you hushed to pick it, ignoring how slippery it was, but nature was quick to remember you, making you awkwardly slip your way down the rock you were about to step and if Hyunjin wasn’t quick enough and held your arm, pulling you flush against him, you'd fall right on your butt and completely embarrass yourself in front of your crush with the bonus of doing a special version of the walk of shame with mud all over your butt.

Luckily none of this happened, but from the way you yelped, Hyunjin noticed something still wasn't right. He held you by your shoulders, eyes training down your figure.

“My foot… I think I twisted it…” You looked down, it was hurting pretty bad.

“Ouch, okay… Let's go back and…” His hand was sliding around your waist, but you stopped.

“Wait, we must pick the flower first”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, that’s the most important thing of the project, plus if we simply leave then I'll have hurt myself for nothing” You looked up at him, waiting.

“Okay, fine. Stay here” He rolled his eyes, letting go of you and you did a small nod, smiling.

“Please be careful, Jinnie” His heart fluttered, it was the first time you used that nickname for him. He decided to not tease you about it now, and simply nodded, going to the rocks to pick the flower for you.

It wouldn’t be Hyunjin if he didn’t show off, so of course he had to slid the pathway and go pick another one too, prettier than that first you found, but just to have an excuse to roll his sleeves up and hop back on the rock, coaxing a little worried squeal from you.

“You could hurt yourself” You whined when he approached you, chuckling.

“I'm sorry, promise won’t happen again” He held out the pretty flower “For you”

You smiled, admiring it and feeling a bit flustered, murmuring a shy thank you. You were about to pick it, when he gently placed it behind your ear.

“Cute” He scoffed quietly, chuckling and you felt the heat in your cheeks again. Same heat that would travel all over your body when he held your waist and slid his other arm behind your knee, easily picking you up.

“Oh my God, what are you doing?” You squealed.

“I'm carrying you back, your foot will get worse if you walk” He shrugged “Now let's go, it's starting to get dark”

You just nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your head on his shoulder, ignoring the insistent thrumming of your heart as he made the way back and in that moment, you forgot that others could run into you, only focusing on his scent and the heat coming from him.

“Hyunjin! What are you…” You heard Mr Park's surprised voice and you hid your face against the fabric of his hoodie “You know what? I don’t wanna know”

Hyunjin blushed, his fingers gripping a little tighter on you and he started walking quicker to prevent running into anyone else.

Back into your cabin, Hyunjin placed the pillows against the wall for you to lean against it and put one under your feet, sitting by your side and taking a good look to check the damage, luckily it was just a little swollen. He threw a blanket over you and went out to grab some ice.

Your heart fluttered while you watched the scene unfold, Hyunjin's concerned gaze on your ankle, the plastic bag in his hand getting wet because of the ice melting inside it.

“Is it still hurting?” He murmured, placing the bag a little to the side.

“Just a bit…” You replied and he hummed.You wouldn't lie, you were a little surprised with him, it felt very unexpected to you to see Hyunjin like that.

You couldn’t help but wonder if it was Yunho, would take care of you like this too? It was Yunho, the most boyfriend material guy you knew, of course he would, what a silly question was that? You thought. He appeared to like you, but then why haven't you heard from him for weeks?

Gazing back at Hyunjin, you remembered about a movie you watched, it was a silly romcom, but had a clear message: if he wants you, he will show it, if he wants to date you, he will work for it. Yunho knew all the right words to say, but why did it feel like he would only call you when he was bored?

Your contemplative moment vanished when your phone buzzed, Hyunjin looked up at you, he had put the ice bag aside and was now massaging your ankle slowly, his thumbs pressing the soft skin, sending little jolts up your body. You reached out and pulled the device from your purse, eyebrows narrowing when you saw the notification, surprised with who decided to come back after weeks of pure silence.

Gazing up you saw Hyunjin not even trying to be subtle as he tried to peek up and see who texted you. You bit down your bottom lip, holding back a smirk.

“Your contender…” You waved your phone, teasing him.

“Hunf, I don’t feel threatened” He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Oh really?” You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms.

“Yeah…” He shrugged, scooting up to sit close to you, smirking, he held a strand of your hair and played with it “I know I’m the favorite”

“Hmm, is that so?” You asked and he nodded, coming even closer.

“Don't you agree?” He whispered, too close, once again. You stayed silent, tucking in your bottom lip, a spark appearing in your eyes as you stared into his just to look away.

Hyunjin’s fingers gently touched your jaw, turning your face back to him. The cabin was quiet, but inside you there was a storm forming up quickly.

“It's a secret…” You whispered, gaze traveling down from his eyes to his plush lips just in time to witness him wetting them. You trembled slightly, looking back up.

“That's okay, your secret is safe with me…” He whispered back, his fingers held under your chin and pulled you towards him, the gap was small but still he did it slowly, as if giving you time to change your mind, to pull back if you wanted to. But you didn't…

Instead, you closed your eyes and a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he finished closing the gap. His hand caressed your neck until it reached the back while his lips moved against yours, slowly like a caress, your lips parted and his tongue brushed against yours, making your heart skip a beat, he tasted sweet, like the strawberry bubblegum he had earlier, his fingers played with your hair, you couldn’t help smiling through the kiss, noticing how he really seemed to be obsessed with touching it.

He thought it was cute and soft, later you'd learn that, but in that moment he just wanted to keep kissing you and that's what he did.

Kiss you. Over and over again.

Just like that, kiss after kiss, Hyunjin managed to spend the night in the cabin with you…

And much to even his own surprise, he didn’t do anything beyond that.

‘I don’t want you to think I'm using you or anything like that…'

‘I really like you…’

And in that night, between his soft whispered confessions and slow kisses while caressing each other, you met yet another version of Hyunjin, the soft one and probably that would be your favorite.

~ ♡ ~

After a hell of a week filled with projects and finals, all you wanted was to get back to your dorm, slide under the covers and shut off the world for the rest of the month. Your feet dragged on the floor, a sigh of relief leaving your lips when you heard the soft click of the door being unlocked.

You yawned, kicking your shoes and letting your purse slide down your arm and fall by the chair, books being carelessly placed on the desk. You didn't notice how the picture of Yunho was gone from your panel, your other friends’ pictures and sticky notes still there, a new picture of a certain shaggy haired boy winking being there instead, your books all out of order went unnoticed too.

But you noticed something new in your bed, lying there beside your plushie, you walked toward it and grabbed it: a new plushie, an extremely squeezable teddy bear holding a heart written be mine. The surprise was so cute you didn't think about the fact he knew your dorm's password, you giggled, holding it tight against you before you called Hyunjin's phone, one, two, three times and no answer, so you decided to go there.

Hyunjin opened the door after the second knock, popping a pink bubblegum and smirking.

“May I come in?” You did it like him when you first interacted, walking inside before he could reply. Hyunjin smirked, watching your reaction.

It was your first time getting into his dorm, so you were definitely curious to see what it looked like, and what you saw was pretty different from your imagination.

The mattress was on the floor, there were cushions and pillows, lots of them, and blankets, one sheet was half up, hanging in a chair. Your eyes widened and you turned to face him.

“A fort?” You smiled as you watched his cheeks getting rosy.

“Hello to you too and yeah… It was a surprise” He scratched the back of his neck, murmuring the end, suddenly fearing your reaction since he never done such a thing for a girl.

“A surprise for me?” Your smile got wider, that was lovely and so unexpected.

“Yeah, I thought I'd have more time before you came back” He shrugged, looking around, it was almost everything done.

You covered your eyes with both hands, shaking your head “Pretend that I'm not here” Hyunjin chuckled, finding your intention to fix the problem very endearing. Noticing how you stood still with your eyes covered, he finished setting the sheets and came back to stand in front of you, he pulled your hands down and your mouth fell agap when you saw the blanket fort complete.

“Awwn, that’s so cute!”

“You're cute” Hyunjin squeezed both your cheeks between his hands, gently shaking your head before he gave you a kiss when you whined.

You both slid inside, cozying up and putting a random movie on the projector that you pretended you’d watch. It didn’t last not even 10 minutes because Hyunjin was already all over you.

“About that plushie…” You whispered a little breathless, fingertips running down his back, under his shirt.

“Hmm…?” His murmur was muffled against your neck, as he kept kissing under your ear, making you shiver.

“Be mine?” You repeated the words written in the heart, waiting for his explanation, Hyunjin smirked against your skin, giving a little nibble before he lifted his head up to look at you.

“Say please” He bit down his bottom lip, cheeky.

“Hyunjin!” You smacked his arm, but a little laugh escaped your lips anyways.

“Ouch! I’m kidding, baby…” He gave you a peck, grinning again “I already am” Hyunjin teased again, as if you were the one asking him to date you.

“Oh my God, you're truly impossible!” You scoffed, but Hyunjin noticed the little smirk on your lips.

“Okay, this time’s serious. Be mine?” He asked softly, caressing your waist, feeling the warmth of your skin under his palm.

“Hmm, I don’t know… gimme some time to think” You did your best to attempt to sound nonchalant, but his frustrated expression and squeeze on your waist broke you into laughter.

“I’m kidding, Jinnie…” You caressed his back again, embracing him a little tighter and leaning forward, whispering against his lips “Because I already am…”

His heart fluttered and he kissed you, resting his forehead against yours as he spoke again.

“Ha ha, seems like somebody's getting really funny”

“What can I say? I'm learning with the best” You shrugged, giggling.

“Oh really? Well, let’s see what else I can teach you…” He closed the gap between you two, kissing you again, this time deeper, body pressing against yours.

And as the night stretched out, you two got lost into each other inside the blanket fort. His phone on silent mode on his desk, shining with new messages notifications, all those girls turned into unknown numbers.

———————— ♡♡ ————————

tagging: @doitforbangchan @athforskz @jeonginsleftcheek @moonchild9350 @hyunjincanraptoo @changbinniescurlyhair 💕

[jisunggy]

The Cuddle Crisis

-> Chan doesn't normally sleep well. This is no secret. Until the night he accidentally ends up cuddling with you and wakes up feeling like a new man. Now he has a proposition for you...

solo idol!chan x manager!fem!reader

one bed trope, fluff, idol!au, friends to lovers

18K

warnings: cursing, hospital visit, a brief implication of sex but nothing explicit, MC suffers from anxiety, Chan suffers from severe insomnia

story idea credit to Lisa Maloney on tiktok. this is for @fly-you-dam-fools bc I think you're really cool and you deserve cuddly chan <3

-------------------------------------------------------

"Wait...what did you say?"

Chan is just as flabbergasted as you are, except he's managing to stay level headed. You, on the other hand, appear to be ready to slap this poor hotel lobby receptionists into next year.

"I'm sorry, but maybe you got mixed up somehow in the system, or you made a mistake while booking. But it says clearly that you only booked one room."

"I booked two. There's two of us. I obviously booked two. Check again."

"I'm sorry, ma'am--"

"Don't call me ma'am. Just get us another room, please," you sigh, knowing that the finance team will rip you a new one for spending over budget for this trip.

Youth Magazine couldn't just do a virtual interview. Noooo! God forbid they interview the Christopher Bang over a video call. Not like literally every other magazine publishing house ever.

The hotel receptionist flashes a grim expression and hisses, "We kinda don't have any other vacancy."

You drop your bag on the counter, pausing your search for the company card to instead give this idiot a scowl. "Kinda?'

"We're booked," he corrects and straightens his back. "Apparently, there's a really popular singer coming into town, and he's rumored to be staying at one of the hotels on this block. Every hotel from here to the next town over is full of people hoping they'll catch a glimpse of him."

"You don't say."

You hear Chan snicker behind you from under his hoodie. He's got his mask over his mouth and nose, drawstrings pulled, and head lowered to the ground. He's doing his part to remain inconspicuous, and here you are dropping the ball on the one thing you thought would be the easiest to plan.

"Look," you try to level with the staff, "it's very important we get two rooms. Can't you do anything?"

He just shakes his head. "Unless someone cancels last minute, I don't have anything else to offer you."

"Fine," you sigh in defeat, "we'll just take the one room. And some extra towels, blankets, and pillows, please. No wake up call. If we get a wake up call, I will press charges."

"Understood." He gulps. "I'll have the extra bedding and towels sent up right away. Here's your key."

You snatch the keycard from his fingers and toss your bag back over your shoulder. "Thanks."

With Chan following close behind, you take the lead up to the top floor of the hotel. Down the hall to the last room, you tap the card against the lock until it lights up green, and you can walk in.

Neither of you speak once inside. There's a process for this. It involves a careful scan of the room, scavenging for any hidden cameras or microphones that could have been planted by toxic fans, tabloids, or stalkers. Once you've thoroughly checked the room and are satisfied, you motion for Chan to relax.

He removes his hood and mask, and takes a deep breath through his nose.

"Smells like laundry detergent."

"They definitely sprayed some kind of air freshener in here. Way too much if you ask me."

"Lavender is nice though."

That's Chan. Always looking on the bright side of things. He has this uncanny ability to find the good in just about any situation. Being the realist that he is, he never downplays suffering, pain, or sadness. But he also never forgets to take note of the heart within hardship. You've always appreciated that about him.

The two of you unpack just what you'll need for the night. Tomorrow morning, you'll get ready for his interview with the magazine, and then head to the shooting site for his photoshoot for the cover. It's a short schedule, only a day. But you don't want to be late or make things unnecessarily stressful on Chan. He deals with so much as it is.

He plops down on the bed, limbs spread like a starfish across the mattress.

"Feels nice."

"I'm glad you like it. I'm sorry we have to share a room. I should have been more careful when booking to make sure they didn't make any mistakes."

"Nah, don't worry about it," he waves it off. "Besides, we've shared a room before."

You slowly turn away, hands rummaging through your bag as your voice softens to a mumble, "Yeah, in high school."

"What was that?"

"Nothing," you flash him a smile. "Do you need help setting up your laptop?"

"Oh, I think I got it. You don't mind if I use the desk, do you?"

"Of course, not. Take all the space you need."

That's right. You and Chan have been on this adventure together since high school. When he became an idol trainee, you landed your first internship at the same entertainment company. You're not sure why the agency decided you should be trained as Chan's assistant, but they paired you two up pretty quickly. Since then, the two of you always found your ways back to each other. Until that fateful day when the company made you his official manager. And he was officially stuck with you.

It's a little heartwarming, and humbling, to know that wherever you go, Chan follows. He's come to trust you wholeheartedly. After years of training together, debuting, traveling, and growing, there's not much you two don't know about each other. There’s not much you two haven't done together.

Well...there is one thing.

Knock knock

"I got it." You answer the door, opening it just enough to receive the extra towels and bedding from room service, and then quickly locking it again.

"Okay," you lay out a blanket and a pillow on the ground beside the wall, "this will do for one night."

Chan walks over to investigate. While you seem satisfied with your work, hands on your hips and a nod of your head, Chan is...not convinced. He frowns.

"Hmm."

"Hmm, what?"

"It looks...uncomfortable."

"What are you talking about?" You lay down on the makeshift bed and pretend to snuggle in. "It's perfectly fine."

He tisks his tongue and shakes his head. "I don't know. You hate sleeping on the floor."

"I've slept on the floor before. Need I remind you of our trainee days?"

"Oh, believe me, I remember being a trainee very well. I also remember you waking up with aches in your back and crinks in your neck from sleeping on the floor every night."

"Chan, everyone slept on the floor."

"Yeah. But you were the only one who woke up feeling like absolute crap because of it."

He's right. As hard as you try, you've never slept on the floor well. It's never been comfortable, regardless of how many blankets you use.

"I'm sleeping on the floor, and you're in the bed. End of discussion," Chan says with a stern cross of his arms.

You shoot up to your feet. "No way! You've got an interview and a photoshoot tomorrow. I can't let you sleep on the ground. As your manager, I insist you sleep in the bed."

"No."

"Chan."

"No! ___, come on. You won't sleep on that. It doesn't bother me, and it's only one night. I promise I won't tell any of your supervisors you let me sleep on the ground. Okay?"

He read your mind. Yeah, that's the main thing you're worried about. What would the higher ups at JYPE think if they found out you let their beloved star idol sleep on the hard ground of a hotel room while you enjoyed the plush mattress of a queen-sized bed?

They'd strip you of your job faster than Chan's rap.

"You promise?"

He smiles at you and holds out his pinky. "Promise."

"Fine." You wrap your pinky around his, watching his smile grow. "But just tonight. Tomorrow, you get your own bed."

"Deal."

::

It's December. Chan failed to consider that fact when he oh-so-chivalrously insisted on sleeping on the floor so you could have the bed. Now here he is, trying to shiver silently under his single blanket that barely covers his toes because it's for a twin sized child.

He rolls onto his side. Then rolls onto his other side. Honestly, he's trying. But damn it, the floor has never been comfy for him either. He's just better at hiding the fact that he hates sleeping on the floor. You were always much more vocal about it, waking with actual bruises on your body from tossing and turning.

Even when Chan would sneak extra blankets onto your spot or give you one of his pillows, you still managed to somehow end up with spots on your back and arms. Chan always felt bad about that. But you were there to train to be a manager. His manager.

There were other factors that kept Chan from sleeping well, starting from when he became a trainee. But it really hit hard after he debuted. Insomnia was just part of the idol package, especially with the amount of involvement he has in the production of his own music. Not many other idols get that opportunity, so when he was presented with it, he snatched it up.

Now he pays the price of poor sleep wherever he goes, really. A large part of it is his job, the stress, the competition, the image bearing. Being an idol isn't easy. He's pretty sure nothing can fix his poor sleeping habits at this point.

"Pssst," you whisper through the dark, peering over the edge of the bed, at where Chan is struggling on the floor, "are you asleep?"

"No," he replies back hushed, "why?"

"You're making a lot of noise tossing and turning like that."

"Sorry, I'll try to stay still."

"No, that's not what I meant," you say empathetically. "The floor is really uncomfortable, isn't it?"

He doesn't want to admit you were right, but he also knows that if he confesses to being uncomfortable on the ground, it'll only make your guilt worse. He doesn't want that either.

"I'm fine."

"You're miserable."

Damn it, you're good. You can always tell. Chan should have known. You can usually read him perfectly.

"Do...do you want to sleep in the bed?"

"I already said, ___, I'm not going to make you sleep on the floor."

"I won't sleep on the floor," you explain slowly. "I'll stay up here. You can sleep on the left side."

Oh. Not what Chan was expecting. Perhaps the seeping of the night and the lack of sight through the dark has affected your judgement. Or perhaps you're desperate for some quiet, so you're willing to offer anything to get him to be still.

Either way, Chan doesn't want to intrude by any means. But he is cold down here. And his side hurts. And his feet stick out. And he's starting to get a headache.

"If you're sure it's okay..."

"It's just one night, right?"

"Right."

You crawl back into the bed, scooting as far as you can onto the right side of the mattress, curling into yourself so as to leave as much space for Chan as possible.

Chan slides under the blanket, staying as close to the left edge of the bed as he can. With your backs to each other and the room draped in silence, you both start to relax into the comfort of each other's safe presence and the cushiness of the duvet.

"Goodnight, Chan."

"Goodnight, ___. And thank you."

"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't tell anyone."

He chuckles, "Wouldn't dream of it."

::

It's so damn warm, cozy, and wonderful. Even the sound of the alarm going off isn't enough to infiltrate Chan’s utopia right now.

A deep inhale through the nose, a snuggle closer to his pillow, a nuzzle into the warmth of your neck--

Wait, what?

His eyes slowly open only to find the back of your hair cascading down the pillow he's sharing with you. His legs are entangled with yours beneath the sheets, and his arm hangs nonchalantly across your waist. When he attempts to move it away, he realizes you've got a hand clenched around his hand, refusing to let him go.

Unsure of what to do, he allows you to adjust, a low groan to let him know you don't appreciate the way he jerked away.

“___,” he whispers your name, but you don't reply.

Instead, you roll over in his arms and bury your face into the crease beneath the pillow and his chin, nuzzling your nose into his collar. Your breath is warm on his skin. If he let himself, he could easily fall back asleep and potentially sleep for many more hours. There's something scarily safe about holding you like this.

This place shouldn't feel so familiar and lovely. But it does. His mind races with reasons not to let this go on. Because this is too much, too close, too intimate. You don't have this sort of relationship, and he certainly doesn't want to take advantage of your sleeping state. But then, the steady rise and fall of your breathing lulls him in closer, the warmth of your arms seeps in, and in a split moment, it feels so fucking right.

Still, he hesitates. If he gives in, if he enjoys this, does it mean something? Does it make him too vulnerable? Or even worse...a pervert.

His hands twitch, debating whether to tighten the hold around your waist or create distance. But the comfort is undeniable, the way your heart slows just a little, the way your body instinctively relaxes into him as if every bad thought and anxiety is melting away because he's got you. He's here.

He gently rubs your back. “Hey, ___. It's time to get up.”

“Five more minutes,” you mumble, barely audible, coated in sleep.

It feels as if you want to be held by him. Your body is begging him to stay.

But Chan is in a battle between craving closeness and fearing what it means. And in the middle of it all, he realizes -- he really doesn't want to move.

The alarm has automatically snoozed at this point, so it's bound to go off in the next few minutes anyway. What's five more minutes in the grand scheme of things?

In a moment of blissful weakness, Chan pulls you closer. He tucks you fully under his chin, uses his leg to mold your body to his, pulls the cover over your shoulders, and closes his eyes.

It feels good to feel you breathe. Your arm wraps around his middle as your contentment enthralls his spirit. The very essence of calmness perpetrates his chest and puts his heart at ease. For the first time in a long time, Chan feels absolute peace in this bed, holding you, sleeping deeply.

He can't remember the last time he slept this well. Maybe it was back in high school?

Damn. He could stay here forever. That's saying something considering he hasn't been able to consistently sleep longer than four hours max since he became a trainee. Even on days he didn't have a schedule to wake him up, he got up after a few hours, unable to keep himself asleep. His body didn't feel rested. His mind didn't feel refreshed. His soul didn't feel recharged.

But this. This right now. You.

Holding you is restful. Feeling you is refreshing. Sleeping next to you is recharging.

If he slept like this every night, life wouldn't feel so overbearing all the time. If he could restart every day like this, life wouldn't be so stressful.

And oh god, when you slip your leg between his just to be that little bit closer, his whole body reacts. Shockwaves of what he can only describe as cuddle serotonin flood his head, telling him to bring you closer in whatever ways possible.

It's only thanks to the smallest dose of consciousness he has left at this moment that he doesn't roll over on top of you. But his sense of reason can't override the temptation to place his mouth against your skin, feeling your morning warmth against the sensitive flesh of his lips.

Your chin lifts to make room for him, as if you asked him to be on your neck. A sigh from the depths of your soul escaping at the first touch his lips to your pulse. He feels your heartbeat ever so subtly pick up pace, and it captures his attention in a curious way.

It's gotta be hormones talking, but he wants to pucker his lips so badly and just kiss skin. Kiss some part of you, any part of you.

He shouldn't. He shouldn't—

BANG BANG BANG

Both of you jerk awake in a split moment, bodies untangling as you suddenly roll away from his chest and from between his legs.

He catches your sleepy expression, lidded, tired eyes searching the situation for a reason as to why you were being so affectionately cuddled by him.

Chan isn't sure what to do, so he freezes where he is with his arms open. For a moment, you just stare at each other, striving to get back to reality but struggling to wake up fully.

BANG BANG BANG

Whoever is at the door tries the door handle, but of course it's locked. They continue to bang on the door with no mercy.

You frantically grab your phone and check the time. With a gasp and "oh fuck" under your breath, you scramble out of bed. Your sleep shorts are twisted and your tank top is riding up your midriff.

Chan keeps his eyes down. He's processing that he was holding your bare skin a moment ago and didn't even consider the fact that the reason he thought you were so cuddly was because you weren't wearing a bra.

You spy through the peephole while tying a robe around your pajamas. When you see who it is, you mutter another curse and grab the keycard.

Then you open the door just enough to slip into the hallway.

Chan can't do much but wait as he listens to the subtle yelling just outside the room.

A few moments later, you come back inside acting very small and quiet. Chan throws the blankets away and rushes to you.

“Who was that?”

“The director.”

“Oh…what's wrong?”

“It's almost 2pm. You missed the interview with Youth Magazine.”

“I missed it?”

“Chan, I'm so sorry." Are those tears forming in your eyes? "It's all my fault. I should have gotten us up at the first alarm. I can't believe I didn't set a backup. I can't believe I fucked up this much.”

"Hey, it's okay. It's just an interview." But he can tell you're not in a place to be reassured after whatever hell the director just yelled at you. "What about the photoshoot?”

You sigh, blinking away any wetness from your eyes, rubbing your hands over your face. “You're due on set in an hour, so we have to get ready and leave like right now.”

Any and all contentment Chan felt from you while in bed is gone. You're utterly distressed and frantic as you run around the hotel room, backtracking to get this and forgetting to grab that.

As the two of you head for the door, Chan gently pauses you by the shoulder. “Look at me,” he says, “everything is gonna be okay. Being late once is not the end of the world.”

“Except for the fifty thousand fans that will be waiting to charge the JYPE building, and the fifty thousand dollars it'll cost the company.” You somehow manage a chuckle, but it's forced and fake. “Come on, you're due for make-up ten minutes ago."

::

The photoshoot went well. You're not surprised. Chan always delivers. You're convinced the man doesn't have a bad side. He could make a trash bag look good.

Youth Magazine was understanding and agreed to move his interview into the late evening. Unfortunately, it kept Chan from having dinner, but he did get to finish his schedule for the day without any further late calls or unexpected surprises.

Ever the professional, Chan ended his interview with an exclusive sneak peek about his upcoming single. Something the magazine had not asked for, but it smoothed over any leftover ruffled feathers and left the relationship between JYPE and Youth Magazine in good condition. Chan really is the perfect idol.

You're constantly looking over your shoulder for the remainder of the day, especially during his interview. It's not like anyone could possibly know Chan was late because he was cuddling you, but it also seems as though everyone who looks at you somehow knows. And it freaks you out.

The day starts, operates, and finishes in a state of anxious foot tapping.

Chan seems unbothered by it all though.

You double check with the driver while Chan finishes changing back into his street clothes and getting his makeup removed.

“I don't understand. Why can't we leave tonight?”

“Because Chan was late, we're almost six hours behind schedule. We had to switch flights back to Korea,” the staff explains. “You're due at the airport first thing tomorrow, but for now, the company got one more night at the hotel. You need to take Chan back to his room.”

Because Chan was late. Because your ass felt too good being cuddled by Chan’s ridiculously warm arms.

He wasn't even supposed to be cuddling you! The only reason you let him in the bed was because he clearly wasn't sleeping well on the ground. He's the one who promised to stay on his side and then ended up practically on top of you.

“Oh, by the way,” the staff adds, "the company executive called. He wants to talk to you as soon as you get back. In his office.”

As much as you want to, you can't place the blame on anyone else. You knew it was time to get up, but instead, you let him pull you closer for “five more minutes.”

Those five minutes are gonna cost you your job.

Chan joins you in the car after he gets the run down of the new flight schedule. He asks you what's wrong, but you only eye the rearview mirror where the staff is eyeing the two of you in the back seat.

“Nothing,” you answer with the best smile you can muster. “I'll order you room service when we get back. What do you want for dinner?”

“A burger.”

“Pineapple?”

“I’ll kill you.”

::

While the temptation was certainly there, you ended up sparing poor Chan and ordering his regular burger. It would have been easy to mess with him, but he had a hard day of cleaning up your mess and patching up relationships between the company and Youth Magazine. He deserves a break.

You also got to eat for the first time today, thank god. Another few minutes and your stomach might have caved in. Past the point of hangry, the deafening silence that had settled between you and Chan for the past hour was inclination enough. You needed food.

With a full tummy and dark sky, it was time to settle in for a few hours before you would need to head to the airport. The company couldn't have rebooked a later flight? You swear they got a 6am boarding time just to punish you.

“I might stay up a bit and work on a song. I haven't had a lot of inspiration lately, but maybe I can manage to get something down."

“Oh, really?” you reply as Chan sits at the desk and opens his laptop. “I figured you would be exhausted after today."

“A little, but I’m fine. You can turn off the light so you can sleep.”

“But then you'll be sitting in the dark. That's not good for your eyes."

“It's only for an hour or so, don't worry about me, ___, seriously.”

Oh. But you do. You worry that it won't be for an hour or so, because it never is. It never has been, even when he was a trainee. Chan stayed up night after night working on album after album. Once he got into the groove, there was no getting him out. Breaking Chan’s concentration was like breaking cement.

You know this because you were always the one people called when Chan showed up with bags under his eyes and falling asleep in the makeup chair. He has a horrible habit of not sleeping, and you, as his manager, have the hardest job in the world: making sure he sleeps.

“You know, you'll have the entire flight tomorrow to work on stuff. Sure you don't want to just sleep a few hours now?”

He turns around in the chair to see you pulling the covers down, a small smirk cracks on his lips. “Or, I'll have the entire flight tomorrow to sleep.”

“You don't sleep on planes.”

“Touché.”

“Come on,” you temptingly gesture to the waiting pillows and blankets, “just a few hours and then you can work to your heart's content. Please take care of yourself and get some rest first?”

Chan could easily say no and ignore you, but he likes it when you care about him like this. And yeah, maybe you're just doing your job as his manager. But sometimes it feels more like a friend concerned for a friend. Sometimes Chan can even convince himself you feel a little bit more for him than just a concerned childhood friend. But then he has to come back to reality where you're his manager and nothing more.

“Fine,” he gives in and shuts his laptop off. “I'll sleep first. If you insist.”

“I do.” You smile victoriously as he gets under the covers, pulling them up to his chin and snuggling himself in.

He looks at you and gives a flat smile while you set TWO alarms. “Happy?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“You're welcome – hey, what are you doing?”

You pause, halfway to the ground. “What?”

Chan peers over the edge of the bed, grimacing at the makeshift blanket and pillow on the floor. The one you're laying down on.

“Why are you down there?”

“I'm going to sleep,” you answer, as if it should be obvious.

“There?”

“Yes, here.”

“___, we already had this discussion.”

“Yeah, but that was before…”

Should you be saying this right now? You're not an idiot and you're not in denial, obviously Chan knows the state in which he woke up this morning. But there was no time or space to discuss it when it happened, so now you're here, at the end of the day, trying to maneuver a conversation around potential awkwardness. And you hate it.

“Before?”

“You know...”

“We cuddled."

Que the awkward silence. If he could have avoided this, he would have. But it's not his character to ignore something so significant.

That is…did you find it significant? Or do you care at all? Maybe you didn't think it was a big deal. Or even worse, maybe you thought he was bothersome.

“Did it bother you that much?” he asks slowly.

“It doesn't matter if it bothered me or not. We're not like that. I'm your manager, I mean…it shouldn't have happened.”

“You're right," he agrees from a professional standpoint, "but you sleeping on the floor shouldn't happen either.”

“Chan–”

“It's just for one more night. Not even a full night, just a few hours. Here,” he places a pillow in the middle of the bed, “we’ll use a wall and everything.”

“I don't know…”

“You want me to sleep, right?”

“Well, yeah. But the floor is--

“I won't be able to sleep knowing you're on the floor when there's plenty of room up here. And I won't cuddle you again.”

“Promise?”

He holds out his pinky finger, purposefully sitting all the way back on the bed so you have to crawl half way onto the mattress to reach him.

“Promise.”

::

You wake up to your first alarm, thanks to the volume being on max and a recently developed fear of being cuddled back to sleep by a certain someone. Despite his promise, you definitely expected to be waking up to the solid, warm feel of his chest and the smell of his leftover cologne on his neck.

However, the first thing you notice upon opening your eyes is a distinct lack of warmth. The second was the soft sound of snoring -- from the floor.

You sit up, blinking away the sleep from your eyes, and sure enough, there he is sprawled out on his back on the ground, a blanket half-draped over him like he couldn't even be bothered to fix it properly.

You frown as he slowly stirs awake to the sound of the alarm. “Why are you on the floor?”

His eyes crack open, and for a moment, he just stares at the ceiling, as if debating how to answer. Then he sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. “I fell.”

“You fell?”

“Yep.” He stretches his arms over his head before sitting up, the blanket falling off his lap. “Rolled right off in the middle of the night. Figured it wasn’t worth the effort to climb back up.”

You stare at him, unimpressed. “You rolled off a queen-sized bed?"

“Mhm.”

“And instead of getting back in bed like a normal person, you just… stayed down there?”

"That is correct."

“You’re lying."

He scoffs, placing a hand over his chest like you've wounded him by even suggesting such a thing. “I would never.”

You playfully toss a pillow at him, and he barely reacts in time when it hits him square in the face.

“Try again,” you say, arms crossed.

He groans dramatically, rubbing his hands over his face before mumbling, “Fine. I couldn’t sleep.”

"You couldn't sleep in a bed, so you chose the floor where you can't sleep?"

His jaw clenches, lips purposely sealed as if he's worried he might accidentally reveal something he's not supposed to. Of course, you notice how he suddenly refuses to meet your gaze.

“Look, it was either that or--" he stops himself and restarts the sentence. “It was just easier this way.”

You tilt your head, studying him closely as he gets up for the restroom. And then it hits you.

"You were scared of cuddling me again, weren't you?"

Chan stops in his tracks, his back to you so you can't see his face. “No comment.”

"You promised.”

“And I kept that promise,” he says, suddenly turning around to face you, eyes gentle but serious, "by removing myself from the situation.”

You stall on the bed, eyes narrowing at him as your brain processes his words. A pillow wall -- haphazard but deliberate -- wasn't enough to keep him contained to his side of the mattress?

Your gaze flickers to the makeshift bed on the ground, then back to him, his shameful gaze on the floor with a hand on the doorknob to the bathroom, waiting for the chance to escape this conversation.

And then it hits you.

The only way he could stop himself from cuddling you was to remove himself from the equation entirely. He didn’t trust himself. At least, his waking self could force distance, but the part of him that surfaced when asleep was a different picture. After all, last night, he hadn’t even realized what he was doing until he woke up with you in his arms. What was stopping him from holding you again? A few pillows?

You swallow hard, something twisting a painful knot deep in your chest. He wanted to keep his distance. But instead of trusting sheer willpower, he chose his own discomfort over possibly making you uncomfortable.

And for some reason, that realization unsettles you more than if he’d simply pulled you close again.

"Chan, I... I mean, thank you I guess, but I didn't expect--"

“You’re welcome,” he mumbles and disappears into the bathroom, locking the door.

::

It's been three weeks of a slow, painful decline since he returned to Seoul. Something is up with Chan, and for the first time in almost ten years, he doesn't immediately know how to fix the problem.

He's irritated, drowsy, short with everyone, and frustrated about everything. Even when eating, he's annoyed and distracted, as if experiencing the worst hangover of his entire life.

At first, it was subtle. A missed alarm here, a forgotten word there. He noticed his hands trembling when he reached for coffee, but figured he just hadn't had his caffeine yet. And then the dark circles under his eyes started to deepen, his skin grew paler as if it was being stretched too thin.

By the second week, exhaustion was dragging him like chains. His thoughts became sluggish and slow, and his emotions were frayed at the edges. He was quick to snap and even quicker to crack. All his conversations blurred together, and he caught himself zoning out mid-sentence, struggling to remember what he was even talking about.

By the third week, it was almost like moving through a dream at all times of the day. He saw visions swimming in front of his eyes when he stood up too fast. At one point, he had to grip the nearest surface to steady himself. His body ached, his head pounded, and no amount of caffeine helped anymore. Reality felt like a distant dream, surreal, like he was watching life from the outside. When he did try to get some sleep, it didn't come easily. Most nights it didn't come at all.

His body and mind are screaming for rest, but he can't turn his brain off -- trapped in a cycle of exhaustion that seems never ending.

No sleep for three weeks. He feels like death.

He tries to remember the last time he slept soundly. The Youth Magazine trip, when he woke up in a hotel bed encased in your arms, your nose pressed into his sternum, taking in his scent and matching the inhale and exhale of his lungs.

Cuddling you felt safe, lovely. It was warm, both from the physical closeness and the quiet reassurance that he's not alone. The steady rhythm of your heart beating in time with his, your breathing in perfect synchrony, the way his arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace. Like a silent promise that, in that moment, everything was okay.

It was the feeling of being held together when the world was crumbling outside, but he didn't care about the world. He couldn't be bothered when he had you in his bed. The softness of your shared breaths and gentle fingertips tracing absentminded patterns on skin. There was no rush, no need for words, just the quiet certainty that he was wanted, safe, and exactly where he should be.

What he would give to sleep like that again. It's not a want, it's a need at this point.

He tried body pillows, heated blankets, every sleep-help thing in the book. He even attempted hypnosis but turns out the pendant he bought online was a plastic scam.

He's so close to breaking, the pain is far past physical. It's mental. Psychological. Emotional.

His spirit is breaking.

Work, work, work all day and no measurable amount of sleep to be had in three weeks.

He knows the cure. But even in this state, he doesn't feel like he can ask you for it. It's unprofessional and would make you uncomfortable. He cares about you too much to even put you in the position of considering it.

In the meantime, you've been hustling and bustling all over JYPE just trying to keep it together. After a horrific scolding from the company executive, you've been on high alert, constantly on edge because the company is watching for any slight screw up that could cost you more than just your job. Once fired from one of the biggest entertainment companies in the country, you can bet your ass no one else is going to want you.

In fact, you've been so busy with managing Chan's schedule that you've neglected to notice his declining health. He's going above and beyond his work load, but that's sort of normal for him. He pushes the limits of music on a regular basis, and it's not uncommon for him to work several days straight.

So, you pushed that nagging feeling that something is wrong with Chan to the back of your mind. It sounds counterintuitive, but your list of priorities is only growing, and you don't really have space to worry about Chan right now.

That is, until the photographer of Chan's latest modeling gig gives you a call.

You weren't on set because you were preoccupied setting up his next trip to Japan for a charity event. But when you heard he passed out on set and was being taken by ambulance to the hospital, you immediately dropped your work and rushed to his side.

"The patient is showing signs of dehydration, malnourishment, and severe sleep-deprivation. I suspect he's gone about three weeks in this condition. He's been administered fluids which should help, and he's resting for now, but he needs quality sleep and meals from now on. Let him sleep here as much as possible, but he's free to leave whenever he wakes up. He needs calories sooner than later, so make sure he eats when you take him home."

"Thank you, doctor," you reply kindly as you receive paperwork for his release.

The doctor leaves the room, and here you are, sitting next to your unconscious idol in a hospital bed with an IV drip in his arm and barely any color in his cheeks.

How did you let this happen? How did you let it get this far? How did you manage to ignore every fucking sign that Chan was not okay, and brush it off as if it was nothing? 

This is on you. 

You sit stiff in the hospital chair, hands clenched in your lap as you watch him – sick, exhausted, hooked up to an IV like it's the only thing tethering him to reality. Your chest tightens with guilt because you noticed. You noticed everything. The dark circles under his eyes, the way he swayed on his feet, how his hands trembled when he reached for something. All of it. 

And you didn't say anything. Because other things were "more important."

But you should have said something. You should have called him out. You should have made him rest before he ended up in the hospital.   

Your fingers curled into fists. You let him push himself too far, convinced yourself that he was fine when deep down, you knew he wasn’t. And now, here he is in the hospital because you didn't feel like adding another priority to your list. 

This is on you.

The guilt sits heavy on your chest, suffocating until it becomes physical aches. But scolding yourself wouldn't change anything. What matters now is making sure he never, never, ends up like this again. 

He slowly inhales, his eyes gently opening to the sight of a blindingly white hotel room. He looks around, gaze eventually landing on the tube in his arm and following it up to the IV bag above his head. 

“Hey…” you say gently, hand on his bed but not touching him just yet, “how do you feel?” 

“Dizzy,” he replies honestly. “I guess I really did pass out, huh?” 

“Yeah, you scared me. I got a call while you were on the way here and came as fast as I could. The doctor said you're dehydrated, malnourished, and sleep deprived. He also said we can go whenever you're ready, but there's no rush, seriously. We’ll stay as long as you want, so you can rest.” 

“Oh.” His voice is monotone, aura stale and emotional walls too thick and tall for you to breach right now. “Thanks for coming.” 

But his thank you doesn't sound very genuine. It sounds more like “thanks for doing your job,” and there's no heart behind it. He doesn't look at you. He just stares up at the ceiling, seemingly focused on breathing and whatever thoughts are swimming around in that beautiful head of his.  

“Chan…” you begin, reaching out to take his hand, but he moves it away. 

You sit still, too still, hands now folded neatly in your lap as if keeping them steady will somehow anchor the rest of you. Your face is calm, composed, but the silence stretches on for far too long, the weight of unspoken words pressing against your throat until you're forced to either speak or choke. 

“I haven't been a very good manager, have I? I haven't been there for you when you needed me. I was so caught up in my own shit, feeling sorry for myself because I was yelled at a little bit. Like that's an excuse to place you at the bottom of my priorities.” 

Then, without permission, a tear slips free. Then another. You don't wipe them away, don't even blink them back. But they steal your voice, leaving your lips parted in a breath for a moment longer. 

“Even when I saw you struggling, I chose to ignore it, when I should have put your health and safety first. And I don't have a goddamn reason for why I treated you like that, because that's not how I feel about you. You're so fucking important to me, Chan, but I failed to show you that because I was stupid. I was so stupid.” 

Your chest rises and falls in measured breaths, a practiced stillness, but the dampness on your cheeks betrays your supposed composure. So, you swallow hard, clench your fingers a little tighter, and force yourselves to speak even though your voice has gone weak and started to crack.

"I should have been there. I should have said something the first time I noticed you hadn't eaten anything all day. I should have advocated for your health the first time I saw your hands shaking. But instead I just let it happen. And I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Chan...please forgive me…but if you don't, I understand.” 

He looks over at you, eyes softening and heart opening. Chan exhales slowly, the kind of breath that carries exhaustion, but also something softer – understanding. His gaze lingers on you, reading the pain in your eyes, the weight of guilt pressing down on you. 

He reaches over to place his hand on yours, the feeling of a tear dripping from your chin onto his knuckles. His grip is weak, but the warmth is there. You can feel it. 

"I forgive you,” he says, his voice quiet but steady, squeezing lightly. “I know you care, even when you fail to show it. Granted, I should’ve taken better care of myself instead of making you feel responsible for something that was never yours to carry alone. We're supposed to be in this together, right?” 

His thumb brushes over your hand, a silent reassurance that you haven't lost him. His walls aren’t up forever, but they’re cracking, letting you in with the little strength his body can muster at this point. 

"But that means you need to forgive yourself too,” he murmurs. 

You nod. You'll get there. It won't be immediate, and you'll probably apologize a few more times before his forgiveness fully sinks in, but it'll happen eventually. In time. You'll get there. 

:: 

“Home sweet home!” 

You cheer as the two of you finally walk past the threshold of Chan’s apartment. It smells like vanilla and sandalwood, like home. You take a deep breath in, letting the scent surround you and comfort you. You love the way his apartment smells, mainly because it smells like him. You always feel good and safe when you're here. 

“I'll unpack tomorrow,” Chan tells you with a tired yawn. “What time am I supposed to be at the site again?” 

“Nope!” You drop his last bag by the wall and begin ushering him towards his room. “No more schedule for you, sir.” 

“Hey, wait what?” he giggles, trying to see over his shoulder as you use both hands on his back to physically push him down the hallway. “What about the–” 

“I got it covered!” 

“But I'm supposed to–” 

“Not anymore!” 

You manage to get him into his room, a proud and stern smile on your face as you gesture to his mattress. “Time for bed. And then you're eating a full breakfast when you wake up. Do you need to change or brush your teeth first?” 

Chan lets out an airy laugh, waving a finger between the two of you with a shake of his head. “Nah ah, absolutely not. I know you're worried about me, but this is not how things are gonna work.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You can't babysit me. I'm not a toddler.” 

“I'm not babysitting you.” 

“You're standing in my doorway, waiting for me to get ready for bed.” 

“To make sure you go to sleep.” 

“Like a toddler.” 

“Like a patient, which you are.” 

He just rolls his eyes, leaning on one arm against the doorframe, smiling down at you fondly. “I'm a grown-ass man, if you didn't notice.” 

“Look,” you say very plainly, arms crossed as you peer up at him, “the doctor said that you are severely sleep deprived, and you need to sleep well. As your manager, it is my job to make sure you sleep well. So, tell me what you need to be able to sleep well.” 

The question hangs in the air, simple yet paralyzing.

Chan stills completely, mid-breath, mid-thought. His body locks up as if any movement might expose what he’s actually thinking. His gaze flickers around the room, suddenly hyper-focused on nothing in particular.

What does he need to sleep well? The answer is instant, obvious. 

You. 

Just you, close enough that he can feel your warmth, feel your breathing, let himself relax in a way he hasn't been able to, well, since forever. 

But how the hell is he supposed to tell you that? How the hell is he supposed to tell you all he needs are your cuddles? 

His throat feels tight, his pulse loud in his ears. He knows he should answer honestly, but every possible response feels too revealing, too vulnerable. So he stays frozen, battling the war in his head, until he finally forces a swallow and mutters, voice quieter than intended. 

"I don’t know."

“Come on, yes you do. Just tell me. I want to help.” 

“I really don't know, okay?” He turns away, hand running through his hair while his words threaten to run away. “I mean, I just don't sleep well. It's just one of those things, I guess.” 

“I think you do know,” you narrow your eyes, speaking gently, “you just don't want to say it for some reason.” 

Fuck you and your intuitive nature. That ability to read him so well will one day be his ultimate downfall, if that day isn't right now. 

You're right though. He just doesn't want to say it, because it might scare you. Might make you uncomfortable. Might cross a line he's been very careful not to cross for the last decade.

Then what happens? He loses you? That doesn't seem very fair. 

Chan rubs the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. 

You raise an eyebrow, taking a step closer to show that whatever he's got to say isn't going to scare you away. "Chan, let me help you. What's going on?” 

“Fine,” he gives in. “But you can't, I mean, I don't want to push you away.” 

Push you away? Why should this push you away? You know whatever it is won't change anything for you, but if he needs that assurance, you're more than okay to give it to him. 

He sits on the bed to fidget with the blanket, nerves exponentially rising within his chest at what he's about to confess. 

You sit beside him. “Whatever it is, you can tell me,” 

“I haven’t slept – really slept in, like, weeks." 

“Right. That’s why you’re here."

“But,” he takes a deep breath, finally looking at you, "there was one time recently that I slept really well. It was the best sleep I've gotten in years.” 

“Okay, great!” you exclaim, eager to hear about when and how you can help him get some more of that magic, quality sleep. “When was it?” 

“Youth Magazine.” He had to spit it out quickly, or he wasn't sure he would go through with it. But once it's out, the entire atmosphere shifts. 

You pause, blinking. "You mean…” 

“Yeah. With you.” 

“You slept well when we cuddled?” 

“Not just well,” Chan explains. "It was like, holding you allowed me to release stress I didn't even know I was carrying. It felt so right to have someone next to me, holding onto me, feeling safe with me. I think you might have actually healed part of me to be honest. Is that totally crazy?” 

“No. No, you're not crazy.” You swallow, glancing away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. Your voice is softer this time, unsure but sincere. "I’m glad it helped."

Chan would suspect he just made everything worse were it not for the subtle color on your cheeks and the shy, hidden smile in the corners of your mouth. 

“___?” 

You hesitate for a moment, fingers fidgeting slightly in your lap. Then, after a beat, you turn to face him as well. 

“Yes?” 

“I know this is kind of a weird request, and you can absolutely say no. I won't take it personally, and we can pretend this conversation never happened….will you stay?” 

“Stay?” 

“Stay here. With me. I think I can actually get some rest if you're close to me.”  

Your heart skips a beat at that one. "Chan…"

He quickly rushes to add, "You don’t have to! If it’s weird or if you’re uncomfortable, I get it. I just – I don’t know, it’s been so hard to shut my brain off, and last time when you were in my arms, it was like,” he sighs as if finally remembering the feeling of peace, “easy.” 

You don't disagree. What Chan doesn't know is you've been thinking a lot about that night too. And you realized fairly quickly that you enjoy sleeping next to someone, feeling their weight in your arms, waking to their scent on you. 

At least, you liked waking to Chan’s scent. 

You should go. That’s what your head is saying. It’s the reasonable choice, the one that keeps a safe distance, the one that makes all this mean nothing.

Stay. That's what your heart is saying. It's the emotional choice. The one that validates your desire to care for Chan, the one that allows you to be close to him, the one that makes all this mean something. 

When you study him – tired eyes, hesitant hands gripping the blanket like he’s bracing for disappointment – you feel something within you snap. 

He slept well because of you. The realization settles deep in your chest, heavier than you expected. He needs rest. He needs comfort. He needs you. 

Your chest tightens because you know that if you walk away right now, he won’t stop you. He’ll let you go. That's the kind of man he is. But he’ll go back to sleepless nights, and you'll spend the whole night wondering if you made the wrong choice.

What's one more night in the grand scheme of things? If it doesn't work, then you walk away knowing you did everything you could to help him sleep well. If you think about it, this would fall under the duties of your managerial position. It's in your job description to do whatever is needed to properly care for, manage, and support your idol. 

“You really think if we cuddle…it'll help you sleep better?” 

“Yes. I do.” 

"Alright,” you whisper, watching his entire body practically melt at the sound of your voice. “I’ll stay. Just for tonight. If this doesn't work, we never speak of it again.” 

Chan crosses his heart. 

You believe him. 

::

The silence between you grew thick with unspoken words. He sits on the edge of the bed, fingers curled into the blanket. It's warm and soft and serves as a reminder of how warm and soft you felt the morning he woke up with you. He almost can't believe you actually agreed to this. 

It's not like he asked you for sex, but for some reason, what you're about to do feels even more intimate. At least sex can be emotionless and mind-numbing. Cuddling you…the idea is different. 

Chan isn’t stupid. He's pretty sure he won't be able to cuddle you and not develop some kind of feelings. But he puts the possibility to the side and focuses on you, making sure you're not doing this out of guilt or because you feel obligated. 

Deep down, he wants you to want to cuddle him too. It won't feel genuine unless he gets that “five more minutes” feel you had last time. He wonders if it can happen again if it doesn't happen naturally. 

He feels the other side of the bed dip under your weight as you climb in, slipping under the covers and gently laying your head on the pillow. 

You're wearing a large shirt – his large shirt, actually. 

Turns out you weren't expecting him to ask you to stay the night, so you didn't bring pajamas or a toothbrush or face wash. 

You hesitated only for a moment before looking at him, eyes meeting in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. A deep inhale, rising chest, and a gentle exhale without ever leaving his gaze.

Chan swallows, his gaze flickering down to where the fabric of his shirt drapes over you, then back to your face. There's something unreadable in his expression – soft, hesitant, like he's still wrapping his head around the fact that you're actually here.

Then he slowly – so as not to scare you, he supposes – climbs under the covers next to you. 

At first, he lays his head down as you turn onto your side to face him. The two of you allow the moment to sink in, feeling out the line you're about to cross, intentionally this time. If it was anyone else, you would be questioning your own sanity. But for some reason, the longer you spend falling into his eyes, the safer you feel in the moment. 

And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he says, "Come here."

The bed shifts as you adjust, a little hesitant at first, but eventually placing yourself inside his arms and against his chest. Then, cautiously, he wraps an arm around you, his movements slow until he feels you relax into him. A bit of a snuggle closer so you can get fully comfortable. 

His exhale is a bit shaky, a reminder that even though he's the one who asked for this, he's not invincible to your touch. 

For a moment, neither of you speak, both of you simply taking in the moment and trying to adjust to the many, many new feelings happening right now. The room is quiet except for the slow, steady rhythm of your breaths mingling in the space between you. 

His grip tightens, barely noticeable, but you feel it in every joint of your body. As if he needs to convince himself you’re really there. As if he needs to convince himself this may actually work. His body is solid and firm, and despite the hesitation in his movements, he holds you like he doesn’t want to let go. 

You don't want him to either. 

Then, in the quiet, you feel it. The way his muscles start to unwind, the stress he’s been carrying slowly melts away. He tucks your head under his chin as he brushes against your hair. Another exhale, but it's softer this time, less shaky. 

"This…this is nice," he whispers. 

“Yeah,” you mutter in reply and gently snuggle in a little more, “it is.” 

It’s almost imperceptible, the way his fingers twitch against your back, like he’s resisting the urge to hold you even closer. His breathing evens out now, and then his arm hangs further over your waist, and his body turns further into you. 

For all his exhaustion, for all his need for rest, you are what unravels him the most. You are what finally brings him past the edge of sleep. 

And as he topples over that edge, he finds it simply too much to guard his tongue as it picks whatever thought is at the front of his mind and pushes it out his mouth. 

"You’re warm," he murmurs, his voice drowsy and low. His grip tightens just a fraction. “And soft.” 

Like a miracle, he finally drifts off to sleep. 

At first, you aren't sure how to feel. There's awareness in every inch of your body moving from the tips of your toes to the top of your head tucked sweetly under his chin. The way his arm drapes over your waist, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest against your cheek, the slowed heartbeat behind his ribs. You can feel his warmth seeping into you through every inch your bodies touch, the weight of him grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected.

But as the minutes passed, as the night lulled you into a sense of security and softness, something about knowing he was finally resting made your heart ache. You didn't fully understand just how high strung he had become until now – until you felt the way his body collapsed into sleep. No longer carrying the weight of exhaustion. 

When he finally fell asleep, you felt yourself fall too. You fall for the feeling of being his stuffed animal, his safe blanket, his body pillow. 

Before you know it, you begin relaxing too. The steady beat of his heart in your ears, the quiet hum of his snoring. It was soothing (as soothing as snoring can be). Chan is familiar in many ways, and it becomes scarily obvious that this feeling could become far more familiar far faster than you anticipated. 

You told yourself you’re only staying for his sake. But now, lying here with his arms around you, thinking about the morning kinda sucks. You haven't even fallen asleep yet, but you aren't looking forward to waking up. Because when you wake up tomorrow, you have to leave and…. 

Overthinking will only make you agitated, so you close your eyes and attempt to sleep, letting yourself dissolve into his scent as sleep overtakes your mind. 

“Goodnight, Chan.” 

:: 

“Good morning!” 

Chan has always been pleasant and professional. He's known for being a ray of sunshine wherever he goes, even on long, exhausting days. Ever the respectful gentlemen, the kind of guy you trust to have fans ranging from as young as nine years old. 

But this? Yeah, he gets odd looks for this kind of energy. 

“What is it?” he sings, jumping into the make-up chair. “Is my skin already glowing?”  

As a matter of fact, it is. His make-up artist doesn't quite know what to do with him at this point. Having glowing skin is a good thing, for sure! But it's kinda hard to do his make-up when he can't stop smiling like an idiot every five seconds. 

It's not just his make-up artist. It's the director, the producer, the staff, the choreographer, the camera director, the executives, the set manager, the photographer – everyone has taken note of this sudden but energetic change in Chan, and since mentioned it to you. 

Being his manager, it's only appropriate they would tell you. After all, you're supposed to know every food and drink and vitamin and pill that enters his body. How much he's exercising. How much he's eating. How much he's working. 

How much he's sleeping. 

In fact, Chan has slept a significant more number of hours since you started sleeping next to him. He falls asleep within minutes and stays asleep the whole night. He went from getting max three hours, to sleeping like a baby for a solid seven or eight hours on the regular. There was one night last week he slept for ten hours straight, cuddling you from behind like a teddy bear. 

If you hadn't gotten up to use the bathroom, he probably would have slept longer. 

Happy…cuddling you makes Chan happy. 

And not just happy. Euphoric. 

It's not just a change in his energy. It's a change in his emotions. He handles stress better. He digests food better. He remembers schedules better. 

It's hard to believe all this positive impact happened because you started cuddling with him.  

But you can't tell people that – or rather, you're not going to tell people that. It's better they don't know. So, you let them create as many conspiracy theories as they wish. 

Oh, and people have speculated plenty. The following are some of the most popular guesses. 

#1) Chan is on new meds. 

#2) Chan is officially spiraling and will crash any day. 

#3) Chan is getting a little help falling asleep at night from a…special friend. 

You're not a super big fan of that last one. Mainly because it's a little too close to the truth. And perhaps it's all in your head, but you think people have been watching you a little too suspiciously lately, and it's messing with your anxiety. 

Chan is working the camera, taking shots for his upcoming album cover. Eyes on point, vibe immaculate, body sculpted. God, the camera loves him. 

You step onto the set, arms straining under the weight of a towering stack of binders, higher than your own forehead. Maybe you should have swallowed your pride and taken two trips. But you didn’t, and now you’re paying for it.

Your foot catches on a taped-down cord, one you definitely should have seen, and suddenly, the world tilts. The binders fly from your grasp, papers scattering like fallen leaves.

And then SPLAT!

Your face meets the floor. Hard. The pain is instant, a dull throb forming at your forehead, but you barely have time to register it before—

"___! Oh my god, are you okay?!” 

Chan is there before you even open your eyes, hands steadying you, one under your arm and the other securing your waist as he helps you sit up. He doesn’t even glance at the mess you've made, doesn’t even care about the papers littering the floor…he only cares about you.

His eyes search your face, worried and intense, as his thumb gently brushes over the spot on your forehead.

"Chan," you say, voice tight with embarrassment as you pull away. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You fell. Pretty hard, actually." His brows knit together like you’re the ridiculous one for even asking. "I’m helping you."

"You just ran off in the middle of your shoot," you whisper, eyes darting to the small crowd that’s now gathered. Heat creeps up your neck, the weight of too many eyes on you. 

"Because you fell," he says again, firmer this time. His gaze doesn’t waver. "You’re more important than some pictures."

Your heart swells at the notion, but you shake your head. "I'm fine. Please, just go back."

"Are you sure you don’t need ice, or—"

"Chan."

"I could grab a hat from the closet if you're worried about a bump—"

"Chan, stop."

"I could ask the staff to put signs around the cords so you don’t trip again—"

"Chan!"

He shuts up this time. 

You sigh, voice softening. "Please, go do your job, and I'll do mine.” 

The light in his eyes dims until there's very little left. Your words knocked the wind out of him more than you intended. His lips part, as if he wants to argue, wants to insist on helping, but then he presses them together, swallowing whatever protest he may have had. 

His jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, he looks down. He nods once, muttering a short “okay” before standing to his feet in quiet reluctance.

He doesn’t say anything as he turns away, doesn’t look back as he makes his way in front of the camera again. But there’s a stiffness in his shoulders now, a weight in the way he walks, like he's trying not to show how much your dismissal stung.

Seeing him this way feels like shit, but as others help you gather your binders and stand to your feet, you keep telling yourself it's better this way. It's better that there be not even a hint of anything more than professionalism between the two of you, lest someone figure out the truth. 

:: 

It's nice to be wearing your own pajamas, although you haven't been too upset wearing Chan’s shirt to sleep in for the last several nights. There's just something about your matching silk tank and shorts that makes you sleep luxuriously well, and you’ve missed the feeling of your favorite pj’s. It's lucky Chan had an extra drawer available for you to keep your bedtime stuff in his room. 

It didn't take long for the two of you to develop a nighttime routine. But tonight is a little different… 

Chan sits on the bed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, his lower lip jutting out just enough to make his pout obvious. His brow sits in the slightest frown, eyes locked onto the wall with a silent complaint, like he’s waiting for you to fix whatever injustice you’ve committed.

“What’s that face for?” you ask upon exiting the bathroom, pausing in front of him. 

He shifts a little, huffing under his breath, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. When you don’t immediately respond, he tilts his head dramatically to the side, giving you the full effect of his sulky (endearing) expression. 

You shrug, “Alright, nevermind then.” 

As you turn around, his hand catches your wrist, gently keeping you from going too far. 

He lets out an exaggerated sigh, like a child who didn’t get their way. "Are you really gonna ignore me when I look this sad?" he mumbles low and utterly tragic.

You can't help but find him charming when he's like this. It's rare you see this side of him, so when it appears, it's difficult not to lean into the act. 

“No,” you come back to him, his fingers still holding onto your wrist, “but you need to tell me what's wrong.” 

"I was only trying to help,” he mumbles, tracing abstract pictures with his finger over your pulse. 

You nod. "Are you talking about earlier today?"

"Yeah. I saw you fall. You literally hit your head on the floor. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, but you shoved me off."

You sigh, running a hand through your hair as you sit down on the bed beside him. His pout loosens as you slide your wrist out of his grip to instead hold his hand. 

"Chan," you say, softly meeting his eyes, "I didn't mean to shove you off. I'm sorry. I was just embarrassed. Everyone was watching, and I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, "It was a big deal! You fell so hard. I wasn’t just gonna stand there and pretend I didn’t see it."

His grip tightens, fingers curling hesitantly around yours. 

"I know," you murmur. "I know you were just looking out for me. And I appreciate it. Really.” 

He stays quiet for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line. “Then…why did it feel like you didn’t want me there?” 

Your heart tugs at the vulnerability in his voice, the way his brows are still slightly furrowed, like he’s not sure if he should be feeling hurt or just letting it go.

"I just didn’t want to cause a scene. People are already talking, and I didn't want to give them any more reason to gossip about you.” You squeeze his hand gently. “But I did want you there, Chan."

He finally looks directly at you, the tension in his shoulders softening just a little. "You sure?"

You nod. "Mhm."

There’s a beat of silence before he huffs, ever the dramatic one. "Fine. But next time, I am getting you ice, whether you like it or not." 

You chuckle, nudging him playfully. "Deal."

“I'm still upset about it though…” he says with a tilt of his head towards the bed, big doe eyes silently asking you if it's finally time to get under the covers. 

You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, but there's a spike in your heartbeat that's unavoidable. The undeniable excitement you've been harboring lately for these cuddle sessions is about to become a problem. 

Yes, you've begun to look forward to these small moments. Chan is a great cuddler, and he only gets more cuddly every night. So much so, you scared yourself just thinking about the possibility of not being able to sleep next to him anymore. 

This whole thing started for Chan’s sake, but it's become a crutch for you. A craving. 

That sense of sinking into the sheets next to him, his strong arms wrapping around your body and pulling you close. As if he really wants you. As if he can't be without you. 

And if you let yourself, you can imagine for a moment, that he thinks of you as more than a glorified teddy bear. 

You sigh, settling into his arms, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns against his forearm. "I'm nervous people will find out about this," you admit, voice barely above a whisper, “and they’ll judge, and they'll never understand, and everything will change.” 

You realize that your words imply you're scared of all this ending, that you're more invested in cuddling with Chan than you let on. But it's true. It's not only for him at this point; you've become increasingly dependent on his cuddles just as he depends on yours. 

Chan doesn't respond right away. Instead, he tightens his arms around you just a little, his hands rubbing slowly, comfortingly up and down your body. He knows your lines by heart at this point and traces them from memory. 

"No one's going to find out," he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. “I promise, we’ll be careful. Everything’s going to be okay."

You close your eyes and scoot in closer to feel more of him pressed against you. "I trust you. Honest, I do. But I can’t help feeling anxious about it…what if this all blows up, and I don't get to be your manager anymore?” 

"They wouldn’t do that." Chan’s voice is steady, certain as he traces his fingers up and down your spine. 

"But what if they did?"

"Then I’d threaten to leave the company."

You blink at him. "Chan, you’re under contract."

“I’ve got enough dirt on the company to get out of it."

You stare at him for a beat before deadpanning, "You would blackmail JYPE just to keep me as your manager?"

"Yep." 

You let out an exaggerated sigh, placing your head back down, drawing whatever random shapes you want over his shirt. "Wow. That’s so romantic. You really know how to make a girl’s heart skip a beat, huh?"

"I am an idol," he says smugly.

"You know, if I didn’t become a manager in the industry, I would have been a hardcore K-pop stan."

Chan perks up a little. "Really?"

"Oh yeah. I’d be that fan who always got tickets to your fan meets, recorded fancams at every concert, held up signs that said, ‘Chan, why’d you invite so many people to our date?’"

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. "Well, those are some of my favorite fans, so..."

You grin, tilting your head up to look at him as he tilts his chin down to meet your gaze. "Guess I was meant to be in your life one way or another, huh?"

His eyes soften, thumb drawing circles on your back to lull you closer to sleep. 

“Yeah,” Chan hums softly, like he's considering your words a bit deeper than you intended them to be. Then he shifts closer, rolling towards you. “Guess so.” 

His chin dips, and before you can process it, you feel the familiar warmth of his nose brushing against the side of your neck.

You tense, just for a second. Not because it’s unwelcome, but because you weren’t expecting it. But Chan doesn’t pull away. He just nuzzles in, slow and deliberate, the tip of his nose grazing your skin as he exhales softly against your pulse.

It’s not new. Actually, he figured out pretty quickly that you love this, that it makes you melt in more ways than one. But tonight, with your nerves still buzzing and your thoughts racing, it feels more meaningful than usual.

Your hands instinctively clutch at his arm as a small, involuntary shiver runs down your spine. He must feel it, because his hold on you tightens just slightly, his breath fanning across your neck in a way that makes warmth spread through your chest.

He doesn’t kiss you.

He could. He's close enough, and the thought has definitely crossed your mind before. If he did…would you stop him? 

But he doesn’t.

And yet, as you settle further into his embrace, your anxiety dulling under the steady rhythm of his breathing and the weight of his presence, you realize that maybe…just maybe…you kinda wish that he would. 

:: 

It started with a late night movie, because you had the evening free for the first time in forever, and Chan invited you over to keep him company during his night in. It went well, and the convenience of already being at his apartment for bedtime worked out for the two of you. 

Then it was an early dinner and a late movie at his place.

Then it was virtual afternoon meetings AND dinner AND a late movie at his place. 

Eventually, you were finding any excuse possible to give so you could be around him. 

You grew accustomed to eating with him, hearing about his day, telling him about yours, encouraging one another, giving advice, venting about your shared hatred for the executive director. A nightly routine naturally developed before you climbed in bed together to sleep. 

Things progressed slowly from there. Over the course of a few months, your life adjusted ever so casually to fit your new routine with him. And while sneaking around never became less stressful, per say, it did become second nature. 

Chan learned exactly how to act in public so as not to raise suspicion (or your nerves). And you learned more of his tells and sleeping habits so as to help him get the best sleep possible.

When Chan laid next to you and opened his arms, your brain instinctively released that sweet hit of serotonin, and it wasn't long before you found yourself highly addicted. 

But you can never admit that to him. After all...you're his manager. 

This evening, the volume on his TV is low, just something playing in the background, neither of you really paying attention to the film at all. You have far too much paperwork to finish. 

Chan flops onto the couch next to you, stretching with a groan, loudly announcing his exhaustion after back-to-back schedules that day. 

You roll your eyes. “You know, you have no one to blame but yourself.” 

“What do you mean?” His arm lands on the couch behind you. 

“You overworked yourself today.” 

He clicks his tongue in defiance. “I did my job.” 

“You did your job, the mover’s job, the stage hand’s job, the performance director’s job–” 

“They needed help.” 

You shake your head. He’s always been like this – helpful to a fault, always taking on more than he should. 

“They had each other. You, on the other hand, have been running on fumes for weeks now.” 

Chan huffs, but instead of arguing further, he drops his head back against the couch with a heavy sigh. “Maybe I just like keeping busy.”

“And maybe I need you to take it easy because you have a solo stage tomorrow you can't be burned out for.” 

Chan cracks one eye open, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You need me to take it easy?”

“Yes,” you say firmly. “Because if you push yourself too hard and mess up your performance, guess who’s going to have to deal with your grumpy, self-loathing ass?”

His smirk fades into something softer. “You worry too much.”

“And you don’t worry enough.” 

He doesn’t argue this time. Instead, he sows his lips shut, sinking further into the couch. You take that as a small victory. At least he’s not immediately running off to do more work. 

You finish your last document and shut your laptop, placing it on the floor, so you can finally relax on the couch next to him. 

It starts with some space. A shift here, a scoot there. You're not sure exactly when, but at some point his arm falls off the back of the couch and lands around your shoulder. 

Then, at some point, your head drops lightly against his shoulder, and your body turns into his. It doesn't take long for his arm to drape across your waist now. Without thinking, you lean further into him, legs naturally tucking against his.

Neither of you acknowledge it.

Neither of you move away.

He draws mindless shapes across your back, his breathing deep and steady. It’s so casual, so normal – and maybe that’s what makes it all the more dangerous.

Because for the first time, you’re not sure if this is still about sleep, or if it’s something else entirely. 

His fingers continue to trace lazy patterns up and down your waist, every so often dragging your shirt with it only for it to fall again. But you notice those few moments his bare finger brushes against your bare skin, like it's second nature, like he’s done this a hundred times before.

And yeah, one could argue that he has. He's certainly traced the lines of your body as he's fallen asleep before, always claiming it soothes him to feel you under his fingertips. 

But this is different. 

As the movie plays on, you find yourself thinking less about the plot and more about the way he feels under your weight. 

This isn’t about sleep.

This isn’t about comfort. 

This is about Chan. 

And suddenly, you’re acutely aware that your heart is racing solely because of him.

Eventually, the evening sunset turns dark, and the leaning against him turns into laying on him. 

And now, here you are, tummy on top of his tummy, cheek on his chest as his head lays on the arm rest, and his hand lazily strokes your back. He's watching the TV, his heartbeat singing against your ear, soft and calm, unconsciously making your heartbeat copy the rhythm. 

You shift slightly, resting your chin on his chest, watching him react to the movie. Every so often, his tummy bounces when he chuckles at the cartoon, making you bounce with it. You wonder if he even realizes he’s petting you, or that you've been fidgeting with the loose seam of his shirt for the last half hour. 

And that’s when it hits you. 

This is the first time you've cuddled without the expectation of immediate sleep. 

This is just the two of you. Being close. Because you want to be. Because it feels right. 

And suddenly, that realization makes your heart beat just a little too fast, telling your anxiety that you're about to be in grave danger of feeling too much. 

Your breath catches in your throat. Your fingers twitch against his shirt as the weight of that realization settles over you, making you feel heavy on top of him. The warmth of his touch, the steady rise and fall of his breathing – it’s too right. Too easy. Too natural. Too good. 

You're starting to treasure it too much. Way too much. Eventually, all this has to end, right? If just thinking about it hurts this much…how much more will it hurt when… 

You need space.

Slowly, you shift away, carefully untangling yourself from him as you sit up to straddle his waist instead. 

Chan blinks, his arm falling to the empty space on his chest where you’d just been. “What’s wrong?”

You force a small smile, rubbing your face as if that’ll clear your head. “I’m just tired. Ready to turn in for the night.”

He doesn't hesitate to grab the remote and stop the movie. 

“Okay,” he says easily, already sitting up as well, holding you in place so you don't fall off his lap. “Whatever you want, ___.” 

Whatever you want? Why did he say your name like that? Like he genuinely cares about you. So soft. So certain. Like he’d do anything for you, no questions asked. Like your comfort, your needs, your wants matter more to him than anything else. 

It’s not the first time he’s said your name, clearly. Not even the first time he’s looked at you with that quiet sincerity in his eyes. But tonight feels different. Or maybe you’re just feeling different.

That's dangerous. 

Because if you allow yourself to believe, even for a single second, that this is something more, then you’re stepping into uncharted territory. 

One where the lines between comfort and affection blur.

One where cuddling isn’t just about helping him sleep anymore.

One where you’re not sure if you’d be able to stop, even if you needed to. 

You shake the thought away, forcing a small smile as you nod, pretending like nothing has changed inside your mind. But as he’s here, holding you so delicately in his lap, watching you with those careful – dare you say, loving – eyes, you realize everything is changing. 

He stretches slightly before gesturing for you to go first, so you stand up. Then he stands up as well, gesturing for you to follow him down the hall. 

But your feet don't move. You're just shifting your weight from one leg to the other.

Chan (of course) notices immediately. His brow furrows. “What is it?”

You frown down at your legs, rolling your ankles slightly. “I think my legs fell asleep from laying on the couch.” 

His concern melts into an affectionate smirk. “Seriously?” 

You nod, small, with an unconscious pout. 

“You know you could just ask,” he whispers as if it's some sort of secret. “I don't mind.” 

You blink. “Mind what?” 

Before you can react, he makes his move, swift and effortless as his arms sweep under your knees and back. He lifts you bridal style, bouncing you once to make sure you're secure. 

A surprised noise escapes you. “Chan! Oh my god, what–?” 

“You said your legs were numb,” he reminds you, grinning as if he wanted to do this. “Let me help.”

“This is not what I meant! Put me down!” 

But he just smiles and says, “Nope.” And he starts his way towards his bedroom. 

Your retorts start serious, but they gradually change to giggles the faster he walks, as if he just can't wait to get you into bed. 

He’s careful as he lays you down, adjusting the blankets before slipping in beside you. But he doesn't pull the blankets up just yet. 

Without hesitation, he reaches down, his hands wrapping around your calves as he starts massaging slow, gentle circles into the muscles. 

You blink at him, reaching down to place a hand on his. “What are you doing?”

“Helping,” he mutters and pushes your hand away, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. His thumbs press lightly into your skin, his touch warm, soothing. “I can't sleep until I've made sure you're okay.” 

Oh god, there's something about his eyes when he meets yours. They're completely innocent, but there's something in them that terrifies you. Not because you're scared of Chan…you're scared of yourself. 

You bite your lip, trying to steady your heart as it begins racing faster and faster. His eyes are so open, so trusting, almost too much for you to handle in this moment. There’s nothing but warmth in them, an earnestness that makes your stomach churn in fear. But it's the way he's looking at you, with that gentle patience, that understanding, that makes you feel so safe. 

Your eyes naturally glance at his lips. 

Stop! You can't do this! 

Your pulse quickens, and it feels like your chest is too small for everything inside it. You should pull away. You should run as fast as you can. But you can’t move. Can’t convince yourself to leave the warmth of his presence when it feels so right. 

You didn't think it was possible to physically feel the moment you fall in love with someone…but it's happening. There's no denying it anymore. 

You've been falling in love with Chan for god knows how long. And right now, in this exact moment, you've officially fallen in love with him. 

You force yourself to look away, trying to calm the wild beat of your heart, but the damage has already been done. You’re sure he didn't mean to, but Chan did it; he simultaneously healed and hurt you in the exact same moment. 

“___?” He manages to bring your attention and eyes back to him. 

“Hm?” 

His hands pause. “Why are you crying?” 

You blink, surprised at the wetness on your cheeks, and quickly wipe it away with the back of your hand, but it’s too late. He’s already seen.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, a weak attempt to brush it off. “I’m fine.” 

But his gaze never wavers, and his concern only grows as he shifts to the top of the bed beside you, his thumb gently grazing your cheek. “Don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

He means well, but the warmth of his touch on your face only makes everything harder. 

“Just a long day…” you trail off, unable to finish. You know he knows you're lying anyway. 

But instead of edging you on and insisting on an explanation, Chan gently lays you down, his arm as your pillow and his body as your shield. You hide yourself in him as he pulls the covers over your shoulder. 

You're crying over a boy for the first time in your life. And it's over Chan…and he doesn't even know it. 

You shouldn’t be doing this. The cuddles, the closeness, pretending this is all normal, like you’re not harboring feelings much deeper than just friendship. 

It’s getting dangerous. The feeling sinks deep in the pit of your stomach as you lay next to him, and his warmth envelops you. His hand brushes against yours, and it's like a thousand fireworks pop under your skin. It’s getting harder to breathe – or are you just crying too hard? 

It's too much to ignore the way your heart races when he hums gently to sooth your whimpers, when he looks at you like you matter more than you should let yourself believe you do. 

The realization settles into your bones, heavy and terrifying, but also…inevitable. It’s been there for a while, hasn’t it? Lurking beneath every stolen glance, every lingering touch, every heartbeat that races just a little too fast when he pulls you close.

You're fucking in love with him. How could you not be? 

Every night spent in his arms, every whispered conversation in the dark, every quiet laugh shared between just the two of you – it's all led to this moment. To the undeniable truth pressing against your ribs, demanding to be acknowledged. 

You love him. And he doesn't even know. 

The thought terrifies you, makes your hands shake as you tuck them away so he can't see them physically trembling. Do you say something? You can’t keep pretending this is just comfort, just habit, just something casual between friends.

Because it’s not. Not for you at least. 

But if you tell him…how can you continue to be by his side as his manager?

Then again, how can you continue to be by his side at all? Will these feelings grow more and more every day if you stay?

Eventually, you start to drift off, and the tears dry under your eyes. As you feel sleep take over your body, Chan’s arms tighten around you, offering a silent promise of protection. 

Perhaps for the last time. 

When you're right on the brink of unconsciousness, while the world is blurred and sounds feel thick, a gentle puff of warm breath hits your earlobe alongside gentle words your tired brain can't quite make out. 

:: 

Chan smiles out at the crowd. Twisting in a single, white chair, he answers questions from the MC with practiced ease. 

Of course, the majority of the stage today is scripted, with some flexibility to share pre-screened details and stories, given he finishes in the appropriate time limit. 

But Chan misses the genuineness of a fully free stage. When he has a microphone and nothing else. When it's just him and STAY, being together, enjoying the moment. 

You're always sure he gets those moments during interview stages. But unfortunately, his stage management was given to someone else for this event. Someone just as capable, but far less accustomed to how you do things. This substitute manager doesn't have an inch of space to spare for idol-fan connection. 

Chan doesn't want to complain though. 

It's been hell for you with whatever side projects the executive director assigned. You showed up at butt crack o’clock this morning, and he hasn't really seen you all day. 

“So, Chan,” the MC cheerily continues, checking their notecards, “how does it feel to be the most successful idol in the industry right now?” 

Another scripted question. 

"Thank you for the kind words. Really, it's an honor to be where I am today, and I'm just really grateful to have this opportunity to do what I love. Of course, I always strive to improve and challenge myself, so I’ll continue working hard to give my fans the best music and performances. I wouldn’t be here without all of you, so thank you so much for your support! I love you guys!” 

The MC smiles as the fans cheer. “Of course, the fans support you a hundred percent, and I'm sure they are a huge source of motivation for you. But is there anyone else you want to shout out? Someone…special?” 

Not a scripted question. 

It catches Chan briefly off guard. He has to collect himself for a moment, quickly hide his surprised expression so the camera doesn't pick up on any unpreparedness. 

“Oh, umm, of course! Yeah, I couldn't have done it without the support of the amazing staff and my team. Every achievement is a collective effort–” 

“But is there anyone specific you want to mention,” the MC interrupts, a saucy lift of their brows as they speak, “a special girl in your life, maybe? I'm sure the fans would love to know.” 

Okay, this is definitely off script. Chan makes a mental note to report this MC after the show is over because what the actual hell? 

Are they seriously asking him if he has a personal, romantic relationship behind the scenes? Are they trying to pressure him in front of a live audience right now? 

Chan forces a smile, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. He’s trained for moments like this, and he's faced plenty of curveball questions in the past. But this one? This one hits different. His gaze flickers to the camera, to the crowd, to the team of staff behind the scenes. 

It's incredible how quickly his mind turns to you in this moment. 

The MC’s grin only widens, clearly enjoying the uncomfortable tension building in the air, as if this is what they aimed for.

"Oh gosh, you're gonna make me shy," Chan begins, hearing the fans’ voices slowly aweing from the crowd. Even though his pulse quickens, he keeps his voice steady, "I mean, my fans are my baby girls and baby boys, so they are my special someone. I love you, STAY!” He makes a heart to the audience, a successful response coming back to him. 

The MC doesn’t let up though. "Ah, but come on. You must have someone special. You’re the hottest thing in the industry right now, Chan! Surely, there’s someone who makes your heart skip a beat, right?"

His fingers tighten around his microphone, tongue in cheek. He clears his throat, mentally reminding himself that sticking to the safe answers is the most important thing right now. 

“I’m really focused on my career and STAY. I think we've come a long way, but we've still got a long way to go. We can go even higher and higher – there's no stopping us if we work together. That’s really what keeps me motivated.” 

The MC, sensing it’s not going to go any further, reluctantly shifts gears. "Alright, alright. We’ll respect your privacy,” a wink, “for now."

For now? The fuck you will. 

As the interview continues, Chan can’t shake the seed of uneasiness the MC has planted. He hates how the question, casual as it seemed, dug deep into something he’s been trying to bury. 

Perhaps for too long. 

::

Chan sits on his bed, arms crossed, staring at the floor. He can’t focus on anything it seems. His thoughts keep swirling around, always coming back to one thing. One person. 

You. 

He can't shake the memory of last night. Something was very wrong, even if you weren’t ready to share exactly what. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if the closeness has become uncomfortable for you. 

When he picks you up, when he clings to you, when you’re both wrapped up in each other. It feels easy for him. But perhaps you feel burdened? 

The cuddling, the late-night talks, the way his heart skips whenever you get close. He's not stupid; every night, he feels the tension growing between you both, and he wonders if maybe it’s getting awkward for you. 

Is that why you cried? 

Was it something he said? Something he did – the massage maybe? 

He just wants to take care of you like you take care of him. Is that such a bad thing? 

On stage, you were the answer to that MC’s question. All his success these last months is largely thanks to your cuddles, as weird as some might find that truth to be. 

But if it makes you cry…maybe the two of you should stop.

The thought rips through his chest like shrapnel, sharp and sudden, leaving behind shreds of devastating loss – feelings he was not prepared to encounter.

Why does this hurt so damn much? 

The realization crashes into him like a wave he wasn’t braced for, dragging him down father and father into depths suffocating and inevitable. And then he finally realizes...

He's in love with you. 

Of course, he's in love with you. 

That’s what this ache is. This all encompassing ache that seems to infect every nerve ending and bone in his body. That’s why the thought of you leaving feels like the end of his entire world. It’s not just sleep. It’s not just comfort. 

It’s you. All of you. 

He’s fallen for you somewhere between the sleepy mornings and quiet nights, in the curve of your smile and the weight of your head on his chest. And now, knowing that what brought you close might be the very thing pushing you away…he can barely breathe. 

If cuddling him hurts you that much, if it makes you that uncomfortable, of course, you should stop. But if the two of you stop cuddling, he'll be miserable. 

Oh god, how can he be so selfish as to even consider continuing something that clearly hurts you!? How can he even think to go on like this when you're so obviously not okay with it anymore?

He's decided. He'll tell you the truth about how he feels, and if things end, then things end. 

He has to be ready to let you go if that's what you want. 

He has to trust that if he puts his heart in your hands, you'll walk away if you need to. 

Even if it leaves him shattered. 

A soft knock on the door. 

It's you. 

His heart perks up inside his chest like it always does when it hears you coming. He has to remind it to settle down…there's probably no cuddles tonight. Or ever again.

He stands up and moves toward the door, mentally preparing himself before he opens it. 

Maybe it's the dim entry glow that catches your eyes, making them softer and warmer than usual. Or maybe it’s the way his oversized shirt is draped over your arm, just waiting to be worn. Or maybe it’s the simple fact that there's a chance he's about to break his own heart. 

Or maybe you're just that devastatingly beautiful to him. 

For your sake, he’ll pretend you're not ruining him as tragically as you are. 

You blink up at him, seemingly oblivious to the war inside his mind. A soft smile, a tilt of your head – fuck, do you even know what you do to him?

He takes a breath, but it doesn’t help. This may be harder than he thought (not that he thought it would be easy). 

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” you reply sweetly, your uneven smile already signaling that something is wrong. Of course, Chan already knew that. You never knock anymore. 

“Come on in,” he welcomes you, stepping aside and closing the door behind you. “We should probably talk.” 

“I think so too.” 

Chan pauses at the door. “You do?”

“Yeah,” you exhale, steadying yourself as you enter his apartment. “There's something I need to tell you.” 

Chan leads you to the couch where you can both sit. It seems whatever you have to say will cause you to be unbalanced if your nervous knees are any indication. He's never seen you quite like this before, and it's rather concerning. 

What he has planned to say is on the back burner until further notice. All he wants now is to listen to you and hopefully help support some of the obvious weight you carried into the apartment. 

“What is it?” he asks, moving to place a hand on your shoulder, but pulling back at the last moment. 

“Chan… I’ve decided to resign as your manager.”

His brows pull together, eyes wide with a quiet panic. His lips part slightly, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what, and his entire posture has stiffened. He wasn't braced for that kind of impact, and the punch of your words to his gut has knocked the air right out his lungs. 

“What? But we've been a team since trainee days. I don't understand. Why now?” 

“Because, I…”

God, this is harder than you thought – you can only hesitate for so long until the words have to come out. You owe him the truth, but it seems you underestimated just how difficult it would be to confess what you're really thinking. 

He's looking at you like the solid ground beneath him will turn into water, and you're his only lifeline. If you leave, he's surely condemned to sink. 

There’s a different kind of fear in his gaze now, something deeper than just confusion. Like he’s trying to read between the lines, trying to piece together if you’re sick, if someone hurt you, if something happened that maybe he can fix. 

Chan. Always believing he can fix anything. And usually, he can at least mend a few scratches…but you're not sure there's anything that will be able to mend the heartbreak you've brought upon yourself. Not even him. 

“I just need some space,” you finally say. 

He leans in slightly, tilting his head to better see your face when you look away from him.  

“I knew it.” 

You glance at him. “Knew what?” 

“This is all my fault,” he groans, shooting to his feet, one hand raking through his hair as he starts to pace. “I crossed the line. I should’ve known I was making you uncomfortable, but I didn't want to give you space. I got selfish, and I didn't even stop to think about how it was affecting you.”

He turns sharply and drops to his knee in front of you, eyes searching yours with raw desperation. “I never meant to make you feel pressured or obligated or, fuck, guilty. I never should have asked you to go so far beyond your responsibility as my manager. I just…” His voice falters, shaking as he takes your hands in his. “I’m so sorry, ___. You have to know I’d never want to hurt you. I didn’t mean for things to get so messy. All this, this is all on me. All of it."

“No, Chan, wait,” you stop him by gripping his hands, speaking quickly before he starts rambling more, “it's not you. It's me. I'm just…not cut out for this industry.” 

You didn't come in here with the intention of lying, but now that you're next to him, here of all places, it's proving tumultuous to tell him the real reason behind your decision. 

But maybe this is better. Maybe this way, you can save some hurt feelings. Save yourself some anguish. 

He slowly stands up, arms crossing and expression turning stale. 

“Well, that's bullshit.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“I'm sorry, but that's actually bullshit. ___, you're the best manager in the industry. Everyone knows that.” 

You stand as well with a sharp scoff. “That's not true. I make more than my share of mistakes, and I've been lacking as your manager for months. If I don't resign, JYPE will probably fire me.” 

“That's ridiculous!” Chan insists. “What kind of mental spiral did you go down to even get that idea?” 

“I didn't!” 

“Well, I'm sorry, but that's the most absurd thing I've heard in my life. And I don't know why you think I would ever believe shit like that.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to regain a foothold as every solid piece of ground starts crumbling underneath you. 

You just said the first thing that came to mind that's not the truth, and clearly Chan isn't buying any of it. With your face in your hands and your shoulders sagging in exhaustion, you take a deep breath. 

“Can't you just let me lie?” 

“No,” he says calmly, taking a step closer. “Whatever it is, is obviously hurting you. How could I let you suffer behind a lie?” 

“Because maybe it's better if you don’t know the truth. Maybe that way, I don't have to lose you completely.” 

“Why would you lose me?” Chan whispers, cupping your cheeks in his warm hands and bringing you closer. “Listen. There's nothing you could ever do that would make you lose me. If you want me to let you walk away, you better give me a damn good reason why I should.” 

“Do you promise?” 

“I promise.” 

You take a shaky breath, your pulse pounding in your ears. The moment stretches into hours, taut and heavy. Dreadfully, you look up at him, your chest tightening at the sight of the gentle concern written across his face, and you almost lose your nerve again. Because no matter what kind of promise he makes, you know that after he hears the truth, he won't be able to keep it. There's no possible way he could. 

“I’ve developed feelings for you,” you say quietly. “And it’s not professional. I’ve tried to ignore it, to stay objective, but it’s not working. Being your manager isn't right anymore. I'm falling for you, and I’m afraid being in love with you is making things way too complicated. So, I want to leave...while I still have some of my heart left in tact."

Chan freezes, eyelids fluttering with each word you speak. He doesn't reply, doesn't move, doesn't breathe. 

You smile, small and sad, and take a step back, allowing his hands to drop through the air. “That’s the truth. Having these feelings and being close to you hurts too much. So, I'm turning in my resignation tomorrow.” 

For several moments, there’s only silence.

You wait for him to say something, anything, but he just stands there. You can’t tell if it’s anger, disappointment, or confusion blanketing his features. Maybe it’s all of them. 

“Chan? Aren’t you going to say something?” 

Still no reply. His chest starts to lift and fall as he breathes again, his lips parting as if he wants to speak. But he doesn't. 

Your hands drop uselessly to your sides, everything in the air settling into nothing. You were so terrified to admit your feelings, and now his anticlimactic response leaves you feeling worthless and unheard. 

You should have known it was too much to hope that he might have some kind of perfect response to something so sudden and messy. 

“I’m sorry,” you add softly. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I should go.” 

You turn toward the door, heart pounding so loudly it drowns out everything else, including your footsteps. Your chest caves in on itself, throat tight from holding back the wave threatening to crash over you. You don’t want to cry. Not again. Certainly not in front of him.

You make it three steps. 

And then suddenly– 

His fingers around your wrist, gentle, but with a desperation that stops you cold. 

You freeze, feet numb as he tugs you back, just enough to spin you around. The world tilts, your vision blurry from unshed tears, and before you can even process what’s happening– 

He's pulled you in. 

One hand still around your wrist, the other around your waist, holding your body flush to his. And his lips on yours like a dam that's broken from the pressure. 

It’s not soft. It’s not careful. It’s raw, reckless, full of everything he's ever felt but never said. His kiss translates a sense of fear, desperate longing, and the panic of almost losing you. His heart is in every movement, every push and pull, trembling and wide open. 

Every emotion he buried. Every time he misread the signs. He puts his everything into this very kiss. So you can feel it all. 

And you kiss him back like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.

You're not careful. You're not logical. Because this is not the product of a slow realization. It’s a need. It’s a confession. It’s everything that’s been simmering under the surface from the very first night you climbed into his arms and called it “just cuddling.” 

Your hands are in his hair, and his are gripping your shirt around your hips before your mind even has time to catch up to what’s happening. The air around you disappears, replaced only by the sensation of his mouth moving against yours like it’s the first time he’s breathed all day. 

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. You’re both still catching your breath. He pushes forward to brush against your lips lightly, dragging his hands further around your waist to pull you against him more, as if he can't be close enough. 

“Don't be afraid to fall. I'll catch you.” 

“Chan…does that mean…?” 

He smiles, just a little before moving his lips to be beside your ear, and whispers, “I'm in love with you too.” 

Your breath catches again. Not from nerves this time, but from sheer disbelief. Relief. The feeling returning to your feet on the ground.

You pull back just enough to see his face. His eyes are so close, so full of warmth and truth, and there’s no trace of hesitation. No regret. Just him, looking at you like he’s known he's loved you for forever, but finally now has the courage to say it.

“Say it again,” you whisper, barely audible, afraid he'll disappear if you blink.

He leans in once more, lips brushing your cheek as he murmurs, “I’m in love with you.”

“Again?” 

“I’m in love with you,” the other cheek this time, voice softer, like a vow. 

Your arms close around his neck, and he holds you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. Because to him, you are. Your head tucks into the curve of his shoulder, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you breathe easily.

You're not sure what exactly happens now, except for when Chan scoops under your legs and wraps them around his waist, so he can carry you to the bedroom. 

Tonight, his bed is visited by more than just cuddles. But the important part is that there’s no pretending. No agreements. No routines. 

Just love. 

And the steady beat of his heart against yours long after the sun peeks through his windows, and he's turned off the alarm more than once. 

::

general taglist: @nightmarenyxx @cherriive @cepheus3 @strawberriesoup @kayleefriedchicken @hannamoon143 @0omillo0 @fly-you-dam-fools @urlocalmultigroupfan @inlovewithstraykids @felixleftchickennugget @hityoulikebahng @imfoive @imeverycliche @velvetmoonlight @hannieslittlerockstar @staybabblingbaby @somber-reads @hyunjinxxs @straberieslee

[hallofskz]

Sorry for the minor notification spam! Just stumbled across your wonderful library of fics yesterday and I may or may not have gone on a bit of a doom scroll 😅

Absolutely no worries!

Rather I encourage the ravaging of my library, there’s so many wonderful stories written by amazing writers here!

Thank you for visiting! ☁️

[jisunggy]

Not So Romeo

-> Your decades long family feud may finally be coming to an end. But when your sister's engagement to his brother is on the rocks, Minho asks for your help to keep the fued from kindling again.

Minho x fem!reader

fake dating!au, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst if you squint

7K

warnings: minor injury + mention of blood, cursing, kissing

another repost from my old blog <3 idk I just wanted to :) low-key proofread but don't hold me to that lol

-------------------------------------------------------

It's funny your parents named your younger sister Juliet. She's not reckless or disobedient or stupid. Actually, your sister is very level headed and logical. So when she came to the family with a ring on her finger, it was a bit of a shock.

What was even more of a shock was the man on her arm.

"Felix!?"

You'd never heard your father sound so offended. There's no way your sister could logic her way out of this one. Marrying the son of your rivaling family made no logical sense!

"Juliet, why?" Your mother tried to empathize because she knew the tendency to be attracted to bad boys. But she just couldn't understand her daughter's attraction to this one.

It took months of reasoning and convincing, family get-togethers and interventions, but eventually — as much as you can't believe it – Juliet did it. She convinced your parents the feud between families had to end.

Juliet and Felix's love for each other had won over the hearts of both sides. Soon enough everyone was laughing and eating together like the feud never happened. It was a miracle to say the least. Except for one tiny detail…

Felix's older brother.

Minho.

The parents were okay. Felix was actually kinda cool. Their dog was cute. Minho was a living nightmare. No, you were not a fan of the older brother of this family and you did not intend to be a fan.

No matter how much your sister was madly in love, there was no way you were ever going to get along with Minho. The two of you just didn't make sense. He was all uptown, proper rich fuckboi vibes while you worked to put food on your plate.

For your entire upbringing, you were bred to despise him. But suddenly your family expected you to play nice? Your siblings would be married in a matter of months, and that meant everyone had to at least try to get along with everyone else. For as long as your families hated each other, as soon as love was on the table, all that history went out the window.

Except for you.

And then came the day you thought the world would surely end.

"Minho and I are…what!?"

"Dating!" Your aunt sings. "I heard about it from the uncles and it's just so adorable. Picture it! A double wedding! No pressure though, dear. Obviously you haven't been dating Minho very long–"

"I haven't dated Minho at all!"

"--no one would expect you to be ready to marry by the time Juliet and Felix do, but isn't the thought just precious? Oh, I remember when your uncle asked me to marry him. It was a Tuesday around midnight, nothing special, but then…"

It all fades to mush at that point. Your aunt could rant for days about her husband but you're not interested. Not when you've got a major problem on your hands now.

Dating…seriously? Does Minho know about this? You're kinda excited to see his reaction when he finds out. Oh god, the riot he's gonna rage. Flipping tables, cursing out family members, the absolute denial is gonna be legendary.

You know he can't stand you either. The two of you were born into feuding families; it's in your bones to hate each other.

You walk into the family room with an entertained grin. This should be fun.

There's games and food and conversation and food. Oh yeah, and food.

Your family owns a pizza parlor, and Minho's family…also owns a pizza parlor. So, the food is mainly pizza but you're okay with that. It's comfort food at this point.

You spot your sister and Felix sitting lovey dovey on the couch while your parents ask them questions and make notes for wedding preparations. It seems fun, but you'll pass on the awkward giggles and indecisive color schemes just this once.

You do hear a specific rumor growing in popularity around the gathering. Part of you believes it'll die down with time, when no one sees you or Minho acting fondly towards the other person, people will get the picture.

Standing in line at the pizza table in the kitchen, you start to double guess yourself when a certain someone saunters their way up to you to strike a conversation completely unprovoked.

"Hey, idiot."

"Go away, Minho."

"Can't."

You drop a slice of pizza on your plate and turn around. "Fine. I'll go."

"Wait wait wait!" He catches your elbow before you get too far, bringing you to a pause. "I need to talk to you."

"If it's about the rumor, don't worry. It'll die down eventually. Just ignore it--"

"Play along."

His interrupting is rude enough as it is, but his suggestion is even more preposterous.

"What?"

"Play along with the rumor," he repeats, nodding as if you'll magically understand because now he's said it twice.

You watch him for a moment, eyes narrow while your expression slowly shifts from surprise to disgust.

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

Minho shakes your elbow now, urging you. "Can we talk about this? Somewhere alone?"

You don't like the idea. It feels wrong to be alone with him standing in the kitchen let alone to purposefully leave the group setting of your families to have a private conversation. Then people probably really will start talking.

You sigh, "Make it quick."

Being dragged by your wrist into a back bedroom was not on your to do list. Chances are you're not going to enjoy this conversation either.

It is curious though, considering Minho has never shown eagerness in any shape or form before, none that you can recall at least. The way he's pulling you along and disregarding other possibly more important things he could be doing right now, your anticipation is growing.

Is something seriously wrong? And if something is wrong, what does it have to do with you? Even more, why does Minho feel the immediate need to tell you about it?

He closes the door behind you, effectively locking you into whatever it is you've gotten yourself into.

"Felix is having second thoughts."

"About marrying my sister?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Minho runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head while frantically pacing across the carpet. "He's nervous, cold feet, pre-wedding jitters, whatever. He's afraid that all this, you know, our families getting along isn't gonna last. Then he'll lose Juliet and the feud will start again."

"Valid," you mutter to yourself. "I don't get what that has to do with me."

"When he heard that you and I were dating, all his jitters went away."

So Minho does know about the rumor. Doesn't seem like he's been doing anything about it though, the unhelpful douche.

"Okay…and?"

"If he sees that we don't get along, he'll break up with your sister for sure."

You shrug. "That's his decision. Not my problem. If he's not man enough to marry her on his own, then fine."

"What is wrong with you?"

"Probably a lot, what's your point?"

"Don't you care about your sister?" Minho chides, coming to stand in front of your unbothered stance.

You lift your chin to see him eye to eye. "Of course I do."

"Well, I've never seen Felix this happy before. When our families were fighting, he was this depressed, angry, emo kid who never left his room and listened to jazz all the time--"

"Well, Jazz is confirmed to be evil."

"I'm serious about this," he masks his amused smile with a frown but it was there, you heard his giggle. "Ever since he fell in love with your sister, he's been a totally different person. Felix is healthy and happy now. I know he wants to marry her and I don't want to do anything to jeopardize that happiness."

Hold up, Minho has a heart? His words suggest he cares about someone other than himself, but that can't be right. You've always known Minho to not care about anything or anyone. Actually, you've never seen him this genuinely serious before in the lifetime of years you've known him.

"Wow. I had no idea your family is that close."

"So will you do it?"

"Let me get this straight. We pretend to date and be all perfect and happy to keep Felix from getting cold feet about marrying my sister."

"Right."

You blink, shifting your weight. The nervousness this idea brings you is no joke. "Okay, so when do I dump you?"

"You can dump me the moment they say I do," he says with a firm nod.

"Can I say it's because you're a bad guy who broke my heart?"

"Sure."

"Into a million tiny pieces?"

His smile is soft when he rolls his eyes. "Whatever, I don't care."

"Okay." You can't believe you're doing this. "Deal."

Stepping from the bedroom, it's like entering a whole new battlefield. You look down and see Minho with his hand held out for you to take. Instead, you shoot him a questionable brow and shake your head. Probably should have discussed boundaries before you agreed to this.

"Oh, there you two are!" Your aunt cheers when she spots you.

Minho grabs your hand and interlocks your fingers as naturally as if you'd been together for months. His smile is convincing, so much so you have to remind yourself he's not enjoying this.

"Coming!" He replies, and then mutters under his breath to just you, "We're dating now. At least act like you like me."

"I'm not paid enough for that."

Your sister calls you two over to the living area where she's cradled into Felix's side. It's when you see her there, completely oblivious and perfectly happy, that you feel a click of responsibility and determination to keep her that way.

Damn it. Minho was right for the first time in history.

Squeezing Minho's hand tightly, you lead the way over. "We're here," you chime to the rest of the family. "Sorry for the disappearance."

They all awe at your interlocked fingers, hands over hearts and sighs of agreement from your parents. It's strange to think these people literally hated each other a few months ago. They were all at each other's throats before Felix and your sister started sneaking around at night. Who would have thought two twenty-something young adults humping in the closet would have written the treaty to a twenty year long family feud.

"So the rumors are true?"

Minho is quick to reply, "Yep, that's right! ___ and I are dating. Happily."

He had to add that last part.

Felix's eyes grow ten times. "I thought it was a rumor."

"No way, haha, it's true!" Minho chuckles. You roll your eyes. Could he be a little more obvious?

Your sister is skeptical, but she shrugs and lets it roll off her shoulders. She's got enough on her mind to wonder about the veracity of your relationship with her future brother-in-law.

Felix leans over and gives her a kiss on the cheek, sparking a chorus of awe and praises from the crowd. It's almost as if you can physically see the fears and concerns actually fall from his mind. He pulls Juliet closer and she sighs in contentment.

And then they're all looking at you.

"What?" Minho asks, eyes bouncing between you and his family.

"Go on. Your turn."

"Why?"

There he is. The Minho you knew was still in there, brotherly love or whatever. His face is full of offense. The audacity of kissing your cheek never once crossed his mind when he suggested fake dating. Hand holding, sure. Sitting next to each other at the table, yeah fine. Even the occasional compliment, okay doable. Kissing!? Uhhh, wait a second.

You can't help it. Your smile is from a place of victory to be honest, because he was the one who begged you to do this and now he's the one who's gonna blow the whole operation. There's no way in hell–

There's an audible gasp from your lungs when you feel his lips touch your cheek.

"What reaction is that?" Your sister giggles. "First time getting a kiss from your boyfriend?"

She's referring to the intense blush on your cheeks and slight tremor in your eyes. You want to drop his hand, run away, wash your face, and perhaps jump off a bridge. But Minho keeps your hand locked in place, unable to let go even if you jerked.

"It just caught me by surprise is all," you say.

Minho doesn't comment but you kinda wish he would. For the rest of the evening, he avoids speaking on it, low-key acting like it didn't happen. Even more, he avoids similar situations or conversations, anything that may possibly place him in another compromising position. Appreciate the effort but the avoidance is simultaneously frustrating.

God forbid he has to kiss you again.

The thought makes you shudder. It's fine. There's no way this game of pretend will get that far. You just have to make it to the wedding and then you can dump his ass. Piece of cake.

::

Dating Minho isn't so bad when you're alone. Partially because you don't have to act like you're dating when you're alone. And mainly because you haven't had to be alone since you started dating him.

Until now.

"Hi."

"Hey."

You gesture to your grocery list of streamers and sparkles and other miscellaneous decorative materials. Pink. Because your sister would be having a pink-themed wedding of all things.

"I got volunteered," you explain, somehow embarrassed at the thought of Minho thinking you're here of your own will and want.

He holds up a list of his own. "Same. Should we just go together?"

"You want to?"

He shrugs. "Better than shopping alone."

It clicks in your mind that Minho is suggesting being with you is better than being alone. Which to someone like Minho, may not be implying a whole lot. But for some reason, it feels like his invitation to shop with you means more.

"Okay. If you're sure."

"Let's go."

He ushers you along by the waist. A bold decision to put a hand on you considering he has absolutely no right or reason to. Not that you stop or scold him. It's not that big a deal, probably just leftover from acting like a couple all day. Your heart will calm down in a few moments anyway.

The local store is packed with frantic shoppers today. Every single aisle has people rushing and digging through piles on top of piles of discounted merchandise. You're not necessarily looking forward to fighting all those people for the last streamer or sparkler.

"What's the occasion?" Minho mutters just loud enough for you to hear. He checks the list again and sighs, "Now I know why no one else wanted to do this errand."

"Yeah," you offer a nervous chuckle and he turns his head towards you.

Your eyes meet for a brief moment and, although you don't verbally express any concern, he seems to pick up on something in your eyes.

"You good?"

"Hm? Yeah, fine."

He doesn't believe you. And if he were actually your boyfriend, maybe he would call you out on it. Maybe he would grab your hand just to make you feel a little more secure in the crowd. Maybe he would lift your hand to his lips, place a soft kiss on your knuckles and whisper -- nevermind, he's not your real boyfriend so there's no point in thinking about all that bullshit.

You and Minho slip through the aisles, hands unheld, until you find the one with the streamers. He starts stacking pink streamers in his arms until you stop him with a hand on his bicep.

"What are you doing?"

"Grabbing pink streamers," he says plainly. "The list says pink."

"Shouldn't we get some correlating colors, you know, so we can do the twist thing?"

He slowly looks at you, head tilting with an amused smile creeping on his lips. "Twist thing?"

"The thing you do with streamers where you take two colors and twist them," you explain as if this should be obvious (because it should be).

"Yeah, I know what it is."

"Okay so," you gesture to the disheveled arrangement of multicolored rolls, "pick some other ones too."

Minho decides to laugh instead, covering his smile with the back of his hand and shaking his head as if you've asked for something comically unthinkable.

"What?"

"Nothing," he insists before picking up two more rolls of streamers and presenting them to you. "Pink and white?"

"Yeah, that's good. Let's also get some–"

A sudden shove interrupts your conversation and sends you falling forward. The jerkface perpetrator rushes past you just to cut someone else off in line at the register. Unfortunately, Minho's reflexes aren't quick enough to stop your forehead from crashing directly into his chin.

"Oh fuck!" He shouts, immediately dropping the streamers and cradling his jaw.

Your hands are on your head, holding what feels like a bruise forming under your skin already. Shots of pain flood your forehead and the room spins for a moment while you gather yourself.

You hiss in pain, softly rubbing the sore spot on your head. "Fucking dick." You look up to see Minho doubling over, eyes shut tight. "Are you alright?"

Slowly, Minho opens his eyes and removes his hand to reveal small drops of red from his mouth puddling in the center of his palm.

"Oh my god!?" You spring into action by removing your jacket and using the sleeve to apply pressure to his bloody chin.

He shakes his head.

"No negotiating, bonehead, just use it."

Eventually you get him to cooperate, but he doesn't look happy about pressing the soft sleeve to his jaw while his blood soaks through the material and leaves stains you know you'll never be able to wash out.

"Okay, umm, let's just get back to the house and we've got some pain relievers and bandages."

Minho nods, one eye still shut tight in agony as he moves slowly with you down the aisle.

"Fucking move, people! Can't you see the fucking blood!" You shout at people who are more concerned about getting their fifteen percent off paper plates than they are about your pretend boyfriend's bleeding mouth.

Glancing over your shoulder every so often, you help maneuver the way out of the building, his face still scrunched in pain and steps shuffling across the dirty floor.

"Oops. Sorry."

As you pass the register, your elbow accidentally knocks into the rude gentleman who pushed you earlier. He drops the drinks he was carrying with a gasp, spilling cartons of lemonade and rum all over the floor. Accidentally.

::

"It's fine now," Minho insists when you reach towards his chin with a cloth for the fifth time.

"Shut up," you sigh, angling his chin with two fingers to get a better view, "and let me check."

With you coming in this close, Minho feels his breath catch in his throat. His jaw aches but it's nothing compared to the thump in his chest stealing every ounce of oxygen. Why do you have to look so intense while checking his injury? It's not the worst thing he's gone through and it certainly won't be the most painful thing he'll ever experience. But you're so…concerned. Like you actually care.

Thankfully, his lip doesn't seem to be split too horribly. Although, his teeth are subtlety red, but that's because the previous blood was a result of his teeth painfully sinking into his tongue.

The guilt, despite your mild dislike for the boy, grows significantly when he jerks in pain at your thumb putting pressure on the small split on his lip.

"I didn't mean to."

"It's okay," he says, but you don't feel okay when he grabs your wrist and removes your hand from his chin.

"Here," you quickly make him a cup of water from the sink, "your mouth probably tastes awful."

"Yeah well, never been a massive fan of blood."

"Good to know you're not a vampire."

He offers a smirk through the pain and takes a drink, spitting into the sink. "What if I was?"

"Unfortunately, I don't think we could continue dating. Blood sucking monster just doesn't do it for me."

"Come on, every girl loves vampires."

"Not this one," you disagree with a cute tilt of your head. You take the glass from him and begin washing it once he's done.

It's odd that a conversation happens sweetly between the two of you. Minho can't think of a single time you willingly engaged with him and didn't look upset or forced. He tucks his hands into his pockets and leans against the wall.

"Okay, so what does it for you?"

"What do you mean?"

"If it's not vampires, then...?"

You scoff, "Why do you wanna know?"

"As your fake boyfriend, I feel like I should know," he claims with a smile.

"I'm not telling you."

"Because it's werewolves."

His tone is playful and enticing, what the heck? You can't help your curiosity as to where he intends to take this conversation, if anywhere. His stance would suggest he doesn't have a care in the world, but his eyes portray someone who wants to learn all your secrets.

"Did you just…that was a joke, right?"

He just shrugs, not really giving an answer but still expecting one from you.

With the atmosphere lightening every few moments, you feel an odd sense of comfort falling over the conversation, one you definitely were not anticipating. It makes you want to be honest, which you admit, you haven't felt for a long time living with your family.

You lean against the sink and cross your arms, facing him on the opposite wall of the room. "Kindness. I wasn't taught that growing up. My family...it wasn't something really modeled to me."

Minho pushes off the wall, slowly taking steps towards you, hands still hidden deep in his pockets and eyes locked onto your closed off body language. As he approaches, you feel your body putting up a wall, completely unprompted but you can't stop it.

He halts only a few inches away, about the time you can't keep up your faux unbothered expression.

"Thanks for fixing me up." His voice is low, barely a whisper. But he's close enough now it doesn't need to be any louder for you to hear.

"Considering it was my head that busted your lip, I felt obligated."

"I think you were being kind."

"You say that but…" you want to refute his comment, but you're a little lost for words being dragged this deep into his eyes. How are they so complicated and yet simply beautiful?

They bounce upward for a moment and then back down again. "Your forehead."

"Just a little bruise. Honestly, it's fine. Doesn't even hurt that much."

"Wait here," he commands and your body obeys for some unknown reason.

At least you have a few free moments to catch your breath you didn't realize was stolen.

When he returns, he's holding a small bandage between his fingers. He starts to open it but you're quick to refuse.

"You're not obligated to care about me."

"I know," he says and places the bandage over your bruise, pressing lightly to make sure it sticks without catching any of your hair, "I'm just doing my fake boyfriend duty."

You've never been so confused in your life. This is the guy your family convinced you was the worst kid in the neighborhood. He was your enemy, your roadblock, your biggest threat. From the moment you could talk, you were taught to curse his existence. It was so easy to form a negative image of him in your mind and, since you didn't know any better, you believed it.

But this isn't the Minho you thought you knew. This guy is thoughtful and funny and…kind.

What else were you wrong about?

His eyes glance at your lips once before he's taking a step back, nervously shoving his hands back into his pockets.

"Anyway, umm, I should go actually buy those streamers now."

"Yeah, we should probably—"

"We?"

You stop. "I mean, you can go by yourself if you want. I didn't mean to assume we would, umm…"

"Go together?" He finishes for you. "Do you want to?"

It's weird that you're nervous, but it's just the moment. You're all caught up in it. This doesn't mean anything. Minho's soft smile doesn't mean anything.

"Sure."

::

He doesn't see a damn difference.

"This one is Cherry Blossom, this one is Light Pink, and this one is Bubblegum," Juliet explains for the umpth time with a frustrated sigh.

Felix scratches the back of his head with an embarrassed scrunch of his nose. "They look the same to me…"

"They're not even close to the same! Bubblegum is clearly more playful, and Cherry Blossom is clearly lighter than Light Pink. What are you not getting!?"

The door opens with a small creek and immediately, Juliet rushes to greet you, dragging you into the room and towards the bed where she has three scraps of fabric laid out.

"Thank god, you're here." She points to the difference shades of pink. "What do you think?"

"Well," you take a moment to examine your options, "this one is definitely more playful, but this one is definitely lighter than the others."

"Thank you!" Your sister throws her arms to the ceiling and you can't help your giggle, unsure of what you've done exactly, but her reaction is entertaining. "Could you explain that to this doofus, please? I've got some other things to take care of."

Before you can even reply, your sister is gone, stomping out stress as she leaves the door wide open behind her.

Felix sighs and drops on the bed, head in his hands. "What am I even doing?"

"Looks like you're helping pick out curtains for the venue."

"No, I mean what am I even doing getting married?" He clarifies, shifting the atmosphere drastically. "I don't know the first thing about being a husband. I can't even tell the difference between fucking curtain colors."

Slowly, you sit down next to him. The pink is nice but you have to agree, it's a lot to take in, even for you. You're not surprised he's considering dropping everything. Juliet can be a lot to handle sometimes regardless of her rationality and charm. Minho mentioned Felix was having second thoughts, but it didn't really click with you until right now when you're viewing it in real time.

"Do you love my sister?"

He looks at you, answering without missing a beat. "Of course, I do. She's the love of my life, I can't imagine being without her."

"Well, there you go," you say plainly. "That's why you're getting married."

It seems like it would be obvious but sometimes the obvious things need to be said out loud.

Felix chuckles, feeling rather childish about his wedding jitters. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Sometimes I can make things more complicated than they need to be. Minho usually helps me think straight, but he's been out all day."

"Are you really having second thoughts?" You ask slowly.

He shrugs. "Just wanna make sure I'm doing the right thing, you know? I love Juliet, but is that enough? Our families don't have the strongest history. To be honest, when I heard you and Minho were dating, it was a relief. Felt like there's someone else on our side."

Felix has valid concerns. They sound similar to the concerns you verbalized to Minho when he suggested you fake date for the sake of your siblings. In the end, you decided to play along and now you're realizing just how vital you're getting along with Minho is to the happiness of both sides of the family.

"You love each other. And since we all love you guys, we'll learn to get along," you reply.

"You make it sound easy."

"I don't think it'll be that difficult actually."

"Easy for you to say." He runs a hand through his hair and falls to his back with a heavy sigh. "You're dating my brother already."

"Right."

"How's that going by the way?"

"Good," you answer without looking at him. The back of your head must be a less than satisfying sight because in the next moment, Felix sits up to see your face.

He leans in closer and asks with great anticipation, "What do you like about him?"

"Pfftt, lots of things."

"Like?"

Totally blank. Minho's face flashes behind your eyes but nothing concrete is there. You've never thought about it, so you're not entirely sure what to say. As long as you don't panic, you can probably make it out of here alive without blowing operation fake it 'til you make it. Just think of any answer, any answer at all!

"Umm," you swallow to buy a few moments. Maybe start with something generic. "He's handsome."

Felix lifts his brow, nodding in agreement and waiting for the rest of your answer.

"And he's funny sometimes. And he's kind…" your voice softens, "...a lot kinder than I ever realized. I like when he casually says my name in conversation, like he's just saying it because he thinks it's pretty or some cliche shit like that. He's got these gold specs around his irises that glitter. And when he stands close to me I can see them. I never knew they were there before.”

"Wow."

"Huh?"

"You're whipped as fuck."

You didn't realize you were staring hopelessly at the wall until Felix's comment brought you back to the present.

"Whatever." Embarrassed, you shove his shoulder, looking away to somewhat disguise your shy smile, although it doesn't do much when Felix's already got the moment saved for teasing purposes later.

You stand and brush off your lap with nervous energy you didn't think you were capable of.

"Bubblegum," you say in an attempt to change the subject and possibly end the conversation, "Juliet wants you to pick Bubblegum."

And with that you make your way towards the exit, towards freedom.

"Hey, ___." You turn around at the doorway. "I can tell how much you like him. Minho's a lucky guy."

You weren't expecting a sting of pain in your chest. It causes your eyelids to flutter and your heart to second guess just how much of a lie you're telling at this point.

"I guess."

::

Four months later

You're not sure why they call it a rehearsal dinner when the majority of your tasks do not include cooking dinner or in fact eating it, the main two things you were anticipating doing.

Things you have done include hanging steamers, tying a hundred bows to chairs, polishing shoes, setting up tables, arranging bouquets, and not eating anything since 5am.

The main area is packed but thankfully the back storage room is relatively quiet. You can still hear the hustle and bustle outside but at least it's significantly quieter. This is where you're currently hiding, back pressed to the far wall with the light turned off and the door barely cracked.

Deep breaths. No one can ask you for anything in here. No one can come to you with another broken table or missing guest list or ripped bridesmaid dress. Three minutes. You just need three minutes of solitude.

About half way into your three minutes, the door pushes open and a hand reaches in to turn on the light.

"Shit–" Minho startles, fumbling as he steps into the room. "___? What are you doing in here?"

"Hiding," you answer with a comical whisper. "Quick, shut the door."

Minho checks behind himself before following your orders, looking over to see you chuckling through a sigh as the sound from outside dies down again.

"You good?"

"Just got a little overwhelmed," you reply. "It seems like nothing about this wedding can happen right the first time. And I always have to fix it."

He hums in agreement, searching the room for whatever it was he came here to get. You watch him for a moment, hands behind you and flat against the wall.

You haven't been alone with him in a while. There have been times obviously, but they always happen the same way. Minho zips his lips, perhaps casually commenting on how well the two of you are playing the characters of boyfriend and girlfriend.

You've gotten pretty good at it actually, if you can brag for just a sec. Holding his hand doesn't feel foreign anymore. Just the other day, you slipped your hand into his while walking to the car. No one in particular was watching, but your dad ended up spotting it, so that was your excuse for interlocking fingers.

Minho has gotten braver too, although his actions feel natural as well. Sitting next to you at meals is a given now, he wouldn't be caught dead sitting anywhere else. You catch him looking at you during group events or gatherings, checking in when he sees you starting to drift away from the crowd, watching for your reaction to jokes and stories.

It wasn't that long ago actually, the first time he placed his hand around your waist while no one was watching. You weren't doing anything special, just cleaning some space on the kitchen counter. When you moved across the floor with a pile of plates, you felt his hand slip around your waist as he moved around you. It was subtle, short-lived, but damn it, he was there.

Surprisingly, you didn't drop the plates and cut your feet up into little pieces. You remained cool and collected, never once showing your feelings on the surface.

Yes, you've developed feelings for Minho. Crazy things happen every day. The scariest part is that you're getting dangerously used to being someone special to him, but you know it won't be like this after next week.

The dilemma comes in the form of not knowing how he feels about you. Minho has confessed several times, sure, but it's not real. You can't take anything he says to be true, not when you're around your family.

But here, right now, alone, in this storage room. You could. If you only can find the courage to ask him.

You feel the heartbeat in your chest start to quicken the longer he stays. Granted it's because he hasn't found what he wants, but you find yourself thinking of ways to get him to stay just a few minutes longer.

"What are you looking for?"

"The arch isn't standing up straight," he explains, squatting to rummage through a box of tools.

"Can I help?"

"Sure."

You're not looking super hard but he doesn't need to know that. Your hand falls into a few boxes, pushing stuff around without really paying any attention to it.

"Wedding is this weekend," you conversate, seemingly innocent but actually you're searching for an opportunity, "how are you feeling?"

"Uhh yeah, fine," he replies without looking at you. He pulls another box from the bottom shelf and starts opening it.

"How should I dump you?"

He looks up for that.

"I guess, however you want."

"And if I don't want to," you shrug nonchalantly, "what then?"

Minho stands, only a few feet from where you've completely disregarded your mission of searching boxes. It feels like he's so far though, even when he takes a step closer to you.

"They're gonna be married in two days," he reminds you. "You played your part, very well might I add. The families are stronger than ever. Just say I broke your heart and we can be done with all this."

"Should I?"

You want him to say no. Say no! But he doesn't seem to be picking up on your signals. Or maybe he is but he doesn't want to let the conversation go there. Because he doesn't like you in real life. Because his acting skills are too good to be true.

"That was the plan, wasn't it?"

Perhaps this is the longest you've stared at him directly. But it's because once this wedding is over, you won't have any more excuses to look at him openly, hold his hand when you walk, sit next to him at meals. Things are gonna get...awkward. The way they always do after a breakup, nevermind this one will be fake. Your broken heart will be real.

"Pictures! Minho!? ___!? Where are you guys? It's time for pictures!"

Minho picks up a rogue screwdriver and a container of screws from the first box he sees. "This should work."

You've never seen him run away from anything so swiftly.

::

"Okay, happy couple, let's get some lovey dovey pics here. Show some love for each other!"

Juliet and Felix look more like each other every day. Not to say their outward appearances have changed all that much in the last four months, but you've noticed your sister's nose has started scrunching when she smiles and Felix fans himself when he's shy, a habit your sister picked up in eighth grade.

Their poses are adorable, as expected. He nuzzles her cheek and she fixes his tie. They also snap a few shots of their lips brushing, two very giggly smiles shining through when he dips her low and their foreheads touch.

"Okay, next couple!" The photographer calls.

"That's you guys," your sister urges, pushing you and Minho in front of the camera.

Minho immediately falls back on his boyfriend persona, smiling fondly at nothing in particular and agreeing to whatever Felix says. Minho looks at you. It was quick, but you saw the gold specs in his eyes flash discomfort.

He's uncomfortable.

"Let's get a little closer," the photographer directs you with a wave of his hand, one eye still looking through the lens. "There we go."

You play nice for a few pictures. You'll want your sister to look back at these and see her family and Felix's family enjoying themselves and taking pictures and laughing together. You know how much this means to her, so you pull Minho close and place one hand on his chest, like a classic girlfriend.

"You look so cute together!" Juliet squeals.

The photographer straightens his camera, twisting the lens to zoom in a little more. "Don't be shy, give her a kiss."

"I don't think that's–"

"Oh come on," Felix interrupts with a glorified whine, "just do it, it'll look cute. Oh, do the same pose we did and dip her!"

Your sister is equally on board with this idea but you can tell Minho is less than thrilled. He loosens his top shirt button, a nervous chuckle nearly choking him.

Slowly, he looks at you, silently asking for consent before he just dips you out of nowhere.

You eye the camera, shifting your eyes to see your cheering sister before they land on Minho's unsure gaze. You give him a small nod.

Gently, his hand slips around your waist, circling tighter until you're pulled flush against his body. Despite your supposedly affectionate and healthy relationship, you've never been this physically close to him. He's really warm, you can feel it though his suit.

His one hand supports your lower back while the other handles your waist. Carefully, he dips you low. There's a split moment about half way down where your weight is no longer in your control. It's an inevitable moment of fighting gravity and lost balance.

But you don't feel in danger being in Minho's arms. He holds you secure, back bent but not in pain, the world tilted on its side but he's in perfect focus.

Minho closes his eyes and leans his forehead against yours. But you can't shut your eyes now. They remain open, memorizing every eyelash and ridge of his lips. He smirks like he means it, even going so far as to nuzzle your nose with his, just to finish the job of breaking your heart into a million tiny pieces.

"Alright, got it!" The photographer says cheerily, signaling Minho to open his eyes again and pick you up. "Great job guys, that's gonna come out perfect!"

Everyone seems satisfied, so things move on to the next couple. Minho ends up behind the camera again, next to the groom where he receives countless compliments.

You end up in the bathroom stall, holding back the ache in your chest and smudged mascara at the expense of wrinkling your brand new, pink maid of honor dress.

::

"I do."

"I do."

In a matter of minutes, you're the only single daughter left in your family. Juliet is happily married, now experiencing her ever after to the fullest extent, complete with a pink, fairytale wedding and perfect prince-like husband.

Felix never had any second thoughts after that either. For the rest of his life, he put Juliet first. You think that's nice but perhaps unrealistic. If only people really could be selfless like that all the time, maybe heartbreak wouldn't be so common.

Out here on the grass, you once again find yourself drifting away from the party. You already gave your maid of honor speech and greeted the guests, so your work is done for the moment. It's a wedding, there will always be a next crisis. But for now, you're enjoying your evening stroll under the stars.

Until you hear footsteps coming up behind you.

"Hey."

"Hi."

Minho begins walking beside you, hands once again stuffed awkwardly in his pockets. His jacket was left somewhere, so it's just a white button up tucked into some slacks but you're still impressed with his look. How come he has to look so good after making you hurt so much?

"Where you going?"

"Just walking," you reply, kicking up blades of grass on your way.

Minho lets the silence simmer for a moment before speaking again. "So, when are you gonna dump my ass?"

Maybe he doesn't mean to, but he's making himself sound awfully impatient. The more he brings it up, the more he's unknowingly hurting you.

"Oh…right. Umm, well I figured I could do it later."

He nods in understanding, following your slower pace. Your shoes swing from where they hang on your fingers, the feeling of cool ground beneath your toes is perhaps the only relieving thing about this conversation. It kills you inside to know that you once hated this man, and then unintentionally and suddenly grew to like him, and now you have to break up with him before you even get the chance to tell him how you really feel.

"Or not."

Minho furrows his brow at you, going so far as to stop walking, which in turn makes you pause as well. "Not?"

"Just, you know, not break up."

"Like keep pretending to date?"

You turn to face him and take a deep breath. "Or date for real."

"You wanna date for real?"

"Look, I don't know when or how it happened, but I actually started to like you, Minho. A lot. And over the last months, I've been pretending a little less and a little less because I genuinely like you. I really like you. And the thought of breaking up and breaking hearts makes me want to cry. And I know it's completely insane to think anything real could ever happen between us, but I just--"

His nose actually bumps yours by accident when he suddenly kisses you, but you can't stay upset for even a millisecond, not when his lips move with yours so passionately. He doesn't wait to pull you closer, hands making little fists of your dress.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he confesses through a breathless whisper.

His breath is warm against your lips as he lingers, unwilling to part from you for too long. There's a sense of desperation in his kiss, the way his fingers tighten around the fabric of your dress tells you he’s been aching for this moment, maybe just as much as you have.

When he kisses you again, it’s slower this time. He’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, your taste, your texture, your essence. His hand slides up your body, skimming over your back, until it finds its place at the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. He tilts your head just slightly, deepening the kiss because he doesn't want to let go just yet.

A soft sigh in the form of his name escapes you, and he hums in response, the sound vibrating through you. His other hand grips your hip, pulling you flush against him as if he can’t stand even the smallest space existing between you two.

And just when you think he might finally break away, his lips brush against yours again, like he’s testing his own restraint and failing miserably.

You smile when his forehead presses to yours, this time with a sense of comfort and satisfaction. "Really?"

He nods, moving your head to nod too.

"But I thought you were pretending this whole time."

"I was," he admits, "pretending that I didn't want to hold your hand or clean dishes with you or take cute photos with you. Actually, I wanted to do all those things, really bad. But I wanted to do them as your real boyfriend. It really sucks knowing we're pretending to be happy when all I want is to make you genuinely happy."

His words trigger a cosmic reaction in your chest and gut, sending your heart into a flustered knot and your stomach in a swirl. And when he smiles, you just know it's because you're obviously flustered, and he likes seeing you that way.

"So…does that mean we can stop pretending now?"

"God, fuck yes, please," he borderline begs as he takes a deep inhale, breathing you in and somehow managing to bring you even closer.

The starlight above you is nothing compared to the gold specs in his eyes, the ones you treasure above everything else.

You allow yourself to be enraptured with him, wrapping your arms around his neck and angling your lips towards his precious mouth for another long overdue kiss.

::

taglist: @nightmarenyxx @cherriive @cepheus3 @strawberriesoup @kayleefriedchicken @hannamoon143 @0omillo0 @fly-you-dam-fools @urlocalmultigroupfan @inlovewithstraykids @felixleftchickennugget @hityoulikebahng @imfoive @imeverycliche @velvetmoonlight @hannieslittlerockstar @staybabblingbaby @somber-reads

[nujeskz]

Kismet — 황현진

Pairing: boxer!hyunjin x fem!reader

Genre: strangers to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, instant connection, damsel in distress, angst if you squint

Synopsis: Hyunjin encounters a lost girl outside a club and steps in to help her when she's harassed. They end up stranded together, sharing a memorable night. Despite losing contact, fate intervenes, bringing them back together and sparking a powerful connection between them.

Warnings: not proof read! mention of alcohol and cigarette use, injuries/blood, harassment/assault, anxiety, fear, physical fights, and underground boxing. Let me know if I should add anything else!

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Hi! this is my first time posting something I've written, I had this idea in mind for a while it might not be perfect since I'm not really that good a writing and English is not my first language but I really tried my best to express everything I wanted to, I wrote everything in Spanish first and translated it myself to English (I had to look up words to portrait it better) so I hope you all like this! Please let me know if anything needs to be a warning. Feel free to leave a comment with any suggestions or with your thoughts on this!

Hyunjin didn’t intend to meet her that night.

The night air was heavy, laden with the scent of tobacco and alcohol seeping out from the club, with the cold biting at his skin. Hyunjin stepped out through the back door, the sharp smell of cigarette smoke curling around him as he lit one, his knuckles still swollen from the fight earlier that night. He leaned against the brick wall with a silent sigh. The dim glow of the streetlights highlighted his buzzed head, the subtle sheen of sweat from his last fight still clinging to his skin. He shouldn’t have been there — not really. He should have gone home, iced his knuckles, and rested for his next match. But adrenaline still burned in his veins, and the chaos of the crowd inside the club only made it worse.

He didn’t expect to find her there.

She appeared like a whisper, slipping through the club’s door as if the night itself had pushed her outside. Her chest rose and fell, fingers gripping her phone as she paced back and forth. Her breath was ragged, not from dancing but from the anxiety of losing her friends in the middle of the crowd. She stared at the dead screen of her phone, cursing the drained battery, trying to calm herself with the fresh air. Against the darkness, she seemed fragile, her silhouette delicate under the neon glow.

Hyunjin watched her from the corner of his eye, saying nothing, leaning against the wall with his gaze fixed on the street. It wasn’t his problem. It didn’t have to be.

They wouldn’t have spoken to each other if it wasn't for the group of guys who stumbled out a few minutes later, laughing too loudly, their sharp gazes locking onto her like she was a trophy. They approached her without any attempt to hide it.

“Hey, gorgeous, you lost?” one of them asked, stepping too close.

She took a step back, uncomfortable but trying to be polite.

“No, I’m fine. I’m waiting for someone,” she said.

“We can keep you company until they show up,” another one sneered, closing the distance.

Hyunjin tried to ignore them at first, flicking the ash off his cigarette with a clenched jaw. He didn’t want trouble, but the way they cornered her made his stomach turn. When one of them grabbed her wrist, and she flinched, he moved without thinking.

“Let her go,” he said, his voice low, each word laced with warning.

The guys turned, sizing Hyunjin up. They laughed. They always laughed at first.

“And who are you? Her boyfriend?” one of them sneered, stepping closer.

Hyunjin’s fingers twitched, curling into a fist at his side.

“No,” he said, glancing at her. Her expression was fearful, her chest rising and falling with silent pleas — “But I can break your face if you don’t back off and leave her alone.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and the guys stiffened. One shoved Hyunjin, but he didn’t budge. It wasn’t until they tried to touch her again that Hyunjin snapped. His fist connected with the guy’s jaw with a sharp crack, sending him sprawling to the ground. The others lunged at him immediately.

“Come with me!” Hyunjin barely had time to grab her hand before they started running, their feet pounding against the pavement, shouts echoing behind them. They didn’t stop until their lungs burned, until all that remained were their ragged breaths, the nervous laughter escaping in gasps, until the city swallowed them whole and the night fell silent around them.

As they slowed down, their surroundings suddenly felt… off. The streets weren’t as familiar as they had seemed in the chaotic confusion of their escape. They had run farther than she’d realized, deeper into a part of the city that felt more like a maze than anything else.

“Are you okay?” Hyunjin asked, breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath.

“I’m fine. That was crazy, but thank you,” you said, trying to steady yourself as you stood in the middle of the street. You looked around, searching for some kind of landmark, but nothing looked familiar.

“No problem. I just thought you could use a hand,” Hyunjin said with a lopsided smile as he stopped and surveyed the area. You were surprised to find yourself looking at him for the first time. The adrenaline still surged through your veins, but now it felt different — lighter, less frantic. In the dim glow of the streetlight, his features stood out with striking intensity, his jaw was sharp, his eyes dark and steady, carrying the same determination you’d noticed when he stepped in to help yoy. But there was something else, something softer beneath that surface— a quiet attentiveness as he made sure you were okay.

She felt the electric pull between them before she could even fully process it. His presence was powerful—like a contained storm, and for a brief moment, she felt as if she were standing in the eye of a storm, drawn to him in a way that caught her off guard.

“Do you know where we are?” you asked, clearing your throat, trying to hide your flushed face.

Hyunjin turned to look at you, a sheepish smile on his face as he ran a hand through his buzzcut. “Honestly? I have no idea where we're standing right now.”

“Oh... I thought you knew where we were going — well, never mind. We can split the fare for a cab and head back to the club. I was with some friends, but I lost them and my phone died. Do you think we could use yours?” you asked, speaking quickly, trying not to panic.

Hyunjin patted his jeans pockets, searching frantically.

“Yeah, of course... except my phone’s dead too,” he muttered, the last part barely audible. He ran a hand through his hair again, this time with frustration.

“Oh, great,” you said, sarcasm lacing your words as frustration and fear crept in.

“Hey, it’s okay...” Hyunjin stepped closer, his hands raised as if to calm you, waiting for you to say your name — something he’d only just realized he hadn’t asked.

“I’m Y/N, and you?” you said, meeting his gaze, making Hyunjin feel something he couldn’t quite describe.

“Hyunjin. Nice to meet you, I guess... Anyway, look, Y/N, if you want, we can look for somewhere to stay or see if we find a taxi. Given the time, I assume nothing’s open. Either way, I'll pay, so don't worry about that.” Hyunjin said, visibly frustrated, trying to find some kind of solution.

She noticed his broad shoulders then, the way his hands, bruised and rough, had clearly known more than one fight. But there was a softness in his eyes, like he was waiting for her to decide what came next. It was crazy — she barely knew this guy. And yet, the attraction was undeniable. The night had shifted, and now, lost in an unfamiliar part of the city with just the two of them, she couldn’t ignore the magnetic force drawing her closer to him.

And in that moment, in the stillness of the situation, when he looked at her, she realized that she no longer felt afraid. Instead, something else began to emerge. Something much more dangerous.

“You’re right... And don’t worry about paying. We can split it,” you said, and Hyunjin sighed, somehow relieved.

They were lost. Their phones were dead. But it didn’t matter. They walked for hours, talking about everything and nothing, sharing stories under the flickering city lights. By the time they finally found a small motel, rain had begun to fall, making them sprint to the entrance, laughing as they tried not to get drenched.

The rain gently tapped against the roof of the small motel in the middle of nowhere. Droplets slid down the window, reflecting the flickering lights of the sign that advertised available rooms… although, in reality, there was only one left.

“Just one room?” you asked, your voice tired but trying not to sound desperate.

The receptionist nodded indifferently, sliding the key across the counter. Hyunjin took the key and gave her a soft smile.

“We can look for another place if you want,” he suggested, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t mind walking a bit more.”

You looked out the window. The storm was still intensifying, and you’d already spent hours wandering with your phones dead and no idea where you were. You sighed and shook your head.

“It doesn’t make sense to keep looking in this weather,” you said, crossing your arms. “We can share the room.”

Hyunjin nodded, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. They climbed the stairs in silence, their shoes squeaking against the wet floor. When they opened the door, they found a modest room: one bed, a small table, and an old television hanging on the wall.

Hyunjin dropped his jacket on the chair and ran a hand through his damp hair.

“You can take the bed,” he said, gesturing toward the mattress. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You frowned, shaking your head.

“Don’t be silly. The bed is big enough for both of us. Besides, I doubt we can sleep after everything that happened.” you laughed, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “Why don’t we just stay up and talk?”

Hyunjin hesitated for a moment but eventually sat beside you, leaning his back against the headboard, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked, looking at you with curiosity.

“I don’t know... Why don’t you start by telling me something about yourself?”

Hyunjin stared at the ceiling as if searching for the right words.

“I’m a boxer. Well... an underground boxer.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? How long have you been doing that?”

“A year,” he shrugged. “I started because I liked training, and a friend convinced me to try underground fights. I guess I got hooked on the adrenaline.”

You smiled, resting your head against the headboard.

“That sounds intense. I’m a photographer. I have a small studio in the city.”

Hyunjin turned to you, genuinely interested.

“Really? That’s amazing. What kind of photos do you take?”

“Mostly portraits. I love capturing moments, people’s expressions... it's like every picture tells a story.”

The conversation flowed naturally, as if they had known each other forever. They talked about dreams, fears, silly anecdotes, and things they had never shared with anyone else. Without realizing it, their eyelids grew heavy, and at some point, they both drifted off to sleep. Their hands rested almost touching on top of the blanket, bodies finally relaxed after the night’s storm.

At dawn, the first rays of sunlight slipped through the window. Hyunjin opened his eyes first, blinking slowly as his brain processed the scene: they were in the same bed, only inches apart.

You woke up shortly after, realizing the same thing. You looked at each other, faces burning with embarrassment, but soon burst out laughing to ease the awkwardness.

“Well... at least we survived the night,” you joked, stretching your arms.

“Yeah... and without you kicking me in your sleep,” Hyunjin teased, grinning as he stood up.

You left the motel with wrinkled clothes and still-damp shoes, but with a strange lightness in your chests. You shared a taxi, and Hyunjin insisted on taking you home first.

When you arrived, you stepped out and smiled at him from the sidewalk.

“Thank you for everything, Hyunjin.”

He nodded, resting his arm on the window frame. “See you soon, okay?”

He watched her disappear into her building, feeling an unfamiliar ache in his chest as the door closed behind her. The taxi pulled away, leaving them both with the same sensation in their hearts, something had changed that night, and somehow, they knew this wouldn’t be their last encounter.

It was only when Hyunjin got to his apartment that he realized the mistake: they never exchanged numbers.

⭑.ᐟ

Days went by, but you couldn’t get him out of your head. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his crooked smile, the way his eyes lit up when he talked about boxing, the way he had protected you without hesitation. You remembered his hands, the same ones that had held yours as you ran through the streets, and the softness in his voice when you talked in that tiny motel room. But you never exchanged numbers.

You kept checking your phone as if somehow he might have magically found a way to text you. But nothing came. Just the echo of a night that felt farther away with each passing day.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Minho insisted, sprawled out on your studio couch while you edited some photos.

“I already told you no,” you sighed, not taking your eyes off the screen. “I’m not interested in watching a bunch of guys beat each other up until they end up all covered in blood.”

Minho scoffed, rolling his eyes. “First of all, it’s not just a bunch of guys— It’s Hyunjin. And second, you need to get out. You’ve been acting weird lately.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Hyunjin?” you echoed, as if the name had escaped from a dream.

“Yeah, a friend of mine,” Minho shrugged. “He fights underground. He’s good — you should see him.”

The universe had to be playing some kind of cruel joke on her.

At first, you refused, but Minho knew exactly how to convince you. And so, a few hours later, you were in a dimly lit basement, the air thick with the smell of sweat and nicotine. The crowd roared around the ring, and you felt put of place, your heart pounding far too hard against your ribs.

When the announcer called the next fight, the room erupted with excitement. And then, you saw him.

Hyunjin stepped into the ring, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, knuckles wrapped tight in white bandages, that same intense gaze making him impossible to ignore. But the second his eyes met yours, all the noise faded away.

He froze for a moment, shock written all over his face — and then he smiled. A wide, genuine smile, like he’d finally found something he’d been desperately searching for.

You couldn’t move. You could barely breathe.

The fight was a blur. You didn’t know if he won or lost, because the only thing you could feel was your fingers clutching the hem of your jacket, trembling with anticipation. The second the fight ended, Hyunjin jumped out of the ring, ignoring the sweat dripping down his face, weaving through the crowd straight to you without a second thought.

“I found you,” he panted, voice rough but radiant.

You laughed, unable to contain the rush of emotion.

“I found you,” you echoed, as if you needed to say it out loud to believe it was real.

They exchanged numbers immediately, laughing at how ridiculous it was they'd forgotten to do so before.

From the moment he saw you at that underground match, eyes wide with surprise as you recognized him in the ring, Hyunjin knew he was doomed. You kept running into each other, as if fate refused to drift you apart, and from then on, you never stopped talking. Endless texts, shared laughter, dates that lasted until dawn because neither of you wanted to say goodbye.

Hyunjin had never been afraid of fighting. He was used to the blows, the adrenaline burning through his chest, the blood sliding down his skin as if it were part of him. But what he felt for you… that terrified him.

He'd never felt so vulnerable. Every smile, every touch from you made him feel like he was lowering his guard, leaving his heart exposed to the possibility that everything could shatter at any moment. So he did what he knew best — run away.

It started with short replies, then excuses to cancel plans, until he stopped responding altogether. Three days. It had only been three days, but every hour without talking to you felt like an open wound. He couldn't sleep, couldn't fight properly, couldn't even pretend he was okay.

That night, without thinking, he ran to your apartment in the pouring rain, not caring about anything else. His breathing was erratic, hands shaking as he pounded on your door. The rain soaked through his clothes, but he didn't care. His heart was beating so hard it hurt, and when you opened the door, brows furrowed and eyes heavy with sadness, Hyunjin felt something inside him break. 

“I'm sorry,” he blurted out, voice raw and broken. “I've been an idiot. I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do, but… I can't. I can't be without you”

And without waiting for a response, he kissed you.

He kissed you with all the fear, desperation, and love he'd bottled up over those days. His lips sought yours with frantic need, as if he were terrified you might disappear. You froze for just a second, then started laughing against his mouth before kissing him back, holding onto him like you never wanted to let go.

That night you talked for hours, until you fell asleep tangled in each other's arms, as if letting go wasn't an option.

The next day, you officially started dating. It wasn't perfect — there were insecurities, silly fights, and moments of doubts. But you always chose each other. You always found your way back.

Because Hyunjin finally understood that loving you didn't make him weak.

He loved you because, for the first time, he'd found something truly worth protecting.

© 2025 all rights reserved to user nujeskz

[ppiri-bahng]

waiting for us

pairing: hyunjin x reader

synopsis: you’re afraid to let hyunjin love you, but he’d wait forever for you

warnings: very brief suggestive content, angsty angsty angsty (but happy ending) reader shuts down hyunjin’s advances, opening up, discussion of feelings, getting together, nothing is perfect, feelings are messy in this, writing is messy (apologies), hyunjin is an angel, they are both hurt souls just wanting to be loved

✿: @hhwangsmoon @straywrds @l3visbby @armysantiny @hwajin @casualtaelyn @staybangchan @hopeladybug @midsoulz @aestheticsluut @venustired @abiaswreck @deathlypink @djeniryuu @rachabreathing @alyszaen @starlostseungmin @bokk-minnie @spicymooseeyes @arlojulien-nightchild-of-hades @downbadreading @moasworld @ren0325 @ketchupaeternum @like-a-diamondinthesky @itsgivingitalian

No reposting or translating of my works. All rights reserved to me, myself and I.

“I hate flowers,” you mumble as you stare at the bouquet Hyunjin had gifted you minutes ago.

“I know. You think they’re cheesy and a cliche gift.”

Your eyes flutter from the arrangement to Hyunjin.

“Then why do you get them for me?”

Hyunjin smiles, looking completely unbothered.

“Because I know you love when I give you flowers. You don’t care that it’s cheesy. Not when they’re from me.”

Your heart flutters and you can feel a smile threatening to tug at your lips but you keep your features neutral.

“Why are you still trying Hyunjin?”

The man shrugs as he leans back against the park bench.

“I love you and I know you love me. But I also know that you’re not ready yet and that’s alright.”

A smile stretches across his lips, “I’ll wait as long as I need to.”

You wanted to cry. You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell Hyunjin to fuck off but you also wanted to pull him closer and kiss him until your lips became numb and all you knew was the feeling of his body against yours.

You wanted to run away.

But you also wanted to stay.

You didn’t like the way Hyunjin looked at you. You didn’t like the way his eyes lit up when he spotted you or how he fiddled with his rings out of nervousness when he talked to you. You didn’t like when he gave you gifts, you didn’t like when he tried to talk to you.

You didn’t like it because you knew it was fleeting. Hyunjin would grow tired of your shit. He’d eventually stop trying to break down the walls you’d spent years building. One day he’d stop giving you flowers, he’d stop approaching you, he’d stop wanting to be around you.

But you also knew that Hyunjin was aware of your inner turmoil. He saw past the frowns and the stoic expression. He saw bits of your true feelings that seeped through no matter how hard you tried to keep them at bay.

You were tiring but he hadn’t grown tired of you.

Every rejection had only egged him on. It had only made him want to get closer to you.

No one had ever tried as much as Hyunjin had.

But you knew he deserved better.

You loved him, you loved him so much. But he shouldn’t be with someone like you.

A shaky breath left you, a reaction that had startled both you and Hyunjin.

“If I told you to stop, would you?”

Hyunjin is quiet for a moment. You can feel his burning gaze against your skin but you don’t dare to look at him.

Vulnerability is something that you aren’t comfortable with. But something about Hyunjin makes the tears pricking your eyes a little less burdensome. He makes you feel safe.

“I don’t want to. But if that’s what you wanted I would. I would give you space but I wouldn’t give up hope that one day you could let yourself be happy with me.”

Your eyes meet his then. He’s smiling despite the tears gathering in his eyes and it breaks your heart.

“I want to be,” you find yourself confessing, “I want to be but—.”

You don’t finish your sentence but you don’t have to. Hyunjin knows you’re scared. He knows you’ve been hurt. He knows you can’t let yourself trust easily. He knows you’re cold and dismissive because you can’t let yourself be broken again.

But he’s still there. He’s always been there, waiting so patiently for you to let him love you the way he knows and that you know deep down you deserve to be loved.

The paper of the bouquet rustles with the way your hand shakes.

“We don’t have to talk about this now,” he says softly.

He’s hesitant at first when he reaches out, but when you don’t pull away he settles his large warm hands over your own.

“You did good today Y/n,” he whispers, “So good. I’m so proud of you.”

You feel the first tear fall, then another. The first you’ve let fall in front of someone in a long time.

One of Hyunjin’s hands leaves yours to brush the tears away.

Your chest hurts, your entire being hurts.

And you feel so fucking sorry.

“I-I kept them all.”

Hyunjin hums in question as he guides your head to rest against his shoulder, fingers intertwining with your own.

“The flowers, the notes, the poems, the butterfly shaped gummies you bought me bc you said they reminded you of my eyes,” you sniffle.

“I kept them all. I still look at them everyday.”

Hyunjin is quiet, too quiet.

“I never wanted to hurt you, not really I just—. I’m so sorry Hyunjin. God you don’t know how much it ate me up everytime time I turned you down. I couldn’t—.”

“You were afraid to be loved. I know Y/n. I’ve always known,” he whispers as he shifts to look at you as you sit up.

“I’m still here,” he says as his fingers reach to brush a couple of loose strands behind your ears.

“I’m here. I’m yours. And I’ll wait for you for as long as it takes. I’m not leaving. I-I’m not going to disappear.”

Even when he cries, Hyunjin is still the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen.

He’s crying because he’s hurting too. He’s crying because he loves you.

“I want to be happy with you,” you confess as Hyunjin leans his forehead against yours.

His breath in your lips makes you shiver.

“I-I want to be loved by you. I want to love you in turn. I just wish I wasn’t like this. I wish I didn’t hurt so much. I wish I didn’t hurt you. I wish I deserved you.”

“Don’t.”

It’s firm, the way the word leaves his lips.

“Everyone deserves to be loved. And to me, you deserve it the most.”

He’s so close to you, a tilt of your chin and your lips would meet. You think that it would heal you.

Something about Hyunjin has always felt that way to you. Healing.

But you didn’t give in. You had wanted to hurt because you felt like you deserved it.

“Just let me and I’ll show you. I’ll make the hurt go away.”

“I'm too much Hyunjin,” you admit.

“Loving someone isn’t supposed to be easy. People aren’t perfect, relationships aren’t perfect. You and I have our faults, our scars, our fears. But one thing I am certain of is that I feel so deeply for you. I think it’s beyond love at this point but it’s indescribable. You make me feel like I can’t breathe but at the same time by your side is the only place I can. It’s confusing and frustrating but fuck do I love you and I’ll be damned if i ever stop showing you how much I do.”

It’s fucked. Everything is fucked when you tilt your chin up and connect your lips.

It’s fucked when he kisses you back with so much passion that you feel his hurt, his love, his everything as his lips glide against yours.

It’s fucked when you feel your walls crumbling down and more tears escape. Both of you tasting the salty hurt and love that coats your lips.

It’s fucked when you breathe those four words against his lips that you had been trying so hard not to utter.

It’s fucked when Hyunjin takes you in the entryway of your apartment that afternoon—desperate and hungry as he fills you with all the love he has for you.

It’s fucked when you lay naked in your bed that night.

It’s fucked when you feel the anguish and hurt leave you at his touch.

It’s fucked, completely and utterly fucked.

Everything that you had built up, one man tore down in a single evening. He had been chipping away, making cracks in your defenses for months now and you had only stuck bandaids over them—not wanting to reinforce them anymore. You grew tired of the facade—tired of trying to force him away.

Hyunjin didn’t leave like you thought he would. He was right here, in your arms—lips pursed as he slumbered atop your chest.

He had been waiting for you.

And finally, you had stopped running and let your heart beat once more.

↳ If you liked this please consider commenting or reblogging! It would really mean the world to me ♡

[strayingawayy-deactivated202601]

bigger, warmer, yet still stupidly yours...

...the one where jisung's gotten wayyyy bigger, not that you're complaining, of course

{inspired by @hyunebunx wishing me goodnight and hoping i'd dream of jiji and his big arms...yeah...}

han jisung had always been the definition of warmth for you. his head tucked into your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist as he hummed some made-up tune that would, inevitably, become their next big hit...it was warm, it was routine, it was home.

but lately, something was... different. the warmth had somehow increased. you had somehow shrunk in his arms. it was weird. suspicious, even.

so tonight, as jisung effortlessly scooped you up, spun you around twice, thrice, then frice (is that a word? you don't know. you're so in awe of your man) like you weighed nothing, and carried you toward the bed, you knew something was up.

your eyes narrowed. "okay. what is going on?"

jisung blinked at you, all innocent and cute. "uhh, bedtime? you know, when we sleep? and you steal all the blankies?"

but enough was enough. you would put your suspicions to rest today. without a word, you grabbed the hem of his hoodie and yanked it up.

"WHOA WHOA WHOA- BABY! CONTROL YOURSELF, MY LOVE-"

you let out a gasp, pointing dramatically at his now very defined torso and arms. "AHA! EUREKA!"

jisung, ever the confused quokka, tilted his head. "...huh? did i miss something? what's happening? am i being arrested? is it for being too cute? is it for being too in love with you? no wait i'm too young to go to horny jail, i haven't even-", his eyes widen at the last bit before you cut him off.

"THAT'S IT!" you poked at his bicep, watching it bounce back. "YOU'VE GOTTEN BIGGER! NO WONDER YOU’VE BEEN SO EXTRA WARM AND CUDDLY BEAR LATELY!"

jisung blinked down at himself, then back at you. "...oh. ohhhh. yeah, i have been working out a bit?", he says, almost asks, rubbing his nape.

"a bit?! jisung, you look like those ripped teddy bears for cookies you see on the 'net!"

he grinned, flexing dramatically. "do you like it? am i hot? do i look like a man who could lift a car? think marvel will hire me to remake that scene where captain america holds onto the helicopter?"

you rolled your eyes but still definitely felt your heart do a little flip. "you should have told me you were turning into an action figure."

he huffed, flopping onto you so you were squished under all his newfound muscle. "but i wanted to surprise youuuu," he whined, nuzzling into your shoulder, pressing kisses to it before moving to your cheeks. "also, i just wanted to be strong enough to carry you whenever i wanted. not like i couldn't before but gotta keep at it even when i'm sixty four eh?"

your heart burst into little fireworks.

"you absolute idiot," you giggled, running your fingers through his hair, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "you were already strong enough for me, baby."

jisung made a happy little noise before effortlessly rolling over, pulling you on top of him like you were a feather.

"see? now i can do this all the time," he said smugly, holding you against his chest like a personal teddy bear.

you let out a laugh, pressing your forehead to his. "put me down, muscle man."

"no <3"

he plants one kiss on your forehead.

"please?"

"no <3"

another on your cheek.

"jisung-"

"no <3"

a final on your lips to shut you up for good.

and honestly? with his arms around you, warmth seeping into your skin, his giggles mixing with yours, yeah....you weren’t really complaining.