SYNOPSIS :: Your campers see you and Seonghyeon beating around the bush and decide to take matters into their own hands.
W.C :: 6.4k
CONTAINS :: campcounselor!seonghyeon, the campers are matchmakers, confessions, crack, fluff
PLAYLIST :: Everybody talks - Neon Trees; Are you bored yet? - Wallows, Clairo; I’m yours - Jason Mraz; Can I call you tonight? - Dayglow
The sun shone brightly over camp that afternoon, scattering stars across the surface of the lake as the water shifted in slow, shimmering waves beneath the weight of the summer heat. Along the shore stood you and Seonghyeon, both decked out in full counselor regalia: whistles hanging from bright lanyards around your necks, clipboards tucked firmly beneath your arms, sunglasses perched on your faces like armor against both the glare and the chaos currently unfolding in the swimming area.
Or, more accurately, the chaos you were attempting to manage.
“Cabin Three,” you called out, pitch carrying across the water, “if I see one more person pretending to drown, swimming privileges are gone for the rest of the day!”
A chorus of dramatic groans answered you.
Beside you, Seonghyeon snorted quietly, pushing his sunglasses higher up his nose with the hand that wasn't clutching his coffee. “You say that like they fear consequences.”
You shot him a look over the rim of your own sunglasses. “Mine do.”
Right on cue, one of your campers cannonballed directly into the roped-off shallow section, sending a spray of water across three indignant lifeguards.
“Never mind,” you muttered.
Seonghyeon laughed under his breath, the sound almost drowned out by the shrieking kids and the relentless splash of water. It was a nice sound, you noticed distantly. Warm, even.
You pushed the thought away immediately.
Out in the lake, however, neither of your cabins were paying the slightest bit of attention to the actual swimming. Clusters of campers floated near the wooden docks, treading water in loose circles as they whispered amongst themselves with all the subtlety of investigative reporters.
“I'm telling you,” one of Seonghyeon's campers whispered dramatically, her voice carrying across the water despite her best efforts, “they were together during breakfast again. Sitting at the same table. Sharing the syrup.”
“Counselors eat breakfast together all the time,” your camper argued, though she sounded uncertain.
“Not. Like. That.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means there was eye contact.”
A beat of silence passed between the floating conspirators.
“…Oh my god.”
Further out in the water, another camper squinted toward shore, shading his eyes with one dripping hand. “Wait, wait, look. He's smiling.”
Half the group gasped as if they'd just witnessed a crime.
“No, because he only smiles like that around her. Did you see his face during archery this morning? Stone cold. Stone. Cold.”
“You're insane.”
“I'm right.”
Back on shore, completely oblivious to the psychological warfare taking place twenty feet from where you stood, you reached for the sunscreen bottle sitting on the wooden bench beside Seonghyeon at the exact same moment he picked it up.
Your fingers brushed. Barely a touch that lasted less than half a second.
From somewhere in the lake came the distinct sound of a child choking on pool water.
“DID YOU SEE THAT?” Someone whisper-screamed, so loudly that several nearby children glanced over.
“He definitely did that on purpose.”
“No way!”
“Yes way,” the camper insisted, aggressively dog-paddling closer to the group, eyes wide with conviction. “That was, like, straight out of a movie.”
“You guys are actually delusional.”
“Look,” another one cut in, pointing dramatically toward shore with the kind of urgency usually reserved for shark sightings, “they're still staring at each other.”
Every head in the water turned at once.
Onshore, Seonghyeon was indeed still holding the sunscreen bottle, though now mostly because you refused to let go of it. The two of you stood frozen in a ridiculous tableau, your fingers tangled around the plastic bottle like neither of you knew how to let go.
“You know there are, like, six other bottles,” you said, your voice flatter than intended.
“And yet,” Seonghyeon replied, entirely too calm, “you reached for mine.”
“Oh my god,” someone in the water whispered, voice trembling with barely contained glee. “Flirting.”
“It's not flirting if they don't know they're flirting.”
“Yes it is!”
Seonghyeon finally released the bottle with a laugh, shaking his head as you nearly stumbled backward from the sudden lack of resistance. The shift in balance caught you off guard, your heels sinking into the sand as you fought to stay upright.
“Careful,” he said easily, reaching out to steady your arm before you could lose your balance completely. His fingers wrapped around your elbow to ground you.
Silence fell over the lake.
Then—
“HE TOUCHED HER AGAIN.”
Several campers began smacking the water in disbelief, sending up sprays that caught the sunlight like confetti. One of yours grabbed another by the shoulders, shaking her with desperate excitement.
“THIS IS WHAT I'VE BEEN TALKING ABOUT,” she hissed.
Meanwhile, completely unaware of the chaos you'd just unleashed, you were glaring at Seonghyeon over the rim of your sunglasses, your arm still tingling where his hand had been.
“You're so annoying,” you muttered, crossing your arms.
Before he could respond, a sharp whistle cut across the lake from further up the shore—three short, piercing blasts that sliced through the noise like a knife.
Immediately, groans erupted from every direction.
“Nooo!”
“We just got in!”
“Five more minutes! Please!”
One of the camp managers stood near the dining hall path with her hands cupped around her mouth, her silhouette unmistakable against the trees. “Activity time is over! Back to cabins, shower up, and be at dinner in twenty minutes!”
The swimming area descended into chaos almost instantly. Campers scrambled toward shore in dripping, panicked groups, abandoning floaties and goggles in the sand as counselors everywhere started shouting instructions that no one was really listening to.
“Cabin Three, line up before someone breaks an ankle!”
“Who stole my shoe?!”
“Stop throwing water at each other—Jasper, I saw that!”
You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming behind your eyes.
Seonghyeon, meanwhile, looked entirely too relaxed for someone whose cabin was currently attempting to body-slam each other into the lake one last time. He stood with his weight shifted to one hip, watching the chaos unfold like it was a nature documentary rather than his responsibility.
“How are they still this energetic?” you muttered, mostly to yourself.
As campers continued flooding past one of yours suddenly skidded to a stop directly in front of the two of you. Water dripped from her hair in steady streams, pooling in the sand around her feet, but her expression was deadly serious.
“Counselor,” she said breathlessly, looking between you and Seonghyeon. “Cabin Three has a question.”
You already knew, with the bone-deep certainty of someone who had been dealing with these children for three weeks straight, that this was going to be terrible.
“…What.”
The camper pointed directly at Seonghyeon, her arm steady as a compass needle. “If he asked you to go stargazing with him, would you say yes?”
There was a beat of silence.
Then, from somewhere behind her:
“OH MY GOD THEY ACTUALLY ASKED.”
Seonghyeon choked on air beside you, his composure finally cracking as he coughed into his fist.
“You guys are unbelievable,” you said, though your face had gone noticeably warmer beneath the afternoon sun. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, spreading across your cheeks like a slow sunrise.
The camper ignored you completely, her eyes wide with anticipation. “Well?”
“Go shower,” you deadpanned.
“That's not an answer.”
“Now.”
She groaned dramatically before jogging backward toward the cabins. As she went, she cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled to the others still lingering by the dock:
“SHE DIDN'T SAY NO!”
Instant screaming broke out down the trail and you could only cover your face with both hands, pressing your palms against your burning cheeks.
Beside you, Seonghyeon was very obviously trying not to laugh. His shoulders shook with the effort, and when you peeked through your fingers, you could see him biting the inside of his cheek.
“Oh, don't start,” you warned without looking up.
“I didn't even say anything.”
“Your face is saying plenty.”
You ignored him after that, already turning to follow after your campers as they sprinted up the path toward the cabins in a trail of wet footprints and continued shrieking. Their voices echoed through the trees, bouncing off the cabin walls like rubber balls.
“Walk!” You called after them automatically, the word as reflexive as breathing at this point.
Nobody listened. They never did.
You could only sigh as you trudged up the path, the sand giving way to packed dirt and scattered pine needles. Behind you, Seonghyeon watched you go, and even without turning around, you could feel his gaze on your back: warm, steady, and entirely too distracting.
“Mr. Seonghyeon.”
One of his campers stood a few feet ahead on the trail, hands planted on her hips as she stared at him.
The small smile on his face disappeared almost instantly.
“…What.”
She narrowed her eyes, tilting her head like a bird examining something interesting. “You are very obvious.”
“About what?”
She didn't respond. Just gave him a long, pointed look before turning and running after the rest of the campers, her wet ponytail bouncing behind her.
Seonghyeon stood there for a moment longer than necessary, watching her go.
Then he sighed, pushed his sunglasses back up his nose, and followed.
The very next morning, you stood outside the main lodge with a fresh clipboard in your hands, eyes scanning down the list of counselor duties pinned beneath layers of brightly colored sticky notes and doodled smiley faces.
Breakfast cleanup. Archery supervision. Arts and crafts rotation. Lifeguard rotation. Tandem canoe—
You nodded absentmindedly until your eyes caught a very familiar name directly beneath yours.
Your brows furrowed. Then lowered.
“Did you sign me up for tandem canoe duty?”
Across from you, Seonghyeon looked up slowly from the clipboard resting in his lap, his expression far too calm for someone about to be accused of conspiracy. He was sitting on the lodge steps, long legs stretched out in front of him, looking for all the world like he didn't have a care in it.
“No?” He said, and the upward tilt at the end of the word was definitely suspicious.
“Then why,” you asked carefully, holding up the clipboard like evidence in a trial, “are our names written with hearts around them?”
A beat passed as he leaned forward slightly to inspect the paper, squinting at the glitter-covered section you were pointing to.
“Oh,” he said finally, as if just noticing. “Purple glitter pen.”
You stared at him.
“That means my campers,” he clarified, as if this explained everything.
Sure enough, surrounding both your names on the duty chart were aggressively drawn purple hearts, silver stars, and what appeared to be two very badly sketched wedding rings. One of the rings had a giant sparkle in the center. The other appeared to be on fire, though that might have been a drawing error.
One particularly ambitious camper had even written: ‘MR + MRS ???’ in loopy cursive beside it, complete with a question mark that had been turned into a tiny heart.
You closed your eyes briefly, counting to ten in your head. “They're evolving.”
Seonghyeon snorted into his coffee, narrowly avoiding snorting it out of his nose in the process. “You sound concerned.”
“I am concerned.”
“You should be,” he agreed lightly, dabbing at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Mine have started calling you ‘Counselor Y/N-Seonghyeon’ behind your back. I heard two of them arguing about whether you'd hyphenate or just take the name.”
Your head whipped toward him so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “They what?”
“It's mostly the younger ones.” He shrugged, but his eyes were bright with amusement. “The older ones are focused on wedding venues.”
“That's somehow worse.”
Before Seonghyeon could answer a blur of camp shirts sprinted across the field toward the counselor board. Two figures moving fast, their feet barely touching the grass.
Both of you turned just in time to watch two of his campers abruptly freeze upon realising you were already standing there, mid-stride, looking like deer caught in very guilty headlights.
Silence descended over the morning.
One of them slowly lowered the uncapped purple glitter pen still clutched in her hand. A single drop of sparkle ink plopped onto the grass between them.
“…Good morning,” she tried weakly.
You pointed at the clipboard, not bothering to hide your accusatory tone. “Was this you?”
Immediately, they turned on each other with the kind of ferocity usually reserved for reality TV reunions.
“Why are you looking at me?”
“You literally brought the pen!”
“You drew the hearts too big!”
“I told you subtlety mattered!”
“You wrote MR AND MRS!”
“The moment called for it!”
Seonghyeon made absolutely no attempt to hide his laughter now, shoulders shaking beside you as the campers descended into mutual betrayal.
“You think this is funny?” you asked flatly.
“A little,” he admitted.
“You're the reason they're like this.”
“That feels deeply unfair.”
One of the campers gasped loudly, whipping around to face the other. “Wait, wait, listen—they're bickering like an old married couple again.”
The other slapped her arm urgently, eyes wide. “Write that down.”
You blinked. “Are you documenting this?”
“No,” they answered immediately, in perfect unison, which meant yes.
A small notebook labeled OPERATION: SUMMER ROMANCE — DO NOT READ (unless you're part of the mission) stuck halfway out of one camper's pocket. It was covered in glitter glue, heart stickers, and what looked like a dried noodle that had been glued on for texture.
Seonghyeon spotted it too. His laughter cut off abruptly.
“…Is that glitter glue and pasta,” he said.
The camper slowly pushed the notebook deeper into her pocket.
Nobody said anything.
Safe to say, you and Seonghyeon ended up spending the next two hours stuck in the same canoe.
Not alone, unfortunately. The campers were everywhere: bobbing across the lake in mismatched practice canoes, splashing each other with paddles, and generally creating the kind of chaos that made you understand why some animals ate their young.
Around you, the water glittered under the late morning sun as campers struggled to steer their rented canoes across the lake with varying levels of success. Some were actually doing quite well, gliding in smooth, straight lines toward the far shore. Others were… less successful.
You and Seonghyeon sat in the middle of the water in a canoe that had seen better decades, attempting to coach from your position as the designated "lead canoe." Attempted being the key word.
“No, no—if both of you paddle on the same side, you're just gonna—”
One canoe spun violently in a circle, the two campers inside yelping as water sloshed over the sides.
“—there it is,” Seonghyeon finished with a sigh.
From the front of your canoe, one of your campers twisted around to face you, nearly tipping the whole vessel in the process. “Counselor,” she called out, cupping her hands around her mouth, “we can't focus when the tension between you two is so distracting.”
You nearly dropped your paddle.
“There is no tension,” you called back, your voice pitching higher than intended.
“That sounds exactly like someone with tension would say!” Another camper shouted from a nearby canoe, and a ripple of knowing laughter spread across the water.
Seonghyeon leaned back slightly in his seat, his paddle resting across his knees, clearly enjoying this far more than he should have been. The morning light caught the side of his face, illuminating the faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“You know,” he mused, loud enough for the nearby canoes to hear, “they might have a point.”
You turned toward him so quickly your canoe rocked dangerously to one side. Several campers screamed dramatically, clutching the sides of their own vessels as if expecting a capsize.
“Sit properly!” you snapped.
“I am sitting properly.”
“You're instigating.”
“That too,” he admitted, and his smile widened.
A splash suddenly erupted nearby as one camper completely lost balance trying to stand up inside their canoe despite your clear instructions not to. The canoe tipped, the camper shrieked, and then there was a large splash as they went overboard.
“Oh my god—”
“Don't stand up!”
“WHY WOULD YOU STAND UP?”
The camper resurfaced laughing, sputtering water out of their mouth while their canoe drifted away riderless, spinning lazily in the gentle current.
At least four other campers abandoned their own paddling to yell updates about the situation like sports commentators.
Meanwhile, your own canoe had started drifting lazily toward the middle of the lake, away from the main group, away from the shouting, away from everything except the glittering water and the warm sun.
You sighed, dipping your paddle back into the water with a practiced stroke. Beside you, Seonghyeon mirrored the movement automatically and the canoe straightened almost immediately, gliding forward like it was on tracks.
The synchronisation made several campers go eerily silent.
One of his campers pointed shakily, her finger trembling like she'd witnessed a miracle. “Did you see that.”
“They paddled at the same time.”
“That's actually insane.”
“It's because they're soulmat—”
“Finish that sentence and you're cleaning cabins tonight,” Seonghyeon warned, but there was no heat in it. He was still smiling.
The camper only grinned, utterly unafraid.
You shook your head, trying—and failing—to hide your own smile as the canoe glided over the water, sunlight reflecting in scattered patterns around you both like shattered glass. The lake was beautiful this time of day, all gold and blue and shimmering warmth.
Unfortunately, your campers noticed your expression too.
“She's smiling.”
“No, because look at him smiling behind her too. They're doing it at the same time. That's a thing people in love do.”
“Guys,” another camper whispered urgently, already pulling out the glitter-covered notebook again, “this is huge we have to write it down.”
Packing up afterward was chaos and you'd offered to handle it with your cabin while Seonghyeon took his campers back up the hill. The logic was sound: if you split up, the cabins’ shower schedules wouldn't overlap, and everyone would make it to lunch on time.
Logic, unfortunately, had very little power over a group of determined campers.
“Counselor.”
You glanced up from where you were hauling dripping life jackets into the storage bin near the docks. The afternoon heat had settled over the lake like a blanket, and sweat was already beading at your temples despite the breeze.
One of your campers stood nearby holding an armful of paddles, her expression far too innocent to mean anything good. The paddles were clutched to her chest like a shield, but her eyes were sharp and calculating.
“Yeah?” You said warily.
She tilted her head thoughtfully, the picture of casual curiosity. “If you and Mr. Seonghyeon got married, would that make you Mrs. Seonghyeon?”
Your brain stopped functioning.
Completely.
Somewhere behind you, another camper dropped a paddle with a loud clatter into the sand. The sound echoed across the dock like a gunshot.
Your cheeks burned instantly. You could feel the heat spreading from your chest up your neck, across your face, all the way to the tips of your ears. You probably looked like a tomato wearing a counselor polo.
Because honestly, what were you even supposed to say to that?
If you corrected her—if you said well, technically, his last name is Eom, so I'd be Mrs. Eom—they would absolutely twist it into:
“So you HAVE thought about it.”
Which you hadn't.
At all.
Never.
Definitely not during counselor meetings when he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows. Or when he laughed at something stupid during dinner. Or when he looked at you like that—
Nope. Absolutely not.
“Why,” you said carefully, enunciating each word, “would you ask me that.”
The camper shrugged, still holding the paddles. “Just curious.”
“Liar,” another one muttered from somewhere behind you.
Immediately, the first camper whipped around, paddles swinging dangerously. “Whose side are you on?”
“The truth's side.”
“The romance side.”
“The same thing!”
You made a strangled noise somewhere in the back of your throat. “Okay,” you interrupted quickly, holding up your hands, “I think we're done talking forever actually.”
Several campers burst into laughter, their voices carrying across the water.
“But you didn't answer,” one pointed out.
“I noticed that too,” another agreed suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at you like a detective who had just found a crucial clue.
You grabbed the nearest stack of towels entirely to avoid eye contact, clutching them to your chest like a lifeline. “Some of you need hobbies.”
The campers refused to let it go.
Any time you and Seonghyeon so much as stood next to each other, whispers instantly broke out behind cupped hands, entire groups of children watching the two of you like they were tracking a slow-burn drama in real time.
It was unbearable.
And somehow, impossibly, getting worse.
By free period the next day, the situation had escalated so badly that both cabins had apparently merged into one large investigative unit with a single mission: aggressive matchmaking.
You discovered this in rather harsh fashion.
One of your campers had come running up to you with wide, panicked eyes, claiming there was a raccoon trapped in the large storage cupboard inside the boys' cabin. She'd been very convincing: teary-eyed, trembling, the whole performance. You'd followed her without question because, frankly, you'd dealt with raccoons at camp before and they were not to be trifled with.
Meanwhile, somewhere across camp, a similar story involving a "massive spider" had sent Seonghyeon hurrying toward the same location.
The result was predictable in hindsight.
The door slammed shut behind you both before you'd even processed what was happening. The sound was loud in the small space: a heavy thunk of wood against wood, followed immediately by the scrape of something being wedged through the door handles on the outside.
You stared at the door.
Then at Seonghyeon.
Then back at the door.
“Did your campers just lock us in here?”
From the other side came muffled whispering, frantic shushing, and the unmistakable sound of someone stage-whispering: “GO GO GO RUN BEFORE THEY BREAK OUT.”
The sound of retreating footsteps faded almost immediately, replaced by the distant shrieking of triumph echoing across the camp grounds—a chorus of children who had just committed a crime and felt absolutely no remorse.
You pressed your palm flat against the storage closet door. It didn't budge. Not even a little.
“I can't believe this,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “I actually can't believe this.”
Behind you, Seonghyeon exhaled slowly in half a laugh, half a sigh. His footsteps shifted on the wooden floor as he turned to survey the prison.
A beat passed in the darkness. The closet was small. Much smaller than you'd realised from the outside. Shelves lined both walls, crammed with extra sleeping bags, board games with missing pieces, a deflated volleyball, and what smelled like several summers' worth of forgotten arts and crafts supplies. The air was warm and close, thick with the smell of dust and old wood.
And you.
And Seonghyeon.
Who was currently standing close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his arm without even trying. Close enough that if you turned your head a little to the right, your shoulder would brush his. Close enough that you could hear him breathing.
“We could just push it open,” he said after a moment, his voice low in the darkness. “It's not locked. They just jammed a broom handle through the handles.”
You tested the door again, pushing harder this time. The wood groaned, but the handles didn't give. “There's no way we'd be able to break a broom handle from this angle.”
“So we're stuck.”
“Temporarily,” you said, because admitting otherwise felt like admitting defeat.
He shifted slightly beside you, resettling his weight, trying to find a comfortable position in the cramped space—and something on the shelf above him clattered dangerously. A box teetered, then stilled.
“Careful,” you warned, your hand shooting out instinctively to steady the shelf. “If you knock over the craft glitter onto us, I'm going to kill you.”
He laughed quietly, barely more than a breath. It reverberated off the close walls, wrapped around you like the warmth of the afternoon sun filtering through the cracks in the wood.
And you were suddenly, acutely, almost painfully aware that there wasn't enough room to step back.
Not that you wanted to.
Not that you were thinking about that.
“Your campers are feral,” you said instead, steering the conversation firmly away from whatever your brain was trying to do. The words came out sharper than intended, a little too fast.
“Your campers shoved us in here.”
“They're a joint effort at this point. A collaborative disaster.”
“True.” He tilted his head slightly, and even in the dim light filtering through the cracks around the doorframe you could see the smile tugging at his mouth. “Cabin Three-and-a-half.”
“Don't encourage them.”
“I'm not encouraging anyone.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I'm simply observing that our names are still on the counselor board with wedding rings drawn around them.”
You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the door. The wood was cool against your scalp. “Don't remind me.”
“The hearts have doubled in number since yesterday.”
“When did you see the board?”
“I walked past it this morning.” A pause. “There's a Venn diagram now.”
You turned to stare at him, your eyes adjusting to the dim light. His face was half in shadow, half illuminated, and he looked entirely too serious for someone who was trapped in a closet with his coworker.
“I'm serious,” he said, and his lips twitched. “Labeled ‘traits they share’ and ‘traits that would make them good parents.’”
“Parents?”
“They're very invested.”
You made a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh, dropping your head back against the door with a soft thunk. The sound echoed in the small space. “They're going to be insufferable when we get out of here.”
“We'll just have to wait and see,” Seonghyeon said, and there was something in his voice that made you open your eyes again.
He wasn't looking at the door anymore.
He was looking at you.
The dim light caught the edge of his jaw, the curve of his shoulder where his counselor shirt pulled tight across the fabric. His sunglasses were hooked into the collar of his shirt instead of on his face where they belonged, and without them, his eyes were… intense. Dark and focused and fixed entirely on you.
You realised abruptly that you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to. That you were, in fact, already counting them without meaning to.
You didn't want to.
You absolutely did not want to.
“I'm going to kill them,” you said, and your voice came out slightly thinner than usual. Slightly higher. Completely unconvincing.
“The campers?”
“All of them.”
“Murder seems extreme.”
“They locked us in a closet, Seonghyeon.”
“Fair point,” he conceded, but he was still looking at you like that, and you couldn't look away.
Neither of you moved.
From somewhere outside, distant shouting echoed—campers running, probably, or maybe just general chaos. The lake glittered somewhere beyond the cabin walls, invisible but present. The afternoon sun shifted through the cracks in the wood, striping Seonghyeon's face in gold and shadow, and the world felt very small and very large all at once.
“Your campers asked me something yesterday,” he said quietly. The shift in topic was so abrupt that it took you a moment to process.
You blinked. “What?”
“They cornered me after archery.” His voice was casual, almost conversational, but something underneath it made your stomach flip. “Wanted to know my intentions.”
You stared at him. “…Your intentions.”
“Toward you.”
Your heart did something complicated in your chest: a stutter, a skip, a full stop and restart. Something warm and dangerous spread through your ribs like honey.
You ignored it.
“And what did you say?”
He was quiet for a moment, and the silence stretched between you like a held breath. The closet seemed smaller suddenly, the air between your bodies feeling charged.
“I said I didn't know what they were talking about.”
“Good answer.”
“They didn't believe me.”
“My campers don't believe anyone.” Your voice was barely a whisper now, and you weren't sure when that had happened.
“True.” He shifted again, and this time his shoulder brushed yours—deliberately or accidentally, you couldn't tell. The contact sent a spark down your arm, a trail of heat that lingered even after he pulled back. “But they weren't wrong.”
The words hung in the dim air between you, suspended like dust motes in a sunbeam.
Your throat felt tight. Too tight to speak, too tight to breathe, too tight for anything except the pounding of your heart against your ribs.
“What does that mean?” You asked, and your voice came out quieter than you intended. Softer. More honest.
Seonghyeon turned toward you fully. The movement brought him closer—close enough that you could count the freckles scattered across his nose, the faint shadows beneath his eyes from too many late nights and early mornings. Close enough that you could see the way his pulse flickered at his throat, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.
“I think,” he said, and his voice was low, careful, like he was handling something fragile, “you know what it means.”
Outside, someone screamed with laughter, the distant, joyful sound of children being children.
Inside, the world had gone very still.
You stared at him and he stared back. The space between you had never felt smaller.
Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
No sound came out.
Seonghyeon didn't move or push or attempt to fill the silence with nervous chatter or awkward jokes. He just stood there in the dim light with his shoulder almost touching yours and his eyes steady on your face, patient as the tide, like he had all the time in the world.
Which, technically, you both did. The door wasn't opening itself.
“I don't—” you started, then stopped. Swallowed. Tried again. “I don't know what you want me to say.”
“The truth usually works.”
“The truth,” you repeated, and you laughed a little. “The truth is that my campers have been asking me if I'm going to marry you for three days, and I haven't said no once.”
Something soft and wondering flickered across his face. Like you'd just confirmed something he'd been hoping for but hadn't dared to believe.
“But,” he said carefully, and his voice was gentle in a way that made your chest ache, “you haven't said yes either.”
“To marriage? Seonghyeon, we've known each other for—”
“Not to marriage.” His voice dropped slightly, barely above a whisper now. “To anything.”
The air between you felt charged now, like before a thunderstorm. Like the moment the lake goes still right before the wind picks up, the moment when the world holds its breath and waits for the sky to crack open.
You looked away first—couldn't help it. Your eyes landed on the shelves beside you, the dusty board games, the half-empty bag of marshmallows someone had clearly hidden from their cabinmates days ago. Anything to avoid the weight of his gaze.
“You make this really difficult,” you muttered.
“What?”
“Being normal about you.”
He didn't laugh or make a joke. When you mustered the courage to glance back, his expression had gone serious in a way you almost never saw.
“You don't have to be normal about me,” he said quietly, and his voice was rough at the edges in a way that made your stomach flip. “I'm not normal about you either.”
Your heart stopped.
Then started again, twice as fast, beating so hard you could feel it in your throat.
“What does that mean?” you whispered.
His hand moved—just slightly, just enough that his pinky brushed against yours where they rested against your thigh. The touch was barely anything. Barely there. A ghost of contact, a question more than a statement.
“It means,” Seonghyeon said, and his voice was steady even though his hand was not, “that I signed us up for tandem canoe duty.”
Your breath caught. “You told me you didn't.”
“I lied.”
“The hearts on the clipboard?”
“My campers. But I didn't stop them.” His pinky curled around yours, tentative, questioning, giving you every opportunity to pull away. You didn't. “It means I've been volunteering for breakfast cleanup even on my off days because that's when you're scheduled. It means I told the camp director the lakeside cabins needed two counselors for night checks even though they don't, just so I'd have an excuse to walk you back to your cabin after evening activities.”
Your chest felt too full. Like something was cracking open inside you, something you'd been trying very hard to keep shut and locked and buried. Something that wanted very badly to be seen.
“Why didn't you say anything?” you asked, and your voice cracked on the last word.
“Because you're my coworker.” He said it simply, like it was obvious, like he'd turned it over in his mind a thousand times. “Because we're here for the kids. Because I didn't want to make it weird if—” He stopped. His hand tightened around yours, just slightly, just enough that you could feel the warmth of his palm against your skin. “If you didn't feel the same.”
The closet was so quiet you could hear both of you breathing. His breath, steady and slow. Yours, shallow and quick.
“Seonghyeon,” you said.
“Yeah?”
“I almost dropped an entire pile of life jackets because one of my campers asked me what my last name would be if we got married.”
He blinked. Once. Twice. His hand tightened around yours.
“I mean,” you continued, and now the words were spilling out like water over rocks, unstoppable, undeniable, “I didn't even correct her. I just stood there like an idiot holding a life jacket while my face turned approximately the color of a strawberry popsicle. And then i thought about how you’ve always smiled at me and I—” You stopped, suddenly aware of how much you were saying. How much you were admitting. How much of yourself you were laying bare in the dusty darkness of a storage closet.
Seonghyeon was staring at you like you'd just handed him something precious. Something breakable. Something he'd been reaching for his whole life without knowing it.
“You what?” he prompted softly.
You took a breath and held it for a moment before eventually letting it go.
“I thought about it,” you said. “The last name thing. Not because I want to get married—I mean, not that I don't want to get married, someday, to someone, hypothetically—but because I look at you and I just think… oh.” Your voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Like—oh. Like I've been looking at a half-finished puzzle my whole life, and suddenly someone handed me the last piece. Like everything makes sense when you're standing next to me, and I don't know how to be normal about that. I don't know how to be casual about someone who looks at me the way you do.”
The silence that followed was unbearable.
Then Seonghyeon laughed, disbelieving. His forehead dropped toward your shoulder, his breath warm through the fabric of your counselor polo, and he stayed there for a moment. Just breathing. Just being.
“You can't just say things like that,” he said, his voice muffled against your shirt.
“Why not?”
“Because I'm trying very hard to be respectful right now,” he admitted, and you could hear the smile in his voice, “and you're making it impossible.”
You couldn't help it. You laughed too:giddy and ridiculous and probably a little hysterical. And somewhere in the middle of it, his hand found yours properly, fingers threading together like they'd been made to fit, like they'd been waiting for this moment their whole existence.
“Okay,” you said, when you could breathe again.
“Okay what?”
“Okay, we're doing this.” You looked up at him, at his bright eyes and his smiling mouth and the purple glitter dusted across his shoulders the excess droppings of a crafts box. “Whatever this is. We're doing it.”
He lifted his head. His eyes were bright in the dim light, warmer than the afternoon sun streaming through the cracks in the walls. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You squeezed his hand. “But if your campers put another drawing on the counselor board, I'm denying everything.”
“Liar.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know you.” He squeezed back, his thumb tracing a slow circle across your knuckles. “I've been watching you teach eight-year-olds how to paddle a canoe without capsizing for three summers. I know you'd frame the drawing and hang it in our apartment.”
“Our apartment?”
The word slipped out before you could stop it, hanging in the air between you like a promise neither of you had meant to make.
Seonghyeon's ears went pink. Actually, visibly pink, right there in the dim light, spreading from the tips of his ears down to his neck.
“I meant—hypothetically—”
“Mhm.”
“Shut up.”
“You said our apartment, Seonghyeon.”
He groaned, dropping his head back against the shelf behind him—and that's when the box of glitter, already teetering from earlier, finally gave up the fight.
Purple sparkles rained down on both of you like an explosion in a craft store, dusting your hair, your shoulders, the collars of your counselor shirts. You blinked up at the falling glitter, too surprised to move, and felt a flake land on the tip of your nose.
You stared at each other.
Seonghyeon had glitter in his eyelashes, is hair looked like a disco ball and there was a purple sparkle directly in the center of his forehead, right between his eyebrows like a third eye made of craft supplies.
Then you both started laughing so hard you nearly knocked over the rest of the shelves.
Outside, a camper's voice drifted through the door, hushed and urgent:
“Are they… laughing?”
Another camper responded, equally hushed but clearly delighted: “That's either a very good sign or a very bad one.”
“Should we let them out?”
A pause. A heavy, dramatic pause that you could feel through the wood.
“Absolutely not. Let them cook.”
You buried your face in Seonghyeon's shoulder—purple sparkles and all, the glitter scratching gently against your cheek—and felt his arm wrap around you like it belonged there. Like it had always belonged there, and you'd both just been too oblivious to notice.
“Your campers,” you said into his shirt, your voice muffled but smiling, “are menaces.”
His chest shook with quiet laughter, his chin coming to rest on top of your head. “Our campers,” he corrected.
SYNOPSIS :: Your father finally caves and lets Seonghyeon sleep over, complete with a very long list of rules. There's just one problem: your boyfriend has never met a rule he couldn't, and wouldn’t, break.
PLAYLIST :: My love will never die - The Channels, Earl Lewis; Alone - Heart; Time (clock of the heart) - Culture Club; Open arms - Journey; Making love out of nothing at all - Air Supply; Alone with you - The Outfield
It had taken weeks of convincing for your father to finally agree to this.
Not because he didn’t know Seonghyeon. In fact, that actually was the problem.
Unfortunately, your father knew Seonghyeon very well.
He knew about the late-night drives, the missed curfews, the sound of a car engine idling outside your house fifteen minutes after you were supposed to be home. He knew Seonghyeon smiled his way through trouble instead of avoiding it, and somehow always managed to drag you directly into the middle of whatever terrible idea he’d had.
By the third time Seonghyeon had shown up at your house past midnight, and the second time your father had caught him trying to quietly drop you off only to nearly reverse into the mailbox, any chance of him being viewed as a respectable influence had disappeared completely.
So when you’d first brought up the idea of a sleepover your father had looked at you like you were insane.
"No," he'd said.
Then no again.
Then absolutely not.
Then not in this house, not while I'm breathing, not over my dead body, and did you think he was born yesterday?
You'd persisted anyway. You'd brought it up at dinner, pushing peas around your plate while your mother hid a smile behind her wine glass. You'd caught your father in the hallway before bed, in the kitchen over his morning coffee, in the garage while he swore at something under the hood of his car. You'd asked so many times that your brother had started mimicking you: "Dad, can Seonghyeon sleep over?" in a high-pitched whiny voice that made you want to throw a pillow at his head.
You even attempted dramatically insisting that everyone else’s parents allowed it, which only earned you a long look and a “I’m not everyone else’s parents.”
All of these attempts earned you nothing but your father's disapproving gaze and, consequently, the slow squashing of your heart. Every time you brought it up, he'd fix you with that look that said don't push your luck, and you'd feel your hopes deflate a little more.
Eventually, you'd recruited your mother.
Your father had always been weak when it came to her. It was something only years of love could really create—that quiet power she held over him, the way he'd soften around the edges whenever she asked for something. He'd deny you for weeks, but she could undo all his resolve with a single look across the dinner table.
Maybe you and Seonghyeon would be like that when you were older.
Not that you ever thought about that, obviously. That would be crazy. You were only seventeen. You definitely hadn’t ever dreamed what it would be like to have your own house with Seonghyeon. Not at all.
But your mother was your secret weapon and over the following days she slowly wore him down.
"He's a good student," she'd mention the next night, stirring her coffee. "I saw his report card. You saw it too, didn't you?"
Your father would grunt.
“They’re good kids.”
Another grunt.
“You used to sneak out too, you know.”
That usually got a longer silence.
And every single time, you’d watch your father try very hard not to look affected while your mother hid a tiny smile behind her coffee cup.
It took nearly three weeks.
Three weeks of promises. Three weeks of “we’ll stay apart.” Three weeks of “the door will stay open.” Three weeks of your father looking personally exhausted by the entire situation.
But eventually, somehow, he caved. Not happily or gracefully, but he did.
The conditions came immediately after.
“Guest room,” your father had said firmly, pointing directly at Seonghyeon from across the living room. “Down the hall.”
Seonghyeon had been sitting on the couch so stiffly it was almost painful to watch, hands flat on his knees, posture straight like he was interviewing for a scholarship instead of asking to sleep over at his girlfriend’s house.
“Yes, sir.”
“Not her room.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not near her room.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And absolutely no funny business upstairs.”
At that, you’d nearly choked trying not to laugh while Seonghyeon nodded with suspicious seriousness.
“No funny business,” he repeated solemnly, like he was signing a legal contract.
Your father narrowed his eyes immediately, clearly unconvinced by how agreeable he sounded.
The worst part was that Seonghyeon looked entirely too amused underneath it, like he was enjoying this.
Your mother had stepped in before your father could change his mind completely, patting Seonghyeon lightly on the shoulder as she stood.
“He likes you,” she’d whispered kindly once your father disappeared into the kitchen.
Seonghyeon had glanced toward the doorway your father had vanished through before looking back at her. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“It is,” your mother insisted. “He would have killed you by now if he didn’t.”
“That’s comforting.”
“It shouldn’t be.”
You’d had to look away because you were already starting to laugh.
Even now, hours later, lying awake in bed, you could still picture the expression Seonghyeon had worn all through dinner afterward: trying and failing to hide his smile every single time your father repeated one of the rules.
Which was exactly why sleep felt impossible now.
The house had been quiet for almost an hour.
The movie downstairs had ended. Your father had fallen asleep in his armchair halfway through it, your mother eventually nudging him awake while Seonghyeon tried very hard not to laugh. Everyone had gone upstairs after that, lights shutting off one by one until the whole house settled into silence.
And Seonghyeon was right down the hall.
Not far enough away to ignore.
You rolled onto your side again with a sigh, tugging the blankets higher before immediately kicking them back down again.
It was ridiculous, you saw him almost every day and yet somehow knowing he was only a few rooms away made you feel restless in a way you couldn’t fix.
The worst part was that the two of you had actually behaved all evening. Mostly.
You’d sat together on opposite ends of the couch at first, which was your father’s idea obviously, but little by little Seonghyeon had started inching closer whenever nobody was paying attention.
A shift of his knee against yours under the blanket. His shoulder brushing yours when he leaned over for popcorn. His hand lingering just slightly too long when he reached into your bowl instead of his own. Tiny, barely noticeable things.
Except your father noticed everything. Every single time your knees touched, you could practically feel your father narrowing his eyes from across the room without even looking away from the television.
At one point, Seonghyeon had leaned over to whisper something in your ear during the movie, and your father had immediately gone: “What was that?”
“Nothing,” both of you answered at the exact same time.
Which honestly only made it worse.
By the time everyone finally headed upstairs, you’d barely even gotten a proper goodnight. Just a quick glance, a small grin from him halfway down the hall, and a quiet: “Sleep well.”
Like that was actually possible now.
With a quiet sigh, you sat up in bed, throwing your blankets aside and pushing your hair back from your face as you stared toward your bedroom door.
This was ridiculous. You weren’t twelve. He was literally just a few doors away. You’d survived entire weekends without seeing him before. So why did knowing he was in your house suddenly make sleep impossible?
You flopped back dramatically for half a second, staring at the ceiling again. Then you immediately sat back up.
Just for a minute. That was all.
You’d go down the hall, see him, complain that you couldn’t sleep, maybe make fun of the guest room your father had stuck him in, and then come right back upstairs before anyone noticed.
Easy.
You slipped carefully out of bed, the floor cool against your feet as you crossed the room. The whole house had that deep, late-night stillness to it now, where every tiny sound suddenly felt dangerous.
The hallway outside your room was dark, lit only faintly by the pale moonlight spilling through the window at the far end. Shadows stretched long across the floorboards, the old house creaking softly around you as if it were settling deeper into sleep.
You reached for your doorknob slowly, trying not to make noise.
The hinges gave the faintest creak as you pulled it open—
—and froze instantly.
Seonghyeon was already standing right outside your room. For a second your brain genuinely stopped working.
He looked equally caught off guard, though far less guilty about it. One hand was half-raised like he’d been about to knock, his hair slightly messy from sleep or from running his hands through it too many times.
You just stared at each other silently in the dark hallway. Then his eyes flicked over your face once, and the corner of his mouth pulled upward slowly. “You too?” He whispered.
You blinked. “What are you doing?”
“I was gonna ask you the same thing.”
“You’re supposed to be down the hall.”
“And you’re supposed to be asleep.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
You opened your mouth, then shut it again because unfortunately, it really wasn’t. He looked far too pleased about that realisation.
You tried crossing your arms, aiming for annoyed, but it lost some effect considering you were standing there in oversized sleep clothes staring at him in the middle of the night.
“You weren’t supposed to leave the guest room,” you whispered again, quieter this time.
“And you weren’t supposed to open the door.”
His voice stayed calm and low, but there was amusement tucked into every word. You rolled your eyes automatically, though your heartbeat had already started picking up.
He noticed, even in the darkness, how you were unable to meet his gaze for a moment.
Of course he noticed. Despite the impression you gave about not getting nervous around him, small parts of yourself that only he noticed ratted you out to him every single time. He’d known you long enough to tell.
Seonghyeon took a small step closer, enough for you to catch the faint scent of his cologne mixed with laundry detergent from the sweatshirt he’d changed into earlier. “You couldn’t sleep either?” He asked.
You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Maybe.”
“Mm,” he murmured, clearly not believing you for a second.
Then, before you could think too hard about it, his hand slid around your waist naturally, easily, like it belonged there. The movement pulled you closer in one smooth motion and your breath caught before you could stop it.
He leaned down slightly, giving you barely enough time to realise what he was doing before his mouth met yours.
Soft at first, careful enough that you almost thought he was trying to behave.
Though that lasted about three seconds because the second you kissed him back, his grip tightened slightly at your waist, and you felt him smile against your mouth like he’d just proven himself right about something.
Your fingers curled instinctively into the front of his sweatshirt, bunching the fabric lightly, and you melted into him, making a small sound against his mouth, a sigh of relief. He chuckled slightly. You could feel it, the small gust of air that escaped him, and you wanted to stay here forever.
But then you remembered where you were, how your parents' bedroom was at the end of the hall that now felt increasingly small and dangerous
You pulled back and his mouth chased yours, his eyes still closed, his lips still parted. He leaned in for another kiss until you put your hand on his chest, pushing him back gently.
His eyes opened and he blinked, confused. His lips were pink, slightly swollen, he was looking at you like you'd just taken something vital away from him, a frown forming on his face. “Why?” He whispered, sounding genuinely betrayed by the interruption.
You stared at him incredulously before pointing toward your parents’ bedroom farther down the hall. “We cannot get caught,” you mouthed carefully.
He glanced once in that direction, then looked back at you completely unbothered. “They’re asleep.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“And I was right last time.”
“You almost got hit with a shoe.”
“That wasn’t that serious.”
You gaped at him quietly. “My dad threatened to kill you.”
“Yeah,” he whispered thoughtfully. “But he says that every time he sees me now.”
Which was, annoyingly, true.
You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You like me.” The smugness in his whisper made you roll your eyes again, even though the warmth climbing into your face completely ruined the effect.
Unfortunately, he noticed that too. His expression softened instantly, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Before he could lean down again, you grabbed his wrist suddenly. His eyebrows lifted in surprise as you tugged him backward down the hallway. “Wait—where are we going?”
“Shh,” you whispered immediately. You started guiding him carefully toward the stairs, both of you moving slowly to avoid the loud spots in the floorboards.
The old house creaked anyway. Every single noise made you freeze for half a second before continuing. At one point, the stair beneath Seonghyeon’s foot let out an especially loud groan, and you whipped around so fast you nearly ran into him, only to find his shoulders were already shaking silently with laughter.
“This isn’t funny,” you mouthed.
“It kind of is.”
You glared at him while trying not to laugh yourself.
By the time the two of you finally reached the bottom of the stairs, the house had gone still again.
Moonlight spilled through the living room windows in pale strips, turning everything soft silver-blue. The furniture looked different at night somehow: quieter, softer around the edges. Even the air felt still.
For a second, neither of you said anything. You could hear the faint ticking of the clock in the kitchen alongside the hum of the refrigerator somewhere down the hall.
Seonghyeon glanced around slowly before looking back at you, hands shoved loosely into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Now what?” He whispered.
You shrugged, trying to act like dragging him downstairs in the middle of the night had been a completely normal decision. “I don’t know,” you said quietly. “You’re the one lurking outside my bedroom.”
A small grin tugged at his mouth immediately. “I was being romantic.”
“You were standing in the dark outside my door.”
“Romantically.”
You snorted softly, shaking your head. He wandered away before you could answer, moving toward the vinyl cabinet beneath the stereo system in the corner of the room. Immediately, suspicion hit you. “Oh, don’t touch those.”
Too late.
Seonghyeon crouched in front of the cabinet anyway, flipping through your father’s records with the kind of confidence people only had when they absolutely should not be touching something. “You own, like, fifty sad old man albums,” he murmured.
“My dad likes music.”
“Your dad likes depression.”
You rolled your eyes, moving closer as he continued flipping through them one by one.
“What even is this?” He whispered, holding up a record sleeve covered in dramatic black-and-white photography.
You glanced at it. “I don’t know.”
“That guy looks miserable.”
“He’s probably singing about heartbreak.”
“Yeah, well. He should cheer up.”
You laughed quietly through your nose, quickly covering your mouth when the sound echoed slightly too loud in the room. Seonghyeon looked very pleased with himself for causing it.
He kept searching until one particular record made him pause. Slowly, he pulled it free from the shelf.
“My Love Will Never Die,” he read under his breath.
You immediately groaned. “Oh my god.”
“What?” He asked, already grinning.
“You cannot be serious.”
He turned the sleeve over in his hands dramatically. “This is perfect.”
“It’s ancient.”
“Barely.”
“It literally belonged to my parents before I was born.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Classic.”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself while he carefully slid the vinyl from its sleeve. For all his usual recklessness, he handled it surprisingly gently.
“That thing’s older than both of us,” you whispered.
He glanced up at you while setting it onto the player. “Still works better than your dad’s rules.”
“You are obsessed with annoying him.”
“He makes it easy.”
A soft crackle filled the room as the needle settled. Eventually the music started low and warm, instantly making the whole room feel slower.
‘I know, I know I love you (love you)
And I really love you so, need you (love you)’
Something about it changed the atmosphere immediately. The teasing quieted a little and the darkness around you suddenly felt softer instead of sneaky.
Seonghyeon stood there for a second listening before turning toward you again and holding out his hand. “Dance with me.”
‘And I'll never let you go, honey (love you)
My love for you will never die, ooh, ooh’
You stared at him immediately. “Absolutely not.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Why not?”
“Because this is embarrassing.”
“It’s literally just dancing.”
“In my living room. At like one in the morning.”
“Exactly,” he whispered. “Makes it better.”
You crossed your arms. “No.”
“You dragged me downstairs.”
“That does not mean I owe you a dance.”
“You’re hurting my feelings.”
“You don’t have feelings.”
“Wow.”
You tried to stay serious, but his smile was already ruining it. Especially because he looked completely unashamed standing there holding his hand out like some dramatic movie character. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered.
“Still waiting.”
You let out a quiet sigh, already losing the argument.
‘So, come on over (love you)
I want you to hold my hand, tell me (love you)’
Before you could properly refuse again, he stepped closer and took your hand himself. Your stomach flipped stupidly fast at the contact. “You’re so annoying,” you whispered.
“You’re still dating me,” he murmured, pulling you gently toward him anyway.
One of his hands settled naturally against your waist whilst the other stayed wrapped loosely around yours, and just like that something softened. The teasing faded a little around the edges.
You could feel the warmth of him through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, could feel his thumb moving absently against your side while the music drifted quietly through the dark room.
Neither of you were really dancing properly. Just swaying slowly in place, being close enough that your slippers kept brushing against his socks every few seconds.
The floor creaked once beneath your feet and both of you froze instantly before trying not to laugh.
“Oh my god,” you whispered through a grin. “We’re actually going to get caught.”
“We’re fine.”
“That’s exactly what you said before my dad almost killed you.”
“He didn’t almost kill me.”
“He threw a shoe at your head.”
“And missed.”
You laughed quietly again, shaking your head as he smiled down at you.
‘That I'm your lover man, darling (love you)
My love for you will never die (ooh)’
For a little while, neither of you said anything after that. The music played softly around you while moonlight stretched across the floorboards. Somewhere outside, a car passed faintly in the distance before everything settled quiet again.
Seonghyeon looked down at you after a minute, his expression softer now, less teasing. “This song’s ridiculously old,” he murmured.
You glanced up at him. “You’re literally dancing to it.”
“Yeah,” he said easily. His hand shifted slightly at your waist, pulling you just a little closer. “Because you’re here.”
And somehow that was worse than his usual flirting, because he said it so simply like it wasn’t even a line to win you over, it was just the truth embedded so deeply into his soul he couldn’t help but share.
Your eyes dropped away from his immediately, warmth rushing into your face as you tried very hard to focus on literally anything else besides the way he was looking at you.
Which only made him smile a little more. You hated when he did that: looking at you like that afterward, all quiet and unfairly sincere, like he knew exactly what it did to you.
You glanced down at the front of his sweatshirt instead, fingers curling lightly into the fabric near his shoulder. “Don’t say stuff like that,” you muttered.
“Like what?”
“You know what.”
A small pause passed between you before he spoke again, quieter now: “You get shy.”
Your head snapped back up immediately. “I do not.”
“You do,” he whispered, smiling a little wider now. “Right now.”
“I’m literally looking at you.”
“Yeah, after avoiding eye contact for like thirty seconds.”
“It was not thirty seconds.”
“Mm.” He tilted his head slightly. “Felt long.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, but the effect was ruined by the fact that he was still holding you close in the middle of your dark living room while some ancient love song played softly behind him.
“This is why my dad doesn’t trust you,” you informed him.
“He didn’t trust me before this.”
“That’s true.”
“See?”
You shook your head, trying not to laugh again.
‘Love's so necessary (wow)
That's why I just gotta be your man, oh, come on’
The record crackled softly between verses, the sound warm and familiar in the quiet house. Seonghyeon swayed lazily with the music, more interested in watching you than actually dancing properly.
“You know,” he said after a moment, “your mom definitely knew we were gonna sneak downstairs.”
You looked up immediately. “No, she didn’t.”
“She definitely did.”
“She wouldn’t allow that.”
“She likes me.”
You snorted. “She tolerates you.”
“She offered me more dessert at dinner.”
“She felt bad for you because my dad kept threatening your life.”
“Still counts.”
You rolled your eyes, but he only grinned.
‘Oh, girl (love you)
I want you to hold me tightly, kiss me, baby (love you)’
The song kept playing low through the speakers while the two of you moved slowly across the living room in uneven little circles. Every now and then the floor creaked beneath your feet, and both of you would instinctively freeze before dissolving into muffled laughter when nobody came downstairs.
At some point, his hand slipped lower against your waist, settling against your hip.
“So this is your definition of ‘no funny business?’” You whispered.
His eyebrows lifted innocently. “We’re dancing.”
“You are absolutely pushing it.”
“Your dad specifically said no funny business upstairs.”
You stared at him and he stared back completely serious for about two seconds before the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Oh my god,” you whispered, trying not to laugh too loudly. “You’re horrible.”
“Still won you over though, huh.”
You groaned quietly, dropping your forehead briefly against his shoulder as he laughed softly under his breath, the sound warm and sleepy.
The living room smelled faintly like dust and laundry detergent and your father’s aftershave lingering in the furniture. Outside, wind brushed softly against the trees near the window, and somewhere far off, a car drove past on the main road. Everything felt suspended somehow, as though the whole world had gone quiet around the two of you.
Your eyes drifted half-shut for a second before you felt Seonghyeon shift slightly.
“You tired?” He whispered, his lips just grazing your hair as you hummed in response.
“A little.”
“You should sleep.”
“You first.”
“I’m not tired.”
“You yawned like six times during the movie.”
“That was acting.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him incredulously, your eyebrows drawing together. “Why would you fake being tired?”
He shrugged lightly. “Wanted your mom to think I was innocent.”
You stared at him in disbelief. “You are actually unbelievable.”
“Worked, though.”
“No it didn’t.”
“She called me sweet.”
“That’s because she doesn’t know you.”
He grinned. “You do.”
Unfortunately.
That stupid warm feeling hit your chest again. You looked away before he could notice it this time, but his hand squeezed lightly at your waist like maybe he already had.
‘And make me know how much you love me (love you)
My love for you will never die (ooh)’
The record neared its end, music softening under the crackle of vinyl, though neither of you moved to stop it.
Seonghyeon rested his chin lightly against the top of your head for a second, voice quieter when he spoke again. “You know your dad’s gonna blame me if we get caught down here.”
“He blames you for everything already.”
“Fair.”
“You breathed too loud at dinner and he looked ready to fight you.”
“I was nervous.”
You blinked, pulling back slightly. “You were nervous?”
“Yeah.”
“You? Nervous?”
He looked down at you like the answer was obvious. “Your dad scares me.”
You burst into quiet laughter immediately. “No, he doesn’t.”
“He threatened me with a garden tool last month.”
“That was one time.”
“It was a rake.”
“You survived.”
“Barely.”
You giggled slightly, forehead dropping against Seonghyeon’s shoulder for a second.
Upstairs, your father’s eyes opened immediately. He laid there for half a second, listening. Another faint laugh drifted up from downstairs and your father sat upright. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Beside him, your mother groaned softly, hands rising to rub her eyes. “What now?”
“They’re awake.”
He was already throwing the blankets off when your mother sat up and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t.”
“They’re downstairs.”
“So?”
“So?” He repeated in disbelief. “It’s one in the morning.”
Your mother squinted at him sleepily. “And?”
“And he’s down there with her.”
“You allowed him over.”
“That is suddenly feeling like a mistake.” Another muffled sound floated upstairs completely incoherent; for all he knew Seonghyeon could be plotting sneaking you out again. Your father pointed toward the floor. “You hear that?”
“I hear two teenagers.”
“I hear bad decisions.”
Your mother snorted softly, letting go of his wrist and lowering herself back onto the mattress. “You used to climb through my bedroom window.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Your mother smiled a little, already pulling the blankets back up. “Leave them alone. Let them have this.”
Your father stared at the bedroom door for another long second, clearly still considering marching downstairs anyway. Then he sighed heavily and dropped back onto the mattress. “If he breaks my record player, he’s dead.”
“Sure, honey.”
Your father grumbled something under his breath before dragging a pillow over the side of his head dramatically. “I don’t want to hear it,” he muttered.
Your mother laughed quietly beside him, reaching over to switch the lamp off again while downstairs, completely oblivious, the static kept playing softly through the house, the two of you in your own world.
"This is nice," Seonghyeon finally spoke again, his voice muffled against your hair.
"Mm."
"We should do this more often. It’s much easier sneaking downstairs than climbing through your window."
"You're going to get us killed."
"Worth it."
You pulled back just enough to look at him. The streetlight caught the side of his face, illuminating the soft curve of his smile and the way his eyes were half-closed like he was already half-asleep. You reached up and brushed his hair back from his forehead. It fell right back, the way it always did.
"Come on," you whispered. "We should actually go to bed. Before he comes down here with a baseball bat."
He groaned but let you step back. His hand lingered on your waist for a moment longer, then dropped to his side. You walked together to the stairs, your bare feet silent on the cold floor, his heavier behind you. At the top of the stairs, you stopped, turning back to face him.
"Goodnight," you whispered.
"Goodnight."
Neither of you moved.
"You first," he said, a soft smile resting on his face.
"No, you."
He smiled—that slow, lazy smile that always made your stomach flip. His eyes softened in the dim light, crinkling at the corners, and for a moment, he just looked at you like he was trying to memorise the shape of your face. As though he wanted to remember this exact second.
Then he leaned in.
His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, gentle but sure. His thumb brushed against your temple and you felt your eyes flutter closed before his lips even touched your skin.
When they did, it was soft. Softer than you expected. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, and they pressed against your forehead with a tenderness that made your chest ache. He stayed there longer than he needed to, just breathing you in, and his breath warmm against your hairline. You could feel the faint tremor in his fingers where they rested against your scalp, could feel the way his chest rose and fell with a slow, steady breath, like he was trying to steady himself.
Your own hands had found the fabric of his t-shirt at some point, your fingers curled into the soft cotton, holding on without meaning to. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and you never wanted to let go.
When he finally pulled back, it was slow, reluctant even. His lips brushed your skin one last time before he straightened, and his hand slid from your hair to your jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. His eyes were dark in the dim light, soft, and he looked at you as though you were something precious.
"Goodnight," he whispered. His voice was low, rough, barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat.
Then he let go. His hand dropped to his side and he took a step back, then another, his bare feet silent on the carpet. The hallway was dark, but you could see the outline of him: the slope of his shoulders, the mess of his hair, the way he kept his eyes on yours even as he moved away.
He reached the guest room doorway and paused. His hand rested on the frame. He looked back at you one last time, and something warm and unspoken passed between you.
Then, eventually, he stepped inside, and he was gone.
You walked to your room, climbed into your own bed, and pulled the blanket up to your chin, still feeling the warmth of his hands in your hair. The house was silent again, the needle of the vinyl player resting in the final groove, evidence of the events of what had just happened right under your father’s nose.
You closed your eyes and, for the first time all night, felt sleep pulling at the edges of your mind.
In the master bedroom, your father lay on his back with his arm over his eyes, pretending not to have heard the faint creak of the stairs twenty minutes ago. Beside him, your mother smiled into her pillow and said nothing.
The house settled. The night stretched on. And somewhere in the dark, two hearts beat in time, separated by only a hallway and a door that did little to contain the love you had for the boy on the other side.
۶ৎ ׂ 𓈒 Synopsis- You speak korean well enough to debut, but not well enough to feel fluent. James doesn't make it a big deal. He just stays close enough to make things easier. A word in Thai here a correction in Korean there, and suddenly nothing feels so overwhelming anymore.
۶ৎ ׂ 𓈒 Pairings- OT5 Cortis x 6th member!thai!fem reader
A/N This took me so long but im in a slump so i really hate it rahhh, but i had to post for yall. tysm so the person who requested this ik it took a while but ive been super busy and i did highkey change the plot alot but i still think its cute. ALSO JAMES BLONDE HAIR MEOWWW.
Based off this request.
James speaking soft Thai video.
“When is the next promo?” you asked, layed across the hotel bed.
“Tomorrow,” James answered from the desk, barely looking away from his laptop.
“Nah, Tomorrow?” You asked, sitting up quickly.
“Yeah, tomorrow. I told you to write it in your calendar,” Juhoon said from the other bed, not even glancing up from his phone.
You’d been hanging out in their hotel room for most of the evening. It was bigger than your own room, and honestly, you preferred the company. The managers weren’t exactly thrilled about the only girl in the group spending so much time in the boys hotel rooms, which was stupid since you were all in the same group, but no one tried stopping you anyway.
“I don’t have a calendar,” you shrugged.
Juhoon snorted. “I’m not surprised. You’re so unorganised.”
You sighed dramatically, puffing your cheeks out.
“I know” You groaned
James finally turned around in his chair to look at you.
“Why you so stressed about it?”
“I don’t know. My Korean gets really bad when I’m under pressure. In front of cameras it’s embarrassing, and I’m still learning.” You huffed, pulling a pillow into your lap.
“I can help you tomorrow if you forget something,” James said softly, giving you a reassuring nod.
“Yeah?”
“Translator,” he corrected, raising his eyebrows and pulling a weird face.
A smile slipped onto your face despite yourself.
“Ew,” Juhoon suddenly said.
“Ew what?” you asked.
He pointed between the two of you.
“Ew. You two.”
You rolled your eyes.
You never really understood what the others were always trying to imply whenever they teased you and James. To you, it was simple. He spoke Thai. You spoke Thai. He understood exactly how frustrating it was to stumble over Korean words in the middle of interviews and variety shows.
Of course you were close.
The others were reading too much into it.
"Why are you like this?” you asked Juhoon shaking your head in false dissapointment.
He shook his head dramatically. “I'm not like anything.”
You huffed.
James glanced between the two of you before turning back to his laptop, already looking fed up because he knew where this was going.
Juhoon pointed at him. “See? He knows what I’m talking about.”
“I promise he doesn't.” you sighed.
“The way he looks at you bro.”
James immediately groaned.
“Oh my God.”
“Ha what?” you laughed in response to Juhoon.
“Jju you need to go to sleep you must be having hallucinations” James shot back.
Juhoon sat up straighter pointing at James. “He's defensive.”
“Bro, stop.”
You looked between them, completely lost.
“You guys are hella weird.”
“Says you,” Juhoon replied.
“But seriously. James is just trying to help.”
Juhoon gave you a look that screamed you can’t be this oblivious.
You rolled your eyes again and moved the pillow off your lap.
“Jealous,” you accused.
“Of what?”
“Our friendship.”
James let out a laugh from behind you.
“There he goes again.”
“What?” you asked.
“Are you both like actually stupid,” Juhoon answered immediately.
You sighed in annoyance while James just blocked out the conversation behind him.
“You’re like really annoying by the way.”
“You're in our room mind you.”
You huffed, your lips trilling in annoyance.
“I’m leaving anyway. Gonna sleep.”
Juhoon nodded slowly, closing his eyes as if he’d just won a debate you weren’t even having.
“Goodnight, Jju,” you said sarcastically, irritation still lingering in your voice.
“Mm. Night.”
You turned toward the door before glancing back at James.
“ราตรีสวัสดิ์,” you said, your tone noticeably gentler.
James looked up from his laptop and turned in his chair. Seeing you standing in the doorway, one hand already on the handle, a small smile spread across his face.
“ราตรีสวัสดิ์,” he replied.
His voice came out softer than it had been all evening.
“Sleep well.”
“You too."
The second the door clicked closed, you missed the look Juhoon sent James.
A long, exaggerated eye roll.
-
Makeup and hair didn’t take long, which was a relief.
The less time you had to sit around waiting, the less time you had to worry about accidentally messing up your wording or completely forgetting a phrase halfway through the interview.
You were scrolling through your phone when Martin, who was sitting in the chair beside you, suddenly looked up.
“Y/N.”
You didn’t answer.
You already knew it was about to be some bullshit.
“Y/N.”
“What?” you finally sighed, looking up from your screen.
“Do you know where youre sitting for the interview?”
You shook your head, pressing your lips together.
“Nope I'm just gonna sit wherever they tell me to.”
“Bruh” He groaned throwing his head back dramatically, almost head butting the stylist.
You stared at him.
“Why does it even matter??”
"Because I don't want you and James sat next to each other, flirting for the whole interview"
“You guys actually need to stop with that."
"Bro when you two stop, we will."
You sighed in annoyance "I just don't understand why you guys think that."
"Oh my god." He spoke covering his face with his hands, light enough to be sure he didn't ruin the makeup.
"You all sound like Saesangs."
Before he could argue back, a staff member appeared in the doorway.
“Everyone, we’re ready. Please come to the studio.”
You stood up, fixing your shirt as Martin and Sean followed beside you. The other members had been getting ready in a different room on the opposite side of the studio, so you joined the stream of staff heading toward the set.
The moment you stepped into the studio, your stomach tightened.
Rows of cameras were already pointed toward the chairs arranged under the bright lights.
You weren’t new to interviews. You’d done plenty before.
But Korean interviews always made your nerves ten times worse.
In English, you could speak easily, but in Korean, every sentence felt like a test.
You worried about your pronunciation.
You worried about using the wrong grammar.
You worried about accidentally saying something weird and not realising until everyone was staring at you.
The members slowly found their assigned seats while staff rushed around making last-minute adjustments.
You followed the others, trying to act normal as you could while you looked for your name on a seat.
Then your eyes landed on it.
And immediately you let out a sigh.
Because the seat next to yours belonged to James.
“Oh.”
A small wave of relief washed over you before you could stop it.
At least if your brain completely stopped working, there’d be someone beside you who understood exactly what you were trying to say.
As you sat down, James glanced over.
“Are you nervous?” he spoke.
You nodded then tilted your head side to side.
“A little.”
“A little?” he repeated with a smile.
“Okay. A lot.”
His smile widened.
“You’ll be fine.”
You scoffed. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“No, really.”
He lowered his voice so only you could hear.
“If you get stuck, just look at me.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“What are you gonna do?”
“Telepathy.”
You snorted.
“James.”
“I’m serious.”
“I bet you don’t even know what that means, bro.”
“Then I’ll just tell you the word that youre stuck on.”
That earned a genuine smile from you.
The tension in your shoulders eased slightly.
Just enough for you to breathe again as the staff began counting down until filming started.
“What’s good, I’m Martin.”
“This is Keonho.”
“This is Sean.”
“I’m Juhoon.”
“Hi I’m Y/N.”
“James.”
“And we are CORTIS.”
You all spoke in unison.
Introductions weren’t hard for you, you did them almost every day now, so it was easy.
“Today we are here with W Korea and we are going to be answering some of your guys’ questions,” Martin spoke confidently in Korean toward the camera.
A couple questions passed easily, mostly light ones, the group relaxing into it as the cameras rolled.
Then Keonho looked down at the next card.
“Ah, this next one is for Y/N.”
You straightened slightly in your seat and nodded.
“What is it like being the only girl member in a group full of boys?” he read out.
You smiled a little to yourself, already knowing this one would take a bit.
“Ahh, this is going to be a long answer.” You smiled.
A few of them laughed quietly.
You took a breath, thinking.
“Well at first it felt like I was not going to get along with them since they already knew each other for a while and I was a...”
You paused, the word disappearing from your mind mid-sentence.
Your brows furrowed slightly.
You glanced over at James.
“การตัดสินใจฉุกเฉิน?” you asked quietly turning to look at him.
He nodded immediately.
“Last minute decision to join the group.” he told you gently, which didn’t go unnoticed by the members.
You pointed lightly at him.
“Yeah. A last-minute decision to join the group.”
A couple of the members hummed in agreement, already following your story.
“But honestly,” you continued, relaxing a bit more now, “it was harder in my head than in real life. I thought I was going to feel left out because they already had their own dynamic, but they actually made it really easy for me.”
“They help me a lot,” you added, smiling more softly now. “I learn a lot from them. So it didn’t take long for me to feel comfortable.”
Sean nodded. “She adjusted faster than we thought, honestly.”
“Yeah,” you agreed.
“You were just loud and outgoing from day one,” Martin added.
“I have never been loud.”
“You were loud.” Juhoon agreed.
“The first day living in the dorms she started screaming because of a bug.” Martin added.
“You and James were screaming too bro. And it was a flying stinging bug.” You said matter of factly, like that made it any better.
Martin and Seonghyeon tried to hold in their laugh.
"ในภาษาเกาหลีมันคือ wasps" James told you, nodding his head like he was a teacher correcting a young student.
"Ohh sorry wasps" you nodded, before smiling at James thankfully.
You didn't see the looks the members were giving eachother beside you, which might've been for the best.
Keonho cleared his throat and smoothly moved to the next card before it could spiral.
“Okay, next question.”
“Who was the easiest member to warm up to?”
Martin immediately shifted in his seat, putting a hand on his chin dramatically.
“Aish, this is hard.”
“No it’s not,” Sean laughed.
Martin ignored him.
“But for me, probably Keonho at first.”
Keonho nodded.
“For me it was Seonghyeon and Martin.”
Martin immediately held his hand out for a dap up.
Keonho looked at it, then looked away.
The group laughed as Martin slowly lowered his hand.
“That’s crazy.”
Juhoon shook his head.
“I think Martin was easy to talk to at first because he’s really like confident.”
Martin pointed at him.
“Exactly.”
The Woman behind the camera then looked down the line.
“What about you, Y/N?”
You thought for a moment.
“Probably James and Martin.”
Martin nodded immediately.
“Yeah, I can see that.”
“And you, James?” the woman asked.
“Ah probably Y/N.”
You smiled automatically.
The other members exchanged quick looks, though they were subtle enough to miss if someone wasn’t paying attention.
Martin laughed.
“Honestly, that surprised me at first.”
You looked over.
“Why?”
“When we all first met James he was really closed off, and then when Y/N joined he was more like weird”
"Thanks bro" James said in English, half sarcastically.
“Might be weird, but we real.”
You blinked.
Martin had already moved on to explaining, speaking quickly in Korean.
You caught bits and pieces of it, but not enough to fully understand.
Your eyes drifted to James.
“What did he say?”
A small smile appeared on his face.
"เขาบอกว่าเราเคยพูดคุยกันมากในอดีตและว่าฉันแปลก"
(He said we talked a lot, and that im weird.)
“Ohh.”
You nodded.
“That’s true.”
“Very detailed answer,” Sean said.
You pointed at James.
“He gave me the short version.”
“I bet he lied about what he said.”
“Aish be quiet.”
Some of the camera crew laughed at the exchange.
After a couple more questions, the interview wrapped up.
Everyone thanked the crew, bowed to the staff, and made their way out of the building toward the waiting vans.
“Flying stinging bugs,” Martin mocked, trying, and failing, to keep a straight face.
You immediately groaned.
“Bruh, shut up. I swear I'll beat your ass.”
The phrase had sounded perfectly reasonable in your head at the time.
Unfortunately, Korean didn’t work that way.
The members laughed while walking across the parking lot.
“Yah, Y/N,” Seonghyeon called. “Maybe you should get a Korean tutor.”
You rolled your eyes.
“It’s too late. She’s beyond help,” Martin added.
You smacked the back of his shoulder.
“Ow!”
“Deserved.”
“James is basically my tutor anyway. I don’t need one.”
“Fire him, dawg.”
You laughed despite yourself.
The conversation died down as everyone climbed into the van.
Like usual, you ended up in the back next to James.
Most of the members immediately disappeared into their phones. A couple put headphones in. Someone near the front was already half asleep.
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