My cozy corner.

I am here to stay!..Probably? 23.

[icouldntcareless22]

Series 📺

The girlfriend wannabe

One shots🎬

Han Jisung: Mrs Grinch & Mr Sunshine grumpy!reader x sunshine!Jisung Lee Felix:

I will remember you part 2

Extraordinary you!Au x Zombie Apocalypse!Au

Kim Seungmin:

The Deal The Deal (2)

University!Au

Recs🎞️

I will be reblogging fanfics I enjoy that I want to share! If I reblog your give and you don't like it, please DM me so I can remove you.

[jungkoode]

ALTARS IN SHALLOW WATERS | 18

pairing: taehyung x f!reader | rating: 18+ | wc: 8,063 | warnings: here genre: stalker!tae, ballerina!reader, paris, psychological, dark romance

"blue"

"You receive an offer from the Royal Ballet, recommend the only dancer you consider worthy of standing beside you, and discover that Taehyung has unexpectedly strong opinions about French pastry. He also has opinions about pale blue lingerie. Getting him to admit either requires approximately the same amount of coercion."

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➤ author's note: Hi, my little gremlins. I’ve returned bearing career opportunities, psychological warfare, and one extremely distressed man trapped inside a lingerie shop. You’re welcome.

First of all: LONDON. Our girl has spent her entire life treating ambition like a blood sport, and now the Royal Ballet has finally come knocking. I really wanted the opening scene to remind everyone that Pearl’s obsession with Taehyung hasn’t made her any less terrifyingly competent. She’s still exceptional. She still knows it.

And then she recommends Léa. Pearl voluntarily creating space beside herself for another woman instead of guarding every opportunity like a starving animal is… kind of huge, actually. I really wanted to work on that little subplot as well, of her slowly stopping seeing women as competition. Unfortunately, any emotional maturity she displayed in that office was immediately cancelled out by dragging Taehyung into a lingerie shop and studying his nervous breakdown. He survived the mannequins. He survived the lace. He did not survive being asked which panties he preferred. Rest in peace, babygirl. He died coral and clutching her scarf.

Then we have the chocolatine discourse, which is obviously the most important ideological conflict in the entire story hehehehe. For my non-French speakers: there is an ongoing, passionately defended cultural war in France over what to call that little pastry with chocolate inside. In most of the country, it’s pain au chocolat. In the southwest—Bordeaux, where Pearl’s from—it’s chocolatine. People will argue about this like it’s a matter of national identity. Families have fallen. Friendships have ended. I’m only slightly exaggerating. So yes, this relationship will absolutely live or die on whether Taehyung can accept Pearl calling it chocolatine. He cannot. This frightened little man found his spine exclusively to defend the words pain au chocolat, and honestly? Good for him.

More seriously, this chapter matters because Pearl does something nobody’s properly done for him before: she challenges the internal logic of his shame instead of merely soothing the distress it causes. She doesn’t tell him he’s clean because she feels sorry for him. She makes him confront the contradiction. If touching her can’t diminish her, then his desire can’t possess the contaminating power he’s assigned to it. That doesn’t magically undo his OCD, his compulsions, or the history beneath them—but it destabilizes one of the rules he’s built his entire private cosmology around.

Now, whether Pearl giving him permission to masturbate while offering to ‘supervise’ is therapeutic intervention or psychosexual terrorism is between her, me God, and the French healthcare system.

Also, yes. She found the praise kink. She found the mommy kink. She immediately weaponized both. And yup, if you were waiting for the mommy kink to finally make its appearance, well—you’re in luck! Pearl doesn’t believe in leaving buttons unpressed, and Taehyung apparently came equipped with an entire control panel.

Anyway. London is approaching. Taehyung now has her number. The blue set exists. The burgundy surprise also exists. And ‘Nereid’ is now sitting among the four contacts on his tragic little default phone screen like an unexploded devotional device.

Nothing bad could possibly happen. (or could it?)

The Royal Ballet crest sits embossed on the folder in front of you, and for three full seconds you forget how to arrange your hands.

The chairs in Madame’s office are as stiff as always, the ones that force posture.

You don't need the help, but you notice the two people across from you do.

The man adjusts his position twice in the first minute. The woman doesn't.

You like her immediately.

"Thank you for making time on short notice, Mademoiselle."

The woman speaks first. English, clipped but warm enough. Early fifties, silver-streaked hair pulled into a chignon that wouldn't embarrass a principal. Her name is Catherine Ashworth—Associate Director, listed on the card she slid across Madame's desk when introductions were made. The man beside her is James Whitfield, Ballet Master, quiet-eyed and taking notes in a Moleskine with handwriting you can't read from this angle.

"Of course," you say.

English doesn't take effort for you to form in your mouth, the vowels simply tighten and the consonants land cleaner.

It's the accent you spent two summers in London perfecting.

"It's a privilege."

Catherine opens the folder. You catch a glimpse of printed stills—rehearsal footage, frozen mid-arabesque, mid-port de bras. Your body on paper, dissected into moments.

"Your Ondine rehearsal footage is impressive," she says, turning one of the stills toward you as a reference point rather than a compliment. "The emotional depth is unusual for someone at your stage. Technically you're where we'd expect a soloist at this level—clean, consistent, excellent line. But the interpretive work is what flagged you for us. The first-act variation in particular."

You know which one she means.

The solo where Ondine discovers her own reflection.

You'd rehearsed it twenty-six times.

"Thank you."

"We've been watching the academy's output for the past three seasons," James adds, glancing up from his notebook. Softer voice. Midlands accent flattened by years in London. "Madame Villon has been generous with footage and reports. You've been on our radar since your Giselle Act Two last spring."

Since Giselle.

Eight months. They've been watching you for eight months and you didn't know.

Your spine straightens by a millimetre. Involuntary.

Madame sits at the edge of her own desk, blinking slowly in that way she does when she's already made her decision.

She says nothing. She doesn't need to. Her silence is its own kind of endorsement.

"We'd like to discuss your future with the company," Catherine continues. "After this season's production concludes, of course. We don't poach mid-run." A small, professional smile. "But the timing works well. Our intake cycle opens in June. We'd be looking at an Artist contract initially—standard entry for external recruits—with a six-month assessment period."

Artist of The Royal Ballet.

Entry level, yes.

But entry level at Covent Garden is not entry level.

It is the door that Margot Fonteyn walked through. Darcey Bussell. Sylvie Guillem, who left the Opéra de Paris for exactly this door.

You know the trajectory.

Artist to First Artist in two years if you perform. Soloist within four. Principal within six, if you're exceptional.

And you are exceptional. That's not arrogance. It's the same assessment you apply to your développé: either the line is correct or it isn't.

For you, it is.

"I'd be honoured to discuss it," you say, hands folded in your lap, perfectly still.

After Ondine.

Five weeks until Ondine decides whether London is real.

Five weeks until the role you've been shaping your body around becomes the audition tape for the rest of your life.

Five weeks until London—grey skies, the Thames, studios that smell different from these ones, an entirely new architecture of expectation.

You've been waiting for something like this since you were thirteen and your mother drove you to Bordeaux for your first serious audition, and you stood in a hallway full of girls who all looked like you and thought: 'I will outlast every single one of them.'

You have.

Catherine leans back slightly, exchanges a glance with James. Then looks right back at you.

"There's one additional consideration," she says. "We're restructuring our soloist pairings for the next season. Gildo—our current principal—needs a new partner for the autumn programme. We'd ideally bring in two dancers who complement each other technically. Different strengths, cohesive line when partnered."

She turns to Madame.

"You mentioned you had several dancers worth considering for the secondary position. We'd love to see some footage, if you have recommendations."

Madame nods. Crosses to her desktop and angles the monitor toward the table. "I've prepared clips of four candidates. All upper academy, all in their final year."

The footage begins. Amélie first—strong jumps, musicality slightly behind the beat in allegro. Then Manon—beautiful extensions but her transitions between movements read rehearsed rather than inhabited. Camille next.

You watch without expression.

Camille is good. That's always been the particular cruelty of competing with her—she's good. Her Kitri variation is technically accomplished, her fouettés land clean.

But her artistry is a costume. It'd the performance of emotion rather than the experience of it. The smile that arrives half a beat too early because she's anticipating the musical phrase rather than responding to it. The port de bras that follows the choreography instead of growing from it.

Good is not what the Royal Ballet keeps.

"If I may," you say.

The room shifts its attention.

"Léa Moreau." The name leaves your mouth before you've fully decided to say it. "She's not in Madame's selection, but she should be."

Madame's eyebrow lifts—not in disapproval, in interest.

"She's a lyrical dancer. Her technical ceiling is slightly below Camille's in allegro, but her adagio work is the strongest in the academy. Her line in sustained movement is exceptional—long phrasing, very musical, never rushes transitions." You pause. Consider. "And she listens. Her partnering instinct is genuine. She adjusts to whoever she's working with, not the other way around."

You don't say that she roasts chestnuts with honey in the dorm kitchen and never asks questions she doesn't want honest answers to and once covered for your missed curfew without being asked.

You don't say she is the only person in this building you've never wanted to destroy.

"She's gentle," you add. "It reads as generosity onstage. Audiences trust her immediately."

Catherine writes something on the margin of her folder. James looks at Madame.

"I have footage of her Lilac Fairy from last season's showcase," Madame says, and there's approval in her voice—or its closest relative.

She pulls up the file.

The clip plays. Léa in lavender, bourréeing across the stage as though the floor is grateful for her feet.

Catherine watches the full ninety seconds without looking away.

"Lovely," she says.

"We'll review her profile," James adds, closing his notebook. "Madame, if you could send the full footage packages to our offices by end of week?"

"Of course."

They stand. Handshakes—Catherine's firm and dry, James's briefer. Madame walks them toward the door. Catherine turns back to you once more.

"Five weeks, Mademoiselle. We'll be watching Ondine closely. Dance it like it matters."

"I always do," you say.

The door clicks shut.

You sit in Madame's stiff-backed chair for four more seconds.

You recommended Léa.

You recommended another dancer—voluntarily, unprompted—for an opportunity that could have been leveraged, hoarded, traded.

You could have said nothing. Could have let the four preselected names stand, let the competition sort itself.

You don't interrogate why it wasn't the case.

Simply, you stand, smooth your skirt, and walk out of Madame's office into the corridor.

Five weeks.

London.

The smile arrives before you can arrange it into anything controlled. Small. Private. Tugging at one corner of your mouth like a thread pulled from inside.

You let it stay.

You've always known fear is physical, and you see it now in his fingers.

His hand is shaking in yours—a feeble tremor that starts somewhere in his wrist and travels outward into his fingers.

It's not the cold, because the gloves handle exactly that.

It is something else entirely, something that started approximately four seconds after you reached over and took his hand at the mouth of Passage des Panoramas and has not stopped since.

Interesting.

The Passage swallows you both in its amber warmth, the vaulted glass ceiling sharing the view into the obsidian December sky above.

The Christmas spirit has colonized every shopfront—gilt garland looped between old brass signs, window displays gone saturated with red and green, a string of miniature lights running the length of the upper gallery like a second ceiling of stars.

The smell of it is specific: roasted sugar from somewhere deeper in the arcade, old paper from the stamp dealers, coffee from the brasserie at the corner, and underneath all of it the faint mineral damp of the mosaic floor from where heels have tracked in the outside wet.

You like this passage. You've come here alone before, walked the length of it for no particular reason except the way sound changes inside—crowd noise buffered, swallowed, outside city reduced to a mere murmur.

However, given the dates, currently it's filled with people in every centimetre of available space: families with strollers that take up full aisle-width, a group of tourists photographing the ceiling, couples moving slowly, arms linked, window-shopping with a leisure you've never quite understood.

Taehyung's hand tightens on yours.

You glance up.

He's looking straight ahead. His jaw is set. His shoulders have crept toward his ears in a slow, unconscious migration and his free hand is fisted in his coat pocket. His breath comes through his nose, hushed but hurried—the same pattern you use during a technically demanding phrase when you need oxygen and silence simultaneously.

Counting, probably. Or trying to.

"Too many people?" you ask.

"No," he says, immediately, and then flinches at his own automatic deflection. "I mean—it's—fine. It's fine."

It's not fine. His hand just communicated that clearly.

You stop walking, which causes a small ripple of irritation from a man with a large shopping bag who has to navigate around you. You ignore him. You reach up and unwrap your scarf—pale grey wool, wrapped twice this morning against the biting cold—and loop it around Taehyung's neck instead.

He startles. His chin drops to look at the fabric settling against his coat.

"Pearl, your—you'll be—"

"I'm warm." This is not entirely true, but you have better circulation than he does and this is non-negotiable. "Stop talking."

You tuck the ends into his collar. His throat moves in a swallow and you feel it before you pull your hands away.

"You have the thread," you say, lower. "On your wrist. Yeah?"

He looks down. His glove covers it, obviously, but you both know it's there. The pink cotton sitting against his pulse, soaked with your perfume.

He nods, the motion small, slow, like confirming something that matters.

"So you're going to be fine," you say. "The people can't actually touch you."

He nods again. His shoulders descend by a fraction.

The crowd eddies around you and he holds your hand like it's the thread—like if he keeps the grip steady the rest of it will stay manageable.

You resume walking, and this time you set the pace. Slower than your usual. Enough that he doesn't have to rush, doesn't have to calculate trajectories through moving bodies, can simply follow the direction your hand gives him.

You pass the stamp dealer, the old print shop, a window full of vintage perfume bottles clouded amber. He notices the perfume bottles—you catch his gaze snagging on them for two seconds before he redirects forward.

Noted.

The hosiery shop sits three-quarters down the passage, between a bistro and a dealer in old theatre programmes. The window display is modest—a mannequin in a black bodysuit, three pairs of tights displayed on small wooden stands, a hand-lettered sign advertising lingerie, pantyhose, accessories in looping script. Warm light inside. Small enough that the crowd doesn't press at its entrance.

You feel the exact moment he reads the sign.

His hand doesn't just tremble. It seizes.

"I'll—" He stops walking. His whole body stops, actually, a full halt in the flow of the arcade. "I can—I can wait outside, I'll—there's that bench by the print shop, I saw it, I'll just—"

You don't let go of his hand.

"Come on."

"Pearl—" Horror. Actual horror in his voice, coloring it a full shade more desperate. "It's a—it's—I can't go in there, those are—"

"Tights. I need new tights." You tilt your head toward the door. "I go through two pairs a week. It's a supply issue."

"But—but the—the window—"

The mannequin. He cannot look at the mannequin. His face has gone the full coral, blazing from his cheekbones through his ears and flooding down his neck into your scarf, and his free hand has come out of his pocket to grab his coat hem instead.

You could let him wait on the bench.

That would be reasonable.

That would be the logical, efficient choice.

But the expression on his face is the single most endearing thing you've seen since he told you your breasts feel like clouds, and there is not a force in this city sufficient to make you let him out of your sight right now.

"Taehyung."

He makes a sound like you've condemned him.

You pull him through the door. He makes it two steps inside before his body forgets how to walk.

His hand clamps down on yours, every finger locked like he's decided this is the handhold he lives or dies by. The woman behind the counter looks up from her tissue-wrapping, takes in the two of you—his face a full-body emergency, your expression entirely serene—and returns to her work with all the profound disinterest of someone who has seen everything this shop can produce.

You look around.

Racks of garments hang in careful arrangements by colour: ivory at the far wall, jewel tones in the middle, the softer pastels toward the window. Everything lace and satin and thin ribbon, every hanger something he is currently refusing to look at directly.

There are no tights.

"They don't have what I need," you observe, scanning the room. "I should have a look around anyway."

His exhale is a religious experience. A full, shuddering collapse of air from lungs that had been holding on for dear life.

You walk toward the ivory wall, pulling him along.

The first thing that catches your attention is a set displayed on a stand at eye level: ivory satin and scalloped lace, a bustier cut with wide satin bows knotted at each cup. Architectural and soft at once. The matching bottom is a high-cut lace thong with a small bow at the center front, paired with a low-slung garter piece. Everything cream-toned, warm white, the lace beneath the satin panels almost transparent.

You reach out with your free hand and touch the fabric.

"Pretty," you say, to no one in particular.

He makes a sound that is not a word.

You turn to look at him.

His face is extraordinary.

The coral has gone past the nose and cheekbones and ears, flooding down his neck and is visibly heating the air around his collar. His free hand is fisted in the hem of your scarf where it hangs loose around his neck, and his jaw is locked in the position of someone actively preventing their own teeth from chattering. His eyes are fixed somewhere near the base of the display stand, refusing elevation.

Cute.

Devastatingly, infuriatingly cute.

You want to take a picture and stare at it for the rest of the season.

"What colour do you like?" you ask.

His head jerks toward you. Away. Back. The fringe falls forward.

"I—I d-don't—that's not—I'm not supposed to—"

"On me," you clarify. Helpfully.

The sound he makes has no linguistic content. His free hand grabs your coat instead of the scarf, knuckles blanching.

"Selkie."

He exhales like you've wounded him.

"B—" It gets stuck. He tries again. "B-blue."

His voice comes out barely above a murmur, and his fringe is fully covering his eyes now, chin angled down.

"Blue. You—y-you'd be… pretty. Blue."

You look toward the pastel end of the room.

There, against the left wall: a pale blue set, the particular shade of early morning water, of the underside of a wave.

The bra is lace over an underwired structure, two wrap-around satin ribbons crossing at the ribcage in an X before meeting the matching bottom. The lace is floral, delicate. The bottom comes in two options displayed side by side—a plain thong in matching lace, and a tie-side version with long pale blue satin bows at each hip.

You walk toward it.

He follows. He has no choice, architecturally.

You look at the two bottoms.

"Which one," you say.

He is staring at the floor between your feet.

"Second one," he says, so quietly you almost miss it.

"The bows?"

He nods. Once. Hard.

You take the set from the rack. He's warm through the glove. Almost feverish.

You turn, because you are a person who looks at a whole room before making decisions, and your gaze travels the middle section of the rack.

A burgundy set, deep plum-wine lace, floral pattern cutting through with some transparency, the whole bodysuit structure rising into double satin straps that cross the chest in a way that owes more to architecture than clothing. Garter straps dropping from the hemline. The sheer quality of the lace is such that you'd be visible through it, shape and shadow both, fabric existing less to cover and more to frame.

Then you half-turn to where he's standing beside you.

His gaze has drifted upward. He's seen it.

The sound he makes is a choke. A genuine, full-throat choke, like something went down wrong. His hand seizes yours hard enough that you feel the individual bones of your fingers compress.

Interesting.

You say nothing. You turn away from the burgundy set and move toward the counter.

"I'm going to pay," you tell him. "Look around. If there's anything else you like." A pause. "I'll buy it."

His hand tightens immediately. A frantic, reflexive clamp.

"N-no," he says. "No, I—please. Please don't let go."

"Behave."

"P-please." Quieter. Urgent. "Please, I—p-please don't make me—I don't want to—please—"

He is begging you not to release his hand in a lingerie shop.

He would, you note, genuinely rather stand here holding your hand than browse freely. He is holding onto you the way drowning people hold on to things.

You look at him for a moment.

His eyes are enormous and wet at the edges and the coral is so intense it looks like you could warm your hands on it.

You smile.

Then you uncurl your fingers from his.

He stands there. Adrift. Both hands now fallen to his sides, one still warm from yours, chest rising and falling in the short, helpless rhythm of someone who has been set loose in a room and told to function.

The saleswoman has already located the blue set in your size from the display model—she's seen you looking, seen the way you held the fabric. She sets it on the tissue without comment.

You pay. Card, tap, done.

Then, you glance back at the burgundy bodysuit and the lady quickly gathers it and wraps it in tissue as well.

Once done, you pick both bags up and turn.

He's standing in the exact same spot you left him in. He hasn't moved a centimetre. His beanie, which had been tucked in his coat pocket, is now pulled down over his ears, presumably because he needed to put his hands somewhere and that is what they found.

He looks like a very tall, very coral, very distressed person who has been waiting for a rescue that isn't coming.

You click your tongue twice. The same sound, the same rhythm as before.

His head comes up.

You extend your free hand, palm up.

He crosses to you in four steps and takes it.

"You bought the tights?" he asks, voice still rougher than usual, not quite recovered.

"No."

"Oh." He processes this, thumb moving against the back of your hand, absent, involuntary. "Then what did you—"

"Something you liked." You push through the door back into the passage, and the amber warmth follows you out into the cooler arcade air.

He looks away from you immediately. Finds a fixed point somewhere near the mosaic floor and pins his attention there. His free hand comes up and burrows into the end of your scarf, pulling it higher around his chin.

"I didn't say—I wasn't trying to—"

"You said blue. You said pretty."

His jaw closes. Opens. Closes again.

"And something else," you add. "Little surprise."

The noise he makes is muffled because he has pulled your scarf up over the lower half of his face and is currently attempting to disappear inside it. His beanie comes down another centimetre. Only his eyes are visible—the mole beneath his right lash catching the passage light.

You walk, and he walks beside you, and the Christmas crowd moves around the two of you like water around something fixed.

Your grandmother was a woman of extremely limited wisdom except in two areas: posture and pastry.

You set both coffees down on the small table outside the boulangerie—two metal chairs, a heater above that provides mostly theatre—and push the paper bag toward him.

He's been sitting with his spine very straight and both your shopping bags arranged carefully at his feet, handles upright, equidistant from each other. Guarding them. Like if he moves a centimetre the bags might run off.

"Chocolatine," you say. "Here."

He looks at the bag. Looks at you. Looks at the bag again.

"N-no, it's okay, I don't—huh?"

"Take it."

His hand extends reflexively, the way it always does when you tell him to do something. Fingers close around the paper. He opens it, looks inside at the laminated pastry layers, the dark chocolate visible at the cross-section where it was cut.

"I didn't—you didn't have to—"

"Taehyung."

"Right." He swallows. "Thank you."

You wrap both hands around your coffee and watch him over the rim.

He lifts the pastry out of the bag. Takes a small bite. His eyes close for half a second—involuntary, the way eyes close when something is actually good and the body reports back before the brain can censor it.

Then he opens them.

"It's pain au chocolat," he says.

You pause.

"What?"

His chewing becomes slower. "Pain au chocolat. Not—it's not called—" He breathes. "It's pain au chocolat."

You look at him.

He is flushed from forehead to collar and his hands have found the hem of the paper bag and are doing something destructive to it and his fringe is a full curtain over his eyes and he is absolutely, unmistakably, not backing down.

You set your coffee down.

"I grew up calling it a chocolatine."

"I—yes." His head dips lower. "I know. It's—in the south they—" He stops again. Starts again. "In Bordeaux. They say chocolatine in Bordeaux."

"And everywhere reasonable."

"That's—" His jaw does the thing again. "Th-that's not—"

"Everywhere reasonable, Moss."

"It's pain au chocolat." The words come out quiet, unhurried, with a conviction so total and so un-Taehyung that it briefly reorganizes the air between you.

His shoulders are up around his ears and his knuckles have gone white on the bag and he is staring at the tabletop with complete focus, but he said it.

He said it plainly and he did not take it back.

You stare at him.

He stares at the table.

"Hm," you say.

This apparently registers as dangerous because his head comes up fractionally, just enough for you to see the lower half of his face past the ashy curtains of hair.

His mouth is pressed shut. He looks like a man who has survived a wrecked ship and cannot yet confirm whether he's been hit.

"So you can talk back," you say.

"I—no—I'm sorry. I'm—you're not wrong, it's just—it's a regional—it's a name, it doesn't—I'm not—" He exhales, long and thin. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize for having an opinion."

His fringe sways.

"It's pain au chocolat," he says again, smaller. Like he can't help it.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

"Where I'm from," you say, "every boulangerie, every grandmother, every market—"

“Chocolatine is a Southwest word,” he says, something tentative in his voice; like a door opened a centimetre and he’s speaking through the gap before he loses his nerve. “It came from—in the south there was—the suffix, -ine, like amandine, like nougatine. They just—”

He stops. His hands are shaking slightly on the table.

“Sorry. I—Mamie. She used to tell me about the—about how words travel. Along borders."

Mamie.

He said the name like it comes from somewhere deeper than the conversation.

"Your grandmother," you say.

He nods. One small, single motion.

"She was—she knew a lot of things like that."

His thumb traces the edge of the bag.

"About words. Where they come from." A pause. "She grew up near Lyon. But she—she loved to know where things came from. She said—"

He stops. Exhales.

"She said Paris has this habit of deciding it invented everything."

You look at him.

He is staring at the pastry in his hand. His fringe is still down. But his shoulders have dropped, just slightly, half a centimetre away from his ears.

"She sounds correct," you say.

The corner of his mouth moves. Barely. A flicker that doesn't quite become anything but almost does.

"She was," he says. "Usually."

The passage crowd moves past the edge of the side street in its Christmas-fogged drift, indifferent.

"I'm not calling it pain au chocolat," you say.

"I know." He takes another small bite. "That's—it's fine."

"It's not fine. It's incorrect. It’s chcoolatine."

"It's the correct name—"

"Moss."

"It's pain au chocolat."

"You said that."

"I'm saying it again." His voice has that quality again—the one that appeared when he first corrected you, that strange, braced conviction sitting under three layers of nervous energy. "It's—the lady at the counter. She understood what you meant but she wrote pain au chocolat on the bag. You can see it. Right there."

He points at the bag. There is, in fact, pain au chocolat written on the bag.

"I asked for a chocolatine," you say. "She gave me one. Transaction complete."

"She was—" He stops. Presses his lips together. "She was just being polite. It's pain au chocolat."

"Say chocolatine," you say.

He blinks.

"Say it."

"I—" He shifts in his seat. "That's—I can't."

"Can't?"

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

His mouth opens. Closes.

His fringe sways as he looks down at the table. His fingers find the edge of the ruined paper bag.

"Can't—"

You reach across the table.

Your thumb finds the corner of his mouth—a small smear of chocolate sitting at the very edge of his lower lip, left from his last bite.

You swipe it clean in one motion, pull your hand back, and lick it off your thumb.

He stares at your mouth.

The coral comes back so fast it looks like a tide coming in. His ears, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose—all of it, immediate. The paper bag crinkles once, softly, as his hands go still.

He looks back down at the table.

"...Won't," he says. Very quietly.

You bite the inside of your cheek.

"Be a good boy," you say, "and say chocolatine."

He makes a sound. Not quite a word. Not quite not a word.

His hands come up and he presses both forearms crossed against the table and then puts his forehead down on them, face-first, fringe pooling across his wrists, and stays there.

Hidden. Completely hidden.

"That's—" His voice comes out muffled by his own arms. "That's not fair. You're—" His shoulders shift. "Pearl."

"Hm?"

"You're not—you can't just—the word good boy in that—in that voice—" He stops. Revises. "It's not fair."

"I'll reward you," you say.

He goes very still.

Useful.

You observe all of him—the lowered head, the forearms crossed on the table, the scarf pulled high as if the wool could do the work his nervous system refuses to do.

He is listening with his whole body now—not just the words themselves, but the cadence, the tone, tje temperature of them.

So praise works.

You knew that already.

He reacts to approval wrapped in softness. In something that sounds less like a command and more like care, which is a distinction you're just beginning to map.

You tap one nail slightly against the cup.

"Would you like that?" you say.

His head lifts up a fraction—enough for you to see one eye through the fall of his fringe.

"Wh-what?"

"A reward." You tilt your head. "For being good."

His eyelashes flutter for a second.

"Y-yes," he replies, and the word comes out damaged. "I m-mean—if you—if you wanted to."

If you wanted to.

As if your wanting isn't the only reason any of this is happening.

You want to press deeper into the bruise now that the pattern is laid out for you to appreciate.

That's how the word presents itself after that. A role with its hands already pressed around his throat.

You let one beat pass. Then another. Long enough for him to feel the delay.

Then, soft as anything, you say:

"Mommy will reward you."

The sound he makes is not audible so much as felt. A full-body something, transmitted through the metal table, his forearms on the surface conducting whatever that was into the furniture and out through the legs and into the stone below.

He does not raise his head.

His ears are the colour of something that has been burning for a while.

"Don't," he says, into his own arms.

"Don't what?"

"Don't say that." Still muffled. Still not looking up. His fingers have curled against his own wrists, gripping the sleeve of his coat. "You—I—when you s-say—please. Please."

He sounds genuinely beseeching. He sounds like someone who has been handed a problem that exceeds his current processing capacity and has no idea how to file it. He sounds like he is one more syllable from sliding entirely under the table.

The ashy ends of his hair splayed across his forearms come to life under the passage light making it through the window.

"So it works," you observe.

His head lifts off his arms slowly, like he’s not sure he heard you properly, fringe crushed in odd directions against his skin. There's a pink line printed across his forehead where his sleeve pressed into it. His eyebrows pull up in the middle before they pull together, a small crease forming between them.

Puppy.

That’s the only word for it.

“What works?” he asks. Quiet. Earnest.

“Nothing.”

“Pearl.”

“Hm?”

“…What works?”

You take a sip of your coffee. Watch him over the rim. His hands have found the edge of the paper bag again and are doing small, unconscious damage to it, pleating and unpleating the same fold.

“You really want to know?”

He nods. Shy. The fringe falls forward by itself, the way it always does, as though gravity has decided his hair belongs in front of his eyes and not away from it.

You set the cup down.

“Come here.”

He comes.

Not in the way he usually complies—the bracing-for-impact flinch, the obedient approach that reads like penance. This time his hands fly down and he slides his chair two centimetres closer and then stops, like he's hit an invisible line and can't decide whether crossing it is allowed.

When he settles, his knees are almost touching yours under the table. He keeps his hands folded in his lap, out of sight.

"Closer."

His eyes flick up.

He moves the chair one more centimetre.

"Taehyung."

"I'm—I'm close."

"Mm."

You lean forward, slightly. Both elbows on the table. Chin resting on the backs of your folded hands. So close that the steam off his coffee fogs the space between you, that he has nowhere to put his eyes except on your mouth or on the table.

And the table has been thoroughly examined already.

He picks the table nevertheless.

"Praise," you say.

His fringe shifts. "I—what?"

"You react to praise. When I call you good." You watch his throat move. "That's what works."

His hands, under the table, do something you can feel in the small vibration running up the leg and into the metal surface.

"I don't—" He stops. Starts again. "I don't know what you mean."

"You do."

"I—"

"Taehyung."

"Pearl, please—"

"Say it."

His head dips lower. The fringe takes over.

"When you—" He swallows. The sound is audible. "When you say—that word. Those words. It—" He stops. His shoulders are creeping again. "I don't know how to—I don't know what to do."

"Which words."

"Please—"

"Which ones, Moss."

A long pause while a scooter passes the mouth of the side street and its engine fades into the arcade's muffled sounds.

"Good," he says. Very quietly. "When you—say I'm good."

"And?"

He hesitates.

Then: "Mommy."

You feel your canines throb.

"Louder."

"I can't."

"Yes you can."

"Pearl—"

"Try."

"M—" He swallows. The coral deepens by an entire shade. "Mommy. When you—when you say mommy. That one."

You lean back a fraction. Just enough that he can breathe without your breath touching his face.

He looks like he needs the centimetre.

He does not, in fact, use it to breathe.

He uses it to pull the sleeve of his sweater down over his hand, as if needing a physical barrier between himself and the air. Wool over glove. Double insulation.

You don't fully understand why.

"Hands."

"What?"

"Why are the gloves still on."

He swallows.

"It's—cold."

"We're under a heater."

"The—the heater is—"

"Taehyung."

His jaw closes.

"I don't want to get you dirty," he says.

It comes out so quietly that if the passage crowd had been louder you'd have lost it.

You look at him.

You think about the stairwell. You think about the pink thread on his wrist. You think about the way he flinched earlier when a man with a shopping bag had to navigate around the two of you—not from the jostle, from the proximity. You think about the bleach smell that clings to his shirts even after they've been washed. You think about how, when you reached across the table to take the chocolate off his mouth, he'd stared at your thumb like you'd just completed a religious rite.

"You think you're dirty," you state.

His whole body flinches. The chair scrapes back a millimetre.

"That's—"

"I'm not asking. I'm telling you what I've observed." You interrupt him. "You think you're dirty, and you think everything you touch gets dirty, and that includes me."

His shoulders are up around his ears and his fringe is a full curtain and he is, visibly, trying to decide whether to leave the table.

"Pearl—"

"I'm not done."

He freezes.

"You're wrong."

His breath catches. You can hear it.

"You're wrong about the direction of it. I don't know where you got the map, but it's upside down." You tilt your head. "I'm the one who took your hand in the passage. I'm the one who put the scarf on you. I'm the one who walked you into the shop and picked out something blue because you said blue and pretty in the same sentence and I wanted to see what your face did. That's not something happening to me. That's something I'm choosing."

He is not breathing. You can see he is not breathing.

"Nothing about you contaminates me." You say it flat. Like a fact. Like the line is correct or it isn't. "Are you listening?"

He nods. The fringe moves with it.

"Say it."

He seems to struggle to gather courage for a bit, until:

"N-nothing about me contaminates you."

"Good boy."

He ducks his head.

You want to bite him.

You want to bite him specifically on the soft part of his neck just under the jaw, where the coral is flooding strongest. The urge is not abstract. It is a physical thing sitting low in your stomach, and it has been getting worse for weeks, and today—today, in the shop, with his hand clamped around yours hard enough to compress bone, with his voice going to pieces over the word blue—today it crossed from occasional to problematic.

You pick up your coffee. You take a sip. You do not bite him.

Yet.

"So here's what's going to happen," you say.

His eyes drop to your mouth.

"You're going to finish your pastry. You're going to carry the bags home for me because you've been guarding them like they're state property and I'd hate to interrupt the mission." A pause. "And then you're going to go home."

He nods. Small. Agreeable. Not yet tracking.

"And you're going to get into bed." You keep your voice level, low, the same register you used for ‘good boy’. "And you're going to wash your hands first, because you probably wash your hands when you get home."

His throat moves.

"And you're going to try very hard not to think about the blue set."

His hand comes up. Fists in the hem of your scarf where it's still wrapped around his throat. He pulls it up to his chin.

"Pearl—"

"And you're going to fail." You tilt your head. "You're going to lie there and you're going to think about it. You're going to think about how the ribbons cross at the ribs. You're going to think about the bow at the hip. You're going to think about me putting it on."

His other hand has come to the hem of his sweater. Pulling. A specific downward tug of the wool over his lap.

He does it when his body has done something he wishes it hadn't.

You bite the inside of your cheek so hard you taste copper.

He is so endearing it's starting to feel like a personal injury.

The urge to sink teeth onto the exact spot where his pulse is kicking under the scarf and leave a mark he'll have to look at for a week and call it his own fault resurfaces again.

You hold it back and it feels like containing a wave.

"And you're going to get hard," you say, soft and gentle. "And you're going to feel awful about it."

His exhale is a small, wrecked thing.

"You're going to feel—what's the word you use. In your head." You lean in another centimetre. "Filthy?"

His eyes close.

"Disgusting?"

"Pearl, please—"

"Unworthy?"

"Please—"

"You're going to feel like you've done something terrible, because you're lying there hard over a girl who, in your head, you still don't think you're allowed to want like that. Even though that girl bought you a pain au chocolat this afternoon and made you say which panties you liked on her."

The sound he makes is almost a sob and lands in the exact space between the two where breath stops working.

"And you're going to try to stop." You watch his face. "And you're not going to be able to."

His head is fully down again. His hand has not let go of the sweater hem. His other hand, the one not occupied with the scarf, has gone back into his lap and you know—you know with the particular clarity of someone who has been paying attention for weeks—that it is flat against his thigh, not moving, held there by force of will.

Good.

"And afterwards," you say, softer still, "you're going to get up. You're going to strip the bed. You're going to put your sheets in the sink because you don't like using the machine for certain things, and you're going to scrub your hands until they hurt. Maybe you'll use bleach."

His shoulders are shaking again, though it’s not crying.

"And you're going to tell yourself you've done something unforgivable." You pause. "Because you got hard over a girl you think is clean."

"Pearl—" His voice is gone. It comes out shredded. "Please—please stop—"

"Am I wrong?"

A long silence.

"No," he whispers.

"Look at me."

He doesn't.

"Moss. Look at me."

He does. Barely. Over the edge of the scarf, through the fringe, just enough that you get his eyes.

They're enormous and wet and the coral has painted him from collar to hairline.

"Moss."

"Mm."

"I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to think about it before you answer."

He nods. Small.

"You've cupped my tits."

His whole body flinches like you've slapped the table.

"Pearl—"

"Let me finish."

His jaw closes.

"You've cupped my tits. You humped my leg until you came in your pants and I felt it through the denim." You glance at your cup. "I've had your cock in my mouth. I've swallowed."

His gloved hand spasms once on the table. His other hand, you know without looking, is doing the sweater thing again.

"Does that make me dirty?”

His face does something you've never seen it do before.

It's not the coral. It's under the coral.

A full-body negation, a no that travels from his scalp down through his shoulders into his hands. His eyes go wide and wet and the shake in them is the same shake that's in his glove.

"No." It comes out immediate. Total. Un-hedged. "No. No. No—Pearl, you're—you're not—you could never—no—"

"Sure?"

"You—" He's babbling now, genuinely babbling, the words falling out faster than he can shape them. "You're—you're the cleanest—you're—the cleanest thing. You're—I don't—you couldn't get dirty—it's not—it doesn't work like that, you're not—you couldn't—Pearl, no—"

"So none of it dirtied me."

"No—"

"Not my tits in your hands."

His head shakes. Hard. Fringe flying.

"Not your cum in my mouth."

"Pearl—"

"Answer me."

"No—no it didn't—you're not—"

"Then explain to me," you say, "the direction of the mess."

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it.

Nothing comes out.

You can see the specific, panicked math of a man whose entire cosmology has just been asked to account for itself and is discovering it cannot.

You don't let him off.

"If I'm clean, Moss—" you lick your lips "—and your hands have been on me, and your mouth has been on me, and your cock has been in my mouth, and I'm still clean—"

"Please—"

"Where does the dirt go."

"Pearl—"

"Where does it go."

"I—I don't—I don't know—"

"Think."

"I—I can't—"

"You can."

His hand fists in the sweater.

"I—" he tries, voice shredded. "I—it's—I'm the—I'm the one—it's me, it's always—it's me, it doesn't—"

"So it stays on you?"

"Yes—"

"And doesn't transfer."

"Yes—" He swallows. "I mean—I—I don't know—I don't—I try to—"

"Mm."

You lean back. Pick up your coffee. Take a sip. Let him sit in the unfinished sentence.

"Here's what I've decided," you say.

His eyes come up.

"You're allowed."

His brow pulls together. Small crease forming between his eyebrows. Confused.

"Allowed—"

"To want me. To think about me. To touch yourself thinking about me. You're allowed. You don't have to clean it off afterwards. You don't have to apologize for it. You don't have to scrub it out of yourself."

"I'm—" It comes out in a cracked whisper. "I'm allowed?"

The tone itself lands somewhere warm in your lower abdomen.

The specific, disbelieving register of a boy who has just been handed something he did not expect to be handed in his lifetime and is asking you to confirm you meant it.

"Mm. Allowed."

"But—"

"No but."

"But I—"

"No, Moss."

He swallows. The throat moves all the way down into the scarf. His fringe falls forward and he does not push it back.

You watch him for another beat.

Then you lean in one more centimetre and you drop the register.

"Of course," you say, "if you're going to do it anyway, I'd rather supervise."

His head jerks up.

"Supervise—"

"If you say chocolatine," you say, "I'll give you my number. And tonight, when you fail not to think about me, I’ll call. And I'll tell you what to do with your hands."

He stares at you.

His eyes are enormous right now, almost doe-like.

Big and wet and catching the window-light through the side street, the mole under his lower lash standing out against all that coral, fringe at half-mast, the brow still pulled into that small confused crease.

If he had a tail it would be definitely wagging.

"Really?" he says.

It comes out so small. So earnest. The hopeful, cracked version of the word, like he's asking you to confirm that gravity has been suspended just for him.

You smirk.

"So you are a pervert after all."

"I—"

"It's fine." You wave a hand, small, dismissive. "Mommy likes it when you get like that."

He makes a sound that is not a sound but a full-body something. The wool-tenting situation under the table gets measurably worse. His hand is back in the sweater hem, pulling it down, and the other hand has gone somewhere out of sight.

"Chocolatine, Moss."

"I—"

"Now."

A beat. The heater clicks.

"...Chocolatine."

It comes out the way you knew it would. Soft. Barely there. The final syllable eaten by the fringe.

"Good boy."

He closes his eyes.

"Phone."

His gloved hand goes to his pocket on reflex.

The phone comes out. Old model, scuffed case, the kind of screen that has a thin crack running from the top corner.

He sets it on the table between you.

The lock screen is a plain grey. No wallpaper. No photo. A single, sad little default.

You don't comment.

You glance up. "Code."

"...Zero-seven-zero-seven."

Of course.

You type it. The home screen opens and it is as empty as the lock screen—a grid of default apps, no folders, no rearrangement, nothing added.

You go into contacts.

There are four.

His mother. Marcel. Mamie. And Kirby.

Kirby?

The contact photo is a low-resolution image of a round pink cartoon creature with round pink cheeks. Saved, you note, with a heart emoji. Pink.

You close your eyes for half a second. Open them.

Do not grimace. Do not grimace. Do not—

You almost grimace.

You tap New Contact. You type your number from memory. You tap the name field.

You save yourself as Nereid🩷.

You hand the phone back to him.

He takes it. Looks at it. Stares.

"Don't lose it," you say.

"I—I won't."

"Don't save me under anything else."

"No. No, I won't. I—" He stops. Swallows. "I won't."

You stand.

You do it with a quick, girlish flourish—one smooth motion up out of the chair, a small toss of your hair off the back of your coat, a quarter-turn toward the mouth of the side street.

He is still sitting. Frozen. The phone in his gloved hand, the pastry bag destroyed at his elbow, your scarf around his neck, his sweater pulled down over his lap in a configuration he clearly believes is subtle.

You turn back to him.

"Well?"

"I—"

"Grab the bags."

"Y-yes—"

"Hold my hand."

"Yes—"

"Walk me home."

He stumbles up out of the chair so fast it scrapes the stone. Both shopping bags in one gloved hand, handles gathered, arranged upright dutifully. The phone goes back into his pocket and is immediately patted to confirm it's still there. He checks. Pats again.

"Y-yes—yes, of course—" He crosses to you in two strides. "Yes. Yes."

His free hand comes out.

You take it.

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© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[jungkoode]

25H 16 | teaser

✧ main story ✧ wc: 13.5k ✧ pairing: yoongi x f!reader ✧ rating: 18+. ✧ genre: dystopian, sci-fi, cyberpunk, starcrossed/fated lovers

♾️ rundown ;

"Working at the Chrono Monitoring Center means following one rule: time doesn't break. But when you catch Min Yoongi's golden eyes across a frozen room, you realize there might be more about CHRONOS than meets the eye. Some patterns are written in time itself—no matter how many infinite symbols it takes."

Then, somewhere above and behind you, comes a sound that does not belong to any tactical framework you have ever been briefed on.

“WOOOOHOOOO—”

Your head turns before your analysis catches up.

<Jungkook,> Taehyung says, in the channel, with the dread of a man who recognizes a specific genre of incoming disaster.

<Okay so don’t be mad—>

<What. Was. That.>

<There’s an Outlier in the market! Like forty meters out, northeast, I caught their signature when we split up. Ice, Tae. ICE. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve gotten to grab ice?>

You process this in layers.

Layer one: Jungkook’s mimicry does not require visual contact. Proximity to an Outlier’s signature is sufficient. Somewhere in this market, a stranger is going about their afternoon with no idea their dimensional frequency has just been borrowed by a very enthusiastic guy.

Layer two: Kairos sit below civilian perception and outside CHRONOS detection architecture entirely. Which means no monitoring grid will flag the ice.

Layer three—and this is the layer that spikes your threat assessment—the ice is invisible to civilians. Jungkook is not.

Which means, to any citizen who happens to glance up, there is no ramp, no crystal, no manifestation.

There is simply a grown man in a bomber jacket banking through open air two meters above the stall line in broad daylight, supported by nothing, whooping.

<Jungkook. You are a visible flying man.>

<I am ABOVE the awning line,> he says, wounded, like he prepared this defense in advance.

➜ Coming: This weekend <3

Early access on Ko-fi!

Don’t forget to vote ⭐️ last chapter on wattpad!

[madaboutminho]

The Bet (AU)

Pairing: student!yang jeongin x student!reader

Summary: all you ever were to Jeongin was a bet, right?

Warnings: angst, heartbreak, panic attacks, anxiety, swearing, bullying basically

Word count: 19.7k. [holy shit, I know]

a/n: so I wrote this about a month ago and never posted it because I couldn’t find the right time but I’m off to Disney for a week so this is a nice filler post!

That first “I love you” had knocked the air right out of your lungs.

It wasn’t because you hadn’t wanted to hear it—God, you had—but because it was Yang Jeongin saying it. Jeongin, with his stupidly pretty smile and effortless charm, who could walk through the halls and have heads turning without even trying. Jeongin, who somehow looked just as good in a wrinkled hoodie at eight in the morning as he did dressed up for a date. Jeongin, who had chosen you.

You still remembered the exact moment he’d said it.

You’d been sat on the swings in the park near your flat, the chains creaking softly as the two of you swayed back and forth under the orange glow of the streetlights. It had been late, later than either of you should’ve been out on a school night, and your fingers were tucked inside the sleeve of his hoodie because you’d forgotten your coat again. Jeongin had laughed at you for that, of course, before shrugging off the hoodie and forcing it over your head despite your weak protests that he’d be cold.

He’d just looked at you then—really looked at you, with that quiet softness he only ever seemed to have around you—and smiled.

“I love you, you know.”

You’d genuinely thought you’d misheard him.

Your swing had slowed to a stop as your eyes widened. “What?”

Jeongin’s ears had gone pink, but he’d still held your gaze, still smiled that tiny, nervous smile that made your chest ache. “I said I love you.”

And because apparently your brain had decided to abandon you in your moment of need, all you’d managed was a stunned, breathless, “Why?”

The second the word left your mouth, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

But Jeongin hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t looked offended. If anything, his expression had softened even more, eyes going warm as he stepped off his swing and crouched in front of yours, slotting himself between your knees so he could take your hands in his.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he’d asked gently, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re kind. You’re funny when you forget to be shy. You remember tiny things I tell you that even I forget. You always make sure I’ve eaten when I’m busy, and you pretend not to care but you worry about everyone all the time.” He’d squeezed your hands when your eyes started stinging. “And you look at me like I’m someone worth loving. So yeah. I love you.”

You’d cried. Not cute, movie-style crying either. Actual tears, face burning, trying to hide in the sleeves of his hoodie while Jeongin laughed softly and wiped under your eyes with his thumbs. He’d kissed your cheeks and the tip of your nose and told you that you were ridiculous in the fondest voice imaginable, and then he’d pulled you into his lap on the swing like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That had been a month ago now, and somehow, even after six months together, it still didn’t feel real.

You still caught yourself staring at him across the cafeteria while he sat with his friends, sunlight catching in his hair as he laughed at something one of them said, and thought, he’s my boyfriend. You still felt a jolt of disbelief every time he reached for your hand under the desk in class or kissed your temple in the corridor without caring who saw. You still expected someone to tap you on the shoulder and tell you there’d been some kind of mistake.

Because you were still just… you.

Still awkward. Still quiet. Still the girl who overthought every text before sending it and hated raising her hand in class and had to rehearse what to say before ordering coffee. You weren’t one of the pretty, effortless girls who usually orbited boys like Jeongin. You didn’t know how to flirt properly, and half the time you were convinced you only got by on sheer luck and Jeongin’s apparently terrible taste in women. Yet every day, he chose you anyway.

Sometimes it showed up in big ways—like him turning up at your flat with your favourite snacks after you’d had a bad exam, or dragging you out to watch the sunset because he said you’d been cooped up too long. But mostly, it was in the small things. The way he always walked on the outside of the pavement without even thinking about it. The way he’d wordlessly tug your hand into the pocket of his coat when it was cold. The way he never let go first when you hugged him. The way he’d learned exactly how to calm you down when your anxiety got too loud—guiding you somewhere quiet, rubbing circles into your wrist, talking softly until your breathing evened out again.

And maybe that was why it still felt so unreal. Because Jeongin didn’t treat you like some charity case or a secret or a phase. He treated you like someone precious. Like someone worth being gentle with.

You were thinking about all of this as you stood at your locker after lunch, trying and failing to remember which textbook you actually needed for your next class.

Your fingers hovered uselessly over a pile of notebooks as voices and footsteps echoed through the corridor around you. You could feel yourself getting flustered already, brain fogging over from the noise, and you were just about to give up and take all of them when a familiar hand slid around your waist.

You startled so badly you nearly smacked your head on the locker door.

A laugh sounded by your ear. “Easy.”

You twisted around to find Jeongin grinning at you, his tie already loose despite the fact there were still two lessons left in the day. His hair was a mess from where he’d clearly been running his hands through it, and there was a tiny smear of pen ink on the side of his hand.

You stared at him for a second too long and you saw the moment his grin softened into something fond. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Heat crept into your cheeks. “I was just thinking.”

“Dangerous.” He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before glancing into your locker. “Why do you have every book you own in here?”

“I can’t remember what I need.”

Jeongin hummed, utterly unbothered, and reached past you to scan your timetable pinned to the inside of the door. “English, right?”

“I think so.”

He pulled out the correct textbook immediately and handed it to you with a look that was half amused, half affectionate. “Good thing you’re cute.”

Your face burned hotter. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He said it with complete confidence, like it was the most obvious fact in the world.

And the worst part was, he was right.

You took the book from him, muttering a weak thanks, and Jeongin just smiled wider before resting his chin on the top of your head. People brushed past in the corridor, some of them glancing your way, and the old self-consciousness tried to creep in at the edges of your mind.

Jeongin must have noticed the way you stiffened, because his hand at your waist squeezed gently.

“You okay?”

You nodded automatically, but he tipped his head, clearly unconvinced.

“You sure?”

There it was again—that quiet softness, that careful attention he always paid to the things you tried to hide.

You looked down at the textbook in your hands. “I just… still don’t get it sometimes.”

“Get what?”

You hesitated, then forced yourself to meet his eyes. “Why you like me.”

Jeongin’s expression changed instantly. Not annoyed, not exasperated—just tender in a way that made your throat tighten.

He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “You still doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Acting like it’s weird that I’m obsessed with you.”

Despite yourself, you huffed a tiny laugh. “Obsessed is a strong word.”

“It’s an accurate word.” He said it so seriously that you snorted, and his mouth twitched. “I like you because you’re you. I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s true.”

You looked away, embarrassed by how much those simple words affected you.

Jeongin nudged your chin back toward him with two fingers. “Hey.”

“What?”

“I mean it.” His voice dropped, soft enough that the corridor noise seemed to blur around the edges. “I know you don’t see yourself the way I do. But that doesn’t make me wrong.”

Your eyes stung unexpectedly, and Jeongin noticed immediately, just like he always does. His face went alarmed for half a second.

“Oh no, don’t cry at school, I’ll fight someone.”

A watery laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Who are you going to fight? Me?”

“If necessary.”

“That’s not very boyfriend of you.”

“Actually, it’s extremely boyfriend of me. I’m defending my girlfriend from her own terrible opinions.”

You laughed properly then, shaking your head, and Jeongin visibly relaxed at the sound. He smiled too, small and warm, before leaning down to press his forehead to yours.

“I love you,” he murmured, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “Even when you’re being annoying about it.”

Your breath caught. It still did that every time. Even after a month of hearing it, even after saying it back enough times that the words should’ve settled comfortably by now, they still landed in your chest like something fragile and precious.

You curled your fingers into the front of his blazer. “I love you too.”

Jeongin’s smile turned so bright it made your heart ache. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He kissed you then—quick and sweet because you were in the middle of school and because if he kissed you any longer you were pretty sure you’d actually combust on the spot. When he pulled back, he stayed close enough that his nose brushed yours.

“Good,” he said softly. “Because you’re stuck with me.”

And maybe, six months in, you still didn’t fully understand how someone like Jeongin had fallen in love with someone like you. Maybe part of you still waited for the dream to break. But as he took your hand and laced your fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world, leading you down the corridor toward class with that easy warmth only he seemed to have, you thought that maybe understanding it didn’t matter as much as you’d always assumed.

Jeongin loved you. For some miraculous, incomprehensible reason, he did. And maybe—just maybe—you were starting to believe that was enough.

You’d never been to one of Jeongin’s parties before. In six months of dating him, you had always found an excuse. Too much homework. A headache. Your social battery already dead from school. A family thing. Anything to avoid stepping into a house full of loud music, drunk strangers, and the kind of attention that made your skin feel too tight.

Jeongin had never pushed. He’d pout sometimes, tugging at your hand and telling you he wanted to show you off properly, but the second you looked even a little overwhelmed, he’d kiss your forehead and let it go.

So no—parties were not your thing.

But tonight felt different.

Maybe it was because your parents were out of town and you were lonely. Maybe it was because you were tired of feeling like the timid little shadow trailing behind your own life. Maybe it was because Jeongin had been so busy the last couple of weeks—football training, study sessions, his friends constantly dragging him around—that you’d barely had any proper time alone with him. Maybe it was because some ugly, insecure part of you hated that there was this whole side of his life you’d never seen, a side full of people who knew him in loud rooms and flashing lights while you only ever seemed to get the quiet leftovers.

Or maybe you’d just wanted to prove to yourself that you could do one scary thing for once.

Whatever the reason, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror at eight-thirty on a Friday night, staring at a version of yourself you barely recognised.

You’d changed outfits four times. The discarded clothes were in a heap on your bed, and your room looked like a small disaster zone, but eventually you’d settled on a black top with a neckline lower than anything you usually wore and a skirt that made your legs look longer than they actually were. You’d even put makeup on—nothing dramatic, just enough concealer and mascara and lip gloss that your reflection looked softer, prettier, a little less like the nervous girl who always hid in oversized hoodies. You’d spent ten minutes just looking at yourself afterwards, trying to decide if it was ridiculous. In the end, you’d grabbed your coat before you could change your mind.

The whole drive there, your stomach twisted itself into tighter and tighter knots. You almost asked the taxi to turn around twice. By the time you were standing outside the house, music thudding so loudly you could feel the bass through the pavement, your palms were damp and your heart was beating way too fast. Coloured lights flashed behind the downstairs windows. People spilled in and out of the front door, laughing too loudly, drinks in hand, cigarette smoke curling into the cold night air.

You stood on the pavement for a full minute, frozen before you thought of Jeongin’s face when he saw you. You imagined him grinning, surprised and pleased, maybe pulling you into his arms and telling you how pretty you looked. Maybe kissing your cheek in front of everyone. Maybe introducing you properly, proud and warm and gentle in the way he always was with you.

That image alone was enough to get your feet moving.

You stepped inside; the house was chaos.

Bodies packed shoulder to shoulder in the living room, music blaring from speakers so loud it rattled in your chest, the air warm with alcohol and perfume and something sweetly sickly you couldn’t identify. Someone bumped your shoulder before you’d even fully closed the door behind you. You muttered an apology they definitely didn’t hear and pressed yourself closer to the wall, eyes darting over unfamiliar faces.

Your breathing had already started to go funny. It was too loud, too crowded. Too hot.

You reached for your phone instinctively, thumb hovering over Jeongin’s contact. Maybe you should text him. Tell him you were here and ask him to come find you before you lost your nerve entirely. You spotted a group of boys in the kitchen archway—faces you recognised from school, from the football pitch, from the cafeteria table Jeongin sat at when he wasn’t with you and realised you didn’t need to text him after all.

His friends were just there, and with them, leaning against the kitchen counter with a red plastic cup in one hand, was Jeongin.

Your heart gave a stupid, traitorous leap.

He looked unfairly good, of course he did. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, ginger hair falling messily over his forehead, the top few buttons of his shirt undone like he’d tugged at them in the heat of the house. He was listening to one of the boys talk, mouth curved in a distracted half-smile.

And hanging off his arm was a girl.

She was unfairly pretty. Tiny waist, glossy hair, perfect makeup. She was tucked against his side like she belonged there, fingers looped around his bicep as she laughed at something one of the boys said. Jeongin wasn’t touching her back, but he also wasn’t pulling away.

You stopped dead.

For one disorienting second, your brain tried to explain it away. Maybe she was drunk and clingy. Maybe she was someone’s little sister. Maybe you’d just walked in at a weird moment and Jeongin would shrug her off the second he noticed you. So you stayed where you were, hidden half behind the hallway wall, waiting for him to look up.

He didn’t.

One of his friends—Hyunwoo, you thought vaguely—snorted into his drink and said, far too loudly over the music, “I’m still saying you should’ve ended it after the first month. Six months is insane commitment for a stupid bet.”

Your body went cold. The world around you didn’t stop, exactly. The music still pounded. People still shouted and laughed and moved around you. But it all seemed to lurch sideways, sound muffling at the edges as if you’d suddenly been dropped underwater.

A bet.

Someone else laughed. “Nah, you don’t get it. He got attached to the role. Method acting and all that.”

There was more laughter as your eyes locked on Jeongin. He wasn’t laughing. If anything, he looked annoyed—brows drawn together, jaw tightening slightly as he took a sip from his cup. But he didn’t interrupt either. Didn’t tell them to shut up. Didn’t say they were wrong.

The girl on his arm giggled and nudged him with her shoulder. “Wait, seriously? You actually did that? That’s evil.”

Heat rushed to your face so fast it made you dizzy.

Hyunwoo grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “It was his idea? No—whose was it first?”

“Wasn’t mine,” another boy said. “I just said there was no way he could pull the shy girl.”

Shy girl.

Your stomach twisted so violently you thought you might actually throw up but they were still talking, still laughing at your expense.

Someone—maybe Minjae, maybe one of the others, you couldn’t even tell anymore because your ears were ringing—said it plainly, casually, like it was the funniest thing in the world. “Bet was just to see if he could get her into bed, wasn’t it?”

The whole room tilted. You looked at Jeongin again.

Please, you thought wildly. Please say something. Please laugh and say it’s bullshit. Please look disgusted. Please do anything.

Jeongin scrubbed a hand over his face, clearly uncomfortable now. “Can you not—”

But it was too late because you didn’t hear the rest. You didn’t hear whether he was going to deny it or shut them down or tell them to stop talking about you like that. All you heard was the confirmation already carved into your chest, cruel and immediate.

A bet.

A six-month joke.

A challenge.

How stupid had you been? How painfully, humiliatingly stupid?

Of course a guy like Yang Jeongin had never actually fallen for a girl like you. Of course there had to be a catch.

You thought of every time he’d looked at you softly, every whispered I love you, every kiss pressed to your forehead, every careful touch when your anxiety got bad, every tiny moment you’d tucked away like proof that someone like him could really want someone like you.

And suddenly, all of it felt rotten. Fake and manufactured. Something performed so well you’d been idiot enough to mistake it for love.

Your eyes burned.

Not here. Not here. Not here.

You took a shaky step backwards, then another, pulse roaring in your ears. Your hands were trembling so badly you almost dropped your phone trying to pull it from your pocket. You couldn’t breathe properly. The walls felt too close, the room too hot, your clothes suddenly wrong on your body, the makeup on your skin suffocating.

You shouldn’t have come. God, you shouldn’t have come.

You turned blindly, shoulder-checking someone hard enough that they swore at you, but you barely registered it. You just kept moving, head down, vision blurring, one hand clamped over your mouth to stop the horrible little sob trying to crawl out of you.

You were halfway down the hallway when you heard it - your name, Jeongin’s voice, sharp with confusion at first, then louder.

“Y/N?”

You flinched like you’d been hit.

Maybe he’d seen you. Maybe one of his friends had noticed. Maybe he was coming after you because he didn’t want you causing a scene. Maybe he was worried you’d tell someone and ruin the joke and ruin whatever image he had to protect.

You didn’t wait to find out.

You shoved through the front door so hard it slammed against the wall, the cold night air hitting your face like a slap. The sound of the party dulled behind you, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped. Your chest was too tight, your breaths coming in short, painful gasps that never seemed to reach your lungs.

“Y/N—wait!”

His footsteps pounded behind you on the front path as you stumbled down the drive, nearly twisting your ankle in shoes you were suddenly regretting, tears spilling properly now. Your phone screen swam in front of your eyes as you tried to unlock it, fingers slipping, thumb missing the numbers twice before you gave up entirely.

“Y/N, stop—”

A hand caught your wrist. You spun on instinct, ripping yourself free so violently it shocked even you.

“Don’t touch me.”

The words came out cracked and wet and barely recognisable as your own.

Jeongin froze.

He’d followed you out without a jacket, chest rising and falling hard, hair a mess from where he’d clearly run his hands through it. Up close, he looked panicked—actually panicked, eyes darting over your face as if trying to understand what the hell was happening.

And then his expression changed.

He looked at your makeup, your clothes, the tears running down your cheeks, and something awful like realisation hit him.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “You heard that.”

You laughed, and the sound was horrible - wet and choked off at the origin.

“I heard enough.”

“Y/N, no, listen to me—”

“No.” You backed away from him, hugging your arms around yourself so tightly it hurt. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you care.”

His face went white. “I do care.”

The sheer nerve of it made your vision blur again. “You were laughing about me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were standing there while your friends talked about me like I was some kind of challenge.” Your voice shook harder with every word, humiliation and hurt and fury all clawing up your throat at once. “A bet, Jeongin? Seriously?”

He took a step toward you, then stopped when you recoiled. His face crumpled in a way you couldn’t bear to look at.

“It started as a bet,” he said, and every single part of you shattered at once. “But it’s not like that now—”

You made a small, broken sound.

Not like that now.

As if that somehow made it better. As if you were supposed to be grateful that somewhere along the way, after lying to your face for six whole months, he’d apparently decided you were worth keeping around.

Jeongin realised what he’d said the second it landed. “No, no, that’s not what I meant—”

“Six months,” you whispered.

Your voice was so quiet he had to lean in slightly to hear you.

“Six months,” you repeated, staring at him through tears. “You told me you loved me.”

“I do.”

“Stop.” Your whole face twisted. “Please stop saying that.”

He looked like you’d slapped him.

You pressed the heel of your hand to your mouth, trying to hold yourself together and failing miserably. “Was everyone laughing at me this whole time? Is that what this is? Some joke I’m the only one not in on?”

“No.” His answer came immediately, fiercely. “No, never. I swear to you, no one’s been laughing at you.”

“I just saw them laughing, Jeongin.” Your voice cracked again. “They all knew, and I didn’t. You let me stand there and believe you actually wanted me, and all your friends knew the truth.”

Jeongin’s eyes were shining now too, whether with panic or guilt or something else entirely, you didn’t know. “I was going to tell you.”

“When?” you shot back. “After you’d slept with me? After you got bored? After graduation?”

He flinched and that, more than anything, made your stomach turn because flinching meant guilt. Flinching meant there was truth buried somewhere in all the things you were saying, and you couldn’t bear to dig through it, couldn’t bear to hear exactly how stupid you’d been.

A car pulled up at the curb behind you—a taxi someone else must have ordered—and you latched onto it like a lifeline. You stepped around Jeongin before he could react.

“Y/N, wait, please—”

You yanked the back door open, eyes avoiding his. “Just leave me alone.”

He caught the top of the door before you could slam it, not hard enough to stop you if you really wanted to close it, but enough to make you look at him one last time.

He looked wrecked. Not annoyed or caught out or defensive like you’d expected.

Wrecked.

His voice broke when he said your name. “Please let me explain.”

For one horrible second, your chest ached with the urge to let him. To hear him out. To let him tell you there was some context you were missing, some version of this that didn’t make you feel like your skin had been peeled off in public.

But then you remembered the kitchen. The laughter. The girl on his arm. The words shy girl said like a punchline. The way he’d admitted it—it started as a bet—without you even having to drag it out of him.

And whatever tiny piece of your heart was still trying to defend him finally gave up.

You shoved his hand off the door. “Go back to your party.”

Then you climbed into the taxi and slammed it shut.

Jeongin was still standing on the pavement when the car pulled away. You didn’t look back for long—just long enough to see him take a step after the car, one hand half-lifted like he didn’t know what to do with himself, his face pale under the streetlights. Then you turned away, curled in on yourself in the backseat, and cried so hard you could barely breathe.

The makeup you’d spent forty minutes doing was probably ruined, black mascara and wet foundation and smeared lip gloss all over your face. Your nice top felt too tight, your skirt too short, your skin wrong, your whole body burning with shame. You scrubbed at your cheeks with the sleeve of your coat and stared out of the window as the streetlights blurred past.

You’d really believed him, and that was the part that hurt most.

Not the humiliation of the bet, not even the image of that girl wrapped around his arm, but the fact that he’d made you feel safe enough to believe him. Safe enough to let him close. Safe enough to hand over all the soft, terrified parts of yourself you usually kept hidden because you were so scared of exactly this.

And he’d taken them anyway.

By the time you got home, your phone was vibrating nonstop in your lap.

Jeongin was blowing up your phone with texts and calls.

You didn’t read a single message.

You let yourself into your house with shaking hands, kicked off your shoes somewhere quietly near the door, and made it all the way to the bathroom before the first sob tore out of you loud enough to echo off the tiles.

The girl staring back at you in the mirror looked like a stranger. Mascara streaked under red-rimmed eyes. Foundation patchy where tears had carved through it. Hair falling out of place. Lip gloss gone. Pretty in the saddest, most pathetic way possible—as if dressing up had just made the whole thing crueller somehow. Like you’d wrapped your hope up in eyeliner and a skirt and walked it straight into a room full of people waiting to laugh.

Your phone was still buzzing crazily, this time on the sink where you’d left it when you’d reached the bathroom. With shaking fingers, you grabbed it.

Jeongin💕: please answer me

Jeongin💕: i’m coming to your house

Jeongin💕: please don’t lock me out. please just let me explain

Another message came through before you could even process that one.

Jeongin💕: i know i don’t deserve it but please

Your throat tightened. You turned the phone face down on the sink and gripped the edges hard enough for your knuckles to ache. You couldn’t do this tonight. You couldn’t hear his voice and listen to him say all the right things in that soft, careful tone and risk being weak enough to believe him again.

So when the buzzing started once more, you switched your phone off entirely. Then you slid down the bathroom wall, pressed your forehead to your knees, and sat there in your ruined makeup and party clothes while the silence closed in around you.

Six months.

Six months of first kisses and late-night phone calls and borrowed hoodies and whispered I love yous. Six months of thinking maybe, just maybe, someone like Jeongin could look at someone like you and mean it.

And now all you could think was that maybe the cruelest part wasn’t the bet.

Maybe the cruelest part was that for a little while, he’d made you believe you were enough.

You didn’t sleep, but it wasn’t from lack of trying.

You changed out of your party clothes with trembling hands, scrubbed your makeup off so hard your skin felt raw, crawled into bed and curled beneath your duvet with every light in your room switched off—but sleep never came. Every time you closed your eyes, you were back in that kitchen doorway.

The shy girl.

Just to see if he could get her into bed.

It started as a bet.

The words played over and over until they felt carved into the inside of your skull.

At some point, there had been knocking at your front door - soft at first, then louder, then desperate enough that you had to bite down on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying again.

“Y/N,” His voice drifted in through your open bedroom window from down below, voice hoarse and strained. “Please. I know you’re in there.”

You’d sat frozen on your bed, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the wall while he knocked.

“Please just let me explain.”

You were silent, part of you wishing he’d disappear whilst another part of you longed to open the door and throw yourself into his arms, longed to forget this whole night.

There was another knock.

“Y/N, please.”

You hadn’t moved. Hadn’t answered his calls, hadn’t replied to his messages, hadn’t gone to the door even when you heard him slide down against it on the other side and stay there long enough that the flat fell quiet around him.

Eventually, sometime after two in the morning, the knocking stopped.

You didn’t know when he finally left.

By the time your alarm went off, your eyes felt full of sand.

For one blissful, stupid second, you forgot. But then you saw your phone on the bedside table—still switched off, still face down—and it all came crashing back so hard it made you feel sick.

Your stomach turned and you lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and wondering if you could just stay in bed forever but knowing couldn’t.

School didn’t stop just because your boyfriend was never really yours to begin with.

So you dragged yourself up, showered in water that was too hot, and got dressed with the kind of numb, mechanical movements usually reserved for brushing your teeth. You picked the baggiest hoodie you owned, even though the weather was warming up, and a pair of jeans that hid as much of you as possible. You didn’t bother with makeup this time. There was no point trying to look pretty when you felt like a hollowed-out version of yourself.

You turned your phone back on only because you needed to check the time, and it lit up like a warning sign, messages flooding in so fast the screen almost froze.

Jeongin💕: please answer me

Jeongin💕: i’m outside your house

Jeongin 💕: please just tell me you’re okay

Jeongin 💕: i know you hate me right now but please let me explain

Jeongin 💕: i’m not leaving until i know you’re safe

Then, nearly an hour later:

Jeongin💕: your neighbour told me to go home

Despite everything, a horrible little laugh almost escaped you. You’d need to remember to apologise to your neighbour (but also to thank them).

The messages kept going.

Jeongin💕: i’m sorry

Jeongin💕: i’m so fucking sorry

Jeongin💕: please don’t ignore me at school. please.

That one made your chest tighten, the thought of seeing him in school nearly unbearable.

You locked your phone and shoved it into your bag without replying.

The walk into school felt like walking to your own execution.

Every step closer to the building made your pulse jump harder. Your eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, your stomach too unsettled for breakfast, and you could feel the fragile kind of composure you’d pieced together that morning threatening to crack with every passing second.

Maybe he wouldn’t be there yet, you told yourself. Maybe he’d be late. Maybe he’d be sick with guilt and stay home.

You knew better than to hope for that kind of mercy.

The second you stepped through the front gates, you saw him. Jeongin was standing halfway up the path to the main building like he’d been waiting there for hours, eyes scanning every face that came through the gates. The moment they landed on you, his entire body jolted.

He looked awful. Not in the dramatic, still-pretty way boys in films did after heartbreak. He looked genuinely wrecked. His hair was messy like he’d been dragging his hands through it all morning, his school tie hung loose and crooked, and there were dark shadows under his eyes that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday. He was pale, too, the kind of pale that made his freckles stand out sharply across his nose.

For a second, you stopped breathing before you dropped your gaze and kept walking.

“Y/N—”

His voice cracked around your name, the sound making you flinch. But you didn’t slow down.

Jeongin hurried after you, shoes slapping against the pavement. “Y/N, please, just let me talk to you.”

You tightened your grip on your bag strap and kept moving.

“Please.”

People were starting to look, but what else could you expect? Yang Jeongin chasing after the quiet girl in the oversized hoodie was always going to draw attention, and humiliation crawled hotly under your skin as whispers started to ripple around you. You could feel eyes on the back of your neck, hear the shift in tone from normal morning chatter to something curious, something hungry.

“Y/N.” He caught up enough to step in front of you.

You stopped so abruptly your shoulder nearly collided with his chest.

Up close, he looked even worse. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was something frantic in the way he was breathing, like he’d been holding himself together by threads ever since last night.

“Move,” you said quietly.

Jeongin’s face crumpled a little at the sound of your voice—flat, exhausted, nothing like the way you usually spoke to him.

“Please just give me five minutes.”

“No.”

“Y/N—”

“Move.”

He didn’t, but not because he was trying to intimidate you. If anything, he looked terrified of you. He stayed where he was, hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you and knew he couldn’t.

“I know how bad this looks—”

You laughed once, sharp and humourless. “Looks?”

His mouth snapped shut and you stepped around him. This time he didn’t try to block you, but he followed, close enough that you could hear every uneven breath.

“I came to your house,” he said quickly, as if you might not know. “I stayed for hours. I texted, I called, I—”

“I know.”

The words came out cold enough to make him go quiet. You kept your eyes fixed straight ahead as you climbed the stairs to the main building.

“I know you came,” you said. “I ignored you on purpose.”

The silence that followed was so abrupt it almost rang. When you finally glanced at him, Jeongin looked like you’d physically winded him.

“Oh.”

It was such a small sound, barely a word at all, but something inside your chest twisted painfully. You forced yourself to crush it before it could become pity.

“Yeah,” you said. “So take the hint.”

You turned and walked into the corridor. Jeongin stood there for half a second, stunned, before hurrying after you again.

The corridor was filling up fast now—lockers slamming, voices echoing, people drifting into classrooms—but the second Jeongin called your name again, it felt like the whole space tilted toward you.

“Please don’t do this.”

You spun around so quickly he nearly walked into you.

“Don’t do what?” you asked, keeping your voice low only because you were one second away from shattering and couldn’t bear the idea of everyone hearing it. “Ignore the fact that my boyfriend started dating me because of a bet?”

His face went white. A couple of nearby students glanced over.

Jeongin’s eyes darted around the corridor, panic flaring. “Can we not do this here?”

“Why?” You swallowed hard. “Worried people will hear?”

“No, I’m worried you’re upset and everyone’s staring.”

You almost laughed again. The nerve of him.

“They stared last night too, didn’t they?” you said. “Didn’t stop your friends.”

Jeongin’s whole expression twisted. “They’re not my friends right now.”

“Well, that’s convenient.”

“Y/N—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“You need to hear it,” he said, voice breaking with desperation. “Please. I know I fucked up, I know I should’ve told you, I know I should’ve shut it down the second they started talking, but please don’t look at me like this.”

Your throat tightened. “Like what?”

“Like I’m a stranger.”

The words hit harder than they should have. Maybe because that was exactly what this felt like. Like every version of Jeongin you thought you knew had peeled away overnight, leaving behind someone unrecognisable.

You looked at him properly then, taking in the red-rimmed eyes, the way his hands were trembling, the raw panic on his face. Six months ago, that expression would’ve destroyed you. Even a week ago, you would’ve reached for him without thinking. Now all it did was make you tired.

“You should’ve thought about that before you lied to me for half a year.”

Jeongin recoiled slightly.

“I didn’t lie about everything,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it.

You stared at him.

He swallowed hard. “What I feel for you—that’s real.”

Something ugly and wounded twisted in your chest.

“You don’t get to say that to me anymore.”

His eyes filled so fast it startled you.

He blinked hard, jaw clenching, and for a second he looked like he was physically trying to stop himself from falling apart in the middle of the corridor. “Then tell me what I do get to say, because I can’t just let you walk around thinking I never cared about you. I can’t let that be the last thing you believe about us.”

Us.

The word made your stomach lurch.

“There is no us.”

You saw the moment he broke. The composure Jeongin had been clinging to cracked clean down the middle. You saw it happen in real time—the way his shoulders dropped, the way the colour drained even further from his face, the way his mouth parted around a breath that sounded too shaky to be steady.

“Don’t say that.”

His voice was barely above a whisper, and you hated that it still hurt to hear him sound like that. You hated that some stupid part of you still wanted to comfort him even now, even after all of this, even when you were the one who’d spent the night crying on your bathroom floor because of him. So you did the only thing you could think of.

You hardened yourself against the desire to comfort him.

“I mean it.”

Jeongin shook his head immediately, frantic. “No, you don’t. You’re angry, and you should be, but please don’t say things you don’t mean.”

The disbelief of it almost knocked the breath out of you.

“Don’t tell me what I mean.”

“I’m not—I just—” He dragged a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “Please, Y/N, please. Scream at me, hit me, tell me you hate me, I don’t care. Just don’t shut me out.”

Your eyes stung, and he noticed the tears well up in your eyes instantly, stepping forward on instinct.

You stepped back just as fast, Jeongin freezing. The look on his face then was awful. Not dramatic. Not theatrical. Just raw, open hurt, like that one tiny movement had sliced him open from throat to stomach.

You couldn’t do this. Not here. Not with people watching and whispering and pretending not to stare. Not with Jeongin looking at you like you were the one holding the knife.

Your next class bell rang, shrill and sharp through the corridor, the sound breaking the moment in half.

You clutched your bag tighter and forced your voice to stay steady. “If you care about me at all, you’ll leave me alone.”

Jeongin stared at you before he gave the smallest, weakest shake of his head.

“I can’t.”

The honesty of it almost made you falter.

Almost.

“Well,” you said, stepping around him again, “you’re going to have to learn.”

This time, when you walked away, he didn’t follow. You could feel his eyes on your back the whole way down the corridor, heavy and devastated and impossible to ignore, but he stayed where he was.

You made it into your classroom with thirty seconds to spare and sat down in your usual seat by the window, hands trembling so badly you nearly dropped your pen.

Your friend Mia—your only friend, who sat beside you in English and usually spent the first five minutes of class gossiping under her breath—took one look at your face and frowned.

“Jesus,” she whispered. “What happened to you?”

You shook your head, keeping your eyes fixed on the contents of your bag whilst you tried to pull yourself together.

Mia’s expression softened immediately. “Hey, no, seriously. Are you okay?”

No.

Not even remotely.

But the word lodged in your throat and refused to come out, because if you started talking about it, you knew you’d start crying, and if you started crying in the middle of English class you were pretty sure you’d actually die on the spot.

So you just muttered, “I’m fine.”

Mia looked like she didn’t believe you for a second, but before she could press further, your teacher walked in and the room fell quiet. You stared at the board and heard absolutely none of the lesson. Every few minutes, your phone buzzed in your blazer pocket but you ignored it.

At break, you stayed in your seat until the room emptied, pretending to search for something in your bag just so you wouldn’t have to risk walking into the corridor while Jeongin was out there.

At lunch, you ate half a cereal bar in a bathroom cubicle because the thought of the cafeteria made your chest seize up.

By last period, exhaustion had sunk into your bones so heavily that even lifting your head felt like effort.

And still, Jeongin kept trying.

You saw him between classes, hovering at the end of corridors like he was scared to get too close and even more scared to let you out of his sight. He texted. He called once during lunch, then again ten minutes later, then stopped—presumably realising you weren’t ever going to pick up. He looked at you across classrooms, across the courtyard, across the canteen when you finally forced yourself to walk through it for a bottle of water, and every time your eyes accidentally met, the expression on his face made something twist sickly inside you.

Panic. Guilt.

And something that looked too much like heartbreak.

By the final bell, you felt wrung dry.

You just wanted to go home, lock your bedroom door, and sleep for twelve hours. You should’ve known Jeongin wouldn’t make it that easy.

The second you stepped out of your last lesson, he was there, waiting right outside the classroom door like he’d been counting down the minutes. His eyes found yours instantly.

“Please,” he said before you could even turn away. “Just let me walk you home.”

You stared at him. He looked like he hadn’t eaten all day. Like he’d spent every second since this morning spiralling deeper and deeper into whatever guilt-ridden hell he’d built for himself. His tie was gone entirely now, shirt untucked at one side, and there was a crease pressed into his cheek like he’d been sitting with his face in his hands.

For a moment, neither of you moved before you snapped yourself out of it, tightening your hold on your bag and saying the one thing that made his face fall completely.

“No.”

You walked away before he could say anything else.

You made it halfway down the front steps before you heard him behind you.

“Y/N—wait.”

Of course he’d followed.

Your grip tightened around your bag strap so hard your knuckles ached, but you didn’t turn around. The school day had wrung every last scrap of energy out of you. Your head was pounding, your chest still tight from the strain of holding yourself together for eight straight hours, and the only thing keeping you upright was the thought of getting home, shutting your bedroom door, and not seeing another human being until Monday.

“Y/N, please.”

His footsteps quickened until they were right behind you, but you kept walking, speed picking up marginally.

Students spilled around you in clusters, loud and careless and free in the way everyone seemed to be at the end of the day. They streamed out through the gates in laughing groups, bags slung over shoulders, phones in hand, already planning where they were going next. The pavement outside the school was crowded, and every brush of a stranger’s shoulder against yours made your skin jump.

“Can you just stop for one second?” Jeongin asked, breathless.

Your answer came instantly, flat and sharp. “No.”

He was quiet for a beat, then tried again. “You haven’t eaten.”

You almost stumbled - not because the words were particularly shocking, but because it was such a Jeongin thing to notice. Such a Jeongin thing to say. Soft and observant and infuriatingly familiar.

You hated that your chest still reacted to it.

“I’m fine.”

“You had half a cereal bar in the bathroom at lunch.”

That made you stop.

You turned so fast he nearly walked into you. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t step back.

“You were watching me in the bathroom now too?” you asked, voice low and dangerous.

Jeongin’s face dropped. “What? No—God, no. Mia told Hyunjin you disappeared all lunch and then I saw you come back with that stupid cereal bar wrapper and—” He dragged a hand over his face, frustrated with himself. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point, Jeongin?”

He looked at you like the answer should’ve been obvious. “You.”

The word hit like a slap. It didn’t hurt because it was cruel, but because it sounded so earnest that it made your throat tighten with anger.

You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Right.”

“I mean it.”

“Stop saying things like that.”

His expression crumpled. “Why?”

Because you didn’t get to sound like you cared when you were the reason she’d cried until three in the morning. Because every soft word out of his mouth felt like someone twisting a knife in a wound and apologising while they did it. Because if he kept sounding like Jeongin—your Jeongin, the one who tucked your hands into his coat pockets and kissed your temple and remembered what snacks you liked after bad exams—you might start forgetting that he wasn’t yours at all.

“Because I don’t believe you anymore,” you snapped.

That shut him up.

For half a second, all the noise around you blurred. Cars passed on the road. Someone shouted from across the street. A group of younger students ran past, nearly clipping your shoulder, but you barely registered any of it. All you could see was Jeongin standing there in front of you with that wrecked look on his face, tie gone, shirt untucked, eyes ringed red like he hadn’t slept either.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know you don’t.”

“Then why are you still doing this?”

“Because I can’t just leave you like this.”

Something ugly and exhausted surged up inside you.

“Like what?” you demanded. “Like I’m upset? Like I’m angry? Like I finally found out my boyfriend was using me and now I’m inconveniently having a hard time with it?”

Jeongin winced so hard it almost looked painful. “I wasn’t using you.”

“Oh my god.” You laughed again, louder this time, the sound wobbling on the edge of something hysterical. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I know how it sounds—”

“No, you don’t.” You stepped closer before you could stop yourself, voice dropping into something sharp enough to cut. “You don’t get it, Jeongin. You don’t get to stand here looking heartbroken and tell me I’ve got the wrong idea when I literally heard your friends talking about your bet to sleep with me.”

His face drained of colour.

“Please lower your voice,” he said, glancing around.

The last thread of your restraint snapped.

“Why?” you said, louder. “Scared people might hear?”

A few heads turned but for once in your life you didn’t care.

Jeongin went pale. “Y/N—”

“No, actually, let’s do this properly, since you seem so desperate to talk.” Your heart was already starting to race, too fast and too hard, but you couldn’t stop. The words had built up all day, hot and poisonous and impossible to swallow down any longer. “What exactly were you waiting for, huh? Were you just seeing how long you could keep me around before you got bored? Did your friends get a good laugh every time I held your hand in public? Every time I kissed you? Every time I told you I loved you?”

“Stop,” Jeongin whispered.

“Or were they waiting for updates?” you shot back, tears stinging now because of course they were. “Did you tell them when I stayed over? Did they know every time I let myself trust you a little more? Was that funny too?”

“Y/N, stop, please.”

“Was I just some pathetic little project to you?” Your voice cracked, and now people were definitely staring, slowing on the pavement, whispering to each other. “The shy girl you thought you’d fix up enough to fuck?”

“Don’t.” Jeongin’s voice broke on the word. He looked horrified now, properly horrified, like each sentence out of your mouth was hitting him in the chest. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? Isn’t that what this was?”

“No!” It came out so sharply that a couple walking past actually turned. Jeongin immediately lowered his voice again, breathing hard. “No, it wasn’t. Not anymore. Not for a long time.”

You stared at him, chest heaving. There it was again.

Not anymore.

As if that somehow made the beginning disappear. As if there was any version of this where you weren’t still the idiot who’d spent six months falling in love with someone who had first looked at her and seen a challenge.

Your vision blurred. You looked away from him, blinking hard, but the pressure in your chest was getting worse now—too tight, too hot, your lungs refusing to fill properly. The pavement suddenly felt unsteady beneath your feet. The noise of the street swelled until it all blurred together: engines, voices, footsteps, laughter, a car horn somewhere in the distance. Too much. Too loud.

“Y/N?”

Jeongin’s voice changed instantly. The anger drained right out of it, leaving only alarm.

You took a step back. “I’m fine.”

You weren’t.

You knew that in the same detached way you knew your own name. Your hands had started shaking. Not subtly—violently enough that you had to curl them into fists to hide it. Your breaths were coming too fast, too shallow, and there was a horrible buzzing in your ears like static.

Jeongin noticed all of it, just as he had these past six months.

“Hey,” he said, softer now, taking one cautious step toward you. “Hey, look at me.”

“No.”

“Y/N, you need to breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

The lie barely made it out. Your voice sounded strange to your own ears—too high, too thin.

Jeongin’s eyes flicked over your face, panic rising. “No, you’re not. Come here, let’s just get you out of the crowd—”

He reached for your wrist, but you shoved him away before he could touch you.

“Don’t touch me!”

It wasn’t enough to actually hurt him, but it made him stumble back a step, shock flashing across his face.

A few people outright stopped walking now. You hated them for looking. Hated Jeongin for being here. Hated yourself for falling apart in public like this, for not even being able to keep your own body under control for five fucking minutes.

Your lungs seized.

A sharp, humiliating sound tore out of your throat as you tried to inhale and couldn’t get enough air. Suddenly everything was spinning—too bright, too loud, your heartbeat hammering in your ears so violently it drowned out everything else.

“Okay.” Jeongin lifted both hands slowly, palms open like he was approaching a frightened animal. His own face had gone white. “Okay, I won’t touch you. I promise. I’m not touching you.”

You backed away again, arms wrapping around yourself so tightly it hurt.

“Go away.”

He looked devastated. “I can’t.”

“I said go away!”

Your voice came out broken, cracking in the middle, and then your body betrayed you completely.

Your knees gave. It wasn’t enough to send you sprawling onto the pavement, but enough that you staggered hard and had to grab blindly for the nearest wall. Your bag slid off your shoulder and hit the ground with a dull thud, papers crumpling inside.

Jeongin moved on instinct. He caught your elbow before you could hit the pavement properly but you jerked out of his grip so violently you nearly lost your balance again.

“Don’t!”

He let go at once, hands lifting back into the air.

“Sorry, sorry—shit, I’m sorry.” His voice was shaking now too. “I’m not going to touch you, okay? I’m not. Just—please stay still for a second.”

You pressed your back against the brick wall outside the school gates and squeezed your eyes shut, but that only made it worse. The darkness behind your eyelids tilted sickeningly. Your chest was on fire. Every breath snagged halfway in and came back out in a sharp, ugly gasp. You could hear yourself making these awful little choking noises and it only made the panic worse.

“Look at me.” Jeongin was in front of you again, crouching slightly so he was in your line of sight without crowding you. “Y/N, look at me.”

You shook your head, tears spilling hot and useless down your cheeks.

“I hate you,” you gasped.

The words clearly hit him, but he swallowed them down.

“I know,” he said, voice cracking. “You can hate me. Just—please look at me for one second.”

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to give him anything. Not your eyes, not your trust, not the chance to slide back into the role he’d gotten so good at playing—the gentle boyfriend who knew exactly how to calm you down when your anxiety got too loud. But your vision was tunnelling. The pavement had narrowed into a smear of grey beneath your feet. You were dimly aware of people slowing as they passed, of someone whispering is she okay? and another voice saying should we get a teacher?

Jeongin heard it too.

He looked over his shoulder and snapped, “Can you all stop staring?”

The sharpness in his voice cut through the murmurs immediately, people scattering but still throwing worried looks over their shoulder.

When he turned back to you, his face was stricken. “Can you sit down for me? Not with me—just sit. Please.”

You slid down the wall before you could answer, legs folding under you because they’d stopped feeling reliable. The second you hit the ground, Jeongin dropped down too, kneeling a careful distance away.

“Okay,” he said, breathing hard like he was trying not to panic with you. “Okay. That’s good. That’s okay.”

You were crying properly now, shoulders shaking, fingers digging into your sleeves. Your breaths were still coming in short, painful bursts, your chest locking up tighter every time you tried to drag in air.

“Stop—” you choked out, though you weren’t even sure what you were asking him to stop. Talking? Looking at you? Caring? Existing?

Jeongin scrubbed a hand over his face, helpless. “I know. I know, I’m sorry. Just listen to me, okay? You don’t have to say anything back. Just listen.”

He glanced down at his own hands like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for you.

“In for four,” he said softly, voice trembling. “Hold for four. Out for four. You know this. Come on.”

You let out a broken laugh-sob. Of course he’d remember. Of course he’d use the exact same voice he always did when you got overwhelmed—the one that was low and steady and careful, like if he was gentle enough he could smooth all the sharp edges off the world.

It made you want to scream.

“I don’t want your help,” you whispered.

The pain on his face was immediate.

“I know.” His eyes were bright now, his own breathing uneven. “I know you don’t. I’m sorry. I’m still going to help if I can.”

Something inside you twisted so violently it hurt. You shoved yourself to your feet too fast, wobbling instantly. Jeongin lurched forward, hand half-outstretched, but stopped before he touched you.

“Don’t,” you snapped, pressing yourself harder against the wall as if distance could somehow save you. “Don’t act like you still get to do this.”

His hand dropped. For a second he just looked at you, kneeling on the pavement in front of you with his tie stuffed in one pocket and his shirt wrinkled and his eyes red, like some pathetic aftermath of the boy you’d fallen in love with. Then he nodded once, small and broken.

“Okay.”

Your breathing was still awful. Better than thirty seconds ago, maybe, but only in the sense that you no longer felt seconds away from passing out. Your hands were numb, your face soaked with tears, and there was a crowd-shaped awareness hovering at the edge of everything that made humiliation burn hotly through your chest.

You couldn’t stay here.

You bent to grab your bag with shaking hands.

Jeongin stood immediately. “Let me carry that.”

You shot him a look so full of exhausted fury that he actually stopped mid-step.

“No.”

“Right.” His throat bobbed. “Right. Sorry.”

You slung the bag over your shoulder, nearly fumbling it, then turned toward home with your head down and your entire body trembling.

Jeongin fell into step behind you. Not beside you or close enough to touch. Just… there.

You made it ten steps before whirling around again. “Why are you still following me?”

He stopped dead.

“Because I’m not leaving you alone after that.”

“You don’t get to decide that.”

“I know.” His voice was wrecked. “I know I don’t get to decide anything right now. But you can barely stand up and I can’t just watch you walk off on your own like this.”

“You don’t get to care now.”

His face twisted. “I never stopped caring.”

You let out a shaky breath that felt halfway to a sob. “You don’t understand, do you?”

“What?”

“You caring is the problem.” Your voice cracked, and you hated how weak it sounded. “If you were just an asshole, if you’d only been pretending this whole time, maybe this would hurt less. But you keep looking at me like you mean it, and I don’t know what to do with that.”

Jeongin went completely still. The crowd noise around you seemed to fade for a second, replaced by the awful ragged sound of your breathing and the silence between you.

You saw his eyes fill. It wasn’t dramatic or in a way meant to manipulate. It was just sudden, helpless, like the words had slipped past whatever thin control he’d been clinging to all day and hit somewhere deep.

“Y/N…”

“Don’t.” You stepped back again, swallowing hard. “Just don’t.”

He wiped quickly at one eye with the heel of his hand, jaw clenching. “I’m still walking behind you.”

You stared at him.

“I won’t touch you,” he said hoarsely. “I won’t talk if you don’t want me to. But I’m not letting you go home alone when you can barely breathe.”

You wanted to argue. Wanted to scream at him until your throat gave out, wanted to tell him to fuck off and mean it, wanted to stop caring that the person hurting right in front of you was also the person who had hurt you in the first place.

But you were so tired. So painfully, bone-deep tired.

So instead, you just turned around and kept walking, and Jeongin followed, always a few steps behind. Close enough that you could hear his footsteps, far enough that he never brushed against you once.

The whole walk home, you fought every desire to look back.

By the time you reached your house, your legs felt like they were made of wet paper.

The panic attack had left you hollowed out, shaky in that awful aftershock kind of way where every sound still felt too sharp and every breath still had to be thought through. Your face was sticky with dried tears, your chest ached from how hard it had seized up, and your bag strap kept slipping down your shoulder because your hands wouldn’t stop trembling long enough to fix it properly.

Through it all, Jeongin was still behind you. Far enough back that he wasn’t crowding you, yet close enough that you could hear his footsteps every time the street went quiet.

You hated how aware of him you were. Hated that even without looking, you knew exactly where he was. Knew the rhythm of his walk. Knew when he slowed because you did, when he stopped because you had to press a hand to the wall for a second and get your breathing back under control.

You just wanted to get inside. To lock your front door, go upstairs and collapse in the privacy of your own bed.

But as you turned onto your street, you saw someone sitting on your neighbour’s low brick wall, one long leg stretched out, the other bent, a half-finished can of energy drink balanced in one hand.

Chan looked up at the sound of your footsteps, and immediately stood.

You’d known Chris Chan—just Chan, because he’d laughed the first time you called him Christopher—for nearly a year now. He lived in the house next door, studied at the local university, and possessed the kind of stupidly unfair face that made people turn twice on the street. Tall, broad-shouldered, soft dark curls that always looked slightly messy no matter what he did with them, and warm dark eyes that somehow managed to look kind even when he was exhausted.

The first time you’d met him, you’d nearly dropped your shopping on the street because he’d said hello and startled you so badly. He’d ended up carrying your bags for you while making gentle conversation so easy you hadn’t realised until halfway through that you were actually answering. Since then, he’d become one of those strange, quiet fixtures in your life—someone you’d run into on your way to school, someone who’d fix the boiler when your landlord took too long to help your parents, someone who’d sit with you on the front steps when you’d had a bad day and talk absolute nonsense until your shoulders unclenched.

Chan knew about your anxiety in the vague way neighbours who paid attention sometimes did. He knew what you looked like when you were trying not to panic. And the second his eyes landed properly on your face, every trace of casual ease vanished.

“Hey,” he said, voice instantly gentler. “What happened?”

That was all it took. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the softness of them. The concern. The way he said it like he was already bracing for the answer. Your throat closed as Chan’s gaze flicked from your tear-stained face to the way you were clutching your bag strap, to the boy a few steps behind you.

His expression changed, just enough that something in him seemed to sharpen.

“Right,” he said quietly.

Jeongin stopped at the bottom of the path, chest rising and falling too fast, school bag hanging limply from one shoulder. He looked exhausted, wrung out, eyes still rimmed red from whatever emotional hell the day had put him through.

Chan took one look at him and understood far more than you wanted him to.

“You live here?” Jeongin asked, glancing between the two of you.

Chan ignored the question entirely. Instead, he stepped down from the wall and came to stand beside you—not touching, just close enough that his presence felt solid. Safe.

“You okay to get inside?” he asked you, low enough that the question didn’t feel public.

You nodded, even though you weren’t entirely sure it was true. Chan looked unconvinced, but he accepted it for now. Then he turned his head and fixed Jeongin with a look that was calm enough to be more intimidating than if he’d shouted.

“I’ll take it from here.”

Jeongin stiffened. “She doesn’t want to be alone.”

“I didn’t say I was leaving her alone.”

“I’m serious,” Jeongin said, taking a step forward. “She had a panic attack on the way here. She nearly collapsed and—”

“I know,” Chan cut in, still infuriatingly calm. “And right now, she’s standing next to me looking like she’s one sentence away from having another one, so I’m going to need you to stop talking.”

The silence that followed was instant. You blinked, and Jeongin looked like he was trying his best to keep his cool.

Chan wasn’t cruel about it. His tone never rose. But there was something in the way he stood—steady, certain, already halfway into protective mode—that made it obvious he wasn’t about to budge.

Jeongin’s jaw tightened. “I’m not leaving her when she’s like this.”

“You are,” Chan said. “Because she doesn’t want you here.”

You saw the words hit Jeongin right in the chest. His eyes flicked to you immediately, desperate, raw, as if hoping you’d contradict Chan, or at least soften it somehow.

You couldn’t. You were too tired to even feel guilty about that. Instead, you just looked away, missing the way Jeongin’s face fell.

For a second, nobody said anything. The street hummed quietly around you—distant traffic, a dog barking somewhere, a door slamming down the road. Chan stayed still beside you, arms folded loosely across his chest. Jeongin stood at the edge of the path looking like he was physically fighting the urge to ignore him and come after you anyway.

“Y/N,” he said finally, voice rough. “Please.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, but Chan answered for you.

“She’s done for tonight.”

Jeongin dragged a hand through his hair, visibly unraveling. “I just need to know she’s okay.”

“I’ll make sure she gets inside,” Chan said. “You have my word.”

Jeongin laughed once, bitter and exhausted. “No offence, mate, but your word doesn’t really mean much to me right now.”

Chan’s expression didn’t change. “That sounds like a you problem.”

If the situation had been even slightly less awful, you might have laughed, but Jeongin didn’t. He just looked back at you, face open in that horrible way that made your chest ache despite yourself.

“Please don’t do this,” he said.

Your eyes burned at his words, the pleading tone.

“I’m not doing anything,” you whispered. “I just want you to leave.”

The words came out thin and scraped raw, but they were enough.

Jeongin went still, the fight seeming to leave him all at once, shoulders dropping like someone had cut the strings holding him upright. He looked at you for another long second—at your red eyes, your trembling hands, the way you still couldn’t quite stand straight after crying and panicking your way home—and something in his expression cracked.

“Okay,” he said hoarsely.

It didn’t sound okay at all.

He swallowed, hard, then looked at Chan. “If she gets worse, call someone. Or me. I don’t care if she hates me right now, just don’t leave her alone if it gets bad.”

Chan gave a short nod. “I know what I’m doing.”

Jeongin hesitated, and you could see how much it cost him to turn around. How every instinct in him was screaming not to leave you like this, not with your face blotchy from crying and your breathing still uneven and another man standing where he thought he should be. But after one last look at you—one you couldn’t bring yourself to return—he stepped backwards down the path.

Then he left.

You watched him go despite yourself. Watched the slow, reluctant set of his shoulders. The way he kept glancing back until the corner of the street swallowed him whole.

The second he was out of sight, all the tension holding your body upright seemed to dissolve at once, your knees buckling under you.

“Whoa—hey.”

Chan caught your bag before it slipped off your shoulder again and guided you—not touching, just steering with his voice and presence—towards the low wall outside the building.

“Sit down for me.”

You sat instantly - mostly because your legs no longer felt like they belonged to you. Chan crouched in front of you, elbows resting loosely on his knees, eyes searching your face with careful concern.

“Do you need water?”

You shook your head.

“Tea?”

Another head shake.

“Want me to call someone?”

You thought of Mia. Of your mum. Of literally anyone asking what had happened and forcing you to say it out loud.

“No.”

“Okay.” Chan nodded easily, accepting that too. “Then we’re doing this the boring way.”

You blinked at him.

He tilted the energy drink can in his hand. “You sit there and look tragic, and I sit here and ask annoying questions until you either answer me or tell me to piss off.”

A weak, surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it, and Chan’s mouth twitched.

“There she is.”

And that—stupidly, embarrassingly—was the thing that finally broke you.

Your face crumpled, the first sob coming out so abruptly that it startled even you, and then Chan was swearing softly under his breath and setting the drink aside, shifting from his crouch to sit on the wall beside you.

He didn’t sit too close, didn’t crowd you. Just close enough that you could feel the warmth of another person there if you wanted to.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said quietly.

You covered your face with both hands as it all came spilling out in pieces after that. Not neatly. Not in a straight line. Half of it was choked out between breaths and the other half muffled behind your palms, but Chan listened anyway.

About the party.

About seeing Jeongin with a girl hanging off his arm.

About overhearing his friends laughing about the bet to sleep with the shy girl.

About Jeongin admitting it had started as a bet and how the words had split something open inside you.

About him turning up at your flat and you ignoring him. About him waiting for you at school, following you all day, chasing you after class, trying to help when you had a panic attack and you shoving him away because you couldn’t stand the idea of him touching you.

Chan didn’t interrupt much. He only asked questions when he needed to—small, practical ones that kept you going when your thoughts started spiralling.

“What exactly did you hear him say?”

“Did he deny it?”

“Did he ever actually sleep with anyone else while you were together?”

That last one made you look at him, horrified.

“No.”

“Okay. Good.”

“That’s not good, Chan.”

“No,” he said mildly, “but it’s less bad than it could’ve been.”

You stared at him through wet lashes, and he held up both hands. “I’m not saying he’s innocent. I’m saying there’s a difference between a teenage boy making the worst decision of his life and a teenage boy deliberately setting out to humiliate you for six months straight.”

You laughed bitterly. “Feels pretty humiliating either way.”

“Yeah.” Chan’s voice softened. “I know.”

Silence settled between you for a moment as you sniffed and wiped under your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “You think I’m stupid.”

“What?” Chan frowned. “No.”

“I should’ve known.” The words came out before you could stop them. “I mean… Jeongin. Look at him. Look at me. It was obviously too good to be true.”

Chan went very still before he turned to face you fully, one arm draped along the back of the step behind you.

“Don’t do that.”

You looked away.

“I mean it.” His voice sharpened—not harsh, but firm enough to make you listen. “Do not take his stupidity and turn it into evidence that there’s something wrong with you.”

Your throat tightened.

“You didn’t do anything wrong here,” Chan said. “You believed someone you cared about when he told you he cared about you. That’s not stupidity. That’s trust.”

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood, and Chan sighed softly as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I’m not about to defend the bet. It’s disgusting. If he was twenty-five, I’d tell you to set his car on fire.”

Despite everything, you let out a watery snort.

“But,” Chan continued, “I also don’t think this is as simple as you’re making it.”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I watched that boy’s face while he stood out here.” Chan tipped his head in the direction Jeongin had disappeared. “And unless he deserves an Oscar, he’s not acting.”

Your stomach twisted as you stared down at your hands, thinking about Chan’s words and Jeongin’s pale face.

Chan noticed and sighed. “I know. That’s probably the last thing you want to hear.”

“I don’t care if he feels guilty.”

“I know you don’t.” He paused. “But guilt isn’t the only thing I saw.”

You hated how your chest reacted to that. Hated the tiny, traitorous flicker of hope trying to force its way into a situation where it had no business existing.

Chan seemed to read the conflict on your face, because his tone gentled again.

“I’m not saying forgive him,” he said. “And I’m definitely not saying what he did is okay. It isn’t. It’s cruel and immature and I’d like five minutes alone with him in a locked room, just on principle.”

That got the tiniest smile out of you.

“But,” he said again, “I do think you should hear him out.”

Your head snapped up. “What?”

Chan held your gaze steadily. “Hear him out.”

“Why?”

“Because right now, your brain is doing what anxious brains do best.” He tapped two fingers lightly against his temple. “It’s taking the worst possible version of every missing piece and filling it in as fact.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he kept going.

“You heard enough to know he fucked up. That part’s real. But you didn’t hear all of it. You don’t know what he was about to say when you walked away. You don’t know how long it stopped being a game to him. You don’t know why he never told you. And unless you hear it from him, you’re going to sit in your room for the next week inventing a hundred different explanations, and every single one of them will hurt.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “He lied to me, though.”

“Yeah.” Chan nodded. “He did.”

“So why should I listen?”

“Because listening isn’t the same as forgiving.” His voice was calm, patient, matter-of-fact in the way it always was when he was trying to guide you out of your own head. “Hearing him out doesn’t mean taking him back. It doesn’t mean letting him off the hook. It just means you get the full truth before you decide what to do with it.”

Your eyes burned again.

Chan leaned back slightly, giving you room to breathe. “And if after that you still want nothing to do with him, fine. Block his number, tell him to go to hell, date someone with better decision-making skills.”

“Like who?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. A nice cousin of an engineering student with excellent hair and a heroic willingness to carry your shopping?”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“There you are,” Chan murmured again, smiling a little.

The laugh died quickly, but the knot in your chest loosened just enough to let you breathe around it. You stared out at the street for a long moment, arms wrapped around yourself.

“I don’t know if I can do it.”

Chan was quiet for a second before answering. “You don’t have to do it tonight.”

You looked at him and he shrugged one shoulder. “Make him wait until tomorrow. Or the day after. Let him sweat a little, build character.” Then his expression softened. “But don’t make a forever decision based on the worst ten minutes of your life.”

His words settled somewhere deep. They didn’t fix anything—not even close—but they cracked open just enough space in the panic and humiliation for something else to exist alongside it.

Uncertainty. Questions. The horrible possibility that Chan might be right.

You scrubbed at your face again, exhausted. “I hate that this is your advice.”

“I know.” He bumped his shoulder lightly against yours. “I was annoyed too. I really wanted to tell you to egg his house.”

You snorted as he teased you again. “Still can, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Shame. I’d be very good at it.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, and Chan’s expression softened with relief—like seeing even that tiny reaction told him you were starting to come back to yourself.

After a moment, he stood and held out a hand. “Come on.”

You looked at it, and he wiggled his fingers. “I’m not letting you sit outside crying yourself into hypothermia. I’m making tea, and you’re telling me whether Jeongin’s always been this much of an idiot or if it’s a recent development.”

You hesitated only a second before taking his hand. Chan hauled you gently to your feet, steadied you when you swayed, then picked up your bag from where it had slumped against the wall.

As he led you towards his house, he glanced sideways at you.

“For the record,” he said, fishing his keys from his pocket, “if you do decide to hear him out, I’m sitting just next door with a cricket bat.”

You huffed a laugh. “You don’t even own a cricket bat.”

“No, but I can acquire one. I’m resourceful.”

And for the first time since the party, the ache in your chest eased just enough for you to believe that maybe—maybe—you wouldn’t drown in it after all.

The weekend passed in fragments.

You spent most of Saturday in Chan’s house because he’d apparently decided you were a flight risk and kept finding increasingly ridiculous reasons to stop you retreating into your bedroom for forty-eight hours straight. He made tea, ordered takeaway, put on terrible reality television and offered running commentary so sarcastic it dragged a laugh out of you more than once, even when you were trying very hard not to give him the satisfaction.

But no matter what was on the screen or what Chan was talking about, your mind kept circling back to Jeongin and the party.

To the look on his face when you’d told him there was no us.

To the way he’d followed you home at a distance because he knew you didn’t want him near you but couldn’t bring himself to leave anyway.

To the way he’d looked when you shoved him off during your panic attack—hurt, yes, but never angry. Just terrified for you.

And the more you thought about it, the less it fit. That was the problem.

If Jeongin had just been cruel, this would’ve been simpler. If he’d laughed with his friends, if he’d rolled his eyes when you cried, if he’d acted annoyed by your anxiety or embarrassed by how quiet you were or impatient with how long it took you to come out of your shell, maybe you could’ve built a clean, sharp version of him in your head and hated him properly.

But he hadn’t.

He’d held you through panic attacks. He’d kissed the tears off your face after bad exams and stayed on the phone with you until two in the morning when your thoughts got too loud and your chest wouldn’t settle. He’d remembered tiny things no one else noticed—how you hated fizzy drinks unless they’d gone flat, how crowds made you itch under your skin, how you needed five extra minutes after waking up before you could handle conversation. He’d learned exactly where to rub circles into your wrist to calm you down and exactly how to speak to you when your breathing started going funny.

He’d never made you feel like too much. Not once.

And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t force those things into the shape of a bet.

Saturday night, lying awake in your own bed with the streetlight cutting a pale stripe across your ceiling, you found yourself thinking about the first time he’d told you he loved you.

It wasn’t at the swings in the park under the soft orange streetlights with the hoodie sleeves and the warmth of his hands in yours. It was earlier than that. The first real time.

You’d had a panic attack at his house five months into dating.

It had been stupid, really. One of those ridiculous little things that wouldn’t have affected anyone else—too many people in the kitchen, his friends turning up unexpectedly while you were already exhausted, someone dropping a glass in the next room and the sound slicing straight through you. You’d tried to hold it together because you were in his house, because you didn’t want to be dramatic, because you were still so scared back then of letting him see the uglier parts of you.

You’d made it as far as his bedroom before your lungs gave out, and Jeongin had found you on the floor between his bed and the wall, shaking so hard your teeth hurt, hands clamped over your mouth as if you could physically hold the panic inside yourself if you tried hard enough.

He hadn’t looked annoyed or embarrassed, but he hadn’t looked surprised either. He’d just dropped to his knees in front of you and said your name in that low, steady voice of his. Again and again and again until you looked at him.

After that, he’d sat on the floor with you for nearly an hour.

He’d talked you through every breath. Let you squeeze his hand hard enough to leave marks. Moved slowly enough that nothing felt like pressure, and when the panic had finally ebbed enough for you to stop crying, he’d helped you onto his bed and tucked you under the duvet like you were something fragile. You’d fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion with your face pressed into his shoulder.

When you woke up, it was dark outside. Your head ached, your eyes felt swollen, and for one awful second you had no idea where you were.

Then you realised Jeongin was still there.

He was propped up against the headboard with one arm around you, his phone abandoned on the duvet beside him, his free hand absently combing through your hair in slow, repetitive strokes. He’d clearly been there the whole time.

The second he noticed you were awake, his hand paused.

“Hey,” he’d said quietly. “How’re you feeling?”

Mortification had hit you all at once. You’d pushed yourself upright too fast, face burning, and immediately started apologising. For ruining the evening. For falling asleep on him. For being weird and dramatic and too much and—

Jeongin had cut you off by taking your face in both hands - actually taking your face in both hands and looking at you like you’d said something genuinely absurd.

“None of that,” he’d said.

You’d stared at him, teary and exhausted and still too wrung out to hide how badly you wanted to believe him.

“Y/N,” he’d said again, softer this time. “You don’t have to apologise for panicking.”

“I ruined your night.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“Your friends were here—”

“I don’t care.” His thumbs had brushed under your eyes, wiping away tears you hadn’t even realised had started again. “I care about you.”

Your throat had tightened, but Jeongin’s gaze had gone impossibly gentle. “Do you know how strong you are?”

You’d laughed weakly because the idea was ridiculous. You’d literally just spent an hour on his floor sobbing because you were overstimulated and overwhelmed. But he’d just shaken his head, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours.

“I mean it. You fight your own brain every day and you still keep going. That’s strength.” His voice had dropped quieter, rougher somehow. “And I love you for it. I love all of you. Even the parts you’re still trying to hide from me.”

You hadn’t known what to say, but you’d cried again—less dramatically this time, just silent tears sliding down your face because no one had ever looked at the worst, messiest part of you and called it something worth loving.

Jeongin had kissed your cheeks until you laughed through it before he’d pulled you back against his chest and held you there until you fell asleep again.

That memory stayed with you all Sunday, and you’d tried to pick it apart.

You’d tried to tell yourself he could’ve been acting. That maybe Jeongin was just good at saying the right thing, good at wearing sincerity like a second skin. But every time you pictured his face that night—half-asleep, worried, so careful with you it hurt—you hit the same wall.

No one could fake that for months, not like that and not that consistently. Not when they thought no one was watching.

By Sunday evening, you were still angry, still hurt and humiliated in a way that made your stomach twist if you thought too hard about the party.But underneath all of it now was something else: a quiet, stubborn need to know the truth.

Not the version of the truth that you’d overheard in a kitchen full of drunk boys trying to impress each other; the real truth.

What the bet had been. How it had started. Why he’d done it. Why he’d stayed. Why he’d never told you. Why he’d looked at you on Friday night like the idea of losing you was killing him.

Chan didn’t say I told you so when you admitted that on Sunday night. He just handed you a mug of tea and said, “Good. Hate him with all the facts, at least.”

So Monday morning, you went to school with your stomach in knots and one thought looping over and over in your head:

I’m going to hear him out.

It didn’t make it easier. If anything, it made the walk through the gates worse.

Your hands were sweating around the straps of your bag, your pulse too loud in your ears, every step towards the main building heavy with the knowledge that at some point in the next few minutes, you were going to have to walk up to Jeongin and ask for the conversation you’d spent all weekend dreading.

You spotted him before he saw you. He was standing near the benches outside the science block with three of his friends, school bag hanging from one shoulder, tie half-done like he’d fixed it in a rush. Even from a distance, he looked tired. There were shadows under his eyes again, and he kept rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like he hadn’t quite figured out what to do with his body when he was anxious.

Your chest tightened, and the tightened further when you saw the girl. It was the same one from the party. She was leaning against the bench beside him, glossy hair perfect, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup like she was starring in some kind of campus advert. She wasn’t clinging to his arm this time, but she was standing close enough that your stomach still dropped anyway.

You almost turned around. You got as far as shifting your weight backwards, fingers tightening around your bag strap, panic prickling under your skin, but then you remembered Chan’s face when he’d said don’t make a forever decision based on the worst ten minutes of your life.

You took a deep, steadying breath, and then took another.

You started walking towards them, and the closer you got, the shakier your hands became. Your pulse was so loud you were half convinced everyone around you could hear it. One of Jeongin’s friends noticed you first—Minjae, maybe—and went visibly stiff, his expression flickering from surprise to something a lot like guilt.

Then the others followed his gaze and Jeongin turned to see what had caught their attention.

The effect was instant.

His whole body jolted like someone had grabbed him by the spine. The half-empty bottle of water in his hand slipped a little in his grip, and for one disorienting second he just stared at you. You couldn’t read the look on his face. There was shock there, definitely. Hope so sudden it was almost painful to witness. Fear too, sharp and immediate, like he was scared that if he moved too fast you’d vanish.

No one spoke, and the silence stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable, but then the girl looked you up and down with a lazy sort of disdain and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Oh. The charity case is back.”

Everything went still, and you stopped walking, face flushing in embarrassment.

One of the boys muttered, “Jisoo—”

But Jeongin was faster.

“Shut the fuck up.”

The words cracked through the courtyard so sharply that even you flinched.

Jisoo blinked, clearly not expecting that reaction. “Excuse me?”

Jeongin took a step away from the bench and looked at her with a kind of cold fury you’d never seen on his face before.

“I said shut up.” His voice was low now, but somehow that made it worse. “You don’t get to talk about her like that. Ever.”

Jisoo stared at him. “I was joking.”

“No, you were being a bitch.” He didn’t even hesitate. “And if you ever speak about her like that again, I don’t care whose friend you are, I’m done being polite.”

The entire group had gone silent, and you could see the guilt on his friends’ faces now, plain as day. Minjae looked like he wanted the ground to open up beneath him. Another one—Hyunwoo, maybe—wouldn’t meet your eyes at all.

Jisoo gave a disbelieving laugh. “Seriously? You’re taking her side after the stunt she pulled at the party?”

Jeongin’s expression turned glacial.

“She didn’t pull a stunt,” he said. “She found out something she should’ve heard from me months ago because you all can’t keep your mouths shut for five fucking minutes.”

No one had a response to that, but you barely had one, either. Jeongin’s eyes were on you now, all the anger from a second ago draining away into something much softer. More uncertain. He looked almost scared to speak.

“Can we talk?” he asked quietly.

Your throat felt like it was trying to close in on itself, but was what you’d come here for.

You nodded, and the relief that hit his face was so intense it was almost hard to look at.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, like he didn’t trust the moment not to disappear if he moved too slowly. “Yeah, okay. Of course.”

He turned to his friends, jaw tight again. “I’ll be back.”

None of them tried to stop him.

Jisoo just rolled her eyes and looked away. Minjae muttered a weak, “Jeongin—” but whatever he’d been about to say died when Jeongin shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.

Then Jeongin was stepping toward you, slower this time, as if he was trying very hard not to crowd you. He stopped a few feet away.

“Is the music room okay?” he asked quietly. “No one uses it before second period.”

You swallowed and nodded again, words still trapped in your throat.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t try to touch you. He just fell into step beside you—careful to leave space between your shoulders—and led you across the courtyard.

The walk to the music block was silent. It wasn’t tense exactly, just fragile. You could feel the weight of a hundred questions pressing against the inside of your ribs now that this was actually happening. You’d imagined this conversation all weekend—angry versions, devastated versions, versions where you screamed and versions where he cried and versions where you walked away after two minutes because hearing him explain made it worse somehow.

Now that the moment was here, all you felt was raw.

Jeongin unlocked the practice room with the spare key he borrowed sometimes for guitar club and pushed the door open for you. You stepped inside first, Jeongin stepping in behind you.

The room smelled faintly of dust and old wood polish. There was a piano shoved into one corner, a stack of music stands against the wall, and a row of chairs under the window. It was quiet in a way that made the rest of the school feel very far away.

Jeongin closed the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone. He didn’t come any closer, though. Just stood with his back to the door for a second, staring at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were really here. Then he exhaled shakily and said, very softly—

“Ask me anything.”

The words hung in the room between you.

Ask me anything.

For a second, all you could do was stare at him. He looked awful up close. Not just tired—exhausted. There were shadows under his eyes, his tie was crooked, and his hair looked like he’d been dragging his hands through it all morning. He was standing too stiffly too, like every muscle in his body was braced for impact, shoulders tense under his blazer, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides.

You hated that you noticed. Hated that some part of you still catalogued every sign of his distress automatically, the same way you always had

Your hands were shaking again, though not as badly as they had on Friday. More a fine, restless tremor in your fingers than anything else. You tucked them into the sleeves of your hoodie and looked away from him, trying to gather your thoughts into something coherent.

There were too many questions, too many places to start, so you went for the one that had been lodged under your ribs since the party.

“Tell me about the bet.”

Jeongin flinched. Just a sharp little jerk of his shoulders, like the words had hit somewhere tender. He dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded once.

The room felt very quiet. Jeongin dragged a hand over the back of his neck, then exhaled through his nose like he was forcing himself to walk into something painful.

“It was at the start of the year,” he said. “Before we started talking properly. Before… all of this.”

You said nothing, so he swallowed, continuing.

“We were in the locker room after practice. Hyunwoo and Minjae were being idiots, talking about girls they thought were fit, and someone brought up you.”

Your face burned instantly, and Jeongin noticed and shut his eyes for half a second, hating himself.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know. I’m sorry.”

You crossed your arms tighter over your chest. “Keep going.”

“They were joking about how you never talked to anyone. About how you looked terrified every time someone even said your name.” His mouth tightened. “One of them said there was no way anyone could get you to go out with them because you’d run a mile first.”

Your stomach twisted, ashamed of your own anxiety and how easy it made you into a punchline.

“I should’ve told them to shut up.” His voice was flat with self-disgust. “That should’ve been the end of it. But they kept going, and then Minjae made it into this whole thing about who could get your number, who could make you blush, all this stupid, pathetic teenage bullshit.”

He laughed once under his breath, and there was nothing funny in it.

“Then Hyunwoo said there was no chance I’d be able to pull you because you were ‘too shy to fall for someone like me.’” His jaw clenched. “And instead of acting like a normal human being, I got cocky.”

You stared at him. Jeongin met your eyes for exactly one second before looking away again.

“I said I could get you to date me if I wanted to.”

The words landed like a punch no matter how much you’d already known. Your throat tightened, and he saw it happen. He looked sick at his own words.

“It wasn’t supposed to become…” He gestured helplessly between you. “This. It was supposed to be stupid and short and over in a week, maybe two. I thought I’d flirt with you a bit, prove a point, and then find some excuse for why it didn’t work.”

Your laugh came out brittle. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“No.” His answer was immediate. “No, nothing about this is supposed to make you feel better. I’m just telling you the truth.”

You looked away before he could see how much that hurt.

“Did they actually bet money?” you asked.

Jeongin’s mouth twisted. “Yeah.”

“How much?” He hesitated, but you needed to know. “How much, Jeongin?”

“Fifty quid.”

The room went still. You let out a short, disbelieving laugh and turned away from him completely, pressing a hand to your mouth.

Fifty pounds. Six months of your life reduced to the price of a takeaway and a decent bottle of vodka.

Jeongin’s voice cracked behind you. “I know.”

“Did you win?”

You turned back around when he didn’t answer, and you saw that his face had gone white.

“Did. You. Win?”

“No.”

You stared, momentarily confused. “No?”

He shook his head quickly. “I never took anything from them. It didn’t get that far.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Your voice sharpened. “Did you win?”

Jeongin looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.

“They considered it a win when you agreed to go out with me,” he said quietly. “So technically, yeah.”

Your stomach lurched. “Did they ever give you the money?”

“No.”

“How do I know that?”

“You don’t.” He didn’t even try to defend himself. “You don’t know any of this for sure. You only have my word, and I know that’s worth basically nothing right now. But I swear to you, I never took it.”

You swallowed hard. “When did it stop being a bet?”

That one made him look up properly. The answer was there on his face before he even said it—something raw and immediate and almost pained in its honesty.

“Embarrassingly fast.”

Your eyebrows pulled together despite yourself.

Jeongin let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know exactly. There wasn’t one dramatic moment where everything changed. It was just…” He scrubbed both hands over his face. “You weren’t what I expected.”

“Meaning?”

He gave a humourless huff. “Meaning I was an idiot.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I know.” He looked at you, really looked at you, and something in his expression softened despite how wrecked he still seemed. “You were so nervous around me at first, but you still tried. You still showed up. You still answered me, even when I could tell every conversation was costing you something.”

Your throat tightened, and Jeongin took a step forward before catching himself and stopping.

“The first time I realised something was wrong with me was that day it rained after school and you gave me your umbrella.”

You blinked. “What?”

His mouth twitched faintly, sadly. “You remember? We’d only been talking for like two weeks. I’d forgotten my coat and it started pissing it down, and you stood there in the doorway of the science block looking like you were going to faint from talking to me, and you still shoved your umbrella into my hands because I had football training and ‘you didn’t want me getting ill.’”

You remembered. God, you remembered. You’d spent twenty minutes after that replaying the interaction in your head and dying of embarrassment because you’d practically thrown the umbrella at him and bolted.

Jeongin’s voice softened. “You ran to the bus stop in the rain after that. Got soaked because you were too awkward to stand under the same umbrella as me.”

Heat crawled into your face at his words.

“I asked Minjae that night what the fuck I was doing,” he admitted. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart stumbled, traitorous and stupid, but you hardened your expression immediately. You still needed an answer.

“That still doesn’t tell me when it stopped.”

Jeongin nodded, accepting the correction.

“It stopped before I even asked you out properly,” he said. “I know that sounds convenient. I know it does. But it’s true.”

You stared at him, and he held your gaze this time, forcing himself not to look away.

“I asked you out because I wanted to,” he said. “Not because of them. By that point I was already trying to figure out how to get out of the bet without telling anyone I’d bottled it.”

You laughed bitterly. “And you couldn’t think of any way to do that except keep lying to me?”

His face crumpled. “I know.”

“No, answer me.”

Jeongin’s shoulders slumped. “I was scared.”

You almost snapped at him for the audacity, but something in his expression stopped you.

“Scared of what?” you asked.

“Everything.” He dragged a hand through his hair again, frustrated with himself. “Scared that if I told you, you’d hate me before I even got the chance to explain myself. Scared that if I ended things suddenly, you’d think it was because you’d done something wrong. Scared my friends would tell you first. Scared they’d say it in the worst possible way. Scared that if I came clean after we’d already been together for a while, it would hurt even more.”

A hollow laugh escaped you. “Well, good news. It did.”

“I know.” His eyes filled immediately. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

You looked away before the tears in his eyes could do anything dangerous to your resolve.

“What exactly was the bet?” you asked, forcing your voice steady. “Because at the party they made it sound like it was about sleeping with me.”

Jeongin’s expression changed instantly, a flash of genuine anger cut through the guilt.

“It wasn’t.” The words came out hard and immediate. “I swear to you, it wasn’t.”

You folded your arms tighter. “Then why did they say that?”

“Because they’re disgusting.” His jaw clenched. “The actual bet was just that I could get you to go out with me. That was it. It was still awful and manipulative and cruel, but it wasn’t about sex.”

You searched his face. He took a breath, then kept going before you could decide whether to believe him.

“They started making gross jokes later. After we were already together. Because they’re boys and they think they’re funny and I should’ve shut it down the first time it happened.” Shame flooded his features. “That’s on me. Every single part of that is on me. I let them keep treating the whole thing like a joke because I was too much of a coward to tell the truth.”

You thought of Friday night. Of the kitchen. Of the shy girl and get her into bed and the way the floor had seemed to vanish under your feet.

Your chest ached. “So they all knew.”

Jeongin closed his eyes for a second. “Yeah.”

“How many people?”

“Just the boys from the team who were there when it started. And Jisoo because she was dating Minjae for like two weeks and he tells everyone everything.”

You stared at him. “Minjae dated her?”

“Unfortunately.”

The word almost made you laugh. Instead, you asked the next question that had been burning through you since Friday.

“Why was she hanging off you at the party?”

Jeongin looked startled. “Jisoo?”

“Yes, Jisoo.”

He blinked, then swore softly under his breath like he’d only just realised how it must’ve looked.

“She was drunk,” he said quickly. “And annoying. That’s it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is, I swear.” He shook his head. “She cornered me in the kitchen asking where you were because she wanted to know why I’d ‘ditched’ the party for a girlfriend who never even came to them. I told her to mind her own business, she called me boring, and then she started hanging off my arm because she thought it was funny.”

“You could’ve moved.”

“I know.” He looked furious with himself all over again. “I should’ve. I should’ve shoved her off immediately. I didn’t because I was half listening to Hyunwoo talking and trying not to start an argument in the middle of the kitchen.”

His mouth tightened.

“Then you walked in, and I didn’t even see you until you were already leaving.”

Your eyes burned. “You called after me.”

“Yeah.” His face twisted. “Because I heard Hyunwoo say ‘shy girl’ and realised what they were doing.”

You swallowed hard. “What were you going to say?”

The question came out smaller than you intended, and Jeongin’s whole expression softened into something almost unbearably sad.

“The truth.”

You looked at him, unconvinced, but he continued. “I was going to tell them to shut the fuck up,” he said. “I was going to tell them it hadn’t been a bet in months and that they didn’t get to talk about you like that.” He let out a shaky breath. “And then I was going to come after you and tell you everything, because the second I saw your face I knew there was no fixing it any other way.”

“But you still wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t heard.”

Jeongin went quiet at that. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“No.”

The honesty of it was brutal.

“I wouldn’t have told you that night if you hadn’t heard them first.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “And I hate that about myself.”

“Why?” you asked, and the word came out cracked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He looked up slowly. This, maybe more than the bet itself, was the thing that had been eating at you all weekend. Not just that he’d lied in the beginning, but that somewhere in the middle—somewhere between your first date and your first I love you and every late-night call and panic attack and quiet moment in between—he had looked at you, supposedly loved you, and still kept this one horrible truth tucked away where you couldn’t reach it.

Jeongin’s face crumpled under the weight of the question. “Because every day I waited made it harder.”

He laughed once, shakily, but it broke in the middle.

“At first I told myself I’d tell you after the first date. Then after we’d been together a week, because by then I’d know whether there was even anything real there.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Then you kissed me, and I thought I’d tell you after that because there was no way I could keep something like that from you if we were actually doing this.”

His voice was getting rougher now, more uneven.

“But then every time I looked at you, I’d think, not today. Not when you’re smiling at me like that. Not when you’ve just had a bad day. Not when you’re finally starting to trust me. Not when I’ve just spent an hour convincing you I actually like you and you don’t need to panic every time I hold your hand in public.”

Your chest tightened painfully at the memories.

“So I kept putting it off,” he said. “And the longer I put it off, the worse it became, because suddenly it wasn’t just ‘I made a disgusting bet before I knew you.’ It was ‘I made a disgusting bet, then I fell in love with you, and now I’ve let you build an entire relationship on top of a lie.’”

Tears were slipping down his face now, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“I knew if I told you, I’d lose you.” His voice cracked completely. “And I was selfish enough to want a little more time first.”

That one hurt because it was probably the most honest thing he’d said all morning. You pressed your lips together hard to stop them from trembling, before you asked your next pressing question.

“When did you realise you loved me?”

Jeongin looked at you like the answer had lived in his bones for months. “Your panic attack.”

Your breath caught. He took a shaky step closer, then stopped again, leaving the same careful distance between you.

“The one at my house,” he said softly. “When you were on the floor in my room and you were trying so hard not to let me see you like that, and all I could think was that I’d kill anyone who’d ever made you feel like you had to hide from them.”

Your eyes stung, and Jeongin’s own were red-rimmed and glassy.

“You fell asleep on me after,” he went on. “And I sat there with your head on my chest for like two hours because I didn’t want to wake you up. And I remember thinking that if I moved and you left, I was going to miss you even while you were still in the house.”

You had to look away, and Jeongin swallowed hard.

“That was the first time I said it out loud,” he admitted. “Not at the swings. At my house, after you woke up.”

Your head snapped up. “You remember that?”

He gave a watery, disbelieving laugh. “Of course I remember that. You looked at me like I’d told you the sky was green.”

You hadn’t thought he knew you remembered. You’d always treated the moment like some strange, private thing because you hadn’t been sure whether it counted—whether he’d only said it because you were half asleep and crying and he’d wanted to calm you down.

As if he could read every thought on your face, Jeongin shook his head.

“I didn’t say it to make you feel better,” he said quietly. “I said it because it was true, and because I was stupid enough to think maybe if I said it while you were half out of it, I could get away with not explaining why I looked like I wanted to climb inside your ribcage and live there.”

The corner of your mouth twitched before you could stop it, and Jeongin noticed. His own face crumpled a little harder.

“Please don’t do that unless you mean it,” he whispered, voice breaking on the edges. “I’m hanging on by a thread here.”

The tiny almost-smile vanished immediately, silence filling the room. It wasn’t sharp, but it was heavier somehow. More fragile.

You stared down at your sleeves. “There’s one thing I still don’t get.”

“Anything.”

You took a breath. “If you loved me that much… why didn’t you walk away?” Your voice wobbled despite your best efforts. “Why keep going if every day you stayed with me meant lying to me more?”

Jeongin went still, and for a long moment, he said nothing. Then, very quietly, “Because I was weak.”

You looked up. He held your gaze, eyes bright with tears he wasn’t bothering to hide anymore.

“Because every time I thought about ending it or telling you the truth, I’d picture your face when I picked you up from school, or the way you’d fall asleep on my shoulder when you were tired, or how happy you got when I brought you those weird strawberry sweets you like, and I’d think, just one more day.”

His mouth shook around the words. “Then one more day turned into six months.”

You could hear his breathing now—unsteady, almost as uneven as yours had been outside school on Friday.

“I know that makes me selfish,” he said. “I know it makes me a coward. You can call me whatever you want and I’ll agree with you. But none of it was fake. Not one second of it.”

He scrubbed angrily at his face.

“I loved you every day,” he said, voice rough. “Even when you were mad at me for stealing your chips. Even when you got so anxious before presentations you made yourself ill. Even when you’d wake me up at stupid o’clock because your brain wouldn’t shut up and you needed someone to talk to. I loved you when you were laughing, and I loved you when you were crying, and I loved you so much it made me feel sick every time I remembered how this started.”

Your throat closed. You hadn’t meant to cry, but tears were spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them, hot and humiliating and impossible to wipe away fast enough.

Jeongin took one instinctive step forward, but you still stepped back. He stopped dead, and the hurt that flashed across his face was immediate, but he nodded quickly, hands lifting slightly in surrender.

“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “Sorry.”

You covered your mouth with one hand and tried to breathe through the ache in your chest. This was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? The truth. The whole ugly, painful, honest truth laid out in front of you so you could stop guessing.

So why did it feel like someone had taken your heart apart with their bare hands and arranged the pieces on the floor between you?

“I don’t know what to do with this,” you whispered.

Jeongin looked destroyed. “I know.”

“I hate that I still—” Your voice broke off.

Still what?

Still loved him?

Still wanted to believe him?

Still wanted him to be telling the truth badly enough that it scared you?

You couldn’t finish the sentence. Jeongin’s face folded in on itself anyway, as if he knew exactly what you’d almost said and hated himself for making it so hard.

“You don’t have to decide anything now,” he said quickly. “I’m not asking you to. I know I don’t deserve that.”

You laughed weakly through your tears. “Then what are you asking?”

He stared at you, and for the first time since you’d walked into the room, there was no hesitation in his answer at all.

“A chance to prove I’m not lying now.”

The words settled in the silence. Your breathing hitched, and Jeongin took a shaky breath of his own.

“I know I don’t deserve another chance,” he said. “I know that. But if there’s even a tiny part of you that believes what we had was real, then let me prove it. Let me spend however long it takes showing you that I mean every word I’m saying now.”

His eyes dropped to your hands, still hidden in your sleeves.

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I won’t ask you to forgive me before you’re ready. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, answer every horrible question, take whatever you need to throw at me.” His voice cracked again. “Just don’t let this be the end without at least giving me the chance to be honest with you properly.”

You stared at him through blurred vision. This beautiful, stupid boy who had broken your heart with both hands and was now standing in front of you looking like he’d hand you the pieces if you asked.

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there even was a right thing to say. So in the end, all you managed was the truth.

“I’m still angry.”

Jeongin nodded immediately. “You should be.”

“I still don’t know if I can trust you.”

Another nod, but slower this time. “I know.”

“And I’m not promising anything.”

“Okay.”

You wiped at your face with your sleeve and took a shaky breath.

“But…” Your voice wobbled. “I don’t think I’m ready to let go of six months without trying to understand what was real and what wasn’t.”

Jeongin went completely still. You could actually see the hope hit him—small and frightened and almost too fragile to touch.

“So,” you said, swallowing hard, “you can answer more of my questions when I have them. You can be honest. And after that…” You looked away. “I’ll decide.”

For one awful second, you thought he might cry properly. Instead he just nodded, once, twice, jaw tight like he was physically holding himself together.

“Okay,” he said, voice wrecked. “Okay. Anything.”

The bell rang somewhere outside the music room, but neither of you moved. The sound echoed faintly through the corridor, followed by distant footsteps and muffled classroom chatter, but in the little practice room, everything stayed suspended.

You and Jeongin.

The truth between you.

And whatever came next.

[Part Two]

a/n: don’t hate me I gave you warnings okay I love you all mwah xo

a/n2: if you want a part two full of grovelling then I can absolutely do that, just lmk in the comments!

Taglist: @hanniesbubuwife @skrach84 @felixstarz @starrynightviper @mrsleeknowsaurus @2minracha @cchapssaltteok @barbie-girl84 @hannieslovebot @nzzzzzzzzzzzz @mongmongsworld @sparklybunnygirl @lunr-eclipsee @jeonginsfavglazer @hyunjinswifey143 @whights-t @itsraininghyunebuckets

[cvupidwrites]

꒰ ♡ # “ 002 who? ”꒱ - ESPRESSO HEARTS

ᡣ𐭩 , pairing : barista!seungmin x fem!reader

ᡣ𐭩 , summary : y/n never believed that love was genuine after continuously watching people have their hearts broken by people they truly loved, so she hid her heart away. her friends always tried to get her to go on dates but she refused every time. she believed she would be alone forever, until he came around. she started to think… maybe she could give it a chance..?

ᡣ𐭩 , warnings : none other than cursing!

˗ˏˋ ꒰ previous | masterlist | next ꒱ ˎˊ˗

© askzworld, 2026

tag list: @sellomaybe @sparklybunnygirl

authors note: i worked on 2 posts in a day 😳?!! this is not normal for me so…..don’t get used to it….🥹

[glimmerfics]

You find out that your boyfriend, ATZ Yunho, is Spider-Man!!? Play this Choose-Your-Own-Adventure and discover if your love will survive his double life!

🔗 READ/PLAY HERE 🎮 interactive fanfic "Spider-Man: Now This House Ain't A Home" by JayAtiny 📖 Episode 1 of ?

[jungkoode]

THE 25TH HOUR

↪︎𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼: "Everything freezes at 1:59 AM. You're not supposed to be awake, yet here you are—and so is Min Yoongi, looking at you with years of something you can't remember in his eyes. Your body knows him. Your mind doesn't. And you have exactly 60 minutes to figure out why."

↪︎𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮: sci-fi, fated + starcrossed lovers, slow burn, smut, angst ↪︎𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: here (MUST READ) ↪︎𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰: min yoongi x f!reader ↪︎𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓼: ongoing | 𝔀𝓬: 100k+ | 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼: 15/47 ↪︎𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓬𝓴 𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓴𝓼: ao3 | wattpad | taglist

⊹･ﾟ✧ chapters ✧ﾟ･⊹ | *= smut

arc 1: awakening #01 | #02 | #03 | #04 | #05 | #06 | #07 | #08 | #09 | #10 | #11 | #12 | #13

arc 2: resistance & revelation #14 | #15*| #16 | #17 | #18 | #19 | #20*| #21 | #22 | #23 | #24 | #25*| #26

arc 3: descent into addiction #27 | #28*| #29*| #30*| #31*| #32 | #33*| #34 | #35*| #36 | #37

arc 4: revelation & revolution #38 | #39 | #40* | #41 | #42 | #43 | #44 | #45* | #46 | #47

⊹･ﾟ✧ plot✧ﾟ･⊹

Working at the Chrono Monitoring Center means following one rule: time doesn't break. But when you catch Min Yoongi's golden eyes across a frozen room, you realize there might be more about CHRONOS than meets the eye. Some patterns are written in time itself—no matter how many infinite symbols it takes.

⊹･ﾟ✧ memories ✧ﾟ･⊹

▷ reset 0: noma ▷ reset 5: need ▷ reset 17: before time stops

⊹･ﾟ✧ extras ✧ﾟ･⊹ ☆ playlist: temporal echoes ☆ guides: temporal mechanics ☆ moodboards: aesthetic ☆ maps: 7th hour • boston prime ☆ asks : ask the disasters (open) | asks about the fic ☆ readers’ requests ➜ through asks! ⤷ pov reversals (requests: open) xxx ⤷ drabbles (requests: open) xxx

☆ disclaimer☆ this is a work of fiction. all characters and temporal activities depicted are fictional. bts members are used for visual reference only.

© jungkoode 2025 | banner by @matchastwb <3 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[jungkoode]

OUT OF LINE | 07

pairing: taehyung x f!reader | rating: 18+ | wc: 11,2k | warnings: here genre : football AU, arrogant!tae, e2l, smut, unimpressed!reader

"call mom"

“You roll your eyes once and accidentally feed a god complex. Across Madrid, Taehyung spends the rest of the day pretending you don’t matter, which would be more convincing if he weren’t spiraling in designer clothes and liking ferret videos at 1 AM.”

next | index | taglist | general masterlist

↦author's note : Hi, Kiki Nation. Welcome back to another episode of Out Of Line, also known as: 'Kim Taehyung should be medically supervised and emotionally restrained, but unfortunately he is rich, hot, and left unattended.'

This chapter is very Taehyung-heavy, which means you are about to spend a concerning amount of time inside the head of a man who thinks self-awareness is something that happens to other people. He is tired. He is horny. He is spiraling. He is watching ferret videos at 1 AM like a divorced mother of three. Character development? No. Character disintegration in a designer hoodie? Absolutely.

We also get more of his family situation here, especially Hyunwoo, and I need you all to understand that this is where some of the rot starts showing through the gold leaf. Taehyung is very good at being arrogant, desirable, untouchable, insufferable, etcetera, etcetera, give him his Ballon d’Or for psychological avoidance. But he is also someone who has built his whole personality around not needing anyone, and then gets mad when being seen feels like being held at gunpoint.

So, yes. He is a menace. Yes, he deserves to be humbled. Yes, Y/N rolling her eyes at him should be studied in universities. But also… there is a reason he is like this. Unfortunately for all of us, I gave him trauma and cheekbones, and now we must live with the consequences.

Also, the ferrets are here. Nube and Hari supremacy. If Taehyung becomes a ferret dad against his will, mind your business. Sometimes a man’s healing journey starts with accidentally liking three videos of a sock thief on Instagram. Who among us, truly.

Thank you so much for reading, commenting, yelling, theorizing, and enabling my little football psychological warfare simulator. I love you all deeply, disgustingly, parasocially. Now go watch this man make everything worse. As he does. As is tradition.

Enjoy the chapter. (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

If that phone rings one more time, someone’s getting their jaw broken.

Taehyung stares at the screen—some action movie Marco picked, explosions and gunfire that should be loud enough to drown out the bzzzzt-bzzzzt-bzzzzt coming from his pocket every thirty fucking seconds—and considers the likelihood of Carlos giving up.

Zero percent.

Carlos never gives up. That’s why he’s still employed despite the fact that Taehyung makes his life a living hell on a bi-weekly basis.

Bzzzzt-bzzzzt.

His eye twitches.

“You seriously not gonna pick up?” Marco mumbles from his seat, sprawled out, feet propped on the headrest in front, one hand buried in the popcorn bowl and the other swiping through Raya with the focus of a man on a mission.

Taehyung catches a glimpse of the screen—blonde, long hair, body that could stop traffic—and Marco swipes right with that specific smile that says he likes what he sees. 

Probably already composing his opener in his head. Something stupid. Something that’ll work anyway because Marco’s got the kind of face that gets away with stupidity.

Taehyung kicks Marco’s legs off the headrest.

Hard.

“Bro—” Marco’s feet hit the floor with a thud, popcorn flying. He twists to the side, offended. “What the fuck?”

“Get your dirty-ass feet off my seats.”

“They’re not even dirty—”

“I don’t care.” Taehyung drops into the seat next to him, immediately propping his own feet up on the headrest Marco just vacated. “My house. My rules.”

Marco stares at him.

Then at Taehyung’s feet.

Then back at him.

“You just gave me shit for—”

“Yeah. And?” Taehyung doesn’t look away from the screen. “It’s my house. I do whatever I want. You don’t.”

“That’s bullshit—”

“Then leave,” he replies, sticking his tongue out. 

Marco slumps back in his seat, muttering something in Italian that’s definitely an insult. But he doesn’t move his feet back up. Just shoves more popcorn in his mouth and goes back to Raya, swiping left on someone who’s probably perfectly nice but committed the cardinal sin of having a bad first photo.

Bzzzzt-bzzzzt-bzzzzt.

Taehyung’s phone goes off again and he genuinely considers throwing it at the wall.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?” Marco asks, not looking up from his screen.

“Carlos has been on my ass all fucking day and I don’t even know why.”

“So pick up.”

“Did I say I want to know?” Taehyung’s jaw ticks. “I said I don’t know. I intend to keep it that way.”

“Very mature.”

“I’m in my twenties. I’m not supposed to be mature.”

“Pretty sure that’s the opposite of how that works—”

“Is this too much popcorn?”

They both turn.

Leo’s standing in the doorway, holding a bowl so full it’s practically spilling over the sides. The guy looks genuinely concerned about it, like popcorn quantity is a moral dilemma.

Taehyung looks at the bowl.

Looks at Leo.

“That’s like four bowls’ worth.”

“I know.” Leo shifts his weight. “But I didn’t know how much you guys wanted, so I just—”

“Brought enough to feed the whole squad,” Marco finishes, grinning. “Solid plan. Come here, give me that.”

Leo brightens, crossing the room and handing over the bowl. Marco immediately digs in with both hands like he hasn’t been eating popcorn for the last twenty minutes.

“There’s more in the kitchen if we run out,” Leo adds, dropping into the seat on Taehyung’s other side.

“We’re not gonna run out,” Taehyung says flatly.

“You don’t know that—”

“Leo. It’s popcorn. If we run out, we make more. It’s not a crisis.”

“But what if—”

“Jesus Christ.” Marco leans forward, looking past Taehyung at Leo. “You stress about the weirdest shit, bro. It’s popcorn. Chill.”

“I’m chill—”

“You’re the opposite of chill. You’re like, aggressively un-chill.” Marco’s already back on his phone, thumb moving in that practiced swipe-swipe-swipe rhythm. “Oh shit. Her.”

“Her who?” Leo asks.

“That model. The one from the shoot last month.” 

Marco shows them his screen—some girl with cheekbones that could cut glass and a caption in Spanish that’s probably poetic but comes across as try-hard.

“Ha! She liked me back.”

“Congrats,” Taehyung says, not looking. “You gonna message her or just stare at her profile like a fucking creep?”

“Fuck off. I’m crafting.”

“You’ve been staring at her for thirty seconds.”

“I’m using all my brainpower here, gimme a second.” 

Marco’s typing now, that little smirk on his face that means he’s saying something absolutely unhinged. 

“Okay. Sent.”

“What’d you say?”

Marco locks his phone, tossing it onto the empty seat beside him. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be fun.”

“It’s gonna be something stupid—”

“It’s gonna work—”

Bzzzzt-bzzzzt-bzzzzt.

Taehyung’s phone goes off again and this time it doesn’t stop. Just keeps buzzing, insistent and angry, and he knows—knows—that Carlos is about three seconds away from showing up at his house and breaking down the door.

“Dude.” Leo’s looking at him now, concerned. “That’s like the tenth time. Maybe you should—”

“I’m not picking up.”

“But—”

“Drop it.”

Leo shuts his mouth.

Marco doesn’t.

“What’d you do this time?” He’s already forgotten about the model, attention back on Taehyung with that knowing look. “And don’t say nothing. Carlos doesn’t call eleven times for nothing.”

“I don’t know what I did.” 

And he genuinely doesn’t. Could be anything. Could be the club thing from that night—the fifteen grand thing—or it could be some interview he forgot about or some sponsor event he blew off. Carlos keeps a mental list of Taehyung’s fuckups and pulls from it whenever he’s bored. 

“And I don’t care.”

“You’re gonna have to care eventually—”

“Why?” Taehyung shifts in his seat, finally looking at Marco. “He gets paid to deal with my shit. That’s literally his job.”

“Pretty sure his job is to manage you, not parent you—”

The phone stops buzzing.

Silence.

Taehyung exhales.

“See?” He settles back, eyes returning to the screen where someone’s getting thrown through a window. “He gave up.”

“He didn’t give up,” Marco says. “He’s regrouping.”

“You’re so dramatic—”

His phone buzzes once.

Text notification.

Taehyung ignores it.

Ten seconds later, it buzzes again.

Then again.

Then it starts ringing—that specific ringtone he assigned to Carlos after the man called him at 3 AM about a missed photo shoot. 

Loud. Aggressive. Impossible to ignore.

“Bro.” Leo’s practically cringing in his seat. “Just answer it—”

“No.”

“He’s not gonna stop—”

“I know.”

Marco’s laughing now, head tipped back against the seat. “Oh my god. You’re actually gonna let him have an aneurysm.”

“He’s fine. He’s got good health insurance.”

The ringing stops.

Starts again.

Stops.

Starts.

And then Taehyung’s phone buzzes with a text that lights up the whole screen, visible even from here.

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒: 𝙿𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚘𝚛 𝙸’𝚖 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛.

Taehyung’s entire body goes rigid.

“Oh shit—” Marco’s cackling now, actually wheezing. “He’s bringing in the big guns—”

“He wouldn’t—”

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒: 𝚃𝚛𝚢 𝚖𝚎.

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒: 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚕.

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒: 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶.

Taehyung’s hand twitches.

Carlos wouldn’t.

Carlos absolutely would.

“Wooooow.” Marco’s grinning so wide it looks painful. “Leashed at last. Mama’s boy. Pussy.”

Taehyung flips him off without looking, already scoffing and about to put his phone back in his pocket.

“I’m not a—”

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒: 𝟷𝟶 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚜.

He stands up. 

He swipes to answer, already walking toward the door because if he’s gonna get yelled at, he’s not doing it in front of Marco’s smug fucking face.

“What—”

“WHAT?” Carlos’s voice comes through the speaker so loud Taehyung has to hold the phone away from his ear. “WHAT? That’s what you’re starting with? WHAT?”

Taehyung reaches the hallway, door closing behind him, and yawns.

Long. Deliberate. Jaw cracking.

“Are you yawning—”

“Yeah. Long day.” Another yawn, just to make the point. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Carlos sounds like he’s about to spontaneously combust. “What’s up is that I’ve been calling you for two hours—”

“Has it been two hours? Didn’t notice.”

“—and you’ve been ignoring me—”

“Busy.”

“Busy doing what—”

“Watching a movie.”

“You’re watching a—” Carlos makes a sound that’s half laugh, half dying animal. “You’re watching a movie. While I’m having a stroke trying to manage your disaster of a—”

Taehyung leans against the wall, inspecting his nails.

This is gonna be a long one.

He can tell.

Carlos is one of those people who starts loud and just gets louder. Builds momentum like a freight train until he’s reached peak hysteria and Taehyung’s ears are bleeding.

He estimates 6 minutes at least. They’re at the beginning of the climb right now.

“—do you have any idea what I woke up to this morning? Any idea?”

“Your alarm?”

“Funny.” Carlos doesn’t sound amused. “I woke up to twenty-six messages from the PR team. Twenty-six. You know what they were about?”

Taehyung yawns again.

He genuinely can’t help it. His body’s doing that thing where it just shuts down mid-conversation, eyelids heavy, brain fog rolling in. Could fall asleep standing up right now if he let himself.

“I’m gonna take a wild guess and say me?”

“Correct.” Carlos’s voice sharpens. “You. Specifically, you and a very interesting set of photographs that are currently circulating on MadridGossip.”

Taehyung frowns.

Photographs?

He tries to think back—the party, but he was careful. Didn’t let anyone get photos of him leaving with Hot #848. Didn’t post anything stupid. Marco handled all the socials.

“What photographs?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Carlos sounds delighted in that specific way that means Taehyung’s about to get fucked. “Let me paint you a picture. Friday morning. Residential neighborhood. Very nice house. You, in the doorway—looking very intense—”

“I was just—”

“The photos say otherwise.” Carlos keeps going. “Your foot—quite clearly—shoved in the door. And a girl, also in very casual clothing, looking like she’s about to murder you.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your house.

Friday morning.

When he showed up for the appointment and you were standing there in that sleep shirt and shorts, hair a disaster, face bare, looking at him like he was a stain on your carpet.

When he put his foot in the door because you tried to slam it on him.

Shit.

“Okay—” Taehyung starts.

“I’m not done.” Carlos cuts him off. “Do you know who that girl is?”

“Yeah—”

“Jesús’s daughter. The new head physio’s daughter. The man who literally just started with the club.”

“I know who she—”

“And now,” Carlos continues, voice climbing, “there are approximately fifteen different gossip accounts running with this story. Some think it’s a secret relationship. Some think it’s a hookup. But the majority—the one that’s trending—is that there’s trouble in the Madrid family. That the new physio’s daughter is causing problems with the players. That she’s—and I quote—‘already starting drama with Madrid’s number two.’”

Taehyung’s jaw tightens.

That’s not—

That’s not what happened.

He went there for treatment. For his back. Because Jesús offered home services and Taehyung’s schedule is fucked and it was convenient.

And yeah, maybe he pushed your buttons a little. Maybe he enjoyed making you snap. Maybe he got hard as hell and pressed up against you just to see what you’d do.

But that’s not drama.

That’s just—

That’s just him.

“It was a medical appointment,” he says flatly.

“I know it was a medical appointment.” Carlos sounds exhausted now. “But these photos don’t look like a medical appointment. They look like a fight. And now everyone’s speculating about what’s going on between you two.”

“There’s nothing going on—”

“I know that too!” Carlos’s voice spikes again. “But the narrative doesn’t care about reality. The narrative cares about what sells. And right now, what’s selling is ‘Taehyung and the physio’s daughter: trouble in paradise.’”

Taehyung lets his head fall back against the wall.

This is so fucking boring.

He didn’t even do anything. Just showed up, got his back worked on, flirted a little, and left. That’s it. That’s the whole story.

But somehow it’s become this whole thing.

“What do you want me to do about it?” he asks.

“I want you to kill the narrative.”

“How.”

“The usual way.” Carlos says it like it’s obvious. “Be seen with someone else. Publicly. Immediately. Give them a different story to chase.”

Taehyung processes this.

Blinks once.

“So you’re saying I just need to fuck around with someone.”

“I’m saying you need to be photographed with someone appropriate—”

“Yeah yeah, same thing.” 

He’s already running through his roster in his head. Hot #848—the blonde from the party—she’d probably be down. Or literally anyone else who knows how this works.

“That’s easy. I can do that in my sleep.”

He’s not really joking about that one. 

He’s pretty convinced he could. 

“This is not a joke—”

“I’m not joking.” Taehyung straightens up, suddenly more awake. “You want me seen with someone else? Done. I’ll take her somewhere real public. Wherever. Just text me the details.”

“Taehyung—”

“What? You just said kill the narrative. I’m killing the narrative.” 

He’s already thinking logistics. 

Tonight? 

Tomorrow? 

How fast does Carlos need this done? 

“I literally do this every weekend anyway. Now I just have to make sure someone’s watching. Easy.”

Carlos makes a sound like he’s being strangled.

“You’re missing the point—”

“No, you’re missing the point.” Taehyung’s patience is wearing thin now. “You want photos? I’ll give you photos. You want a new story? I’ll give you a story. But don’t act like this is some big complicated thing when we both know it’s not.”

“The point is that you need to be careful—”

“I’m always careful—”

“You had your foot in her door—”

“Because she tried to close it—”

“Why the FUCK are you harassing the physio’s daughter, Taehyung?!” 

Okay, that was definitely a yell from Carlos. 

Full volume. 

“Look—I don’t care about the context. I care about optics. And right now, the optics are that you’re causing problems with staff families. Do you understand how bad that looks? How much the club hates that?”

Taehyung’s jaw ticks.

He gets it.

He does.

The club has rules. Invisible lines. 

Don’t fuck the physio’s daughter. Don’t fuck your teammate’s sister. Don’t fuck anyone who can cause complicated political nightmares if it goes south.

He knows the rules.

They’re just fucking annoying and fucking boring.

And also—he  doesn’t really care about them.

“Fine,” he says shortly. “I’ll fix it.”

“You’ll—”

“I said I’ll fix it.” His patience officially hits zero. “Tonight. Tomorrow. Whenever. I’ll be seen with someone else and everyone will forget about the physio’s daughter thing. Happy?”

Carlos is silent for a long moment.

Then: “Just—don’t make it worse.”

“I never make it worse—”

“You always make it worse—”

Taehyung hangs up.

Stands there for a second in the hallway, phone in hand, staring at nothing.

He feels his thoughts slow down and his eyelids get heavier and everything feels like it’s moving through honey.

He could sleep right here. Right now. Just slide down the wall and pass out on the floor.

Shakes his head instead.

Pushes off the wall and heads back into the cinema room.

Marco and Leo both look up when he walks in.

“Sooo?” Marco’s grinning. “How bad?”

“Bad enough.” Taehyung drops back into his seat, immediately propping his feet up again. “Apparently someone got photos of me at her house.”

Leo blinks. “The physio’s daughter?”

“Yeah.”

“Why were you at her house?”

“Medical appointment.” Taehyung reaches for the popcorn bowl, shoving a handful in his mouth. “And I kinda wanted to test the waters at her house. See what it could lead to.”

Marco’s head snaps up from his phone, grin spreading slow and knowing. “Let me guess. Led to nothing.”

“She tried to slam the door in my face.”

Marco cackles. 

“Oh my god. She literally—” He can’t finish, already wheezing. “Bro, you called dibs and she’s still not biting.”

“She’ll bite.”

“When? You’ve been at this since like, what, training started?” Marco’s scrolling through his phone now, clearly looking for the photos. “Oh shit. Found them.”

He turns his screen around.

There it is.

Taehyung in your doorway, one arm braced on the frame, foot jammed in the door. 

And you—face caught mid-scowl, hand on the door like you’re about to shove him out.

The caption reads: TROUBLE IN PARADISE? Madrid’s #2 spotted in heated confrontation with new physio’s daughter. Witnesses say the argument lasted several minutes before he was let inside. 👀🔥 #RealMadrid #Drama #MadridGossip

“Heated confrontation,” Marco reads aloud, laughing. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I wasn’t confronting her—”

“You look like you’re about to either fight her or fuck her.” Marco zooms in on the photo. “Honestly could go either way.”

Leo leans over, squinting at the screen. “Wait. Is that—is your foot in her door?”

“She tried to close it on me.”

“So you blocked it.” Leo sits back, looking genuinely impressed. “That’s kind of psycho, bro.”

“It’s not psycho, it’s—” Taehyung stops. “Whatever. Carlos wants me to kill the narrative. Wants me seen with someone else.”

“Oh, so you need someone for optics.” Marco’s already thinking, that look he gets when he’s about to make moves. “I can make some calls. What’s your type for this? Model? Influencer?”

“I don’t care.” Taehyung’s eyes are getting heavy again. “Just someone who knows how it works. Someone who won’t make it weird.”

“I know this girl, Daiane. Brazilian model, did that campaign with Versace last month. She’s hot, good with cameras, doesn’t do clingy.”

“Fine.”

“Or there’s this actress—Eliana something—she’s always at the clubs, super photogenic—”

“I said fine.” Taehyung yawns, jaw cracking. “Fuck, I’m tired.”

“You’re always tired,” Marco says, still scrolling.

“Yeah, well.”

Leo’s still looking at the photo on Marco’s phone, expression thoughtful.

“You know,” he says slowly, “you could just… not do anything.”

Both Taehyung and Marco turn to stare at him.

“What?”

“I’m just saying.” Leo shrugs, uncomfortable under their attention. “Like—if you’re not actually doing anything with her, why does it matter what people think? It’ll blow over in like a week when something else happens.”

“Because the club cares,” Taehyung says flatly.

“But do they?” Leo’s warming to his argument now. “Like, you’re Kim Taehyung. You’re the best defender. They’re not gonna do shit to you over some gossip photos.”

Marco snorts. “He’s got a point.”

“He doesn’t—”

“No, he kinda does.” Marco finally looks up from his phone. “You could literally get caught doing lines off a ref’s ass and the club would find a way to spin it. Some photos of you at a girl’s house? That’s nothing.”

Taehyung stares at them both.

They’re not wrong.

The club needs him more than he needs them. His contract’s worth too much. His performance stats are too good. They’re not gonna bench him or trade him over tabloid speculation.

But still.

Carlos sounded stressed.

And when Carlos is stressed, Taehyung’s life gets annoying.

“I’m still doing it,” he says finally. “Rather just fix it now than deal with Carlos having a breakdown every fucking day for the next week. I’m already exhausted with today.”

“Fair.” Marco goes back to his phone. “Alright, I’ll text Daiane. See if she’s free this week.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Carlos wants it done fast.” Taehyung closes his eyes. “So tomorrow.”

“You’re gonna make me work miracles here—”

“That’s literally why I keep you around—”

“I thought it was my charming personality—”

“Never that—”

Leo cuts in. “What if she says no?”

“She won’t,” Marco says confidently, typing rapidly. “Girls love being seen with him. Free publicity. Plus Daiane’s smart—she knows how this works.”

Taehyung lets them talk, brain already half-gone.

He’ll show up with her. Smile for the cameras. Put his arm around whoever. Let them take their photos. 

And by Wednesday, everyone will have forgotten about you and your door and the way you looked at him like he was nothing.

Problem solved.

Easy.

Marco’s still talking. “—and if Daiane doesn’t work, there’s always this DJ I know, super cool, always at the right parties—”

Taehyung’s not listening anymore.

He’s thinking about Friday morning.

About the way you looked in that sleep shirt.

About your bare legs and messy hair and the complete lack of interest in your eyes.

About the way his dick responded when you shoved him away.

He opens his eyes.

Stares at the movie screen without seeing it.

Yeah.

Tomorrow.

He’ll fix it… tomorrow.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The Valdebebas parking lot has never felt like a stage before.

Until now.

Taehyung pulls his Porsche into his usual spot—third from the entrance, prime visibility, close enough to the building that everyone coming and going gets a good look—and kills the engine.

Daiane's already checking her reflection in the visor mirror, touching up lip gloss that doesn't need touching up. She's got that model thing down—the constant performance, the awareness of angles even when no one's watching.

Someone's always watching.

That's what she said when he picked her up this morning, laughing like it was a joke but meaning every word.

She's right, too.

There's already a cluster of staff near the entrance pretending not to stare. Two equipment managers. Someone from media relations. A grounds crew guy who's been ‘sweeping’ the same three square meters for the past forty-five seconds.

Taehyung grins.

Perfect.

"Ready?" he asks, not really asking.

Daiane caps her gloss, tosses her hair—long, blonde, catches the morning light like spun gold—and gives him a smile that's pure camera-ready warmth.

"Always."

He gets out first. Takes his time about it. Stretches slightly, rolling his shoulders, letting his training jacket shift and settle. The chain catches light. The watch catches light. Everything about him catches light because that's the point—that's always the point.

Then he rounds the car and opens her door.

Holds out his hand.

She takes it, unfolding from the passenger seat with the kind of grace that comes from years of runway training. Her heels hit the asphalt. Her dress—short, designer, definitely not training-facility-appropriate—rides up just enough to show off legs that go on for approximately seven kilometers.

They start walking.

His hand finds the small of her back. Natural. Proprietary. The kind of touch that says she's with me without him having to say a word.

The equipment managers have stopped pretending to work.

Media relations girl has her phone out—probably texting someone, probably already spreading the news.

Grounds crew guy has given up on sweeping entirely.

Good.

This is exactly what Carlos wanted. Optics. A new story. Something to replace the narrative of him and the physio's daughter having some kind of dramatic confrontation.

And if it happens to cause a scene at the training facility?

If it happens to break that unwritten rule about keeping personal shit away from professional spaces?

Well.

Nobody ever accused Kim Taehyung of following rules.

They reach the entrance and he pushes through, Daiane's heels clicking against tile now as they step into the main corridor.

It's busier inside.

Players filtering toward the locker rooms. Staff moving between offices. That constant hum of activity that means training's about to start and everyone's running slightly behind.

Heads turn.

Every head turns.

He watches it happen in real-time—the recognition, the confusion, the double-takes. Players who've known him for years stopping mid-conversation to stare at the six-foot blonde on his arm like she materialized from another dimension.

Which, in a way, she did.

Nobody brings dates to training.

It's not a written rule. There's no policy, no clause in anyone's contract. It's just... not done. Training is sacred. Professional. The one space where the circus of their public lives is supposed to stay outside.

And Taehyung just walked in with a Versace campaign model in four-inch heels.

Marco spots him first.

Of course Marco spots him first.

The guy's got radar for chaos—can sense drama from three rooms away like some kind of gossip-detecting bloodhound.

His face goes through approximately seven expressions in two seconds: surprise, confusion, recognition, disbelief, and finally settling on pure, unfiltered delight.

"Bro," Marco says, loud enough that half the corridor hears him. "Did you seriously—"

"Marco." Taehyung's grin sharpens. "This is Daiane. Daiane, Marco."

"Charmed," Daiane says, all warmth and practiced charm.

Marco's still staring at Taehyung like he can't decide if this is genius or insanity.

Both, probably.

That's usually how it goes.

"You brought her to training," Marco says, not quite a question.

"She wanted to see how it works." Taehyung shrugs, completely unbothered. "Who am I to say no?"

"You're—" Marco stops. Laughs. Shakes his head. "Okay. Alright. You're actually insane. I respect it."

"I know."

They keep walking.

More stares. More whispers. Someone—he thinks it's one of the younger midfielders—actually takes a photo before remembering he's not supposed to and shoving his phone away.

Taehyung files that away for later. Might need to have a word with the kid about discretion.

Or not.

The whole point is being seen.

The physio room's coming up on the left.

His pulse does something, tiny uptick that he attributes to the adrenaline of causing a scene.

The door's propped open.

He can see inside—the treatment tables, the equipment, Jesús organizing something in the corner with his back turned.

And you.

You're there.

Standing by the cabinet, pulling out supplies, wearing scrubs that shouldn't look as good as they do. Your hair's pulled back—that ponytail you always wear when you're working—and your face is set in that neutral expression he's starting to recognize as your default.

You haven't noticed him yet.

Or you're pretending you haven't.

Same thing, really.

He slows his pace slightly. Just enough to make sure you'll see.

Daiane's still on his arm, still radiating that model energy, still dressed like she's about to walk a runway instead of tour a football facility.

Come on.

Look up.

Look—

You look up.

Your eyes find him.

Then Daiane.

Then back to him.

And your eyebrows draw together for half a second, your mouth pressing into a line, your whole demeanor radiating such profound ‘are you serious right now’ energy that he can practically hear it.

Then you roll your eyes.

Not a subtle eye roll. Not a polite, restrained, ‘I'll-pretend-I-didn't-see-that’ eye roll.

A full eye roll, the kind that involves your entire face, your neck tilting back slightly, your lashes practically brushing your hairline before returning to their original position.

He wants it framed. He wants it tattooed on the inside of his eyelids. He wants to text Carlos ‘worth every euro’ and not explain.

It's magnificent.

It's the most beautifully disdainful thing he's ever witnessed.

Marco—who's been walking slightly behind, still grinning like he's watching his favorite show—actually laughs. Out loud. A surprised bark of amusement that echoes off the corridor walls.

"Oh my god," Marco wheezes. "Did you see that? Did you fucking see that?"

Taehyung grins.

Victory.

A reaction. An acknowledgment. Proof that he exists in your consciousness, that you can't completely ignore him no matter how hard you try.

You might not care about him.

But you definitely noticed.

He holds your gaze for exactly two seconds—long enough to make his point, not long enough to seem desperate—before looking away and continuing down the corridor.

"She hates you," Daiane observes mildly, not sounding particularly concerned about it.

"She hates everyone."

"That's a lot of hate."

"She's got the capacity."

They reach the end of the corridor. He deposits Daiane in the players' lounge—nice couches, good coffee, plenty of staff who'll keep her entertained—with instructions to wait there until training's over.

"And then?" she asks, that knowing smile playing at her lips.

"And then we'll see."

She laughs, settling onto the couch like she belongs there, and he heads toward the locker room to change.

He tugs the shirt down. Runs a hand through his hair. Catches his reflection in the locker door and the grin’s still sitting on his face like it’s been left there.

You looked. You looked and you couldn’t keep your face still and that means—somewhere under all the bored and the blinking and the ‘is there a point to this’—there’s a wire he can pull. 

He just pulled it. 

Wants to pull it again. 

“You look like you just won the fucking lottery,” Marco says from the bench. “Stop.”

“Mind your business.”

“You brought a model to training—”

“And it worked.”

“What worked—”

“Forget it.”

Marco mutters something Italian. Probably a slur. He doesn’t care.

He finishes changing, grabs his cleats, heads out to the pitch.

The morning's bright. Clear skies, perfect temperature, that specific quality of Spanish light that makes everything look sharp and vivid.

Training's already starting—players spreading out for warm-ups, coaches calling instructions, the familiar rhythm of professional football in motion.

He joins them. Falls into the routine.

He jogs out, rolls his neck, stretches through his shoulders with extra. A little loose-limbed. A little ‘look at me.’

He looks toward the bench.

You’re there.

Tablet on your lap. Ponytail. That face you wear when you’re working that’s not really a face, it’s an absence of one. Your father’s by the cones with one of the juniors, and you’re three meters away pretending the entire pitch doesn’t exist.

You haven’t looked up.

Fine. Fine. It’s early. The session just started. He’s not going to be the guy who’s ten seconds into warm-ups and already tracking some girl’s eyeline.

Drills.

Defensive shape. He’s loud in the line, calling the center-backs, bossing the kid on the left who keeps stepping wrong. Reads a simulated overlap two beats early and pops the ball out with the outside of his boot, and the noise it makes is good, that thunk that means he hit it exactly where he meant to.

He glances toward the bench.

You’re scrolling.

Okay.

Drills again. He puts a shoulder into the forward coming down his side a little harder than the drill calls for. The kid stumbles. Marco’s eyebrows go up. He plants his feet, flicks the ball back into play.

Glance.

Your thumb’s still moving on the screen.

You didn’t even feel that. The whole wing collapsed and you didn’t feel it.

He wipes his forehead with the hem of his shirt. Lets it ride up. He knows what he looks like. He’s spent enough hours in the gym to know exactly what the cut of his stomach does in the morning light, and he knows there are at least four cameras on the sidelines that just got fed a very good frame.

Glance.

Tablet now. You switched back to the tablet.

What the fuck is on that tablet.

Whistle. They run it again. 

He intercepts a ball that wasn’t really meant for him to intercept, just to do it, and pings it back across the pitch on a diagonal that makes one of the assistants whistle. 

"Excellent ball, Tae!"

Yeah. Obviously.

Glance.

Your phone now. You went from the tablet back to the phone. So whatever’s on the phone is more compelling than the tablet which was already more compelling than him. 

He’s rated below two pieces of consumer electronics in your morning hierarchy and one of them is probably just fucking dumb Whatsapp.

His jaw moves. Once. He shakes it out.

He’s the best right-back in this league. He’s the best right-back in most leagues. He just made a play that’s going to be on someone’s highlight reel by tonight. There are children in multiple countries who own a jersey with his name on it. 

And you’re texting?

Drills again.

He slides into a tackle that doesn’t need to be a slide. Lands clean—he’s too good not to land clean—but his body went down harder than the angle required. 

Ball pops up. Marco collects. Marco gives him a what. He gives Marco nothing.

Glance.

You yawn. You yawn. Hand to your wrist, polite, contained, not even a dramatic yawn—a bored yawn, a somebody’s lecture is going long yawn—and you don’t even bother to hide it because your eyes are still on the screen and your father isn’t watching you so why would you.

He hates that.

He doesn’t know what to do with how much he hates that.

He takes his position. Spits on the grass. Tells himself focus, in the voice he uses on himself when he’s about to do something he’ll have to apologize for in the post-match.

Whistle.

The play unfolds and he’s there, he’s exactly where he needs to be, body doing the work without his brain because his brain is—somewhere else. 

Somewhere on the bench. 

Somewhere on a small screen he can’t see the contents of. 

He intercepts. Wins the ball. Drives forward. Lays it off to Marco. Gets it back. Turns. Whips a cross in that nobody’s there to meet because it’s a drill, it’s not a real play, but the cross itself is clean, the cross is the kind of ball that makes people remember why his contract is what it is.

Glance.

Coach calls a water break and he’s barely sweating but he’s irritated in a way that feels like sweat, that prickly under-skin thing. 

He grabs a bottle. Squirts half of it into his mouth and the other half down his neck. The cold is good. The cold helps.

You’re still on your phone.

You haven’t moved. You haven’t looked up. There has been an entire match’s worth of action in front of you and you have, what—sat there. Scrolled. Yawned. Adjusted your ponytail at one point, he caught that because he was looking, of course he was looking.

What is on that phone.

Who are you texting.

You don’t even like people. You probably have like four contacts. That’s the whole thing about you, the whole bit, the whole reason the eye roll meant something—you don’t engage, you don’t perform, you sit in a room and let it happen around you and judge it silently. 

So who the fuck has earned enough of your attention that you’re typing back.

By the time coach calls the end of the session, Taehyung's drenched in sweat and his muscles are screaming and he's so fucking irritated that he doesn't trust himself to speak to anyone.

Fuck this.

It doesn't matter if you're watching.

It doesn't matter if you care.

He's here to train. To be the best. To prove—to everyone—that he's exactly as good as he knows he is.

Your attention means nothing.

Your complete lack of attention means less than nothing.

"Bro." Marco falls into step beside him as they head toward the locker room. "You okay? You were like... intense out there."

"I'm fine."

"You sure? Because you were—"

"I said I'm fine."

Marco holds his hands up. "Alright, alright. Just asking."

They walk in silence for a few seconds.

"Daiane's still in the lounge," Marco offers. "Saw her on my way out. She looks bored as hell but she's handling it."

"Good."

More steps in silence.

Then Marco, because he can never leave anything alone: "You gonna hit that later?"

"What do you think."

"I think you look like you need to hit something." Marco's grin is pure sleaze. "Or fuck someone. Preferably someone with legs like hers."

Taehyung doesn't respond.

Just lets his body do its usual thing again—that post-exertion crash where all the adrenaline drains out at once and leaves him hollow. Heavy. Like someone's slowly filling his veins with concrete.

He needs to sit down.

Needs to sleep.

Needs to fuck.

That last one's not negotiable. His whole body's wound too tight, irritation and exhaustion and something else he's not examining tangled together in his chest. 

Sex will fix it. Sex always fixes it.

They push through the locker room doors. The space is already filling up with players—the noise of conversation, lockers slamming, someone's music playing from a speaker in the corner.

Marco drops onto the bench next to Taehyung's locker, sprawling out like his balls need the air.

"You know what you should do?"

"I'm gonna regret asking."

"Take her in here." Marco gestures expansively at the shower stalls. "Right now. Before everyone clears out."

Taehyung pauses mid-reach for his towel. Stares at Marco.

"You're joking."

"I'm not." Marco's grinning now, that specific smile that means he's about to share wisdom nobody asked for. "Bro, locker room sex? Incredible. The risk. The thrill. Someone could walk in any second. Your heart's already pounding from training—"

"You've fucked in a locker room."

"Multiple times."

"Here?"

"Here, away games, that one time in Milan—" Marco waves a hand dismissively. "Point is, it's amazing. You should try it."

Taehyung shuts his locker. Turns to look at Marco fully.

"Let me explain something to you."

"Oh god, here we go—"

"Fucking in the locker room—" 

"I said shower stalls though—"

"—means you're so fucking desperate that you can't make it somewhere private. It means you're so goddamn horny that your brain has completely stopped functioning. That you literally cannot think with your actual head because all the blood's gone somewhere else."

Marco's grin doesn't falter. "Yeah. And?"

"And—" Taehyung grabs his bag. "—I don't get like that. Ever. If I'm fucking someone, I'm doing it properly. In a bed. Or at least somewhere with a lock on the door. Not in some tiled room that smells like feet where anyone could walk in."

"You're missing out."

"I'm really not."

"The adrenaline alone—"

"I get plenty of adrenaline." Taehyung slings his bag over his shoulder. "I’m just not that fucking down bad, Christ. As if I wasn’t getting any, get real."

Marco shrugs, unbothered. "Your loss, bro. Some of my best work has happened in locker room shower stalls."

"That says more about you than you think it does."

"It says I know how to have fun."

"It says you're a degenerate."

"Your degenerate." Marco blows him a kiss. "Now go fuck your model. You look like you're about to pass out."

He's not wrong. The exhaustion is hitting harder now—that all-consuming tiredness that makes his eyelids feel like they're weighted. His body's screaming for sleep, for horizontal surfaces, for unconsciousness.

But first: Daiane.

After a quick shower, he makes his way to the players' lounge, moving on autopilot, and finds her exactly where he left her.

She's scrolling through her phone, legs crossed, looking up when she hears his footsteps. Her smile shifts into something warmer when she sees him—genuine, interested, the kind of smile that says she knows exactly where this is going and she's into it.

"Survived training?" she asks.

"Barely." 

He stops in front of her, letting his gaze drag down slow. Taking his time. She's still in that dress—too short, too tight, absolutely perfect. 

"You bored out of your mind?"

"Little bit." She stands, closing the distance between them. "The coffee here is terrible."

"I'll make it up to you."

"Will you?" Her eyebrow arches. Playful. Knowing.

God, he loves this part.

The negotiation. The dance. Two people who know exactly what they want, circling each other until someone makes the first move.

He reaches out, fingers brushing her hip, pulling her closer.

"My place has better coffee."

"Does it?"

"And a bed."

"Oh?" Her lips curve. "What would we need a bed for?"

He grins. Leans down. Lets his mouth brush her ear, voice dropping low.

"I've got a few ideas."

She shivers. Just slightly. Just enough.

Yeah.

This is what he needed.

Something simple. Something easy. A beautiful woman who wants him, who knows how this works, who'll let him lose himself in her for a few hours until his brain stops racing and his body stops being so fucking heavy.

He takes her hand. Threads his fingers through hers.

"Come on."

She follows without hesitation.

They pass through the corridor, past the training rooms, past the entrance where staff are still pretending not to watch.

Let them watch.

Let them take their photos.

Let Carlos have his new narrative.

He's got better things to focus on, like the way Daiane's hand feels in his. The way her hips move when she walks. The way her lips look—full and glossy and biteable.

They reach his car. He opens her door. Watches her slide in, legs shifting, dress riding up.

Yeah.

This is exactly what he needs.

By the time he's behind the wheel, pulling out of the lot, the exhaustion's still there—that heavy, dragging thing that never fully leaves—but it's muted now. Pushed aside by anticipation.

Daiane's hand lands on his thigh.

Squeezes.

He grins.

Better things to focus on.

The thing about being the best is that it's exhausting.

Not the actual being part. That comes naturally. Taehyung's been the best at everything he's ever touched—football, women, looking good in a suit, knowing exactly what to say to make people love him or fear him or both. 

No, the exhausting part is the maintenance. The constant awareness of his own superiority. The energy it takes to project ’I don't give a fuck’ when, in reality, every room he enters is a chess board and every person in it is a piece to be positioned.

He's good at it.

The best, actually.

But tonight, none of that matters.

Tonight, he has dinner with Hyunwoo.

The restaurant is one of those places that doesn't need a sign outside because if you don't already know where it is, you can't afford to eat there anyway. Private rooms. Michelin stars. The kind of hushed, reverent atmosphere that makes everyone speak in murmurs like they're in church. 

Taehyung doesn't hate it—the food's excellent, the wine list is impeccable, and the staff know how to be invisible when you need them to be. He's been here dozens of times with sponsors, with teammates, with women he wanted to impress.

He hates that Hyunwoo always picks it.

Every month. Same restaurant. Same private room in the back. Same pretense that they're a normal family doing a normal thing, catching up over dinner like brothers who actually talk outside of these scheduled obligations.

They don't.

They haven't in years.

Not since Taehyung stopped coming home for holidays. Not since he started screening his mother's calls. Not since he realized that no amount of trophies or headlines would ever change the way his parents looked at him.

He pushes through the restaurant's entrance, nods at the maître who recognizes him immediately, and follows the familiar path to the private room. His reflection catches in a mirror as he passes—dark suit, perfect fit, the kind of effortless elegance that takes a stupid amount of money and an even stupider amount of time to achieve.

He looks good.

He always looks good.

That's the one thing nobody can take from him.

Hyunwoo's already there, because of course he is. Hyunwoo is never late. Hyunwoo is never unprepared. Hyunwoo is never anything less than exactly what he's supposed to be at any given moment. He's sitting at the table with a woman next to him—Nerea, his fiancée. Spanish. Beautiful in that effortless Mediterranean way, dark hair and warm eyes and the kind of easy smile that makes everyone around her feel comfortable.

She fits Hyunwoo perfectly.

Two people who've never had a messy moment in their lives, sitting there looking like a spread from some lifestyle magazine. There's a phone propped against a water glass between them, and as Taehyung approaches, he catches a glimpse of the screen—a video call, tiny hands waving at the camera, a babysitter's voice cooing in the background.

Tatiana.

Their daughter.

Seven months old and already the center of Hyunwoo's universe, if the way his entire face softens when he looks at the screen is any indication.

"Taehyung-ah."

Hyunwoo stands as he enters, and the warmth in his voice is genuine. That's the worst part—it always sounds genuine. 

He pulls Taehyung into a hug, one of those brief but firm embraces that feels like it means something.

"Hyung." Taehyung returns the Korean for as long as the hug lasts—exactly 1.5 secondsa—then pulls back, switching to English. "Nerea. Good to see you."

"You too." She tilts the phone toward him, and he catches a flash of round cheeks, dark eyes, a tuft of black hair that sticks up at odd angles. "Say hi to tío Taehyung, cariño."

He doesn't know what to do with the baby.

Never has.

He waves awkwardly at the screen—a gesture that feels foreign on his body, too soft, too normal—and the baby blinks at him with an expression that looks distinctly unimpressed. 

Fair enough. He's not great with kids. Doesn't know how to be. 

The babysitter says something in rapid Spanish, Nerea responds in kind, and then the call ends and the phone disappears into her purse.

"She's getting big," Taehyung offers, because that's what people say about babies.

"She's trying to crawl," Hyunwoo says, pride leaking into his voice despite his obvious attempt to sound casual. "Scooting everywhere. Nerea's baby-proofed the entire apartment."

"The entire apartment," Nerea confirms, laughing. "Even his office. She found his architectural models last week. Nearly ate a miniature Sagrada Familia."

Taehyung takes his seat across from them, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the back of his chair. 

"You look tired, Taehyung," Nerea says, tilting her head. "Long week?"

He doesn't flinch at the observation.

"Season's ramping up. You know how it is."

"I don't, actually," she says, smiling. "But I'll take your word for it."

"You've been sleeping a lot," Hyunwoo says.

Taehyung's jaw tightens, just slightly. He reaches for the wine list even though he already knows what he's going to order, using the motion to avoid his brother's gaze.

"Who told you that?"

"I have sources."

"Marco needs to learn to keep his mouth shut."

"It wasn't Marco." Hyunwoo's watching him with that expression—the one that's too knowing, too seeing. "Carlos mentioned you've been clocking fourteen-hour nights. Missing morning alarms. Showing up to early training looking like you haven't slept at all, even though you've slept half the day."

There it is.

The concern.

Taehyung fucking hates the concern.

"I'm fine," he says flatly. "It's recovery. Hard training means more sleep. Basic biology, hyung."

"Fourteen hours isn't recovery. It's—"

"It's nothing." Taehyung's voice comes out harsher than he intended, and he sees Nerea shift slightly in her peripheral vision. "I know my body. I know what I need. Can we talk about something else?"

Silence settles over the table.

Hyunwoo doesn't push.

He never pushes, not directly—that's not his style. He just waits. Observes. Files things away for later, building a case like it’s one of his blueprints, collecting evidence until the structure is irrefutable.

It's infuriating.

It's also, terrifyingly, effective.

A waiter materializes to take their orders. 

Taehyung asks for whiskey instead of wine—something to take the edge off, something to make the next two hours survivable—and picks at the bread basket while Hyunwoo and Nerea discuss appetizers. They do it seamlessly, that easy back-and-forth of a couple who've been together long enough to read each other's preferences without asking.

"The firm closed the Salamanca project," Hyunwoo says, filling the silence with something safer. "That mixed-use development I mentioned last month."

"The one with the rooftop gardens?"

"Sustainable drainage system, green corridors, the whole thing." There's genuine excitement in his voice—the kind Taehyung only ever feels about football. "Groundbreaking's in March."

"That's great, hyung."

He means it. Sort of.

Hyunwoo's architecture firm has been successful since he opened it five years ago—the kind of steady, respectable success that comes from talent and hard work and never once making a headline for the wrong reasons. He designs buildings that win awards and get featured in magazines, buildings that will stand for decades after he's gone.

Taehyung plays a game.

A beautiful game, sure. The most important game in the world, if you ask anyone who matters.

But still. A game.

"The wedding venue's confirmed," Nerea says, turning the conversation toward even safer ground. "That hotel in Jeju we looked at? The one with the ocean view?"

"The Peninsula," Hyunwoo supplies.

"Yes! It's going to be beautiful. Small ceremony, just family and close friends." She looks at Taehyung, genuinely warm. "You'll be there, won't you? I know the season makes scheduling difficult, but—"

"I'll be there," Taehyung says.

He doesn't know if that's true.

He'll try to be there.

But matches happen. Tournaments happen. Life happens in ways that conveniently prevent him from sitting in a room with his parents while everyone celebrates Hyunwoo's perfect relationship with his perfect Spanish fiancée and their perfect baby daughter in their perfect settled life.

Hyunwoo's eyes meet his across the table.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

"We'd really love to have you," Hyunwoo says, soft, snd Taehyung hates him a little bit more for it. "Tati’s going to be the flower girl. Well—flower baby. She'll probably just sit in someone's arms and look confused, but Eomma's already bought her a dress." A pause. "Eomma would... it would mean a lot to her. If you were there."

Everything circles back to their mother.

Taehyung takes a long sip of his whiskey, letting the burn settle in his throat before responding.

"I said I'll be there."

"I know what you said."

Something unspoken passes between them—years of distance compressed into a single glance. 

Hyunwoo wants to push. Taehyung can see it in the set of his brother's shoulders, the slight tension in his jaw. He wants to ask the real questions, the ones that neither of them ever voice.

Why won't you come home? Why do you screen Eomma's calls? Why did you leave at seventeen and never really come back?

But Nerea's there.

And these dinners have rules.

So Hyunwoo swallows whatever he was going to say and reaches for his wine instead.

"Your match last week," he says, redirecting. "That tackle in the seventy-third minute. I watched it three times."

"And?"

"And I couldn't figure out how you knew he was going to cut left. The striker had been favoring his right the whole game."

Taehyung shrugs, but something loosens in his chest. 

Football. 

This, he can do.

"Watched his training footage. He favors his right when he's fresh, but when he's tired, he defaults to his dominant side. Left-footed. Most coaches don't catch it because they only watch match tape."

Hyunwoo nods slowly, something like respect flickering in his eyes.

This is what they have, Taehyung thinks. Not brotherhood, not really—not the kind that other people seem to have, the easy intimacy of shared childhoods and inside jokes. 

They have this—careful conversations about safe topics, analysis and observation, two people circling each other across a dinner table once a month.

It's not enough.

It's never been enough.

But it's what they've got.

The main course arrives—something elaborate with foam and microgreens that Taehyung barely tastes. He eats mechanically, nodding in the right places as Hyunwoo talks about a new commission and Nerea describes her work in hospitality management, how she's been juggling client calls with Tatiana's feeding schedule. They're good together. He can see it in the way they communicate without speaking, the way their movements sync unconsciously, the way Nerea touches Hyunwoo's arm when she laughs at something he says.

It's real.

Whatever they have, it's real and solid and the kind of thing that probably comes with a ten-year plan and conversations about the future that don't make both parties want to claw their skin off.

Taehyung doesn't have that.

Doesn't want it.

"You're seeing someone?" Nerea asks, somewhere between the main course and dessert. "I saw something online. A model? She was very beautiful."

"Daiane." Taehyung shrugs. "We're not seeing each other. Just... hanging out."

"Hanging out," Hyunwoo repeats.

"Yes. Hanging out. It's casual."

"Everything with you is casual."

It's not an accusation, because Hyunwoo doesn't accuse. Hyunwoo simply states facts in that calm, measured tone that makes Taehyung want to break a glass.

Nerea's hand lands on Hyunwoo's arm. A gentle squeeze. Let it go.

Hyunwoo takes the hint.

"Sorry," he says, and he sounds like he means it. "That wasn't fair. Your personal life is your business."

"It is."

"I just—" Hyunwoo pauses, and for a moment, his lips purse. "I worry about you. The sleeping. The—I just worry."

The sincerity in his voice hits Taehyung somewhere uncomfortable.

He looks at his brother—really looks at him—and sees something he usually ignores. 

The slight shadows under Hyunwoo's eyes, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tap against the table, a nervous habit he's had since childhood. 

All this little nonsensical tidbits that hold significance when you look at them together. 

Fatherhood has softened some of his edges but sharpened others.

Hyunwoo isn't just going through the motions.

He actually cares.

That makes it worse, somehow.

Because Taehyung doesn't know what to do with caring. Doesn't know how to meet it, how to return it, how to exist in a relationship where someone actually wants to know if he's okay. He's spent years building walls, and Hyunwoo keeps showing up with a ladder, and every time, Taehyung finds a way to make the walls higher.

"I'm fine, hyung," he says, and his voice comes out softer than he intended. "Really. It's just the season. I'll regulate once we hit the break."

Hyunwoo doesn't look convinced.

But he nods.

"Okay," he says. "Just... if you need anything. If the sleep thing gets worse. You know you can call me, right? Anytime. Even at three in the morning. Even if Tati’s screaming and I haven't slept in two days. You call me."

Taehyung doesn't know that.

Or rather—he knows it intellectually, knows Hyunwoo would answer the phone at three in the morning if Taehyung called, knows his brother would drop everything if he asked for help. 

But there's a difference between knowing something and believing it, and somewhere along the way, Taehyung stopped believing he was worth that kind of effort.

"Yeah," he says anyway. "I know."

Dessert comes and goes. The bill arrives. Hyunwoo insists on paying—he always insists, and Taehyung lets him because fighting about it isn't worth the energy. 

Then they do the familiar dance of goodbye: Nerea hugs him warmly, tells him to take care of himself, says ’we should do this more often’ in a way that sounds like she actually means it. She pulls out her phone, shows him one more photo of Tatiana—this one with her fist shoved in her mouth, staring at the camera with an expression of intense concentration.

"She looks like you," Nerea says to Hyunwoo. "Same serious face."

"She looks like Eomma," Hyunwoo corrects.

Taehyung looks at the photo and sees nothing. Just a baby. Just another person in his brother's life that he'll never really know because he can't figure out how to close the distance between them.

Outside the restaurant, the Madrid night settles. Cool air, distant traffic, the faint smell of a city that never quite sleeps.

“엄마한테 전화해.” Hyunwoo says. (Call Eomma.) “제발. 목소리 한 번만 듣고 싶어 하셔.” (Please. She just wants to hear your voice.)

“할게.” (I will)

“태형아.” (Taehyung-ah.)

“할게, 형.” (I will, hyung.)

They look at each other.

For a moment, Hyunwoo looks like he wants to say something else—something bigger, something that might finally splinter distance they've maintained for years. His mouth opens slightly. His hand twitches, like he might reach out.

Then the moment passes.

"Take care of yourself," Hyunwoo says. "Get some sleep. But also—" He pauses. "Maybe talk to someone about the sleep thing. A specialist. Just to rule things out."

"There's nothing to rule out."

"You've been averaging thirteen hours a night for weeks. That's not normal."

"I'm an elite athlete. Normal doesn't apply to me."

Hyunwoo's jaw tightens, frustration flickering across his usually composed features.

"You're impossible."

"I'm the best," Taehyung corrects. "There's a difference."

His brother’s expressions flicker for a moment. 

And it feels like he's watching Taehyung walk toward a cliff and knows he can't stop him.

"Yeah," Hyunwoo says quietly. "You are."

He takes Nerea's hand. Walks toward his car.

Taehyung watches them go—his brother and his beautiful Spanish fiancée, their futures mapped out in engagement rings and venue bookings and a baby girl who'll grow up with two parents who love each other and a tío who shows up once a month if the match schedule allows.

He stands there for a long moment after they've driven away.

Then he pulls out his phone. Opens his contacts. Stares at Eomma for exactly three seconds.

Closes his phone.

Gets in his car.

He thinks about calling her this weekend. 

He knows he won't.

The exhaustion hits him somewhere between the restaurant and the highway.

It's not gradual. It never is. One moment he's fine—alert, functional, thinking about Hyunwoo's voice when he said ‘I worry about you’ like worry was something that could fix anything—and the next his eyelids are made of concrete and his thoughts are swimming through molasses and the world goes soft at the edges like a photograph left in water.

Fuck.

He blinks hard. Reaches for the AC, cranks it to arctic. The cold air blasts his face and buys him maybe thirty seconds of clarity before the fog starts creeping back in.

This is getting worse.

He knows it's getting worse. Has known for months, actually, ever since the season started and his sleep went from a lot to fucking obscene. 

Fourteen hours last Tuesday. Thirteen on Thursday. Woke up Saturday feeling like he'd been drugged, like someone had injected lead into his bloodstream while he slept.

But he's fine.

He's fine.

He's the best right-back in La Liga, possibly in Europe, and he didn't get there by being weak. By needing help. By admitting that something might be wrong with the machine that is his body.

The highway stretches out ahead of him, empty this time of night. 

He should call someone. That's the obvious solution—the one his body's screaming for. Call Daiane, tell her he's on his way back, let her wake him up the way only a warm body can.

Sex works.

It always works.

Something about the exertion, the adrenaline, the way his whole body lights up when he's inside someone—it cuts through the fog like nothing else can. 

Better than caffeine. Better than cold showers. Better than slapping himself across the face, which he's definitely done before in moments of true desperation.

He could call.

Should call.

His thumb hovers over the screen.

But the thought of performing right now—of being charming, being present, being on—makes something in his chest clench with exhaustion. 

He doesn't want to talk. Doesn't want to flirt. Doesn't want to do any of the preliminary work that comes before the main event, even though he's usually excellent at it, even though he usually enjoys it.

Tonight he's just... tired.

Too tired to fuck.

Which is a new low, honestly.

He puts the phone down. Keeps driving.

The GPS is taking him home the long way—construction on the main street, some event closing down the usual route—and he follows the directions without really processing them. Left here. Right there. Merge onto the avenue that cuts through the residential district where the nice houses are, where the staff families live, where—

He blinks.

This street looks familiar.

Too familiar.

The houses here are set back from the road, gated and private, the kind of quiet wealth that doesn't need to announce itself. There's a park on the corner that he's driven past before. A café that was closed last time. And three houses down, on the left, a driveway he recognizes because he parked in it five days ago when he showed up unannounced and you tried to slam the door in his face.

Your house.

He's driving past your house.

Taehyung's hands tighten on the wheel, something prickling at the base of his skull that might be irritation or might be something else entirely. The GPS didn't take him here on purpose—it's just the route, just the construction detour, just coincidence—but his eyes still drift toward your windows as he passes.

Dark.

All of them dark.

You're probably asleep. Normal people sleep at this hour. Normal people don't drive aimlessly through Madrid at midnight because they can't figure out why their body won't stay conscious for more than a few hours at a time.

His eyelids droop.

The car drifts. Just slightly—just a few centimeters toward the center line—but the rumble of tires on the lane markers snaps him back to awareness with a jolt of adrenaline that tastes like blood on his tongue.

Fuck.

He overcorrects. The wheel jerks right. His heart hammers against his ribs, sudden and violent, and for one horrible second he's completely awake—every nerve firing, every sense wired, his whole body screaming ’you almost just killed yourself, you idiot, you absolute fucking idiot.’

He pulls over. Finds a spot on the street—quiet, residential, a few houses down from yours—and puts the car in park and sits there, breathing hard, hands still white-knuckled on the wheel.

Jesus Christ.

What is wrong with him?

He slept thirteen hours. Thirteen. That's more than most people get in two nights combined. He should be fine. He should be more than fine. He should be operating at peak capacity, not nearly wrapping his Porsche around a lamppost because he can't keep his fucking eyes open.

His forehead hits the steering wheel. Then his arms fold over it, creating a makeshift pillow, and he just... stays there. Breathing. Trying to make sense of his own body, which has apparently decided to betray him at every possible opportunity.

The exhaustion is worse after Hyunwoo.

It's always worse after Hyunwoo.

Something about those dinners drains him in ways that training never does—like his brother's presence is a siphon, sucking out all the energy Taehyung uses to maintain his walls. By the time he leaves, he's running on fumes. Empty in a way that sleep doesn't fix, that sex doesn't fix, that nothing seems to fix except time and distance and not thinking about the way Hyunwoo looked at him tonight.

«You're impossible.»

He is.

The silence in the car feels heavy.

He could sleep here. Just close his eyes for a few minutes, just rest, just let his body do what it so desperately wants to do. He's parked. He's safe. Nobody would know. Nobody would see Madrid's number two passed out in his car on a residential street at midnight like some kind of degenerate.

Except he's three houses down from you.

And that's—

That's fucking weird, actually.

Why did he stop here? Why didn't he pull over somewhere else, literally anywhere else, instead of the street where you live? 

It's not like he planned it. 

It's not like he was thinking about you, not consciously, not in any way that matters.

Taehyung lifts his head. Stares at nothing.

Five minutes.

He gives himself five minutes.

Just sitting there, head heavy, arms folded on the steering wheel, breathing in the leather-and-cologne smell of his own car while his heart rate slowly returns to normal. 

When the five minutes are up, he lifts his head. Checks his mirrors. Pulls back onto the street without looking at your house, without thinking about why he stopped here, without acknowledging any of the weird shit his brain is doing tonight.

He drives home.

The apartment's empty when he gets there—obviously, because he lives alone, because he's chosen to live alone, because the thought of sharing space with another person makes him want to claw his skin off.

He drops his keys in the bowl by the door. Shrugs off his jacket. Moves through the familiar motions of getting ready for bed even though it's barely past midnight and he's not tired anymore, not really, just that low-level exhaustion that's become his constant companion.

He should sleep.

He's not going to sleep.

Instead he ends up on the couch, phone in hand, thumb moving on autopilot. His main Instagram is a carefully curated nightmare of brand partnerships and match highlights, but the burner—the one nobody knows about, the one he uses to scroll without being watched—that's where he goes when he can't sleep.

The algorithm knows him too well.

Football content. Thirst traps. Car videos. The occasional cooking reel that he watches all the way through even though he's never made anything more complicated than toast.

He scrolls.

And scrolls.

And somehow, twenty minutes later, he's watching a video of a ferret stealing a sock.

He doesn't know how he got here.

The explore page, probably. Some chain of related content that led from football highlights to pet videos to this specific account—@ferret_diaries, just video after video of two ferrets causing absolute chaos.

The white one's dragging a sock across what looks like a living room floor, its tiny body stretched long with effort, determination radiating from every fluffy inch of it. The caption reads: ’she's been at this for ten minutes. the sock is winning.’

Taehyung snorts.

Watches it again.

There's something weirdly satisfying about it—the ferret's single-minded focus, the absurdity of the task, the way it refuses to give up even though the sock is clearly too heavy. 

It's stupid. It's so fucking stupid.

He likes the video.

Scrolls to the next one.

This one's the brown ferret—Hari, according to the caption—sleeping in a hammock while the white one tries to climb in with it. There's a whole saga happening in thirty seconds: failed attempts, dramatic tumbles, and finally success, both ferrets crammed into a space that's definitely too small for two.

He likes that one too.

The next video is the white ferret again—Nube, he's learning—doing some kind of war dance that involves bouncing sideways and making sounds that shouldn't come from something that small. The background shows a glimpse of a bedroom: neutral walls, a desk with textbooks, what looks like a Real Madrid scarf draped over a chair.

He pauses after liking that video as well.

Squints at the screen.

Then catches himself.

What the fuck.

Taehyung stares at his phone.

He just liked three videos on an anonymous ferret account at 1 AM because he couldn't sleep and his brain apparently decided this was a productive use of his time. 

Three videos. 

Of ferrets. 

On an account he's never seen before and will probably never see again.

What the fuck is wrong with him tonight?

He just spent—he checks the timestamp—eleven minutes watching ferret videos. Eleven minutes of his life, gone, absorbed by some stranger's pets doing stupid ferret things. 

He's Kim Taehyung. He has better things to do. He has anyone he wants to fuck, anything he wants to buy, anywhere he wants to go, and he's lying on his couch at one in the morning watching ferrets.

He closes the app.

Locks his phone.

Throws it onto the coffee table like it's personally offended him.

What the fuck is wrong with him.

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no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[werezmastarbucks]

flowers over boys masterlist

Agust D!yoongi x f!army!reader slowburn, friends!bts x f!reader

summary: time and space travelling is hectic, fun and very often dangerous as you never know where you'll end up. it only gets more complicated (sometimes boring) because the only way to return to your timeline from an alien dimension is to die. this time you end up in Joseon, where king Min doesn't really appreciate your 21st century habits.

tags/warnings: time/space travel, isekai, reader is an army, bts Joseon AU, agust d, all bts are there, dark!Hoseok, inequality, humor, violence, hierarchical society, reader takes up work as a gardener, unserious reader, almost invincible reader - i was writing it for pure fun; everybody is a little sexist and classist because it's duh Joseon. not historically accurate, the reader almost literally ends up in the Daechwita music video. i was writing it to unload the stress of spring so. if it gets ridiculous, that was the design. unfinished for now, idk when i will complete it lol

music: made this playlist for another story i never wrote, but if it fits i sits

tangerine

black pines

pomegranates

bad seed

peaches

plucking of poison weeds

bloom

oriental lily

papaya

stuck on a tree

i am running out of plant themed titles

horseradish behaviour

warm shade of the crown

oilve branch

saplings

bamboo

broken bark

last straw

planting promises

when a leaf turns

rooting

forest things

crocus claws

anemone

pansies of the snow

...

[wannaghostbts]

Yeah...

Somebody does love...

But I'm thinking 'bout you!~~

[yundeob]

A NIGHT IN HOLLYWOOD ☆ | ATEEZ SERIES

— featuring ot8!ateez in iconic HOLLYWOOD romance and rom-com movies

— TICKET BOOTH IS CLOSED! 🎟️ : the movies are about to start! all fics will have MATURE CONTENT! MDNI!

sit back, relax, grab your popcorn and tissues, and enjoy the silver screen . . .

THE PARENT TRAP ☆ | KHJ

TROPE: exes to lovers! divorced!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

AS DIVORCED PARENTS to two twin daughters, you and hongjoong have your fair share of work cut out. Driving to piano lessons, cheering at hockey games, drop offs at each other’s houses… it can all be a little much. But could a relaxing summer retreat as a whole family possibly rekindle past emotions you’ve swept under the rug? . . .

— IN THEATRES

DIRTY DANCING ☆ | PSH

TROPE: bad boy!seonghwa, enemies to lovers!au , 60s!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, angst, crack

THAT WAS THE SUMMER before JFK got shot, before the beatles came, and when you were working part time at your aunts summer resort. That was also the summer you met resident heart breaker and cocky entertainment crew member, Park Seonghwa. Remind yourself why you’re suddenly dance partners with him again? . . .

— IN THEATRES

PRETTY WOMAN ☆ | JYH

TROPE: exstripper!reader x billionaireceo!yunho, strangers to lovers, contract relationship

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst

LIVING IN BEVERLY HILLS comes with its perks. But for two different people such as yourself and multimillionaire business tycoon, Jeong Yunho, both of you can’t seem to find what you’re looking for in the so called ‘Land of Dreams’. So the proposal is simple really… let him spoil you with money, jewelry and clothes while in return, you stay by his side. . .

— IN THEATRES

MR AND MRS KANG ☆ | KYS

TROPE: marriage!au, established relationship, spy!au, assasin!au

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, ANGST, crack

WHO WOULD’VE THOUGHT picture perfect suburban neighbourhood couple, Mr. and Mrs. Kang would be at each others necks trying to kill each other first. You’ve both come this far in your marriage while hiding your secret identities, but it looks like only one person can remain standing. I guess you both did promise “til death do us part”. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

ROMAN HOLIDAY ☆ | CS

TROPE: royalty!au, princess!reader x reporter!san, strangers to lovers!

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst

AS CROWN PRINCESS, you’re on a tightly scheduled tour of European capital cities. But after an especially rough day in Rome, you sneak out of the embassy to explore the so called Eternal City, running into no other than celebrity news reporter, Choi San, looking out for his next big royal scandal. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU ☆ | SMG

TROPE: college!au, stoner!mingi, enemies to lovers!au, fakedating(?)au, y2k aesthetic

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

YOUR YOUNGER BROTHER Wooyoung is desperate in getting you, his older sister, to meet any possible guy so that he can finally date in his freshman year of college too. The options for potential candidates are scarce, considering men flock away like birds the second you’re near. Good thing campus stoner and weirdo, Song Mingi is the same as well. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

HOW TO LOSE A GUY IN 10 DAYS ☆ | JWY

TROPE: fashioncolumnist!reader x advertiser!wooyoung, y2k aesthetic, fake dating(?)au, enemies to lovers!au, mutual pining

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, angst, crack, slice of life

LISTEN, IF IT MEANS getting a promotion at your editorial company as a news journalist instead of pop culture and lifestyle columnist, you’d do anything. And that includes pretending to be the most annoying and clingiest girlfriend to some guy for 10 whole days. But just so you know, Wooyoung likes clingy. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

ROMEO & JULIET ☆ | CJH

TROPE: unrequited love, star crossed lovers!au, mutual pining, secret romance (shakespeare be rolling in his grave rn)

TAGS: nsfw, smut, fluff, ANGST

FOR CENTURIES, a plague of hatred and hostility has been present in the relations between the House of Choi and your own. You know you can’t be together, but yet why do you keep catching that dark haired boy staring at you so longingly? And why do you seem to want him just as bad?. . .

— not yet in theatres . . .

a/n: for updates, follow my blog! this will be a work-in-progress so I ask for your support:(🙏

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taglist became too long so find the second taglist here💀 no longer taking requests

[dxnsangki]

𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 — 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘪

genre: pirate!mingi x princess!reader ft. pirate!ateez, pirate au, exes-to-lovers, rebirth, revenge, slow burn(?), heavy heavy angst, humor in some parts, fluff at the end

warning: profanities, mentions of blood, use of weapons, near death experience, toxic family members, deaths, long flashbacks, timelapses, misunderstandings, may not be historically accurate, emotionally heavy (a big warning)

word count: 31.2k (sorry not sorry)

⤷ You almost lost your life not once but twice, yet the heavens had other plans for you. Blessed with another chance to live, you built yourself from the ground up and changed yourself for the better. Things were going great for you until an intruder showed up in your place—your first love, who had betrayed you.

a/n: First of all, I apologize for the very late update. A lot has happened the past year, so I had to put this on hold for a while. This is another plot inspired by my dreams, and this might be my favorite work that I have written so far. I just love everything about this story, and the length says it all.

playlist: I don't wanna live forever - zayn, taylor swift | vigilante shit - taylor swift | catch fire - 5 seconds of summer | imgonnagetyouback - taylor swift | die with a smile - lady gaga, bruno mars

𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

"Jongho's team to the village; Wooyoung and Yeosang to the shore. Seonghwa's team, come with me to the headquarters. Position yourselves to your assigned areas; remember what we trained for." You announced to the intercom that resounded around the building.

You were working on a new machine with the technical team when the alarm suddenly rang and red lights flashed around the whole building, signaling the presence of intruders, so Jongho immediately pressed the big red button on his office table, calling for an emergency lockdown.

You and Seonghwa's team dispersed around the building exits to prevent the intruders from escaping the premises. You, Seonghwa, and his team moved to your designated areas and hid yourselves: some hiding around the corners while the others were behind crates, and you hid behind an unsuspecting wall after setting up a trap.

Just then, you heard slow footsteps nearby, and as soon as the person stepped on the rope, triggering the trap you had set up, which caused them to trip, you signaled towards Seonghwa across from you to start attacking the intruder.

"Drop your weapon!" Seonghwa commanded sternly as he pointed his gun towards the intruder, who immediately, in acquiescence, dropped their cutlass on the ground, resisting to fight back.

"I'm sorry, please don't kill me. Don't kill us; we're not here to fight or steal anything." The man begged as he knelt on the ground with his head down, body shaking in fear and coldness.

Wait, that voice...why does it sound so familiar?

You finally exited from your hiding spot to take a closer look at the man who had just spoken, striding towards them, and as they came into view, you let out an audible gasp in sheer disbelief when you recognized who it was.

"Yunho?!"

Yunho's eyes widened when he heard you call his name, and his body blanched at your presence; he couldn't believe his eyes in that moment. It felt like he was stuck in a hyperrealistic dream, or was he just seeing things? "y-y/n...? How a-are you alive?" How exactly were you standing in front of him? Of course, he would ask that kind of question.

You stopped him with a hand, shaking your head feeling aggravated. "Let's save that talk for later. Tell me how many of you are here?"

"There's f-four of us, but y/n—"

"Seonghwa, bring him to the interrogation room. I'll go find the others," you ordered. Half of Seonghwa's team followed behind you, while the other half assisted him with bringing Yunho to the said room.

You eagerly checked around the area for the other intruders, and to your luck, a tall man wearing a wide-brimmed hat on his head that covered his face almost entirely, walked into the room you were in unsuspectingly. You tried to run up to him; however, the clicking of your boots alerted the man to quickly escape, so you followed after him with all your might. The man was impressively fast, but you still caught up to him within seconds. Kicking his knees from behind and tackling him down to the ground, the man grunted at the impact. "Don't move."

You swiftly pulled off the bandanna that covered his face, only for you to instantly regret your actions because the man lying defenselessly below you was the last person in the world you wanted to see. "Mingi...what the hell are you doing here?" Your eyes scanned him from head to toe; he wore a frock coat with a loose shirt on the inside, slightly damped black trousers, leather boots, a sash around his waist, and his hair disheveled. "How did you find this place?" You were exasperated, wounded, anything but glad. "Answer me before I kill you." You fumed with gritted teeth, ready to pull out your pistol.

Mingi stared at your almost unfamiliar appearance as if he had seen a ghost, as if you were someone he had never met in his life before. "y/n...it's y-you." He slowly lifted his hand up to touch your face, to feel your skin, to confirm that you weren't just a figment of his imagination, but you slapped his hand away with force. "I'm glad you're alive."

You huffed at the sound of his voice, rolling your eyes in the process, and the sight of his lips curling up made you almost slap them away from his face too. "After abandoning me in the middle of nowhere, you have the nerve to show up in front of my face?"

"I-I can explain—"

"You left me behind, Mingi. You betrayed me, tried to kill me, and I almost died because of you. I had to start from nothing and now that I've built my place and met my people, you're going to ruin everything for me again?" You moved your face closer to his, glowering at him. "Unfortunately for you, I'm not going to let you hurt me anymore."

Mingi could sense all the anger, sorrow, and pain you have bottled up inside as your eyes gazed into him with fire and your hands firmly wrapped around his neck to cut off his breathing, which he accepted without a fight. After all, he deserved to be killed by you right here and right now.

-

[ 14 years ago. ]

You were the only daughter of the king and queen of Fever Kingdom, and they said you had a gifted intelligence for a young child. You excelled in a lot of things that no other princess could compare to you in: you learned how to speak various languages, as well as use weapons with ease. You studied about the history of the kingdom, the list of pirates that must be avoided at all costs, including those who tried to step foot into the kingdom, and even about construction and technology, not knowing the fate that was awaiting you. 

That was until the day came when a group of pirates trespassed and attacked the kingdom. Although the royal guards outnumbered the pirates, the ferocious sea dogs still managed to eliminate them, including your beloved parents, leaving you alone with your personal tutor inside the castle's library. It was a fearsome and traumatic experience for everyone, the vicious pirates who mercilessly took the lives of all your loved ones.

"Keep these books, Your Highness. Don't let anyone take these away from you; you're going to need them someday." Madame Lee spoke to you in a hushed voice, afraid that someone would hear her from where you hid, handing you your pink backpack filled with various books. She didn't want to scare you with what was happening, so she bombarded you with compliments to distract you, planting a deep kiss on your forehead one last time before exiting the room.

As soon as you heard her scream in fear, that was when you realized the reality you were currently in. You were now all alone in this cruel world with no one else to rely on. You were trained to fight, to stand up for yourself, but you weren't taught how to survive alone at this age. Tears started running down your cheeks as you sat on the floor in fear and hopelessness. Why was this happening? You were only a child trying to make sense of the world.

"Hey, kid. Come with us; no one else is here." A tall man, who had an eye patch covering his right eye, arms decorated in scars, and what seemed like a dagger in his hand, called for you by the doorway. His hand was covered in the blood of who you assumed was Madame Lee. You were reluctant to move, hugging your bag tightly for comfort, but the man hauled you towards him, and soon, you found yourself in a large ship that had a red and black jolly roger hanging above it.

"Who's this little thing?" A woman in her 40s wearing a tricorn on her head asked as she chewed on some candy in her mouth, "Gimme that." She harshly grabbed the bag from your hands, pulling out a book from inside. She tried to read a few words written on it, her head tilting from side to side with a grimace. "What is this? A bunch of lines and weird stuff." With that, she threw the bag back at you, and you swore, that was the most nerve-wracking moment you've ever felt.

You found out some time later that the pirates on the ship were functionally illiterate, although when it came to fighting and stealing goods, they were very exceptional at it. No wonder they were able to eliminate everyone in the castle despite being outnumbered; they weren't called the 'black pirates of the sea' for nothing. Thankfully, they gave you a place to stay. It was small but enough for you to survive, and they also provided you food and water in exchange for you serving them as a cabin girl.  If that was the only way you got to live, then you wouldn't question it.

It's been weeks since you started working wearily at the ship, mates pushing you around, telling you to do this and that, cleaning up spilled drinks, washing up dirty clothes, all just to be made fun of. You endured all of that for the sake of sparing your life until one sunny Tuesday morning, life started feeling a bit lighter. You met a pirate friend for the first time when you accidentally entered the captain's cabin and saw him sitting on the bed with an angry look on his face, whispering incoherent words fo himself.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't know someone was in here." You quickly apologized to him, but before you could leave, he stopped you.

"Wait, don't go." The boy jumped off the bed and ran up to where you stood. "You look nice; come play with me." Seeing him up close, you noticed his sharp facial features, a tiny mole on his cheek, thick soft lips, and height taller than you.

You stared at him warily, fidgeting with the broom you were holding. "Play with you?"

"Yeah, like I hide somewhere and you go look for me." He rubbed his nape in embarrassment. "Sorry, it gets really boring out here. I have no one to play with because people are always busy fighting, but maybe you're not like them. I've actually never seen you here before."

"Mingi!" You heard the captain's voice from outside the room, which made both of you flinch.

Mingi groaned, irritated, "Coming, mother." He shouted back before apologizing to you for the interruption, "I'll see you later...what's your name?"

"Uhm...y/n, I'm y/n."

"Great! See you later, y/n." -

You met up with Mingi at the same place later that day to play the game he talked about earlier, and since then, the two of you began to bond and create an unexpected friendship that made you ease the pain you went through before all this. He would tell you jokes he thought were funny, although you couldn't understand then, but you would laugh anyway. He would also share about his life growing up, which he insisted was boring, and he even introduced you to his other friends: Hongjoong, Yunho, and San, whom he had first met during a training session. They were surprisingly too nice to be pirates as they had treated you with kindness. In exchange for their amiability towards you, you taught them how to read and write with a promise that they keep it to themselves. Who would've thought that a princess would ever befriend pirates?

Together with Mingi, Hongjoong, Yunho, and San, you began to see life differently, or rather, you started to get used to the setup of living a completely different life with the pirates: from royalty to a nobody, but you were somebody to them. The captain of HalaHala would treat you to good food like you were someone valuable, or maybe it was all a facade; you weren't sure. What you knew instead was that as long as you were with your newfound friends, you felt that there was still hope left for you. They became your source of happiness amidst the struggles you were facing. You found comfort from them, and you thought things were changing for the better.

"We're going to be best friends forever!"

For eight long years, you shared nothing but smiles and laughter with them. You revealed to them about you growing up in royalty and how the pirates, who killed all your loved ones, eventually adopted you. Mingi felt remorseful for what they did to your kingdom, especially that his mother was the captain of HalaHala. Truthfully speaking, he never really liked the idea of killing people in the first place; it was unfortunate that he was a son of a renowned pirate. Hongjoong then shared about his older brother being killed trying to protect him during a fight between pirates and how he was brought into the ship unknowingly, similar to what they did to you. Yunho was an orphan who got adopted by the ship's quartermaster, and San was the son of a crewmate. The five of you were just a group of young, innocent kids trying to make sense of the world you were forced to live in.

You and Mingi grew extremely close the more time you spent with each other. The two of you became inseparable, talking nonstop, and even sneaking out at night to watch the stars, almost like you couldn't live without each other. And one day, he finally professed his true feelings for you with a bunch of flowers he personally picked when the ship stopped by an island earlier.

In a hidden area of the ship, he cleared his throat, fidgeting with his shirt nervously. "I like you, y/n. I can feel my heart beat fast whenever I'm with you, and seeing you smile makes me feel better. Please, accept my heart." He even knelt on the ground with his head down to show you how sincere he was with it, and you couldn't help but titter.

"Get up, Mingi. Your pants are going to get dirty." You pulled him up to make him stand on his feet. "I like you too, silly boy. Thank you for liking me."

Mingi became your everything: the arms you run to for comfort, the hands that hold you when you feel scared or exhausted, the lips you kiss goodnight every time the sky gets dark, and the eyes that bring you to another world where all you could feel was happiness. That was who he was, and he meant so much to you. He was the person you loved so much, so...how did it end up like this?

"Mingi? No...NO!"

"I'm so sorry, y/n." Those were the last words you heard from him as you watched his figure disappear into the distance with the ship you were once a part of. No warnings, no excuses, just pure betrayal.

Eight years together down the drain.

The previous night, he was kissing you goodnight with so much passion but with a hint of fear. He kissed you with tears in his eyes all while whispering sweet nothings in your ears, and you had absolutely no idea that the man who gave you love when it was taken away from you was the same man who would, one day, take your life.

Mingi was a pirate after all; hell, he was the son of the captain of the notorious HalaHala. They were bound to kill you sooner or later, but why did it have to be him of all people? Why did he have to make you feel like you had everything and then take it all away like it meant nothing?

That was heartbreak and death in one.

You didn't even realize you lost consciousness until you were woken up by someone nudging you awake. You groaned as your eyes adjusted to the light that shone down on your face, seeing silhouettes of people surrounding you. However, you fainted again due to hunger, and panicked screams were heard. The second time you woke up, you were in a comfortable bed in a small house with a person sitting next to you on a chair. As soon as your eyes opened and you seemed to be breathing normally, a sigh was heard from beside you.

"Finally, you're awake. You're alive, princess."

Princess?

You turned to the side and saw a few familiar faces dressed in linen and wool clothing with the brightest smiles plastered on their faces, others stifling their sobs. "Where am I? What happened?" How did you even end up here?

"We found you unconscious by the shore, princess. Thank god, the heavens brought you to us. You were gone for eight years; we thought we had lost you too." The man cried, expressing how grateful he was that you were alive.

Studying his face closely, your mind suddenly brought you back to the kingdom. You recognized the men and women in front of you were some of the castle guards and maids. They had hidden from the pirates during the attack and successfully escaped after by using the ship that was being built during that time to find a new place to stay. After countless days of being stuck in the middle of the vast ocean, they finally stumbled upon a secluded island where they had asked for help. The people who resided on the island were secretly hiding away from the pirates too, so they became alerted when they heard cries for help until they saw the suits and dresses of the guards and maids. It was their first time seeing actual people from a royal kingdom, which they had always believed were only myths.

"Who did this to you, Your Highness?" One of the maids asked, deeply concerned, observing your almost lifeless state.

With all the energy you had left, you managed to speak out a few words in response. "P-pirates..." Your voice was hoarse, still the men and women at once knew who you were referring to. 

"Those damn pirates, we're going to get our revenge on them. You are our hope, Your Highness."

You were blessed that the tides brought you to this island: the island of hope, the island of new beginnings, and the island where you will have your last breath. This was another life given to you.

After you recovered, you took in the sight of how peaceful, bright, and different the place was. The houses were made of stones with flowers surrounding them, the food was fresh and delicious—a taste that hits too close to home—and their clothes were simple yet clean, radically different than your situation back at the ship. What caught your eyes was how happy the people were: children running around chasing each other, mothers sharing meals with the workers, and husbands taking care of their wives. It felt like paradise, a rainbow after the storm. You loved seeing their smiles as it brought you a new sense of hope, another chance to live a better life, hoping that this was the last life you had to live, but your thoughts shifted to the brutal fights you'd witnessed before, and that scared you too much. What if the pirates happen to find this island? How would the people protect themselves?

"Your Highness, aren't these your books from the kingdom?" One of the maids showed you your pink damp bag that you had kept to yourself for the past eight years; you were even surprised it was still with you after Mingi basically threw you out in the middle of the ocean. "These are all about construction and technology; do you read about them?"

"Yeah, I do..." Your mind instantly envisioned the island with improved housing and more buildings, where the people are guaranteed to live more securely in better living conditions with weapons and other technology that could help with their survival. That was it; that was the answer. That was exactly what you needed those books for; that's what Madame Lee meant when she said you were going to need them one day. 

This was the day.

"We might need more hands and lots and lots of resources. Do you think we can do this?"

With the help and cooperation of the people and the connections the royal guards and maids had with other kingdoms, you were able to guide the people in constructing buildings and infrastructure, leading to the creation of a better and more advanced community. The question on how the guards were able to contact other kingdoms was too long of a story to tell, but they made it work. Because of your impressive knowledge on the outside world and fighting skills, the people had made you their new leader of the island and captain of the crew.

As months continued to pass and more advanced technology and weapons were developed, the number of people on the island also began to increase. Pirates and intruders were killed by you and your guards after endless trainings, whereas outcasts like Yeosang, who was abandoned by his crew because of his innocence and incompetence, while one of their best gunners, Wooyoung, followed him voluntarily; Jongho, who was kicked out because of his reoccurring injuries; and Seonghwa, who left his crew because his ideas weren't being acknowledged and possibly because of his red parrot friend too. They were taken in for interrogation before accepting them on the island and being trained to become officially part of your crew, the 'Blue Bird.'

A year of training led to Wooyoung becoming your first mate, definitely not because he whined about it, and the leader for trainings, although he's a scalawag sometimes; Jongho became the boatswain and head of the technical team; Seonghwa became the quartermaster and head of securities and was supposedly your first mate, while Yeosang became the deckhand, who leads in navigation. Some of the guards were part of the crew as well to help during battles.

That was how the island, which you now call as 'New World,' was established.

[ end. ]

"Captain?" Yeosang hurriedly entered the room upon hearing your voice. "We have captured the rest of the intruders and cleared the area." His eyes landed on Mingi, who remained defenseless on the ground. "And it seems you got the last guy. Should we finish this one off? " He whispered the last part to you, even though Mingi could still hear him.

You didn't want to believe it, but as you glanced back down at Mingi, you saw how his eyes were full of defeat and regret. Those weren't there the last time you saw him; why have them now?

"Seeing how much she hates me—no, despises me—for what I had done to her, it's best if you kill me right now. But please, spare my friends; they didn't mean anything wrong." Your hands, which you forgot were around his neck, loosened.

Yeosang's eyes traveled back and forth from Mingi to you in bewilderment. "Wait, you know each other?"

Before Mingi could say anything back to Yeosang, you scoffed bitterly and diverted your gaze away from him as you removed yourself from Mingi's body, getting back on your feet, and brushing off dirt from your trousers. "Bring him to the interrogation room with the rest. If he tries to escape, call me immediately. I'll end him myself."

"Aye-aye, captain." Yeosang suddenly stood at attention and made a salute sign your way, earning him a serious look from you. "Sorry."

"Why do I even put up with you?"

-

The interrogation room fell silent except for the sound of your leather-heeled boots clicking on the floor as you paced back and forth in front of the intruders with your hands resting on both sides of your hips, jaw clenching at the sight of the four familiar men: Mingi, San, Yunho, and Hongjoong, who once meant so much to you, now tied up in chairs while being guarded by two of your loyal guards. The room was bright, yet the atmosphere was heavy and dim. Being in the same room as them felt sickening, vivid memories from a decade ago replaying in your mind.

"I really want to know how the four of you traitors found your way onto this island and what your real intentions are because—god—I'm going to lose my fucking mind." You slammed your fist hard onto the table in the middle of the room, making every person in the room flinch. "Did your captain bring you here to assault us? Rob us?" Bending down to Mingi's eye-level, you pulled out a dagger from your pocket carry and bringing it close to his jaw, so close that one wrong move from him will scratch his pale skin. "Or did she maroon you too, like you did to me?" Mingi wanted to speak up and explain everything to you yet he couldn't move a single inch of his body. "Maybe San or Yunho can answer that for me, since I don't like to waste my time listening to liars." You stared deeply into Mingi's pained eyes.

Both San and Yunho looked up at you desperately, lips quivering and bodies slumped. It was the first time you'd seen Yunho cry this much, and it made you wonder what they went through before they had stepped into this place. You almost saw yourself in them, although that will never compare to the nightmare you had to experience twice.

"y/n, please." Yunho sobbed as his vision began to blur from the uncontrollable hot tears. "Please, don't kill us. We swear we didn't mean to trespass. We escaped from HalaHala, but we got lost in the sea. We don't even know how many days had passed until we saw this island, and we thought this was our only hope." He took a deep breath. "Earlier, we were only searching for food. We deeply apologize. We'll do anything you say, we promise. Just please, spare our lives this once."

His voice was shaky, his breathing unsteady, and because of the past you shared with them, you knew he was a bad liar, but now, you weren't quite sure if he was telling the truth, and you definitely weren't ready to relive some of those shared memories. They could be sabotaging you and ruin all the things you've built up in the past six years. These were the people who made your past worth living when you had no one, yet even the closest people to you were the ones who betrayed you first.

You closed your eyes shut, not wanting to show them any weakness of yours. You hated it; you loathed to hear those words coming from their mouths. How can they beg to you like this? Their crew had attacked your kingdom, pirates tormented you for years, and your closest friends had betrayed you, but not once have you begged on your knees to them, asking to spare your life. It's ridiculous, but you were not a monster. You weren't meant to hurt a soul.

"Fine, I'll spare you this once as long as you all promise not to do anything wrong to my people and my island. We have eyes everywhere, and one wrong move, you're gone. Got that?" They all nodded in understanding. "I value trust here in this island, but once it is broken, I don't give any more chances. I expect none of you to fail me...again." You then left through the door where Seonghwa was waiting. "Bring them new clothes, serve them hot food and get rooms for them to stay, that's an order."

Seonghwa nodded his head in compliance. "Will do right away, captain. I will report back to you once they have settled."

You pursed your lips, "Thank you, Hwa. I'll look forward to it. Good night."

"Good night, y/n. Get some rest."

-

[ 9 years ago ]

"I will become the best captain of the seas and have the best crew like no other." Hongjoong placed one leg on top of a crate, looking over the horizon as the wind blew his hair back.

You hear Mingi yawn from beside you, "Is he talking about being a captain again?"

You hummed in response, still amused by Hongjoong's dramatic monologue. You wondered what those other two were doing. You turned to check behind you, and see San and Yunho having an intense dance battle in the middle of the main deck with a mini music player resting on top of a crate near them, though you weren't quite familiar with the kind of dance they were doing.

"What kind of dance is that? It's so fast, I've never seen anything like that before."

"It's called 'feeling the music,' darling." San sent a playful wink your way, causing you to get flustered by the sudden action.

Yunho, on the other hand, proceeded to make his way towards you, and you felt Mingi's arm around you tighten slightly. "Why don't you come teach us what you know about dancing? San and I will teach you what we know, too. How's that sound?"

That's how you found yourself teaching the two men how to ballroom dance, not to mention the number of times San had accidentally stepped on your foot. Yunho tried doing it with Mingi while you partnered with San, even though Mingi clearly wanted to be paired up with you.

But it didn't matter because at the end of the day, it was him who you watched all the sunsets with. Your head rested on his shoulder while you took in the sight of the sun setting over the horizon. You loved the peace at that moment; it was the only time you could get your mind off of things. It was nice, especially when the others would suddenly appear from behind you and join.

[ end. ]

Where did it all go wrong?

-

Two weeks had passed since Mingi, Yunho, San, and Hongjoong found their way onto the island. You stepped outside to the village to conduct your weekly checkup on the villagers and their resources, if changes and training were to be made or not, but everything seemed to be completely fine. Probably too 'fine' for your liking because how did San and Yunho both end up laughing at Seonghwa because his parrot hit him in the face, and why is Wooyoung trying to push Hongjoong towards the said quartermaster? Why the hell is Hongjoong blushing?! You were probably just seeing things after a tiring week, you tried to convince yourself.

The day after, you went to monitor Yunho, San, Mingi, and Hongjoong's training session led by Wooyoung, assisted by Jongho and Yeosang, while Seonghwa stood by as an aide. You, alongside the four men, observed and scrutinized the other four to see if they were to be trusted and qualified to be trained for battles. In turn, they were unexpectedly obedient and cooperative in everything they were asked to do. Thus, trainings were arranged for them. You expected to see a group of men fighting using their weapons, dampened in sweat, and with determination in their eyes. Instead, the scene in front of you was nothing like you've imagined at all.

Seonghwa was busy wrapping a bandage around Hongjoong's wound on his arm caused by an accident earlier that day, eyes focused on securing it. His body moved closer and closer to Hongjoong in order to see clearly and steadily handle his wound, but the latter seemed to be flustered by the close proximity. Hongjoong's eyes scanned over the sight of Seonghwa in his elegant clothing, the way his corset hugged his waist perfectly, the way his hair was tied neatly into a short ponytail, his eyes sharp yet soft, his hands ever so gentle on him, and how pink and plump his lips were; Hongjoong had to look away before he would lose his mind.

"You're all good." Seonghwa backed away once he finished aiding the wounded man, grabbing his kit to return to his station when Hongjoong stopped him.

"Hey, uhm..." Hongjoong's eyes were everywhere but on Seonghwa. "Thank you for making me feel better—I mean, for this." He motioned to his arm, where the bandage was in an instant. "Yeah...haha, for this, of course." He mentally cursed at himself for stammering like an idiot in front of the esteemed quartermaster, but he only let out a soft chuckle at his flustered expression.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that." Seonghwa gave him a reassuring smile before he made his way back to his station by the entrance of the room, where you had been standing for a while, enough to witness the whole scenario. The moment Seonghwa noticed your presence, he quickly greeted you. "Good morning, captain. How was your sleep?"

"It was alright."

"That's great—"

"Although, something has been bothering me these days." You sighed.

Seonghwa's full attention was now on you. "What is bothering you, captain?"

You gave him one brief glance before turning over to look at someone who was busy writing in his little notepad, "Seonghwa, is there something going on between you and Hongjoong?"

Your question made his eyes widen, flabbergasted; he wasn't sure how to react to it. The truth was, he never really thought of Hongjoong in that way. Although he did find him quite cute and admirable at times like when he looked clumsy, he believed he shouldn't see him in any way other than as a normal civilian, especially not when he was one of the people who had betrayed you in the past. Seonghwa would never betray your trust for temporary romantic desires; he promised to serve you with his life. "Me and Hongjoong?" Seonghwa turned to see where Hongjoong was at, and when the two coincidentally made eye contact, Seonghwa avoided his gaze in embarrassment. "Oh no, definitely not, captain. He and I strictly share a professional relationship."

You nodded, though not completely convinced. Afterwards, your eyes landed on another pair of men on the other side of the room. "How about those two over there? Do you think they have a professional relationship?"

Seonghwa followed the direction where your eyes focused and found both Wooyoung and San in a serious conversation. Wooyoung appeared to be scolding San, pointing towards different parts of his body, his mouth rambling continuously as San stood there in silence with his hands behind his back, taking in every word his trainer was telling him. Looks completely normal. Nothing to worry about, right?

San nodded once more at Wooyoung when the latter patted his shoulder stiffly, only for Wooyoung's fingers to ever-so-slightly caress San's cheek as their eyes remained glued on each other. San then brought his hand up to take hold of Wooyoung's, guiding it to rest it on his cheek, and the two exchanged looks of contentment, not to mention how San's ears instantly turned red afterwards. Wooyoung usually had the tendency to be affectionate towards people he was close to and those he wanted to befriend, but you didn't expect him to reach this level of affection with San, a supposed enemy whom he just met two weeks prior.

Both you and Seonghwa were completely stunned by the interesting scene. Not believing what you had just witnessed a few seconds ago, you both slowly turned to face one another with the same expression. "I guess not, captain. I guess not."

It wasn't that you were opposed to the idea of them having that kind of relationship, since you were close enough with the two to know that they only befriend people who are genuine and share the same principles as them. Wooyoung was best at assessing and deducing people and even exceptional at manipulating them for good reasons, of course, whereas San was highly observant of those around him. You could only hope that all this wouldn't change anything among the crew; you wouldn't let the same mistake of trusting these former HalaHala crewmates happen to your own crew as well. You were sure to keep a better eye on them.

-

Together with the Blue Bird crew, you had just successfully finished trading goods with the local merchants of Answer Island. Once every two weeks, you sail with the crew to other islands to trade various goods—enough for the villagers of New World. While this was Yunho, San, Hongjoong, and Mingi's first trade as official members of the crew, you were being vigilant over their words and actions throughout the whole operation. They were considered new faces in your team; one wrong move can ruin the whole crew's reputation straight away. You weren't going to risk anything.

"Where did you get this?" You snatched the pouch bag from Hongjoong's hand, eyeing the shiny red jewels inside suspiciously. "I don't remember telling you to trade our goods for this." A displeased glower was shown on your face, clearly disgruntled at the situation. You had informed the crew beforehand about the list of items they must trade with the locals, including silver and gold coins, clothing, materials for building, and other things you needed for the island. You always made it certain that every trading would be done with integrity, verifying the crew's compliance; consequently, you weren't going to tolerate any ill-gotten trades from anyone. "Explain before I return this back to them."

Hongjoong was caught off guard at the sudden raise of your voice, immeditarly explaining himself to you before matters would escalate further. "Apologies, captain. One of the merchants is someone I'm acquainted with, a close friend of Bumjoong, my older brother, before he was killed. The man remembered who I was, and I tried to politely reject his offer of giving me those jewels, but he was persistent, and I couldn't say 'no.' I'm sorry for causing you any inconvenience."

A part of you was convinced by his explanation, while some parts were still skeptical about it. You still found it difficult to trust them, and your distrust was completely valid and undebatable. Hongjoong did grow up with pirates; thus, raiding for loot was a normal practice in his world. You, on the other hand, didn't. You weren't a pirate; that was as clear as day. Hence, you would never rob a single thing that wasn't yours. There were no exceptions in Blue Bird.

"I don't know if I should believe you; I really do not want to if you ask me." Hongjoong remained silent, making you pinch the bridge of your nose, left with no other option but to let him off the hook. To be fair, you haven't heard any complaints or reports from the merchants and the other crewmates, so maybe it was truly a misunderstanding on your end. "Fine, keep it as long as I do not hear a single complaint about the crew." You tossed the pouch bag back to Hongjoong, which he caught sloppily. "We're not merely here for fortune. We are here to trade and give back to the people. If you wish to satisfy your selfish desires, make sure to leave me and New World out of it, but remember, greed will get you killed."

Hongjoong nodded in understanding, taking mental notes from the conversation you had with him a moment ago. He found you formidable whenever you asserted authority and control over the crew, and he acknowledged it with no objection.

You walked past him heading towards Yeosang and Jongho, who stood by the main deck, preparing to sail back to the New World after a long day of trading in Answer Island. "Jongho, go over all the items inside the chests, and secure them down in the hold. Wooyoung, be on the lookout for tonight. We have to be extra cautious and alert this time; we shouldn't be too complacent." You motioned for Seonghwa and Yeosang, who is Blue Bird's notable navigator, to follow you to the Great Cabin, where the three of you will plan on your next journey in a few days.

You'll never know who will betray your trust.

-

"Woah, you're pretty strong." Yunho panted as he tried to escape from your arms that were currently wrapped around his neck with force. "I'm impressed."

You exerted a bit more force around his neck, almost choking the air out of him. "Not the time for compliments, Yunho. Stay focused."

Today, you were in charge of personally training the four new crewmates, which they totally didn't expect to happen. The training center, surrounded by equipment, weapons, and safety gear, was quickly filled with intense pressure as the four men witnessed you easily knock Yeosang, one of the strongest in Blue Bird, down in just seconds. If they think Yeosang and Jongho were unbeatable, they will be proven wrong by the end of this training session. It wasn't entirely in the muscles or strength you had, being strategic, calculative, and clever were a must.

Yunho continued to struggle against your tight hold until he was finally able to escape from you. He tried to throw you down on the safety mat, but you were faster in kicking his knees from behind, causing him to fall flat on his face with a grunt. You shook your head in dissatisfaction at his performance catching your breath as today's session with him has ended.

"And here I thought you had fast reflexes; I didn't see much of it today." You stayed in place looking down on Yunho, leaving him on the ground. "Get up. Go sit by the bench; I'll get back to you later." Yunho didn't waste any second to get back on his feet and sat down on the bench, where the others were waiting. 

It was then San's turn to train with you. You already had certain moves planned beforehand to execute based on each of their specialties and strong points to see which techniques were best to use and where they may improve. As soon as he settled in front of you on the safety mat, you started tackling him, holding his arms down to limit his movements. However, San was also quick to respond to your sudden actions by squirming a bit before extending his arms to have leverage against your grip.

"Not bad, but not the best move either. Squirming can take a bit of your energy away, which allows the opponent to take advantage of those few seconds. Every second matters, take note of that."

You pulled away from his body to prepare yourself for another move, but before you could do so, San asked you a question. "Sorry to ask this in the middle of training, y/n, but this has been on my mind lately. I'm not, in any way, invalidating your feelings, but with how things had been going the past week, I really wanted to ask if you...trust us? I mean, we are now a part of your crew, but like, do you trust us in a deeper sense?" San had been meaning to ask you that question since he'd started noticing your stern treatment towards them.

Trust? How can he say that word so casually after what happened to you in the past? Does he think trusting people who had immensely hurt you before is easy? Trusting is a sacrifice, and sacrificing meant risking your life. You may have given them a second chance to live and rise back up, but that didn't mean things would go back to how they used to be.

"Show me excellent results, and I might reconsider."

With that, San and the other men were hellbent on gaining your trust back by showing how much they improved and how superbly they fought against the pirates, who had tried to invade the island. Those pirates were from the Outlaw crew, and they were known to be well-equipped and strategic when it came to battles, yet your crew, especially with San, Hongjoong, Yunho, and Mingi added to team, easily defeated them without a challenge. You hate to admit it, but their performance was undeniably impressive. It was clear that they were motivated to achieve their goal, and that called for a feast to celebrate another successful and well-fought battle.

"Cheers to another Blue Bird victory!"

The feast was held outdoors in the village square, where everyone gathered together. The village square had a fountain in the center with benches on the side and even a gazebo nearby. Wooyoung led the celebration with a beer in hand and a foot on the table. Everyone joined in raising their own glasses up in the air and cheered enthusiastically, followed by the crew exchanging words of gratitude. This had been a tradition among the people since the crew's first victory a few years ago, even before Seonghwa and the others had arrived here.

The night went on with a crowd filled with laughter and tears of joy, especially San, who sobbed quietly on Yunho's shoulder. You silently watched on the side, admiring the scene in front of you, not really wanting to engage in any long conversations after a tiring day. You weren't one to stay long on nights like this, but you wanted to stay longer tonight for a change. San, Yunho, and Hongjoong had flooded you with words of gratitude for all the help and training you gave to them and how it was all worth it in the end. You didn't hesitate to return the gesture because now, you trusted them a bit more than before. They have proven their skills to you, and it resulted in another victory.

Seeing this, Mingi was eager to talk to you as well. He contemplated if tonight was the right time to explain himself to you personally and to make things right once and for all, so the moment he followed you back to your tower after the celebration, he was more than ready to confess to you the whole story from beginning to end, whether you'd believe him or not, and he was prepared for the consequences he'll get.

"y/n...please." Mingi tried to catch up to you from behind as you continued to make your way inside your tower, where you stayed. The tower was big enough for you with simple modern designs, and it wasn't too visible from the outside to keep your location hidden from intruders or outsiders, since your tower had important documents and fortune you needed to keep as safe as possible. You didn't even let him in, nor was he welcomed inside. Nonetheless, he found himself inside the place with one goal: to explain everything to you.

You tried your best to ignore his pleas, passing them from one ear to the other, and pretending that he wasn't there at all. Even so, he wouldn't give up that easily. He couldn't bear the idea of you hating him without knowing the truth behind his actions. He followed you upstairs to your living room, forgetting that he was basically trespassing in your tower; he only had his eyes set on you, after all.

You moved to the kitchen to get yourself a cup of tea, as you always do every night, without bothering to look at him. "What do you not understand about leaving me alone?" you asked. You could almost feel the desperation in his eyes as they watched you.

"Let's talk."

Unthinkingly, you slammed your hand on the counter out of vexation. He just doesn't get it, does he? "No, Mingi. Let's not talk, okay? First, you leave me behind to my death, then you trespass in my home, and now that I gave you a place to stay, you are being as stubborn as ever. Just because I did that doesn't mean we're good to fix things. Staying away from me is the least you can do, or would you rather have me throw you out instead?"

"No, it's not that. Please, let me explain everything to you. You deserve to know the truth."

You heaved a drained sigh, looking out the big window that overlooked the village, watching the villagers going by to end their night. "I don't even know if I should keep you on the team."

Mingi knew that; he'd expect you to tell him off even from the very start. "I know, y/n. I don't deserve any of this, but there is something I didn't tell you about my mother."

The mention of his mother bemused you. She took you in when she could've ended your life together with your parents, and if it wasn't for her, you wouldn't have survived this long and be where you are right now. You had no idea what secret he was keeping from you, but what he revealed next made your heart drop.

"She was trying to kill you, okay?"

What? It cannot be. You turned to look at him with widened eyes, staring in utter disbelief. "What do you mean she was trying to kill me? She wouldn't—"

"She was planning to kill you, so she made up rumors about you only wanting my fortune to drive me to kill you first, but you know I wouldn't. I didn't want to, and the only choice I had for you to stay alive was to leave you behind. That's why I did what I did back then. I'm really sorry for not telling you, y/n."

Mingi finally spilled the truth you needed to hear from him. He stood in there in pure guilt, seeing the way your lips quivered in denial and the way your eyes were fighting back the tears that were threatening to escape. He acknowledged that it may all be too much to believe and too overwhelming for you to take in, but he really needed to let you know as soon as possible. You just weren't prepared for it.

"Why..."

[ flashback ]

"What?!" Mingi exclaimed as his mother continued to wipe her weapons clean without a care. "y/n doesn't want my fortune; why would you say that?""

His mother apathetically shrugged. "I don't know about you, Mingi. Maybe you're too blinded by her beauty or whatever, but she's clearly only sticking close to you because she knows you're my son and you have a fortune under your name."

Mingi doesn't apprehend where all these rumors about you being a fortune hunter were coming from; nevertheless, he hated hearing about it. He had just shared a sweet intimate kiss with you an hour ago, and he was so sure that you didn't like him solely for his fortune. You had never mentioned that to him; what you usually shared with him was simply about your love for sunsets and reading. A girl with big dreams; that was the 'y/n' he knew so well.

"You must have forgotten, Mingi. That girl came from royalty, wealth, and big castles. It's in her nature to want fortune because that's how they live; they breathe money. I only kept her because I thought we'd get access to other kingdoms using her connections, but she's just a useless little girl with nothing but a pretty face."

"Do not speak about her in that way," Mingi argued, jaw clenching, clearly infuriated. "I'm not going to kill her, mother."

Amused by Mingi's courage, his mother sneered at him. "Really?" She walked up towards him in slow, intimidating steps and with a sinister look, grabbing his chin. "You know exactly what would happen when you don't do it. Would you rather want that?"

Mingi loathed everything about the situation. He abhorred having to choose between the people he loved, but he knew that lives were at stake; thus, he needed to make a decision he would regret. Either way, regret will still eat him up, and he'll never forgive himself for it. If it were a choice to just kill his own mother instead, he would, but he wasn't a selfish monster like her. 

"Do it before the sun rises."

Those were his mother's last words to him before he finally executed his nightmare of a plan, which he believed was the best choice at the moment. He felt his heart sink and his head grew dizzy at the sight in front of him: the love of his life, an innocent young lady with tears running down her face and broken eyes staring into him with so much pain and betrayal. He brought you out to the back of the ship late at dawn just before the sunrise came, and you knew where it was going. You didn't have words to say anything or ask him what was going on; still, you had already expected this day to come. A princess like you knew that loving a pirate was a sin, yet you decided to trust and love Mingi when you shouldn't. This was a consequence of your actions.

He tossed to you your almost worn-out bag where your books were kept before carrying you back to the main deck and casting you down as gently as he could into the water, making sure you were not to drown easily because he knew you weren't a swimmer at best, unlike him and his friends.

"Mingi? No...NO!" Your screams of terror sounded like someone had stabbed his heart multiple times, sounds that would haunt him forever.

"I'm so sorry, y/n." Those were the last words he told you before he regretfully walked away from the scene, afraid to see what he had just done. He didn't turn back. He wanted to see you one last time, but it hurt him too much to do it. "This is all just a dream; I'll live." But it wasn't. It was reality no matter how much he denies the truth.

[ end. ]

"That day, I wanted to kill myself, to kill my mother, to end it all. It took me and my brothers years to escape from my mother, so when she passed away, my stepsister immediately took over the ship, and we left before she could catch us. We genuinely didn't expect to end up in this place; we didn't even know this island existed." Mingi tried to step closer towards you, only for you to turn your body away from him, giving him a sign that he should keep his distance. "I'm really sorry if I had to hide this from you; I knew you cared about my mother. I made a stupid mistake, one that I know I absolutely will not make again."

The truth was unconscionably cruel after that painful revelation about his mother, who had taken you in and provided you with a second home. Even though she, your supposed 'killer,' was no longer in your life, the sorrow and anguish remained very much there in your heart. For years, you blamed Mingi for everything, when his mother was the one responsible for your near-death experience. It hurt all over again.

"I see."

A joyful feast with the crew ended in a painful revelation, which you cannot let go of easily.

-

Since that heated exchange with Mingi three nights ago, you couldn't sleep much at all. It's been days since you started avoiding him unless it's for necessary means, fearful that past memories would make their way back into your mind. You detested him for what he did, and you despised him even more for keeping it a secret from you. The crew had noticed your indifference towards Mingi, but you couldn't care less if they noticed. All you cared about was treating him like he was nonexistent.

In order to block out the thoughts and emotions, you took refuge in your tower. Meanwhile, Mingi was taking a leisurely stroll along the shore to get his mind off of things. He kicked small rocks away as he dragged his boots on the sand, appreciating the sensation of the wind against his face. He walked along the shore for a few minutes before finding a log to sit on and rest his legs. He felt that he was gradually getting better at the time, but it was short-lived when he caught sight of a familiar silhouette in the distance. The closer it came into view, the clearer it became to Mingi. Alarmed, Mingi hurried back to the headquarters, entering straight into Jongho's office, where he was found playing with his guitar.

"Woah, man. Relax—"

"HalaHala is here, call 'emergency lockdown' now!"

The moment Jongho heard the name everyone feared the most, he automatically pressed the red button on his desk in less than a second. Sirens rang around the area and the residential zones, signaling a need for lockdown. Traps were activated, and all crewmates promptly moved to prepare for battle.

"Pirates are coming. The day we all feared has come...HalaHala has found us," Jongho announced to the intercom, voice stern with a hint of fear in it. "Ready yourselves as we've practiced; let's end this once and for all even if it costs our lives...this is all for you, captain." With that being said, Jongho ran out to prepare himself for the most awaited war of his life.

Your heart dropped to the bottom of your stomach when you heard Jongho's call over the intercom. Because of their own horrific experiences with HalaHala, everyone dreaded this day, but to you, it was like going through hell again. Like the day when your kingdom was totally destroyed, this day was life or death for you.

"Fuck! Why now of all times?" you cursed to yourself as you got dressed, grabbing all your needed weapons. You stride towards a hidden room in your tower, where your most valuable possessions, secrets, and important documents were kept safe. In it was a family picture that was found on one of the books you had brought from the kingdom: your mother and father sitting on the luxurious couch with a tiny you in the middle. "This fight is for you, mom and dad. If I die, I must die a hero, as I have worked hard to become," before exiting the tower through an emergency shortcut.

Everything you had went through, building this island and training your people to become who they are now—all these happened because of those heartless pirates. You weren't going to fail New World, Blue Bird, or yourself, especially not your parents and the kingdom. This battle was for each one of them, all to avenge the people you loved with your life.

Arriving at the headquarters, you headed to your usual spot with Seonghwa and his team. Your heart raced immensely from the thought of seeing HalaHala again more than a decade after being thrown out from their ship, past memories flashing back to haunt you. 

"Don't be afraid, captain. We know this battle means everything to you, so we will fight with our lives to make sure we win this." Seonghwa pulled you in to reassure you. "You got this, y/n. You always do."

You weren't in your right mind the past week from Mingi's sudden revelation, and now, this. It was too much for you to process, but winning this battle meant bringing justice to your kingdom and peace to your soul. You must win this.

-

Mingi and the rest of Blue Bird hid quietly as the HalaHala pirates jumped off the ship to the shore, carrying weapons with them. One of the enemies had stepped on a dried leaf, triggering a trap. The rest of HalaHala pulled out their cutlasses and pistols, ready to shoot, but stopped when the captain of HalaHala got down from the ship, and signaled for the crew not to make a move yet.

Mina, the captain of HalaHala and Mingi's stepsister, scanned the surroundings intently for anything suspicious. There hadn't been any movement found, but with her keen sight, she narrowed her eyes towards a certain bush, where she noticed a gun pointing in her direction. Instead of feeling terrified, she only smirked amusingly. "This might be fun." She cracked her knuckles before grabbing her pistol from her pocket carry. "Start shooting!" With her signal, HalaHala started shooting towards the bushes where Mingi and the others were hiding behind.

They quickly ducked to dodge the bullets, and once it died down a bit, they started shooting them back with no hesitation. Wooyoung led his team out first, as he was Blue Bird's best gunner, and his flexible body was an advantage for him to avoid bullets coming his way. Mingi, who was the second-best gunner, followed suit with Yunho, San, and Hongjoong. You and Seonghwa's team followed behind to attack before the HalaHala crew reached further into the island where the villagers hid.

You pulled out your pistol and started shooting at them with everything you got like it was the last battle you were going to have because even when you had a tough and capable crew on your side, HalaHala was still one of the strongest crews in the pirate world. You had great momentum; you thought you were doing so well, but your mind was not one hundred percent in the battle since, as much as you hated thinking about it, you were killing people who you recognized well from your past. 

Like a bolt from the blue, you felt a strong object hit you in the back of your head, making you almost lose your balance. You were rubbing your head to soothe the pain when a man tried to stab you with a cutlass from the side, so you quickly moved back to avoid the hit, but the sharp object still made contact with your skin. The pain from your head made you move a second too late, and now you were on the ground trying to cover the fresh cut on the side of your body to prevent more blood from coming out.

You couldn't move, you felt weak, and you thought you were going to die. This might be it; this might be your last battle. You watched as the man approached you with a cutlass just seconds away from ending your life, so you shut your eyes tight, ready to accept your fate, only for the man to fall to the ground beside you lifeless. To your surprise, you were met with a fuming Mingi who had his sword stabbed through the man's body.

Mingi had kept his eye on you from the side a few minutes ago, but the moment he found you in pain on the ground, he saw red, and in an instant, he ran up to you. He wasn't going to let you die, not like this, not during your most important battle. After killing the man, he stared into your dazed eyes. The look you gave him made him think that it was those same eyes from when you saw your parents getting killed by his mother—frightened. He hated seeing that look in your eyes, and he'd do everything to take away that feeling off your chest.

Conveniently, Mingi recognized one of Seonghwa's teammates nearby. "Hunter, bring y/n to the clinic and aid her. She's hurt," he ordered without leaving his sight on you. Mingi's gaze followed you as Hunter carried you away from the area, all while you watched as Mingi's figure slowly faded into the distance. 

Mingi made heavy steps towards the HalaHala ship, sneaking inside through the entrance, and advanced to the forecastle deck, where he found his stepsister observing the battle that unfolded on the shore from a distance, her back facing him.

"Funny seeing you here, Mingi." Mina started, adjusting her sash that was wrapped around her waist. "Never expected you to still be alive after disappearing with your friends, and neither did I expect that princess to be here too. Thought you killed her already; I guess you decided to be a 'hero' of some sort."

Mingi took this chance to grab the gear and steer the ship away from the island. He intended to fight her alone without anyone to intervene, especially not you: a battle between two siblings who see each other as nothing but sworn enemies. In no time, HalaHala had finally been defeated by Blue Bird after putting all their blood, sweat, and tears into the fight. Few of the crewmates had sacrificed their lives for victory; some were injured, while the rest remained in good condition. Once the island was cleared of the enemies, Seonghwa ordered his team to aid the injured men and to prepare a proper burial for those who didn't make it. Everyone cleared the area as they made their way back to the headquarters except for Wooyoung, who stayed back to watch HalaHala's ship sail away from the island. He knew the battle wasn't over yet. "I trust you, Mingi. Come back alive."

-

Mina laughed at the situation in ironic amusement, finally turning to face Mingi. It was just the two of them on the ship, yet it felt like Mingi was surrounded by a hundred men at once.

"If you want to kill her, you have to kill me first." Mingi glared at her intensely, but Mina remained unfazed, not intimidated one bit.

Instead, she leaned back offhandedly on the edge of the ship, which irked Mingi even further. "Oh, what's this? Am I in some kind of romance novel?" She shook her head, emitting a sardonic laugh at the ridiculous thought. "Don't make me laugh, Mingi. Love does not exist in this world; it's all made up in the head. People feel attracted, have kids, then kill each other with no regrets; that's the cycle of life." Mina grinned at his lack of reaction. "Face it, that's the reality. We are not in some sort of fairytale bullshit you think you are in; we live to kill and kill to live, which means..." She took out her sword, sunlight reflecting on the blade landing on Mingi. "Only one of us gets to live, and that's going to be me."

'Love does not exist in this world,' that's what Mina believed, but your island was different. It was full of love, and Mingi realized that 'love' does in fact exist in many forms and is expressed in many ways. In your world, it was present and alive. New World was established because you had so much love for the people that you took the initiative to build it. If you didn't have love, the New World now wouldn't even exist at all. Mingi was seethed in rage, whereas his stepsister stayed unbothered, smirking at him without a care in the world. 

"Come on, fight me." She challenged him, and consequently, he took out his sword. 

"It may not exist in your world, but it does in mine." With that, Mingi charged towards her, attacking with his sword, which she easily blocked. "You won't see tomorrow, Mina."

As the ship sailed farther and farther out into the ocean, Mingi and Mina indulged in a heated sword fight on the main deck. As powerful as Mingi was, Mina was just as mighty despite having a smaller frame than him. He had been on the verge of being struck by her sword several times, and she was no exception. They both went back and forth striking each other, growing frustrated as minutes went by.

Mingi dodged her swift attack. He pushed her knees forward from behind, causing her to stumble on the ground, so he took this chance to plunge the sword into her neck. However, she was quicker to dodge it and get back on her feet. This time, it was him who got cornered by Mina, giving her the upper hand. She brought her sword near his neck, and when he tried to dodge it again, his cheek was scratched a bit by the sharp blade, making him hiss at the pain. 

Mingi sprinted towards the other end of the ship and briskly pulled out his gun from his pocket carry. He didn't want to use his gun, saving it as it only had one bullet left. Nevertheless, he pointed the weapon at her with an unsteady grip. "All this time, I thought mother was evil enough. I thought I could still rely on you as family, but you killed her with poison. You killed your own blood with no remorse. You're a monster, Mina. You don't deserve to live, and I too will have no remorse when I kill you. See you in hell!" He knew he wasn't going to make the shot with how his hands trembled as Mina approached him, and he had no choice but to try his best. It was his last chance; it was now or never. 

Mingi was seconds away from pulling the trigger when a sudden wave hit the ship, causing her to stumble back and hit her head on a crate. While she struggled to get back up, he took the chance to shoot her with the last bullet he had. He glowered down at her as she gaped at him, her hand covering her chest where he had perfectly shot. With one last look, her body collapsed on the ground.

Mingi slumped down on the floor across from her, all worn out and in pain. He grunted when he felt his cheek sting from the hit earlier, his hands stained with a bit of blood. If it wasn't for that miraculous wave, he wouldn't have successfully shot her, and if it wasn't for him, you would've died. All he could do atwas stare at his stepsister's lifeless body and think about how you were doing back at the island.

"We did it, y/n. It's all over now."

Mingi was about to pass out when he heard a faint sound nearby. He stood up sluggishly and saw the Blue Bird ship come into view with Hongjoong, who sailed the ship, together with Wooyoung and Yunho. Hongjoong brought the ship closer to HalaHala's ship, where Mingi was currently on, and Wooyoung called for the latter to come to them.

"Get in here, big guy. We're taking you home."

Home. Mingi never really thought of New World as his home. He believed he didn't have the right to call it that because it was yours, and he didn't deserve to live in it. You only made him stay out of pity, perhaps; he wasn't quite sure. But maybe one day, he'll finally consider it to be one.

-

Wooyoung and Yunho rushed Mingi to the clinic to aid the wound on his cheek. Inside the building, he saw you lying down on a bed with a bandage around your head, body, and hands where you had been hit earlier during the fight. You were trying to ease the pain in your head and body alongside one of the nurses assisting you and telling you not to move around too much. Mingi stared at you concerned from his bed situated across the room.

He was about to make his way to you, but Seonghwa pulled him back and forced him to sit on the bed so he could help dress the wound on his face. While Seonghwa busied himself on Mingi's cheek, the latter's gaze never left you. He was hurt himself, yet he was more worried about your current state. As a pirate, he never really cared about people getting hurt, but he hated seeing you in pain.

"I'm going home," you informed the nurse, standing up from the bed and gathering your weapons from the nearby table ready to leave.

"Stay still, we're almost—H-hey! Where are you going?" Seonghwa called for Mingi, who got out of the bed to follow you. "Mingi!" The man disregarded Seonghwa's calls, intent on speaking with you. You could hear his footsteps following behind, but you didn't dare look back.

"y/n." You heard him call the first time. "y/n." the second time. "y/n." And the third, his voice gradually raising with each call of your name.

Upon arriving at the entrance of your tower, Mingi had reached for your arm to stop your movements. You retracted your arm from his grasp, proceeding to walk inside your tower. Footsteps continued to follow yours, but still you were adamant, and so was he. 

"y/n, stop. You're hurt right now, seriously. You're going to make it worse if you keep moving—"

"Stop!" You had enough. "Stop jumping in whenever you think I need saving because I don't. I don't need anyone defending me, I don't need any of your help, and I don't need you." You enunciated every word to make it clear to him how you felt.

"You could've died!"

"I almost died once because of you!" You spun around to meet his eyes. Your voice pierced into his ears, but the silence that followed it was louder. Subsequently, the room fell uncomfortably silent. You could tell Mingi was drowning in guilt, and he could tell that you were still deeply wounded by what he did. Seeing no reaction from him, you decided to step back to get to your room and rest. However, a few steps in, you staggered from the sudden pain you felt on your head. You held the wall for support, slowly sliding your body down, and kneeling on the floor to ease the pain.

Mingi instinctively reached forward to help you, but you stopped him. "Move an inch closer and I will—" Your words were cut when your head started hurting again, groaning at the throbbing ache. "This is all your fault." You started with a hushed voice, "I shouldn't have befriended you, I shouldn't have trusted a dirty lying pirate, and I should have listened to everyone's warnings. All this wouldn't have happened if I had never met you."

War was finally over. HalaHala no longer existed, which was your ultimate goal since the very beginning of New World and Blue Bird. That was what you wanted, and it was made possible through Mingi's courage, service, and trust. Albeit, you weren't completely satisfied, as it wasn't you who killed their captain. Your emotions got the best of you because you weren't the hero in this battle; Mingi was, but you didn't want to believe it.

Mingi resisted the urge to come closer to you and hold onto you so badly; his arms were yearning to feel you. Still, he respected you and your space. Even when it felt unfair for him that you thought of it that way, knowing that it was him who killed the captain of HalaHala, his stepsister at that, and the pirates who killed your loved ones, the crew he once was a part of, and the enemies who were once his family. He never tried to invalidate the trauma he had caused you before, but did you ever think about how he also felt about it?

You got back up as best as you could. "You made me feel heaven only to drag me to hell." With a resentful huff, you continued, "How I wish to give twice as much of hell back to you. But, I'm not a monster...and neither am I a pirate. I am a princess, and I should never hurt a soul." You looked into his eyes one last time. "Do pirates like you even have souls?"

"y/n..."

In just the perfect timing, a few Blue Bird members busted into the main door, all with worried expressions on their faces. Their movements came to a halt when they took in the sight of Mingi standing stiffly near you, and sensed the heavy and tense atmosphere between you and him.

You turned back to look out the window. "Everyone, go home. Tomorrow's another day."

The crewmates, who stood by the door, nodded in acknowledgment, exiting the tower right away. Wooyoung pulled Mingi by the shoulders, whose gaze lingered on your back, and dragged him out of the door, not wanting him to cause any more scenes. The room fell silent, this time in a consolation, after the door closed shut, and you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding.

Just when you thought you were finally alone, you hear a deep but soft voice speak to you from behind. "My apologies for staying, captain, but Madame Rose requested for me to pass this medicine for you; I'll leave it by the kitchen table, so you wouldn't forget to take it." Seonghwa entered the kitchen to place the medicine down on the counter. "Proper burial for our lost brothers and sisters has been arranged for tomorrow, and the people have also offered prayers for your fast recovery."

You hummed in response, "I'm glad."

Seonghwa saw you still standing by the window, understanding the pain in your voice when you responded. He sensed that you were hurting not only physically but also emotionally, and that you were bothered about something serious even when you didn't need to be. He knew you too well to notice it in an instant. With careful steps, he came up to you from behind. "They're all gone now, y/n. Those monsters will no longer be a threat in your life, and I'm sure everyone you've lost up there is so proud of their little girl for her bravery." He spoke with a voice so soft like a feather, the voice of someone who had treated you so well, like his own sister.

"No...why would they? I fell weak, I wasn't strong enough, and I wasn't the one who killed them, so why would they be proud of me?"

Seonghwa pulled you in a comforting embrace, cautious not to hurt you. "You survived hell twice; I'm sure even hell itself fears you." His long, elegant fingers rubbed gentle strokes along your back. "You don't always have to be the strongest, you know. You trained us not only to protect the people from danger, but you also trained us so that we can catch you when you fall, but falling isn't a weakness. That's what makes you human; we all are."

He felt you tightening your arms around him, burying your face on his chest, and he let you do so. "I know you hate to show any sign of weakness to us, and you want to be as perfect and strong as possible. I understand that, but y/n..." He lifted your head up with his thumb and index finger, revealing to him your now tear-stained cheeks, which he softly wiped away with his fingers. "You don't have to be too hard on yourself this time; you don't need to be afraid of being imperfect. You have us now; we can protect you, and you can go back to being the little princess that you once were before. I'm sure that little girl misses you a lot." He felt his shirt dampen from your tears, but that was the least of his concerns right now. "Please don't hesitate to call me when you need someone to rely on; I will wholeheartedly serve you with my life just as you have served us with yours. You gave us a second chance in life too, y/n, so allow us to give life back to you. We owe you this much."

This may not be the utopia you tried to build from the ground up, the paradise you yearned for, nor the life you wanted to live, but all this—the island, the people, the crew, the new beginnings—was definitely your treasure.

"Thank you, Hwa. I needed to hear that."

-

A week had passed since the battle with HalaHala. Adjusting your sash and pocket carry, you prepared yourself to go about your day. Damages from the previous event were fixed, and everything seemed to be back to normal. You roamed around the village to check on the villagers and their current supplies of goods after not being able to check on them for a week due to your injuries. The villagers greeted you as you passed by them, and you informed them that you had already fully recovered, to which they rejoiced, "The princess is back!"

Out of the blue, you felt a pair of arms trap your body in a tight hug. "Captain! I missed you so much; I was so worried about you." It's been a week since Wooyoung last saw you, but to him, it felt like years. He was accustomed to seeing your face and being around you each day of the week. He grew anxious as he waited for you to be back, knowing that it was the first time you had been severely injured during a fight. He thanked the heavens that you were now here, all strong and healthy in front of him.

"Stop crying like a baby, Woo. I'm not going to die." You patted his back reassuringly.

"I was just scared, okay? I don't want to lose you; that should never happen."

His words made you smile for the first time that day, "Thank you for worrying; I really appreciate it."

The day ended like how it usually ends: monitoring the island, then having dinner with the crew before dispersing to your respective homes. You thought you'd go by your night peacefully without having to cross paths with Mingi even for a split second of your day. To your relief, you haven't seen him at all today, but he had seen you through the window of his sleeping quarters.

Walking up to your tower, you heard those same familiar footsteps behind you. You heard it multiple times that you could easily identify whose footsteps it belonged to without needing to check who the owner was. "Stop doing this, Mingi. Don't make this difficult for any of us because I don't have the energy to talk to you right now." You went straight to the kitchen to grab yourself a cup of tea.

You didn't expect Mingi to do anything tonight except to simply talk, but even that, you don't want to have with him. You heard no response from him whatsoever, and it wasn't that you were expecting him to say a word, but he was oddly silent right now. No words, just the sound of gentle breathing.

"Say something—"

You were cut off by the sudden feeling of arms wrapped around your waist from behind and a head resting on your shoulder, breath fanning your neck. "I'm so sorry, y/n." Finally, you let out a deep breath you didn't know you were holding after hearing his voice. You weren't sure if it was out of defeat or a breath of relief. "I know I've been stubborn with you all this time, but I just...I missed you so much, I miss this, I miss us, and the feeling of all of you. I feel like I'll die if I don't get to show you and tell you how I truly feel." You remained silent in his hold. "I think we're always going to end up finding our way back to each other."

"Don't say that." You tried to stop him, but he didn't listen. He was adamant about telling you the words he's been dying to let you know after all these years of suffering, even if it meant this was the last time.

"When the boys and I escaped from the ship, I then realized how terrible it felt to be lost in the sea and how difficult it must have been for you. You fought death alone; I didn't, and that's what kills me. It's so unfair, yet the tides brought me here of all places when it could've just taken me alive; it led me back to you instead. It must've meant something."

Under your breath, you answered lightly, scared that your voice might break. "That's what I'm so afraid of; I'm afraid it would mean something because I really don't want to relive the past. I'm trying to live a completely new life away from you."

"But I'm also terrified of losing you again." Mingi's hold tightened around your body, haunted by the thought that you'd slip away once more if he let you go. "As selfish as it sounds, I miss you so fucking much, y/n. You have no idea how much I wanted to jump off that ship and swim up to you and tell you how your existence made me feel so alive. Hell, I'd drown for you if I had to."

"But, you didn't."

"I didn't because fear was eating me up. I was so afraid that I'd lose not only you but also my brothers if I tried to save you. I had to make the toughest and most painful decision in my life; I just couldn't afford to lose them whom I've spent the entirety of my life with. I had to live for them, but I wanted to kill myself even more when I found out that my mother was the one who killed your parents back in your kingdom."

The mention of your parents made your stomach twist, "You lost everything and all the people you loved, you didn't deserve to experience any of that nightmare as a child. I could only pray every night for the gods to just take my life instead, and bring you to safety; that was all I ever wanted since then." You felt him shift behind you to press a kiss on your shoulder, and to his surprise, you allowed him making him smile appreciatively. "Whenever I look at you, I always tell the gods how much I don't deserve to even walk the ground that you walk and breathe the air that you breathe. I was ready to die for you and lose my life twice, thrice, multiple times as much as you had because I owe you that. I wanted you to kill me, watch me die in your arms, and take my whole life away like how I took a part of yours...but you didn't, and I always wondered why."

"Mingi..."

"Why did you let me go? Why did you give me a second chance in life, give me everything I needed when I didn't deserve any of it from you at all? Why are you so...forgiving? It worries me too much."

You tried to control the tears that were eager to escape from your eyes. "I'm not." You didn't mean to cry; you hated losing your composure, breaking down, and feeling weak, especially not in front of Mingi of all people. 

He could only give a wistful smile at you. "You're not pushing me away; you're here listening to the man whom you said was a liar, a traitor, and the person who almost killed you. If I were to make my last wish, I would wish for you to grab your sword and pierce it through my body as you let all your anger, frustration, and pain out on me. I'd happily die in your arms and be grateful for it, and I'll say it over and over again until you do."

"Stop! Enough." You had enough of listening to his heart-wrenching and painfully honest words; your heart couldn't take it anymore. Rather than blaming you for your treatment towards him, he was throwing his hurtful words towards himself. 

"I don't think I can ever move on from you, y/n. You're the only person for me, the only woman my heart beats for, and the one who made my life worthwhile, but...my sick world was never yours to live in, and your world was never meant to have me."

Tears ultimately ran down your cheeks as his touch slowly disappeared from your body, footsteps fading into the distance, and without another word, the door closed, leaving you crying your heart out in excruciating pain. You didn't know what to feel after everything he had confessed to you tonight; you just wanted to forget all this ever happened. 

His existence in your life hurt so much.

-

Since that heart-rending night, you and Mingi have never spoken a word to each other, not even during meetings and battles—nothing. He had kept his distance as much as possible to respect your wishes of not wanting to speak with him again. Now that he had already told you everything he needed to say that night, there was nothing he'd be expecting back from you. He was only there to serve you from then on as part of the Blue Bird crew—nothing more, nothing less. Whatever feelings he had, it was only his to know and keep a secret.

Everything was going smoothly. Things felt completely normal until the crew started noticing the change in atmosphere between the two of you once again and how Mingi tries to avoid you every chance he can get, which was very unusual from the Mingi they knew of. He wasn't looking your way as often anymore, and he's too focused on work to bother socializing with his crewmates. Well, he needed time to heal from the pain too. That's when the crew realized that this was more serious than the last time. If keeping his distance would make you feel better, then he will do so without a fight.

You read the fifth chapter of the book you were currently indulged in as you ate your meal in silence, separate from the others, during one of the crew's feast celebrations. Later on, you got up to go for a stroll around the island at this hour simply because you didn't feel like joining in on the fun tonight.

Mingi, although he didn't mean to, stood up from his seat to follow you out of habit, but Jongho pulled him down before he could take a step further. "Stay here, I got this." With that, Jongho hurriedly ran to catch up with your figure disappearing into the island. "Do you need any company, captain? It's getting a bit late," Jongho asked as soon as he matched your pace.

Not leaving your eyes on the book, you shook your head in response. "No need, Jongho. I just need some time alone; I hope you understand."

"Of course, captain. I fully understand." Jongho nodded, to which you returned with a gratified smile.

"Thank you," you replied before Jongho made his way back to where the others gathered.

Minutes after your short stroll around the island, you found yourself back at your tower. No Mingi following you from behind, just you and the silence of the room. Nothing really changed since that night; everything seemed to be in place. The villagers were happy, the island was peaceful, and Mingi hadn't bothered you anymore, yet somehow the bright pink carnations in your flower vase sitting on top of your kitchen counter, which had never lost their colors since Seonghwa had gifted them to you months ago, slowly began fading, or maybe you just lack sleep.

-

The next few weeks were different from what the crew had observed. Some days, Mingi worked extra hard with the villagers, spending more of his time with them, assisting the men in fixing broken furniture, and helping the women carry heavy loads of clothing. He wanted to experience life in a village, as he lived most of his life on a pirate ship. The other days, he would teach young children some of the gun and sword tricks he learned when he was at their age with the reason that children should be prepared for battle as early as now. In the end, he befriended everyone on the island all by himself.

Today was no different. You were roaming around the island monitoring the villagers and the crew on their work, as well as the houses for any damages, and surveying for areas that needed improvements, repairs, and maintenance. So far, no major damages have been found except for some minor repairs needed for some houses in the village.

You had just finished monitoring the community kitchen of the village, so you sat down on a bench nearby to rest after a long day of work under the heat of the sun. A villager had offered you a cold drink, which you gladly accepted, and as you indulged yourself with the refreshing drink, your wandering eyes landed on the man working in the distance.

He was shirtless, putting his toned back, broad shoulders, huge biceps, and snatched waist out on display under the sunlight. Turning to the side, you watched as his sharp nose, neck, and forehead dripped in sweat, which he wiped away with his arm. His hair was slicked back with a few strands falling on his face, and his plump lips curled up once in a while in concentration, showcasing his pretty white teeth. You hate to admit it, but his build got better since the last time you saw him shirtless—that was years ago—but you kept it all to yourself.

Without warning, a body jumped from behind you, taking you completely by surprise and causing you to spit your drink out of your mouth. "Careful there, captain. Your eyes are going to fall out from how deep you're staring at him. We wouldn't want him to know that, would we?"

"I'm just—" You coughed out the drink that got stuck in your throat. "I'm just observing him."

A mischievous smirk grew on Wooyoung's face, his arms leaning on the backrest of the bench to support his body, and like the tease he is, he wasn't convinced by your words one bit. He could tell from the way your body stiffened and your eyes avoided Mingi that you got caught in the act. "You sure you aren't feeling any romantic feelings down there? Because that's not what your eyes are telling me." He caught your hands fiddling with the hem of your sash, and that confirmed his suspicions, but he wanted to hear it directly from you.

"No, Wooyoung. Don't mistake romantic feelings for being cautious; your eyes are seeing things." You thought you convinced him enough through your stern tone, but not until Mingi turned towards where you and Wooyoung were, smiling momentarily when he met your gaze before bringing his attention back to the man he was working with.

That made you freeze in your seat, dumbstruck, but the cherry-on-top was the pink hue that appeared on your cheeks, causing Wooyoung to emit an amused laugh, "Whatever you say, captain."

"Get back to work, or I'll replace you with Seonghwa as my first mate."

-

"Slow down, captain. You drank too much already."

"Leave me alone," you complained, pulling your arm away from Wooyoung's hold.

Wooyoung grew frustrated at your stubbornness. Ever since dinner had started an hour ago, he had been keeping an eye on you the moment you ordered a bucket of rum. You weren't much of a drinker, from what he knew, but you'd drink on special occasions. Tonight wasn't even a special occasion of some sort, so he truly wondered what was on your mind for you to be drinking on a normal night like this.

To be honest, it wasn't totally your intention to drink past your alcohol consumption limit tonight. However, with the heavy tension you've been feeling in the past few weeks, you couldn't help yourself. You lost track of how much you had drunk, and despite Wooyoung's efforts to stop you, you were already too far gone; one more bottle and you would black out.

"Seriously, y/n. This isn't funny; you're going to die if you drink more." Wooyoung tried one more time to stop you by pulling your shoulders back.

No matter how hard Wooyoung tried, you wouldn't give in that easily. "N-no, just...one more...please..." you slurred as you reached for the last bottle of rum on the table in front of you. The tips of your fingers were already touching the surface of the bottle, only for it to be pushed away by a hand with fingers wrapped in multiple rings.

"That's enough." A voice so deep, rough, and serious spoke from behind, his shadow towering over your body.

You removed yourself from Wooyoung to turn towards the person behind you. "Don't tell me what to do—" You let out a yelp as a pair of strong arms suddenly carried you up bridal style. "Hey! Put me down this instant; it's a command." Adjusting your eyes to the light that shone from the moon above, you were stunned to be met with Mingi's sharp eyes.

"I'm bringing her back to her tower, you guys continue with your drinks." Just like that, Mingi walked away from the dinner table until it was out of sight, leaving you no chance to protest with how firm his hold was on you while ensuring you were comfortable in his arms.

You were trying to keep your eyes open, but with how comfortable you felt resting on his chest, sleep had won you over. Mingi only took notice of this when your head leaned into him further, and in no time, you were already in your bedroom. As gently as he could, Mingi settled you down on your bed and covered you in your blanket so you wouldn't feel cold.

"I'm trying so hard to avoid you, but you worry me too much, y/n." He took in the sight of your sleeping form. You looked exhausted, like you had overworked yourself. What he didn't understand, though, was why you had put yourself in this situation. "I wonder what's on your mind?" Mingi softly caressed your hair, brushing a few strands of loose hair that fell on your face behind your ear. "I'm sorry if I caused this; I'll try harder not to be a burden to your life." He planted a kiss on your forehead and smiled at how peaceful you looked without the serious persona you usually put on in front of everyone.

With one last look, he got up to leave you in your peace when he felt your hand weakly reaching out to hold onto his wrist. Mingi turned to you once again, ready to help you with anything. Unexpectedly, you pulled him down, causing him to stumble towards your body, his free hand supporting himself up so he wouldn't crush you. "y/n..." Mingi gulped nervously at how close you were, faces inches away from each other. "What are you doing?"

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, though not quite fully, and your hands cupped his already pinkish cheeks. You weren't completely sober, but it was hard to deny how cute he looked all flustered and confused. "Why are you so cute?" you asked in a hushed whisper.

Mingi put his other hand on top of yours to pry his face away from you. "y/n, you're drunk." He was caught off guard when you pulled him closer again, his heart racing like it would burst out of his chest at any moment. "Please, y/n. Close your eyes and go back to sleep; I'll leave—"

Smooch. One second, you pecked his cheek. The next, you fell back to dreamland. To say that Mingi was surprised was an understatement; he could basically feel his soul leave his body. He stayed frozen in place, still registering what had happened just now, his eyes glued on you.

The woman who claimed to hate his existence, who would rather deal with Wooyoung's constant nagging than share a room with him, and whom his heart only loved just kissed him on the cheek. It felt too good to be true, too impossible to happen despite sharing an intimate kiss years ago. This was different. This was a kiss from the tough, clever, and highly respected captain, not the vulnerable, fragile, and fearful cabin girl back in HalaHala.

"You're driving me crazy."

-

You woke up to the delicious smell of food from outside the room. Sitting up on your bed, you groaned as the throbbing pain in your head worsened, "I hate this." You shouldn't have drunk too much last night, but you lost control of yourself to stop. For your convenience, a cup of ginger tea sat on your bedside table. You grabbed it only to feel it warm in your touch. "It's still new."

After a few minutes of drinking the tea and wandering off with your thoughts, you finally got up and headed to the dining area where the smell came from. A table filled with perfectly arranged dishes greeted you. No one was in the room, yet the food was hot and new. "Wait, that's..." You took a closer look at a certain dish that seemed a bit familiar to you. "This is my favorite dish."

It was fish with sweet and sour sauce added with some carrots on the side. This had always been your favorite way back in the kingdom, and you would request it almost every other day that the chefs decided to store plenty of fish only for you. You could hardly remember its taste with how long it had been since you last had it. With that being said, you took a bite to taste the dish, which you missed so much.

This tastes amazing! The dish didn't exactly have the same taste as what you always had when you were young, but you swore you'd tasted this certain recipe before. You were so curious about who prepared all those for you, seeing no sign of another person's presence there. Maybe Wooyoung came over to make this? He was one of the best chefs on the island besides the head chef, but he couldn't have known of your favorite dish since you never brought it up to him. You were thinking too much about it until you noticed the odd placement of the utensils on the table, and that's when it hit you.

"Mingi...he remembered."

Of course, it was him. Who else could it possibly be? That man used to cook for you back in HalaHala, especially that dish, which he strictly only cooks for you. Mingi was good at cooking various fish dishes, as he grew up near the sea, thus learning how to fish at an early age. He used to hate cooking because his mother thought it wasn't 'manly' of him, so he would sneak inside the kitchen when everyone was gone and make that dish for you. He remembered being so awestruck by the shine in your eyes whenever you tasted his dish and said how delicious it was. That was enough to make his day complete.

-

Mingi had just arrived at the village on his way to his quarters when Wooyoung spotted him from the community kitchen. "Hey, Mingi! Where have you been—are you okay?" Wooyoung asked in concern, noticing the way Mingi kept massaging shoulders and back with a groan. Mingi only spared him a glance before continuing to make his way to his quarters to wash up and get ready for the day. He hoped Wooyoung wouldn't bother him for now, but that hope wasn't strong enough to stop him.

"What happened, man? You were gone the whole night and you look like you're in pain, did you get into fight?" Mingi remained quiet while Wooyoung looked around for any injuries and bruises, "You got no bruises, so probably not."

"Don't you have work to do, Wooyoung?" Mingi finally answered him, earning a shrug from the man.

"Yeah, I do, and...hold on." Wooyoung stood in front of Mingi to block his way. "Didn't you bring our captain back to her tower last night?"

"That, I did." Mingi raised an eyebrow when Wooyoung studied him from head to toe.

"Hmm, you're wearing the same clothes from last night, and you just got back here, plus you look like you have some back pain." Wooyoung's eyes then met Mingi's confused ones, his index finger tapping his chin. "Did you and her...you know...?"

"Know what?" Mingi was growing impatient with each second that passed.

"Oh, you know, be intimate and stuff." Wooyoung's question sounded so casual, but the look on his face showed how serious he was with it. "Did you?"

Mingi deadpanned, but the red hue that slowly colored his ears betrayed him. That kiss she gave me last night. He hoped his thoughts weren't obvious. Unfortunately, it was too late. Wooyoung had caught on to his red ears, his eyes widening in realization.

"No way...Mingi, you...you madman!" Wooyoung punched Mingi playfully on his chest.

"It wasn't like that!" Mingi retorted. "Nothing happened between us, okay? I stayed the night and slept on the couch to watch over her; that's why my body hurts." Mingi massaged his shoulders again. "And besides, she and I are not in that kind of relationship. She literally hates me, so don't think of such thoughts about her—or us, I mean."

Wooyoung squinted his eyes at him, slightly unconvinced, but decided to shrug it off anyway. "Whatever, I'll let you go only because you brought her home safely last night." Wooyoung stepped out from Mingi's way. "Go get ready; we need more hands in the kitchen."

-

Arriving at the village, you were ready to start the day with high spirits after devouring that delicious meal Mingi prepared for you. You definitely weren't thinking about him as you took a nice cold shower and how much he changed in a span of months; of course not. Today, you planned to just spend the day resting from work and getting a few books at the library to read—nothing much.

As you greeted the villagers on your way, an excited Wooyoung ran up to you. "Good morning, captain. Come try this tasty thing everyone's obsessing over." You couldn't even say a word and ask what he meant as Wooyoung pulled you towards the table outside the community kitchen where villagers had gathered.

"Good morning, princess! Come try this; it's so good." A series of greetings erupted around the table at your presence. What are they even eating?

"Here, captain. Try this, it's really sweet." Wooyoung passed you a piece of cookie to taste, waiting expectantly for you to take a bite and enjoy it just like everyone else.

After taking a bite out of the sweets, you swallowed it. However, the sweetness made you cough. "Oh, it's too sweet." You grimaced, giving the cookie back to him. You didn't really understand why he enjoyed it.

"Really? It tastes alright for me." Wooyoung finished your bitten cookie, dusting off the crumbs from his hands. "Don't worry, captain. I'll request a less sweet one for you."

"No need." Mingi appeared in front of you with a plate of cookies in hand, offering one to you. "Try this one."

It would be rude not to accept his offer, so you grabbed the cookie from him and took a bite and another and another until you were empty-handed. "Wow," you whispered under your breath. The cookie he gave you wasn't too sweet; it was perfect. It tasted like a romantic picnic near a riverbank with fresh air; that was how you imagined it.

You almost forgot that Mingi was still there waiting for your reaction until he asked, "How was it?"

"It tastes amazing," you replied.

"Really? What's the difference?" Wooyoung grabbed one from the plate to try, and he grimaced at the unfamiliar taste. "It's not even that sweet."

"She doesn't like food that is too sweet," Mingi answered calmly as if it was a common fact. The truth was, you haven't shared that fact with anyone else but him.

Wooyoung nodded in understanding. "Oh, that's why you made a separate batch earlier." He brushed off a few crumbs that were stuck to his fingers before heading back to the kitchen. "Well, I better get more before they run out."

It was just you and Mingi outside the kitchen, standing awkwardly in silence, and you didn't know what to do at the moment. He didn't move from his place, and you didn't leave either, so he thought that maybe you had something else to tell him.

"So...uhm, did you make these?" you asked after contemplating for a minute, and he nodded to confirm. "I see, thanks. It was good." You cleared your throat before looking him in the eyes. "Thanks for the meal earlier by the way; I enjoyed it." You proceeded to walk away and made your way to the library, not bothering to wait for his reply.

As much as you hated to admit it, he was a great cook in many ways. He was good with his hands, and what's worse is that he knew how to win your heart with food. He knew your favorites, your preferred sweetness level, and even your allergies. You were surprised that he even remembered all those little details about you.

Mingi watched as you walked away, holding the plate of cookies in his hands. He entered back inside the kitchen, where he found Wooyoung being dragged by Yunho away from the already annoyed chef, who was scolding him for taking more cookies than he should. Mingi settled back in his space, where the rest of the 'not-so-sweet' cookies were placed. He grabbed a small box from the cabinet, carefully placed all the cookies inside, and tied a twine into a ribbon to enclose the box. I hope this isn't too much.

-

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You cannot possibly feel soft around Mingi now, right? You didn't know what shifted in the air today nor what happened last night, but you still certainly noticed a change in how Mingi approaches you compared to when he wouldn't even bat an eye at you. No, I must be crazy to think that. Maybe Mingi was only doing it because you were the captain or the princess? Yeah, that was it. It was a gesture out of respect; it didn't mean more.

Shaking those thoughts away, you sped up towards the 'literature' section of the library. You were looking for a black hardbound book decorated with gold accents and texts, which was about the literature of Wonderland Kingdom, where your next destination with Blue Bird would be. You scanned around the shelf only to find that book placed neatly high up on the shelf. This was certainly not your day.

You were debating if you should go ask help from the librarian at the front desk, but she seemed to be preoccupied at the moment. That meant you were left alone at your own expense. How unfortunate. With all the strength and height you had, you tiptoed with your boots and reached up to the top shelf. You tried your best to reach the book you wanted, yet only the tip of your fingers could touch the edge of it.

"Goodness, why is it even up there?" One more time, you reached up for the book, but luck really wasn't on your side. You lost balance on your feet, and you closed your eyes, ready to brace the impact of your fall, but the fall never happened. A hand had caught you by your waist, steadying you back on your feet. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry." You looked up at your savior and was met with the same man you had just thought about minutes ago.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Mingi asked worriedly.

You wanted to hide in embarrassment, but you knew you'd be more embarrassed if you did actually fall without his help. "No, no. I'm fine, really." You brushed your hair away from your face and forged a cough to clear the awkwardness. How did he even know I was here?

"You needed this?" In front of you was the black and gold book you were trying so hard to reach for in his hands, lending it to you.

You accepted the book from him and nodded slightly in gratitude, "Yeah, thanks again. You didn't have to do that, though."

He smiled at you softly, "Well, I wouldn't want the princess of New World to get hurt."

It was an uncommon sight to see the two of you in the library right now, with you shyly looking up at Mingi while holding the book to your chest and him smiling down at you. One of those "events that feels too impossible to believe but really happened" kinds of things. Wooyoung would likely believe he was hallucinating or still dreaming if he were present to witness it, except that this was real.

"I brought you these by the way, in case you get hungry. It's not much, but I hope it's good enough to satisfy your taste." Mingi handed you the box he packed earlier in the kitchen.

Your fingers slightly brushed against his as you accepted the box, making your heart race. "Thank you; I'll be sure to enjoy them."

Mingi bowed in respect, "I'll be on my way now, stay safe." Without another word, he exited the library with reddened cheeks, which you failed to notice.

-

Hours had passed since you stayed at the library, and your progress was, well...not much. You only had minimal progress in those hours; that's not good. You couldn't focus at all; you kept rereading the same line over and over again, yet nothing went into your head. Words blurred into scribbles, and letters started spelling into his name. You really must have gone insane. You decided to go back to your tower to get away from whatever that was.

"You look troubled; something on your mind?" Entering the living room, Seonghwa's voice greeted you as he sat comfortably on your couch with a book in hand. He stood up from his seat, approaching you to get the book from you, and leading you to sit on the couch with him.

"Why are you even here? I don't remember inviting you." You removed your coat off your shoulders, hanging it on the coat rack by the door.

Seonghwa stared at your face in silence, a smile growing from his lips as his eyes landed on the box you placed down on the coffee table. He was familiar with that box; only one man on this island packs food like that. To see you carry one of those boxes, he figured that you might have encountered Mingi earlier today. "I came here with a question actually." Seonghwa rested an elbow down on the armrest beside him. "But I don't know how you'll take it."

You raised an eyebrow at his words, wondering what his question would be. "What is it?"

He hummed as if he was thinking it through, his eyes not leaving yours. "I heard from Wooyoung that Mingi brought you here last night, correct?" You, having no clear memories of last night, nodded absentmindedly. "Do you even remember what you did last night?"

Why was he asking about last night? All you did was drink and pass out, and the next thing you knew, a meal was readily set for you. "Did something happen last night? Did I do something embarrassing? Tell me." His question brought out your curiosity. Based on your expression, you didn't seem to recall what you did to Mingi last night. The memory of the kiss you gave him on his cheek was out the door; you had forgotten about it. 

Seonghwa thought it was best to go straight to the point. "After hearing a few stories from Wooyoung, which at first, I couldn't believe my ears, and seeing what happened in the kitchen this morning, it made me think." In a split second, his usually soft eyes turned serious, wanting an honest answer from you. "Do you have feelings for Mingi?"

There goes that name again. But, wait. Feelings? What? You turned to him incredulously like he was crazy. "What the hell, Seonghwa? What made you even think that?"

Seonghwa had already expected you to react that way to his question. Even so, he wasn't going to stop until he was satisfied with your answer. "As I said, Wooyoung—"

"I don't care what he says; he must have lost his mind." You rolled your eyes in vexation. You would NEVER admit your feelings to anyone, not even to Seonghwa, whom you are closest to, not that there were any feelings involved to begin with. You got up, ready to head to your room to avoid the conversation, but Seonghwa held your wrist to stop you from escaping.

"I asked a question." His voice was solemn as ever, and whenever he uses that tone, it means he isn't playing around. It was that tone he used when he nags at you whenever you overwork yourself or when you carelessly make decisions out of anger. "And I need an answer."

No words seem to come out from your mouth; hell, you didn't even know what to say and definitely didn't know how you truly felt. What exactly do you feel for Mingi? What did he make you feel other than pain, regret, and anger? There weren't any romantic feelings there; no, that would be absurd.

Clearly, you were in denial. You were stuck in the idea that despite missing the sweet memories you shared with him, pushing him away would heal your wounds. But that's far from the truth. You had overlooked the love Mingi slipped into the simplest of actions he'd done for you, watching over you whenever you say you didn't need help, treating the villagers with respect just as he respects you, and more.

"You cannot lie to me, y/n. I've seen the way you look at him these past few weeks, and I would know when you don't speak of the truth."

Damn it. You cannot put into words what your heart was feeling and what your mind wanted you to believe. Mingi's existence used to make sense to you, but you couldn't even figure out and explain what he meant to you now.

"Do you love him?"

Do I love him? "No..."

"No?" He knew you were lying, so he pushed you further. "Think about it, y/n. You could've killed him right off the bat when he and his friends had trespassed on the island months ago, yet you let him live despite the nightmare he put you through, and you tell me you don't feel anything for him?"

You looked away with a scoff; you did not want to agree to his words. You wanted to divert your thoughts somewhere else and avoid the conversation. Unfortunately, memories you shared with him were starting to get in your head, and Seonghwa's words made it worse. "I don't..."

"That man sacrificed his life for you, took the life of his own blood for you; if that isn't love, I don't know what is."

"That's enough, Seonghwa." You were growing frustrated. You were trying your best to hold back your emotions and not hurt your best friend with words that may hurt his feelings, but the latter was equally as frustrated as you were. "Even if he did that, it doesn't change the fact that he almost cost me my life once."

"I understand that, y/n. But, I want you to be honest with me."

"No! I don't love him; I don't have feelings for him."

"If you're not going to be honest with me, then at least be honest with yourself." 

Your shoulders slumped in defeat. Why couldn't you be honest with him? Why weren't you honest with yourself? Your mind might be telling you that you do not feel anything for him, not a shred of affection for the man you once loved, but what your heart felt whenever he did something for you was something you couldn't deny. Regardless of what your mind tells you is real or not, those emotions were true.

"I don't, Hwa...I don't...know." You weren't sure whether to follow your heart, which had been completely honest about your feelings with the world and had molded you into a princess and a captain who served those in need, or your mind, which had led you to become the guarded woman you are today. "I want to know, too."

The room fell silent with only your quiet sobs being heard. Seonghwa pulled you towards his chest, wrapping you in comfort. "I'm sorry if I overwhelmed you, y/n. I just don't want to see you look troubled whenever he's around, especially since he's a Blue Bird crewmate now. I want to see the enthusiastic smile back on your face, and less of the scowl." He rubbed your back in gentle strokes. "You've always been honest with your feelings up until now, you know. I don't want you to lie to yourself just because you think it's the safest way; it's not. Sometimes, the truth is safer than you think."

Maybe Seonghwa was right; maybe lying to yourself wasn't the right answer. Lying about your feelings wasn't going to bring you anything but distress; you just have to learn to accept and acknowledge whatever your heart felt for him. Acceptance was all you needed.

You didn't say anything, but the way you relaxed in Seonghwa's embrace, he took that as a response that you had understood him. It's moments like this when you're truly grateful for his presence in your life; he knows the right words to say, the right time to speak, the right actions to do, and the right way to approach your fragile heart. You were glad you had him to run to when you felt vulnerable. Seonghwa was always ready to catch you when you fall.

Just then, a knock was heard from the door, and it opened to reveal the man you and Seonghwa had been talking about. Mingi stood by the door with an unreadable expression, seeing you and Seonghwa embracing each other so warmly, missing the tears that stained your puffed cheeks.

"Hi, uhm...really sorry for interrupting the moment. Wooyoung requested for me to inform the captain that we'll be training the kids early in the morning tomorrow until the afternoon, in case she'll ask for him." Mingi left the room just as quickly as he had entered, leaving no chance for either you or Seonghwa to react.

On the way back to his quarters, Mingi questioned everything—the kiss, the gentle look in your eyes when you looked up at him at the library, and the stolen glances you gave when you thought he wasn't looking. He questioned if it even meant anything at all. Maybe you weren't so harsh on him anymore, not because you had slowly forgiven him, but because you had already given your heart to Seonghwa. There was no battle left for him to fight for your heart, and he was to accept defeat even when it would kill him.

-

A week of preparation had passed, and after sailing through the ocean for three full hours, your crew had finally docked at your neighboring kingdom, 'Wonderland.' You came here to deliver some goods to the castle, as the king had invited you for dinner, and perhaps visit an old friend too. You wore a more casual outfit for the trip instead of your usual captain look, while the rest wore something similar, but they kept their weapons with them for safety. You didn't exactly need any of it because to you, Wonderland was a safe place; it was home.

The kingdom of Wonderland was one of the most powerful yet hospitable kingdoms you knew of. Your connection with them goes way back to your parents time, when they made an alliance to fight against the notorious pirates. Your parents would often bring you with them during their trips to Wonderland. There you met the only daughter of the king and queen of the said kingdom, who eventually became your friend too since you two were nearly of the same age, with you being two years older.

Now, here you were back at the familiar place. An hour ago, you and the crew had arrived at the island earlier than expected, so you allowed the others to explore the public market near the dock where your ship was at for the meantime. The sun was beginning to set, and vendors were lighting up their stalls; that signaled for you to start heading up to the king's castle. You assigned Seonghwa to gather the rest of Blue Bird with the help of his beloved parrot, and in no time, everyone was gathered.

The journey to the castle was only a 10-minute walk from the market; thus, traveling by transportation to reach the place was unnecessary. Seeing the castle again was like coming home from an errand, whereas it had been years since the rest of Blue Bird last saw a castle up close. You walked up the stairs like you belonged there, unaware of the crew's hesitant steps. Even then, they trusted your lead, so they weren't completely worried.

At the top of the stairs, two of the royal guards stood by the door in attention together with the person who had the brightest smile on her face. She ran up to you and embraced you in a tight hug. "y/n! My sweet, sweet sister. I missed you so much, you have no idea." She pulled back to study your face, which she hasn't seen in centuries, as she always tells herself. Her soft, flawless hands cupped both your cheeks. "You're alive..." she whispered under her breath like she was reassuring herself of your presence. "I'm so happy you're alive."

You managed to let out a response even with your cheeks mushed. "I missed you too, Aera." Upon finally hearing your voice, she looked at you warm-heartedly. She couldn't believe you were real.

Han Aera, princess of Wonderland kingdom, was your childhood friend. You first met her at 7 years old when you visited Wonderland for the first time. You were quite shy around new people, but your parents encouraged you to make friends with her. Thankfully, Aera came up to you first, and since then, you and her have become close like sisters. Her parents, the king and queen, were also like your second parents, who took care of you and showed you around their kingdom. So when they heard the news that the whole kingdom of Fever, including the king and queen, was attacked, they were devastated, and their hearts were shattered into pieces.

They lost not only their allies but also their brothers and sisters; they lost their family. Aera thought she had lost you too, so she locked herself inside her room and broke down until her parents told her that you survived the attack, but you were taken away by pirates. She was relieved, truly relieved, that you were still alive out there. Still, she was overanxious about your safety. How would you survive with the pirates? What will they do to you? She didn't want to think of the worst possible scenarios, only hoping that you'd come back in one piece, and here you were, in one complete piece indeed.

Tears began to fall from her eyes, "You changed, y/n." Aera took in the new look you had—a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up halfway covered in a brown vest, glen check patterned slacks paired with black ankle boots with a small brown satchel, and your hair tied into a single braid—a vintage look that is different from your usual princess dresses. "You look different, but you are still the same princess and sister to me."

You held her hand that was resting on your cheek and smiled, "Life changed me, but my love for you never stopped."

It was true that your love for her never changed in those years without her presence. Some of your memories may have been forgotten already, but Aera was someone dear to you. You spent your childhood and a part of your teenage years with her; sharing secrets and running around the castle garden were your favorite things to do. Forgetting her would be forgetting your family. Meeting her again someday was one of your biggest motivators for building your crew and island.

-

"That's my girl! She did all that by herself." Aera cheered proudly from her seat.

After your emotional reunion with Aera, she invited you and the crew inside the castle to have dinner with the king and queen, which was the main purpose of your visit there. Soon, you found yourselves sitting around the long wooden table decorated with a warm red and gold table lining. The king sat at the front of the table, the queen on one side, and Aera on the other. You sat beside the queen, followed by Seonghwa, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Jongho, while Mingi sat beside Aera, followed by Yunho, Hongjoong, and San, respectively.

The moment you entered the dining room, both the king and queen immediately ran up to you and embraced you warmly, grateful for your return. They bombarded you with questions about where you've been, how you've been living, and who you were with. They were relieved to hear that you've been living well with your people and crew and have settled into a better life in New World.

The food was eventually served and was spent with you sharing about the story of your life's journey and how the events turned out, which elicited flabbergasted reactions from the audience. Even Seonghwa, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Jongho were still amazed by your story no matter how many times they heard it. You did intentionally leave out the part where Mingi betrayed you by throwing you out of the ship, not wanting to cause any fracas tonight. The storytelling session died down after a few minutes, so you brought your focus back on the food.

Dinner passed in a blink of an eye, and now you were in a conversation with the queen, with the king listening attentively beside her. The conversation was going smoothly, and it felt like you were speaking to your own parents, but somehow your eyes kept getting distracted by something else. The sound of a deep voice near you was really noticeable, and you knew clearly who it belonged to. You tried to focus back on your own conversation with the queen, but his voice was really getting to you until you heard a feminine giggle from across.

It was great timing that the queen diverted her attention to her husband because you got to check what was currently happening at the table. Across from you were Mingi and Aera, lost in their own conversation, exchanging friendly looks and smiles. You weren't sure what it was you were feeling, and you couldn't explain it either (more like you wouldn't admit it), but the scene unfolding in front of you bothered you in some way. Maybe it was the loving stare Aera gave towards Mingi, or maybe it was the wide grin Mingi had as he replied to her comfortably, but you definitely didn't like the look of it.

Unbeknownst to you, the other men at the table had stopped their own conversation when San first noticed the change in your demeanor and then gestured for the others to check as well. Surely, you looked upset. It was like there was a dark cloud looming above your head, and with the way you fixed a penetrating look towards the two people across from you, there was definitely some tension going on. You tried to shake the thoughts away, hoping to focus on the event at hand, so you diverted your attention back at the king and queen. However, the moment you hear Mingi's laughter and see Aera playfully slapping his arm, you just have had enough.

"Sorry to interrupt, your Majesty, but it's getting a bit late. I want to ask for your permission for us to return back home if that's alright." You spoke to the king and queen.

"Won't you and your crew want to stay the night? We've got enough rooms for all of you," the queen offered, but you were set with your decision. It wasn't that you weren't grateful for the offer, but you didn't think you were in the right headspace to stay for the night. You might go insane.

"It's okay, your Majesty. Thank you for the offer, but I still have to check over my people back in New World. Don't worry, I'll be sure to visit here again and bring my people once everything is finished."

As much as they'd want you to stay the night and rest, the king and queen understood the weight of your duties and the situation you were in. You were governing an island and leading a crew by yourself after all, which absolutely wasn't easy work. "We understand you, my dear. I'm sure there will always be a next time for us to meet again," the queen replied softly, assuring you that it was okay for you and your crew to return back to your island.

You bowed to them politely. "Thank you, your Majesty. I am grateful for the warm welcome and the delicious food served. Until our next visit." With that, you stood up and cleared your throat to get everyone's attention, more particularly at two people. "I'm sorry to interrupt the fun, but it is time for us to return home to New World."

"But, y/n—" Aera tried to speak.

"Sorry, I have important matters to attend to."

You let the crew bid their goodbyes to the king, queen, and Aera. Afterwards, you instructed them to exit the castle first and wait for you outside while you bid your own goodbyes to the king and queen, giving both of them one more hug before heading towards the front door with Aera, who offered to walk you out.

"You know, that Mingi of yours is a funny man." Aera's words made you halt just a few steps away from the front door. "I had quite the laugh tonight." You turned to her with a questioning look, not knowing where she was going with this. "I wonder if he dated someone in royalty; his jokes were incredible and definitely not coming from a man's head."

Yes. Yes, he did date someone in royalty. Yes, he did get his jokes from a princess, and that princess was me. You wanted to tell her those words, but you didn't deem it necessary. However, the idea of her having any interest in Mingi didn't sit right with you. "He is a pirate, Aera. You are a princess, and royalty should not be involved in any romantic relationship with them. That's a disgrace to one's kingdom and bloodline, you know that."

"But he's one of your crewmates. It shouldn't be a problem, since you trust him."

She's really adamant about this. "I won't repeat myself, and I mean it." Your voice was now serious and dismissive, leaving no room for objections or complaints.

Aera, on the other hand, was amused by your reaction. She wasn't interested in Mingi like that, of course not; she was merely enjoying his jokes that only royalty understands. She even wondered how he knew of those, especially since he grew up as a pirate. That was all it was supposed to be until she noticed the intense look you gave her, though more towards the man.

She wasn't stupid; she knew you more than you think. You grew up with so much love and respect, so jealousy was never in your vocabulary. Tonight, however, was the first time she had seen that emotion in your eyes. She then got the idea that you and Mingi had possibly shared a romantic past together, and she can tell from your reaction that it most likely happened.

"I know, love. He just reminded me of Keeho," Yoon Keeho, Aera's first love.

"Pirates are dangerous; Keeho is dangerous." You knew he wasn't. He had looks that could kill, but that man was nothing but joy.

Keeho was born a pirate, who got disowned by his parents at a young age all because he enjoyed singing. They saw him as a liability rather than an asset; hence, he was abandoned on the island with nothing to his name, but the heavens brought him one royal staff from Wonderland kingdom who adopted him and treated him like her own son. She was a singer herself, so both of them were really blessed to have each other. Keeho grew up loved since then, and his talent in singing was appreciated as he was assigned to sing during big events at the castle. His beautiful voice was what caught Aera's attention and the reason why she fell in love at first sight. Long story short, they became lovers after a while, but you had no knowledge of that part.

"Aren't you working with pirates yourself?" Aera retorted, and her words gave you no chance to complain anymore. You looked away, feeling guilty at your hypocrisy. Aera gave your shoulder a pat when you didn't respond. "You worry too much. I'm not going to steal Mingi from you."

"What?" Your eyes widened.

Aera smiled to herself as she thought of him. "He seems to have so much respect for you; I wouldn't want to take that and get in the way." She looked you straight in the eyes, searching for any truth in your feelings for him. "You like him, too, don't you?"

That same question Seonghwa had asked you before came back to you once again. "I-I don't..." And that same answer came from you as well, not fully ready to accept the truth just yet.

Aera could only laugh at your reply, as she can see right through your lies. "No one's going to steal your man, love." You turned to her to check if she was messing with you, but all you saw was a genuine smile on her face, a pair of eyes that stared at you with pride, and a hand reaching for yours to hold. That was the look she always gave you whenever she felt proud of you for accomplishing something that made you happy.

"You deserve that kind of love and respect, y/n. You always told me that when you finally find the love of your life, you would fight for them until the end of time. I'm rooting for the both of you, and when you get married soon, the whole kingdom will gladly celebrate with you." Aera pulled you in for a hug, showing you how proud she was of how far you've reached in life. "Stay safe out there, princess. The kingdom is always on your side; we are sisters after all, and no one can change that."

"Thank you, Aera. I also wish for you to find the best love you deserve to have, but I'm sure Keeho is already treating you right." That made Aera laugh amidst the sobs she's fighting to hold back. "We will be on our way now; see you next time."

Aera walked you out of the castle, where your crew had been patiently waiting, and you gave her a curtsy, which she returned. You waved each other goodbye before finally walking down the stairs of the castle with you leading the way at the front and the rest following behind. The walk was quiet like it usually was, but tonight was a bit different, as it had some tension surrounding you, making the crewmates exchange confused glances.

As soon as everyone arrived and got on the ship, you immediately went back to work mode like you didn't just have an emotional farewell moment with your childhood friend minutes ago. "Hongjoong, prepare to sail. Yeosang and Jongho, raise the anchor, and—" You couldn't think properly; your mind was elsewhere, thus you weren't assigning the right tasks to each member. "Just do what you usually do." You shook your head, making your way towards the quarterdeck where Hongjoong was supposed to be.

The Blue Bird crew all sensed that you, their captain, were not in the best mood. They didn't understand the fast switch of your emotions, but the majority knew why it was that way. As your first mate, Wooyoung brought himself closer to you with hesitant steps, not wanting to fuel the fire. However, the moment he opened his mouth, you put up a hand to stop him. You weren't looking as your back faced him, so he left without a question. He knew better than to mess with you right now; not even the mighty Jongho could approach you, except for one brave soul.

Mingi recalled the way you glared at him earlier during dinner at the castle, giving him the idea that your mood had something to do with him, so he walked up to you bravely. The others tried to stop him, warning him of your potential wrath, but still that didn't stop him from approaching you. His words were faster than Yunho's hands trying to grab his wrist. "Hey, y/n. I'm sorry if I did something wrong—"

"Let's make this clear, Mingi." The crew froze when an unimpressed smirk appeared on your face, which quickly dropped into a serious look. "No one should ever engage in any romantic relationship with anyone outside of New World until all pirates have disappeared from this world, understood?"

Mingi understood the point you were making, and he completely agrees with it. What he didn't understand was why your words were somehow directed at him. Not even to Wooyoung, who was known as the biggest flirt on the island. "I do understand that, but what does it have to do with me?" He didn't mean it, but his tone sounded almost frustrated.

The crew's jaws dropped at Mingi's response, with Yeosang gasping at the side in disbelief. No one has dared talk back or fight against you; everyone always complied with your commands and requests, respected your decisions, and never questioned your visions, yet Mingi wasn't afraid of standing up for himself even if it meant having a heated conversation with you. To be fair, you and Mingi had been in some sort of serious tension the past few weeks, so that pent-up frustration might have intensified what he had been keeping to himself.

You really didn't have the energy to argue with him at this late hour. Therefore, with a serious look, you replied one last time. "You tell me." Without another word, you walked past him and the others to go inside your cabin to rest for the night, entrusting Hongjoong with the ship.

Mingi's gaze followed your direction, while his body remained unmoving. Wooyoung hissed at the scene that played in front of them, and the others grimaced beside him. Mingi didn't know what he did so wrong to piss you off, but the rest of Blue Bird definitely knew that it had everything to do with him. They felt bad for him, really. Especially Wooyoung and Seonghwa, who've been keeping an eye on the man. They hoped you'd clear the tension as soon as possible to prevent further issues arising among the crew just like this one.

Mingi felt defeated. No matter what he tried to do—look out for you, avoid you, or pretend that he didn't have feelings for you anymore—they never mattered because you will always hate him. That would never change, and you had made it clear as day. It was like his existence in your life was a burden in itself; that was how he felt by your actions and words towards him. He doesn't want to burden you any further, so this time, he'll keep his presence at a limit.

-

Since that night, Mingi became almost invisible. Not that he wasn't participating in gatherings with Blue Bird anymore, but he didn't want to show himself to you, and even when you were everywhere on the island, he was nowhere nearby. You do see him during expeditions, meetings, or dinner, though only for a short while. As soon as he does his part in the crew, he is gone, and you wouldn't notice a thing.

The first few days, you had overlooked the change in his routine, too busy to point it out. On the contrary, of course, the ever-so-observant Wooyoung caught on since it started, and then news spread to the rest of the crew. Initially, none of them wanted to make baseless opinions about him, but after witnessing a number of events, they couldn't deny the fact.

It first happened when you had gathered everyone for a short meeting regarding a change of taskings for your training sessions, and when the meeting was adjourned, Mingi was out of the room before Seonghwa could even gather his things. Mingi had never rushed out of a meeting before, as he was always one of the last people to leave. The crew never really questioned it much, thinking that he wasn't feeling good that day, plus he also complied with all your requests without any questions, performing well and reaching your expectations. But as soon as he accomplished those given tasks, he was nowhere to be seen the next minute.

It was during New World's Foundation Day dinner party when you finally took notice of Mingi's change in behavior. When the whole island celebrated, alcohol and loud singing were never not present. He usually partook in those things alongside Yunho, never missing a shot being offered to him, and staying back to help clean up the tables.

Tonight, that wasn't the case. You were seated beside Seonghwa at the end of the table, finishing up your own drink in hand, when you saw Wooyoung offering another glass towards Mingi, an arm draped around the man's shoulder.

"Have some more, Gi. You haven't drunk enough yet."

On a normal celebration, Mingi would've grabbed the glass from Wooyoung and downed the drink in one go. But to Wooyoung's surprise, Mingi stood up from the table, packing his things with a shake of his head in refusal. "Sorry, Wooyoung. I don't feel like drinking tonight, so I'll pass this one for now. I'll make it up to you next time." Just like that, Wooyoung watched Mingi's figure disappear again in the dark, and he didn't push him to stay any longer. He understood what his friend meant, and he was going to give him space. Wooyoung went up to Yunho instead to offer him the drink, and the party resumed.

"Mingi must not be feeling well tonight." Seonghwa, who had been quietly eating his noodles beside you, spoke up. His eyes were glued on the food, but his words were directed at you. "I'm sure you noticed that too, captain."

You did notice that, and you couldn't help but worry about him. Yes, you weren't on the best terms with him right now, but he was still a crew member at the end of the day.

"You must be worried for him."

You looked down on the table where your half-eaten sandwich rested, slowly getting cold, just like Mingi towards you. You were worried for him, of course. You always had worry in your heart, but was it only worry that filled it? Were you only worried for his health, or were you also curious about why he had grown cold around you? You knew it was because of something you've done or said to him, but it wasn't the same as when he had tried keeping his distance from you before. Now, he was keeping his distance from everyone, even the Blue Bird crew.

In the comfort of his sleeping quarters, Mingi lied on his bed, mindlessly staring up at the empty ceiling. He was aware of the other crewmates' concerns for him, especially Wooyoung and his closest friend, Yunho, yet there wasn't much he could do about his situation. He kept his frustration and unwanted thoughts to himself, not wanting to cause any more problems than he was already making.

Mingi's avoidance stemmed from your constant frustration towards him. He always caused you stress due to his desire to reconcile with you after years of separation, and your anger was a consequence he had to bravely face. Your anger was one thing he could accept, but the kiss you gave him once when you were drunk was another. He was dense enough to believe that you were slowly warming up to him. He had become a fool. When he mentioned to you that he wasn't going to be a burden anymore, he was going to stand by his words with whatever it takes.

But, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he'd admit that a part of that reason was because of the closeness you shared with Seonghwa. The two of you already knew each other way before Mingi found his way to the island. Thus, you were bound to have a special bond with him. Only this time, you and Seonghwa grew even closer than before. That day when he walked in on you and Seonghwa at your tower hugging each other, almost intimate from the eyes of a passerby, a romantic relationship between the two of you wouldn't be surprising news. And even tonight, instead of you staying away from the crowd alone, you were glued to Seonghwa.

A chance with you was now too far to reach, so it was best for things to stay this way. He would just have to bear with the pain in silence and cry himself to sleep with the thought of letting you go for good and for you to find the love you deserve without him in the picture. He loved you enough to let you go.

-

The following days were the same. Mingi either busied himself with trainings or strolled alone around the island to clear off his mind. As a gunner, he had been trying out new tactics with different guns, and once he'd mastered them, he would go teach the same to the younger trainees, who looked up to him because of his impressive skills. Consistent days of progressive trainings were spent together with Wooyoung, San, and Yeosang, whereas you worked with Jongho on developing a more advanced technology, including the production of new weapons to use during battles that may arise. But that battle may have arisen earlier than expected.

The sun had set, and you were heading back to the village square with Jongho after a long day at the headquarters. He rambled to you about what you had discussed earlier with him during the meeting, and you tried to register his words as best as you could, yet you couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling you were getting right now. You weren't sure if you were just hearing things, but you swore you and Jongho weren't alone.

"Integrating personal colors into our weapons would be good—"

Rustle. You hushed Jongho with a finger pressed to his lips, making him freeze in place. He caught on to your tensed shoulders as your eyes scanned around for intruders that could possibly be hiding behind the large trees and bushes surrounding the area. Jongho grew nervous and became equally alerted by your sudden actions, slowly pulling out his pistol from his pocket carry to ready himself for a sudden attack.

Rustle. There was that sound again. You had no idea what was making that sound as the wind was still, but you knew it was best to let the others know of the situation. Grabbing Jongho's hand, you began running towards the village square. "We have intruders..." You huffed out a nervous breath, "Very familiar intruders." Upon arriving at the village square, where the villagers and the crew gathered for dinner, your hurried steps had signaled the crew of your arrival, missing the panicked look on your face.

"Captain, you're here—"

"Tell everyone to go home and lock their doors, ready all your weapons, and scatter around the island." You walked up towards a nearby table to fix your clothes, tightening the laces of your boots and taking off your coat to remove a little weight from your body. "Jongho, alert the island of intruders, and go check why the sirens didn't detect them."

"Got it, captain." Jongho immediately ran back to the headquarters through a hidden shortcut to avoid being seen by the enemies.

The crew all watched with bewilderment and worry as you moved fast while maintaining a serious demeanor despite your hands shaking a lot. "Captain, you're shaking." "y/n, calm down." "Take a deep breath." You heard the crew speak, but this was not the moment for consoling remarks.

You turned to the crew with a look they had never seen from you before, a look that told them that this was not an easy battle, almost like you had fire in your eyes with how dark they turned. "They're here," you announced to them, voice shaking in between.

"Twilight."

Everyone gasped at the mention of that name so beautiful yet one of the strongest and most ruthless pirates ever known. The Twilight crew consisted of strong men and women specialized in fist fighting, archery, and swords. They were known to be cold, notorious, and evil amongst the existing pirate crews, who never lost a battle. They were once almost defeated by HalaHala, but the latter sailed away to escape. There were many things about Twilight that gave enough reasons for them to be feared. If they had attacked Fever kingdom instead of HalaHala in the past, there would be no doubt you'd be killed alongside your parents. You were scared of them; that's a fact. Even Blue Bird felt the same, but your fear wasn't for yourself.

"Yunho and Yeosang," you called out two of your strongest crewmates, "I entrust you to stay by Jongho's side on this one, please. I want him safe and alive by all means; I want each one of you alive."

It pained you to think about Jongho at this time, and everyone knew how much the youngest member meant to you. Jongho used to be a Twilight crewmate, hence the naturally strong build and knowledge in various weapons and fighting styles. He had been abandoned by them at a young age, so you took him in and cared for him like family. He was a pirate, yes, but he had so much potential that it was a loss to waste. You had saved his life, and that drove him to prove to you his willingness to serve. You deemed him the best fighter on the island; thus, you always entrusted him with the heavy work. Jongho was seen to be this reserved yet reliable man by the villagers, but he had always been the caring younger brother in your eyes.

You automatically sensed earlier that Twilight was around because of the weird scent coming from the rustling bushes. It was a distinct scent unique to their crew, which you had smelled once from Jongho the first time you met. You trusted Jongho like no other, since he was capable of accomplishing things on his own. But with the thought of him seeing them again after what happened many years ago, you were afraid that his intense hatred would get into his head and he would lose his composure. That's why you got Yunho and Yeosang to watch over his back.

Just then, you felt a swift blow of the wind on your face after an arrow passed dangerously close in front of you, landing on the wooden pole nearby. Your eyes widened in fright, heart racing so fast like the speed of the arrow. Your body grew cold; if you had moved even an inch or two, the arrow would have scratched your face badly. The crew began to pull out their weapons and started dispersing themselves around the island, attacking the pirates that had appeared.

"Shit," you cursed under your breath.

San ran up to you, checking for any injuries. "Are you alright, captain?"

You nodded slowly, still processing what had just occurred. "I'm fine; let's just start moving."

San, who had no time to waste, gently lifted you up and offered you a hug, replacing your dread with consolation and assurance that you had people you could rely on. "Take a deep breath for me, captain. We'll all protect you and Jongho; we'll win this." San took your hand and ran with you in the direction of your tower.

-

After alerting the island through the intercom about the presence of intruders, Jongho checked the surveillance cameras for any sign of intruders inside the building, which signaled a big green 'CLEAR' sign. The building was already locked before he got in, and he entered through a secret passage, so no one could follow him inside. He picked up his pistols from the table and quickly exited the building from the same passage.

The outside was oddly quiet, making him feel uneasy as he quickly made his way back to where the crew was, but the moment he saw an arrow fly past you from a distance, someone covered his mouth to suppress his call for help and dragged him back to where he had come from. Jongho was pushed to the ground with a loud thud, causing him to lose his balance. He was ready to shoot whoever laid their hands on him, only for his eyes to widen in horror at the sight of two familiar faces standing in front of him, faces he never thought he'd see again.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't our cute little Jongho. I'm surprised you're still alive. We thought we got rid of you ages ago, but you're still stubborn, aren't you?" Laughter erupted among the men, the two clearly not intimidated by Jongho's presence. "I wonder what captain Yang would do with you." The other person smirked at him menacingly.

Jongho got up to his feet, pulling out his pistol from his pocket carry to try and threaten them, but the two pulled out their own pistols, pointing them back towards him. In front of him stood Choi Daeyeol and Lim Jaehee, two of his senior pirates in Twilight, who taught him a few things about guns. They trained him how to aim at an enemy and shoot them where it hurts most, not knowing that he'd end up aiming his gun at his trainers, who were now his enemies.

"Put the pistols down, boys. You'll scare the poor guy to death; that wouldn't be fun." A hand was harshly pressed down on Jongho's shoulder as a deep, raspy voice was heard from behind his back. "What's more fun is to kill him with a sword sliding across his neck; that way he won't ever get to sing again. Maybe we can slide it deeper so he won't get to breathe at all. Or we can start from his legs; I'm sure he's familiar with that feeling."

"Nice one, captain," Daeyeol commented on the captain's sinister plans to torture Jongho.

Jongho heard captain Yang take his sword out, and the sword appeared in front of him, all shiny and brand new without a speck of dust. "You see this, Choi? No dirt in sight, but once I slide this across your throat, your blood will be the first thing that will stain this pretty thing."

Jongho was strong; he was aware of that. You would always remind him of his incredible strength and intelligence, and he believed it. The captain of Blue Bird, the princess of Fever kingdom, and his savior would never tell a lie. That's why he worked extra hard to live up to that title and not disappoint the people who cared for him when no one did. He was strong, yet he felt weak in the hands of his former captain. He felt his energy drain by the sword that was inches away from his neck, the dirty hand that held his shoulder, and the mocking laughter from the other two men.

At that moment, all he could think about was you: how grateful he was for your existence, the happiness he gets whenever you tell him jokes that make him laugh so hard until he couldn't breathe anymore, and how safe he feels whenever you're around. Seeing you every day would motivate him to work and treasure every second of his life, but if this was how his life would end, he couldn't even get to tell you his goodbyes nor see your face one last time.

This is it, he thought. Jongho had accepted defeat; there was no more fight left in him. Even if he tried to kill captain Yang now, he was still going to get attacked by Daeyeol and Jaehee. There was no escape. Well, there were two people who wouldn't accept that. As Jongho shut his eyes closed, a loud gunshot was heard, and captain Yang's grip on him loosened until his body dropped on the ground with a thud. Jongho opened his eyes to see both Daeyeol and Jaehee on the ground covered in blood.

Yeosang had shot the captain in the head, while Yunho stabbed the other two in their backs with his daggers. They almost looked invisible in the dark as they had their masks on, and they made absolutely no noise too, so the enemies didn't notice their presence. Yunho and Yeosang finally approached Jongho, who stared at them in surprise, and asked if he was hurt or not.

"Sorry we took a while; Yeosang here almost lost his pistol." Yunho hit Yeosang in the head jokingly, and the latter played along by pretending to be in pain.

However, Jongho didn't laugh with them. Instead, his mouth dropped into a frown, and Yunho panicked at his reaction only to calm down when Jongho suddenly broke down in sobs. "Thank you." That was all he could utter, but those two words were more than enough for Yunho and Yeosang. Task or not, Jongho had to stay alive, and they made sure of it.

-

When everyone had dispersed to different areas on the island—Yunho and Yeosang to the headquarters, Hongjoong and Wooyoung to the shore, and Seonghwa and his men near the villagers' homes—Mingi had followed behind you and San. He wasn't supposed to be there; he was supposed to stay with Seonghwa, but it's as if his feet had a mind of their own. He just had to look out for you in this battle. You seemed unsteady, nervous, and not in complete focus; he wasn't sure if you could handle fighting against those strong pirates in that condition.

Arriving at your tower, you and San panted, catching your breaths. You thought you had a few minutes to regain your composure and prepare your weapons. You really weren't in the best state tonight, but you were going to try your best nevertheless. In the quiet of the night, you could only hear your and San's breathing, so you didn't hear someone approaching you from behind until San slashed them with his sword. You didn't even have time to react when more pirates appeared and surrounded the three of you.

Twilight was known to sneak up on their enemies in complete silence, and fighting against them in the dark just increased their difficulty. The three of you worked together to take the pirates down, with Mingi shooting the archers from a distance, San slashing the more muscular pirates with his swords, and you shooting the sneaky ones with your pistol, the same one Jongho had. The fight was going well; your momentum was steady and with accurate aim. Despite being outnumbered by the enemies, the three of you remained strong and undefeated.

You were currently reloading your pistol, as you had unfortunately run out of bullets, and using your dagger wasn't the best option right now. Because your attention was elsewhere, you didn't hear the footsteps approaching you from behind, thinking that you were safe from where you hid, not until you got pushed hard to the side.

"MINGI!"

No, no, no. This cannot be; this isn't real. Mingi's body flopped to the ground, blood dripping down his face. You were angry, maddened, frustrated—no, your heart had nothing but rage and no remorse. You took out your dagger that was hidden inside your pocket carry and pushed it deep into the pirate's chest long enough until the man was deemed unconscious. There were little to no enemies left around the area with San finishing them up with a final hit, so you took the chance to approach Mingi, who didn't seem to move.

"Mingi! Song Mingi, get up. Get up, you fool. Hey, why aren't you responding to me? This isn't funny; you have to get up."

You held his head and carefully placed him down on your lap to examine his face. His eyes were closed shut, his breathing was shaky and slow, and blood was dripping down his cheek from the open wound under his right eye. His strong body now fell weak, and you felt him lose energy when his arms dropped down. Because of your carelessness, he had saved your life once again, only this time, it cost him his life.

"Captain, are you okay?" San rushed towards you, who he saw was kneeling on the ground, cupping Mingi's cheek with one hand with teardrops landing on his skin. "What happened?"

San's questions were left unheard as tears blurred your vision, and your hand was stained with Mingi's blood. Your hands shook in devastation, not wanting to accept reality. Mingi had always been this strong, intimidating pirate everyone deemed him to be, but now, he looked so fragile, helpless...broken. He must've been in so much pain because not only was he hit in the face, but he also had a deep cut near his chest, which explained the amount of blood that flowed out from his body.

"You always told me how much you wanted to die in my arms and I did want you gone after what you've put me through..." You couldn't control your sobs any longer, "But, that was all in the past. You have proved to me that you really regretted what you did, and that you had a reason for it. I've seen it all, Mingi. I see and hear you. You've saved my life countless times, sacrificing your life for me yet I never once told you how grateful I am until it's already too late. Please...wake up." You dropped your head to rest on top of his, "This is not how I wanted things to end between us, this isn't what I want. I have forgiven you and I-I'm ready to accept you again, so please...please...please...wake up for me, Mangi." That was the nickname you made for him when you two were still lovers, and you thought it was cute on him. "I've lost the people I loved before; I cannot bear to lose you too," you cried in hopes that he could hear you even when it didn't seem possible.

San silently watched you on the side in pity as to not interfere with the mournful and personal moment. He kept his distance from you, allowing you to think in peace and let out any suppressed emotions you had in your heart. You were the most vulnerable right now, and he respected that. Your feelings were valid and understood. Soon enough, the rest of Blue Bird arrived at the scene one by one. They came closer towards where San stood, only for San to halt them with a raise of his hand. The crew instantly understood the signal and proceeded to watch closely beside him.

"Captain..."

You slowly looked up to the owner of the voice, seeing Jongho standing over you in concern. A weak sigh of relief escaped your lips at the sight of him, thanking Yunho, Yeosang, and the heavens that he was still here. You wouldn't be able to bear the pain if the worst had happened to him; it would be like losing a family member again. As long as he was here, your heart would be at ease.

Jongho knelt down to your level, eyes glued on you. "We'll bring him to the clinic and get him treated immediately."

Seonghwa ordered his men to pull Mingi away from you, working together to support him up, and carefully carry his unconscious body to the aiding station with Seonghwa following behind. Jongho held your hands in his, supporting your back as he pulled you up to stand. You stumbled as your knees felt numb, but he was quick enough to catch you.

"You need to eat and rest, captain. I'll accompany you if that's alright with you."

You honestly didn't have the appetite to eat anything at the moment, only wanting to go see Mingi at the clinic and see if he was going to live, but you couldn't refuse Jongho's offer. If you do not eat something or drink anything at all, you'd probably pass out.

-

A sword was aimed towards Mingi, and he tried to avoid it. However, he accidentally tripped on a pistol that belonged to an already deceased pirate on the ground, causing the sword to slash his chest. He groaned in pain as blood began to run down his torso, but he couldn't lose focus; he couldn't waste a single second, not now. He shot the enemy in the head before they could swing their sword again.

It wasn't just a scratch; the cut was deep, so the pain became unbearable in a short time. Mingi was searching for an area to rest, but instead, he found an enemy approaching you from behind with a dagger as you were busy reloading your pistol, with San too preoccupied with attacking other enemies nearby. He'd seen this scene before when you got hurt and almost killed during your battle with HalaHala, and this time, he wasn't going to let anyone lay a finger on you no matter what it takes.

"No..." Mingi cried in a shaky voice, "y/n!"

With all the strength and energy he had left, and despite his head getting dizzier from the loss of blood, he ran up towards you like his life depended on it. Mingi had to push your body to the side and step in so you wouldn't get hit and he'd receive the hit instead. The last thing he felt was the sharp weapon scratching the skin dangerously close to his right eye before he stumbled down on the ground. He hissed in pain, trying hard to stay conscious, but before he knew it, his vision turned black.

-

"Where is he?" You stepped inside the clinic.

The head nurse led you to a room located at the end of the hallway, where you found the Blue Bird crewmates standing outside the said room. Yunho's head was down, failing to hide the tears he was trying so hard to hold back with Hongjoong and Sam comforting him; he wasn't ready to accept the truth of his best friend and brother's possible death.

After receiving the nurse's confirmation, you quietly entered the room in light steps. On the bed lay Mingi's still unconscious body, chest covered in thick bandages with a blanket over his lower body. You approached the bed, grabbing a stool from nearby so you could take a closer look at him. You took one of his calloused hand, enclosing it with your own as you stared at him heartbroken, keeping him company while he recovered.

You weren't sure how it happened or when it started, but things were different now. Mingi's existence in your life was an absolute rollercoaster of emotions. From becoming friends for the first time as teenagers despite belonging to completely different worlds to becoming lovers defying what the history books always say, eventually leading to a tragic heartbreak and betrayal. By that time, your world had already collided with his, all while building yourself from the ground up, so you couldn't fully go back to where you started. You worked sleepless nights in blood, sweat, and tears to start all over again, and that led to New World.

You had it, but fate had other plans for you. Fate brought Mingi back to you, telling you that your story wasn't over yet. It could've ended if you had killed him that night, which you didn't, and since then, his existence in your life has kept punching you in the face. No matter what you did to deny him, his actions towards you would always remind you that he was the man you once loved before.

Now that man was lying on the clinic bed unconscious and bruised from saving your life, reminding you again that he would do anything to protect you from danger. Your mind tried to convince you that you had nothing but hatred for him, no space for forgiveness and reconciliation, yet deep inside your heart, there was still that love, trust, and gratitude you always had for him. Your heart never lies; it's the same heart that broke into a million pieces when Mingi almost died saving you. Everything he had done was to save you: from getting mistreated and disrespected by HalaHala, from getting killed by his mother and his stepsister, and now, from getting killed by a Twilight pirate.

Mingi had always been your savior, but who was there to save him? You never believed you were ever a savior yourself to him, but little did you know that you, the only woman he ever loved and looked up to, had already saved him more times than you realize. You becoming his friend had saved him from living a life he didn't want to, and becoming his lover was the moment he felt like the world was finally on his side, even for a short while. And when he and his brothers got lost on the island, you saved him too by sparing his life even when you shouldn't. You were the reason he worked extra hard with the crew and the villagers; you made him find his purpose in life again after all of the challenges he faced.

If dying in your arms from saving you was the final form of love he could give to you, then he had lived a fulfilled life with no regrets. After all, the strongest evidence of love is sacrifice.

-

The sunlight crept through the window, indicating that morning had come. Mingi's eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the light after a long night of being unconscious. Well actually, he wasn't fully unconscious that whole time. Unbeknownst to you, he heard every single thing you told him, your cries, your heavy breathing, and your silent whispers. It pained him deeply hearing you cry so much, but there was nothing he could do. Mingi heard you loud and clear, yet his eyes remained shut; he couldn't open them due to the scar near his eye. Last night, he wanted to answer you back and tell you how he truly felt. He'll definitely tell you this time.

Mingi scanned the room he was in, and his eyes landed on your sleeping form curled up on the small couch beside the bed. He didn't expect to find you there; he thought you'd gone back home to your tower. Oh, how wrong he was. His lips curled into a soft smile as he admired how cute you looked in your sleep with your pinkish cheeks and arms hugging yourself. He continued to do that for the next couple of minutes until you woke up, groaning as you stretched your arms up to loosen your muscles from the uncomfortable position you slept in. Just then, it sank in on your mind that you were actually at the clinic and not in your tower, remembering why you were there in the first place.

"Mingi?" You quickly turned to him, only to find him already staring at you with a soft look. "Oh, you're finally awake. Do you feel okay now? Are you thirsty? Hungry? Do you need—"

"Thank you," Mingi cut you off.

"For what?" You were confused; you didn't think you did anything for him to be thankful for you.

"For everything, I heard what you said to me last night."

Huh? Sorry, did I hear it right? "You what?"

Mingi chuckled at your reaction. "I heard you, and my response to that is thank you. Thank you for giving me another chance to prove myself to you. Thank you for accepting me, forgiving me after what I've put you through, and for taking care of me when you really didn't have to. I wouldn't want you to sleep uncomfortably on the couch."

His words struck you, and you realized that your relationship with Mingi was turning to the better side. No more arguments, no more pretending, just an exchange of sincere emotions. There was no need to hide your feelings anymore and pretend that everything he does for you does not affect you in any way because what you had with Mingi now was something you wouldn't change for the world. Swiftly, you wrapped your arms around his body while trying not to hurt him. "I really don't care if my back hurts when you're the one in pain."

For the first time in what felt like forever, Mingi got a genuine hug from you at last after all those times when you wouldn't dare lay a finger on him. He returned the hug with the same warmth, wishing he could capture this feeling forever; he never wanted to let you go again.

"Thank you for waking up." Your voice was muffled as your head rested on his shoulder.

Mingi pushed you back slightly, and to your surprise, he pulled you back in for a kiss. God, how he missed this feeling; your lips were still as soft as ever on his. You were caught off guard by the sudden action but eventually kissed him back with the same intensity. The kiss was slow, sweet, and full of desire with a hint of desperation. Pulling back, Mingi brushed your hair that fell on your face and kept it behind your ear. "You're still the most beautiful woman I have ever set my eyes on, and that will never change. I hope this time, I can make you happy because I love seeing the smile I fell in love with." His hand cupped your cheek, and you instantly leaned onto it.

You were overjoyed right now; you were blessed to have Mingi back in your life, not as an enemy but as a partner for life. "I'm happy, Mingi. I'm really happy you're still here with me in this lifetime despite everything we've been through."

Love is patient, love can hurt, but true love forgives, and you were more than ready to start over again with him in this place where love was abundant, and there was nothing that could come in between you and him again.

-

You stayed by Mingi's side until he fully recovered from his wounds, even feeding him his food despite him insisting that he was capable of doing it himself, only for you to scold him, and he knew better than to disobey you, so he'd let you do whatever you wanted for him. In return, he'd insist on feeding you too. You would refuse at first, but he would guilt-trip you by saying that he wouldn't recover if you refused, so that's how you two ended up that way. As days passed, you and Mingi spent more time with each other. The others understood the situation, giving the both of you all the time you needed to reconcile.

You would walk along the shore hand in hand with Mingi, sharing stories about your life, reconnecting, and enjoying each other's company, not minding anything around you. The sun was beginning to set, so you and he sat down on the sand, staring off into the horizon as the wind blew on your faces. This brought you back to when you both used to watch the sunsets together back in HalaHala with Yunho, San, and Hongjoong teasing from behind. You used to rest your head on his shoulder, finding peace in his arms, and now, it was him resting on you, hands intertwined with yours.

Mingi told you about what happened the night before he, Yunho, San, and Hongjoong escaped from HalaHala. The four of them hugged each other in tears, thinking that it would be their last day together, unsure of what the future held. You felt saddened at the thought of them together, now understanding how hard it was to make that decision. You planted a kiss on his forehead to reassure him that he was okay now.

You also shared with him the life you had after you landed here on the island, how you met people from your old kingdom, built the island up to what it is now, and how you met Seonghwa, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Jongho. Hearing your story, Mingi felt apologetic for what you went through, but more than that, he was extremely proud of how far you've come. You really had to work endlessly with no one to run to when you felt weak and tired until the four boys came into your life. Now, you could lean on them when things get hard, and the same goes for him.

"I'm so glad things turned out this way, and that we found each other again." Mingi's thumb caressed your hand in soft rubs. "I love you so much, y/n. My heart is all yours until my last breath; that's a promise I will keep forever."

-

During those times when you couldn't attend a meeting with the crew, you had entrusted Hongjoong to lead them for the meantime, as he was knowledgeable about many things, he was reliable and loyal, he was stern yet understanding, and he had a passion for work. He can do everything without needing your assistance, and those were enough reasons for you to trust him to do well with the task. You did see the difference in Hongjoong's leadership compared to yours, especially that he grew up around pirates while you grew up in a peaceful kingdom, and you wanted to keep this change. That led you to decide on making new changes on the island and with the crew.

You allowed them to have their own house near the headquarters for easier access, and they also have their own individual rooms, so they could live more comfortably. The house was big enough to fit all of them with a spacious living room and a room for working out. There were 8 rooms in total, but only 7 were to be occupied because Mingi was moving in to your tower. You wouldn't feel lonely after work anymore; you now have someone to come home to and rest in the comfort of their arms. Other than that, you planned to rebrand the crew and step down as the captain of Blue Bird. You thought of going back to your royal roots and serving the people as their princess. Although you'll focus more on the island, you would still participate in making plans with the crew, especially with trading and visits, as you will be joining them with it.

You had also decided to pass down the title of being captain to Hongjoong with Seonghwa as his first mate, Yunho as the sailing master, Yeosang as the navigator, San and Mingi as master gunners, Wooyoung as the cook, and Jongho still as the boatswain of the ship. Lastly, you contemplated a new name that would represent them better, one that gave them a unique identity, and after thinking deeply about it, you ultimately found the perfect one.

ATEEZ.

"I officially declare Kim Hongjoong as the new captain of ATEEZ, the new and improved crew of New World." The crowd erupted in cheers and applause at your announcement. You went up to Hongjoong, who stood in shock, not believing what he just heard from you. You gave him an assuring smile. "Why are you so surprised? This was your dream, wasn't it?"

Hongjoong's eyes widened in realization. "Y-you remembered?"

"Of course, I did. I remember everything. I even made you your very own armband. That way, people will rknow who the captain is." You showed to him the armband you personally designed and made with the help of one of the female villagers, wrapping it around his arm. Once it was secured, Hongjoong bowed to you in gratitude and ran off to revel his new role in the crew. He ran around the village square, dragging his poor first mate, Seonghwa, to join him, eliciting a series of teasing remarks from the others.

Yunho, Wooyoung, Yeosang, and Jongho had started noticing the shift in the two's relationship during trainings. Hongjoong and Seonghwa didn't expect each other to grow this close due to the huge contrast in their personalities. Seonghwa took interest in Hongjoong during their first training when he aided Hongjoong, admiring him for his abilities yet finding him cute for his slight clumsiness, not to mention how he denied it when you asked, and not knowing that Hongjoong was also attracted to him at first sight. When the two were left alone, Seonghwa would grab the chance to hang out with him, but Hongjoong enjoyed playing hard-to-get, so he would turn down his invite only to end up hanging out with him anyway. They're just a match made in heaven.

Another perfect match was Wooyoung and San, no surprise. Wooyoung was charming but can be a bit of a handful, and San was poised but soft-hearted despite growing up in a cruel place. It wasn't clear how it really started, but Wooyoung always struck up a conversation with San enough to bring the energy out of him, who mostly remained quiet around people he wasn't close with. The two grew affectionate with each other, and since then, they were always stuck in their own world, even planning to have matching tattoos.

Jongho still kept bothering Yeosang and competing with him in a playful battle to see who was stronger between the two of them, often trying to wrestle the man as an excuse to have his arms around him. You really didn't get it, but you respect it nonetheless. Moreover, Yunho found himself staying by the kitchen, indulging in a lot of delicious food, so much so that he ended up becoming the main chef's personal taste tester, and that man was ecstatic.

As for Mingi, he would help you work in your office at the headquarters, bringing you food when you're too busy to eat, checking up on you once in a while, and reporting to you what they had talked about during the meeting. He would stay back with you until you finished work, giving you a kiss and telling you how proud he was of you, heading home together afterwards. There, Mingi would cook dinner for the both of you, and you'd wrap your arms around his waist from behind. That was the usual routine, and each day would both start and end with him sleeping beside you on your shared bed.

Back to the celebration, you took in the sight of everyone enjoying their time together with drinks and shared laughter. You felt like a proud mom watching over her kids, who grew up to be successful in life and reach their dreams. All of a sudden, you felt a pair of arms wrap around you from behind, planting a peck on your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder.

"What about me, princess? What do you remember about me?"

"You?" You turned to Mingi with a playful smirk, wanting to tease him for a bit. "I remember you throwing me off the ship—"

"Hey!" he whined. "Not that; do not remind me about that ever again."

You let out a giggle, finding his reaction cute and amusing. He continued to whine on your shoulder, so you ruffled his hair to make him stop. "Alright, I'll be serious now, you baby." Mingi turned to you with an offended look, which made you burst into laughter this time. "You wanted to have a stable and loving family, didn't you?" You looked up at him and stared into his soft sparkly eyes. "You have us, Mingi. We're your family, and we love you."

Mingi averted his gaze into the distance, where everyone gathered, and looking back to the memories he shared with them, he realized that he was finally in a good place now: no more abuse, no more suffering, an island filled with loving people, and most importantly, you were in it.

He couldn't believe this was his life now; it felt like he was on top of the world. He made you turn to him before pulling you in again in a tight hug, feeling something wet damping your shoulder. "I really don't deserve you, y/n. This is all too much for me to accept, but I'm really grateful for all of this." Mingi slowly caressed your hair. "Why was the world so cruel to you when you have a heart made of gold? My world was cruel to you, yet you still did all of this for me and my brothers."

You wiped the tears that stained his cheeks with your fingers. "The world was cruel to me, but things happen for a reason. I did all these out of love, Mingi. I never regret the things I do for love and out of love, and you're one of them." He smiled at your words, and you gave him a kiss on the lips. "You did what you did back then out of love too, right?"

"Yes, I did." Mingi nodded. "And I will never let you go again, princess. I waited years to be back in your life, and I will have my last breath with you. I am wholeheartedly yours, and I will devote my life to giving you the world you deserve and bringing heaven into your hands."

"You will always be a part of me, love. I was made to love you through heaven and hell."

© dxnsangki | all rights reserved, do not translate or plagiarize.

[junhuibrattt]

What Happens in Apartment 610—TEASER

-----------------------------------------

pairing: ex!jun x ex gf afab!reader

genre: exes to fwb to lovers (happy ending yayyyy)

cw: SMUT!!! (mdni), angst, fluff, flashback sequence, jun & reader meet for the first time in their final year of high school when they are of legal age (19), mentions of a breakup, mentions of food and eating, alcohol, crying, slow burn, more may be added once the fic is fully release!

wc: approx. 20k+

synopsis: moving into your first ever apartment was supposed to be a step forward, but walking in and seeing your ex in the bedroom across from yours makes you rethink your so-called 'upgrade' from a college dorm. avoiding him would be impossible, but is that really what you want? maybe now you could get some closure from that fateful day in high school because that's all you want from him, right?

smut warnings: unprotected sex (good god pls wrap it up), kissing/making out, loss of virginity (in first smut scene), lovemaking, rough sex, spanking, fingering, oral (m&f receiving), car sex, marking, etc. more warnings may be added once the fic is fully released!

suggested playlist: collision- skz, shadow- svt, midnight pretenders- tomoko aran, warm- ariana grande, back in town- chuu <3 (the order is kinda??? how the progression of the story goes after their high school breakup if that matters lol)

a/n: hi everyoneeee :) this is my first time writing for svt so i was kinda nervous to post this, but i hope that it's okay! it's also my first time posting any kind of work in a long time, so pls take that into consideration when reading this lol. i also plan on releasing a jake from enhypen version of this on my main acc @yunjardi, so pls stay tuned for that if you're interested! ok ty ily

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you never thought you’d see the day:

gone were the days of shared showers, crowded study areas, and questionably stained mattresses because you were finally moving from the dingy university dorms into your own apartment. it was only right that you upgraded your living space, considering that you were approaching your third year of university and you’d had enough of being in a cramped room with someone you barely knew. well, in an apartment, you’d still technically be sharing your living area with someone you barely knew, but at least you’d have some walls and a door preventing them from breathing down your neck. 

in fact, you were so excited that you didn’t even bother looking through the roommate arrangement email that hit your inbox a week after you signed your year-long lease.

an action that would prove to be fatal, to say the least. 

you, still looking at the situation through rose-tinted glasses, unlocked the door to your new apartment without a care in the world, ready to start a new chapter.

upon opening the door with a click!, you were met with a sight that gave you whiplash with a side of a slap in the goddamn face.

there stood an unassuming dude.

but not just any unassuming dude, no.

an unassuming wen junhui stood before you.

your roommate could have been literally anybody in the world, but it just had to be him, huh?

wen junhui: mr. broke-up-with-you-with-no-explanation is standing right in front of you almost mockingly.

you hoped and prayed that this was some sort of mistake, but alas, your fate was sealed:

you were doomed until further notice having to live with the man who broke your heart two years ago, now being forced to confront a situation you desperately tried to suppress.

-----------------------------------------

taglist is open! please send an ask or comment if you are interested <333

©jihuibrattt on tumblr, 2026

[junhuibrattt]

releasing in march x <3

so so so sorry for the delay :(((( life got hectic but i'm working on it bit by bit every day <3 this is the longest oneshot i've ever written LMAO

[eoieopda]

triple-dog dare | lsm

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario. 

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

pairing: lee seokmin x reader summary: when you're left off the guest list to seokmin's parent's thirtieth anniversary party, you're content to keep your questions to yourself and stay home. seokmin, on the other hand, is not content. in fact, he pulls the one card he knows will always win. au: childhood best friends to lovers genre: fluff, angst, smut type: one-shot rating: 18+ only. minors do not have my consent to interact. wc: 13k cw: pov switches, complicated sibling dynamics (seokmin’s), there is in fact one (1) bed, halmonis gone wild, stupid childhood nicknames, fingering (v), oral sex (m receiving), multiple orgasms, implied penetrative sex (p in v). reader notes: afab, uses she/her pronouns, wears a dress/heels to the party, is implicitly an only child. the setting is intentionally ambiguous, so she's not implicitly korean and/or asian. there are no descriptions of body shape/size, complexion, etc. a/n: thank you to the incomparable @daechwitatamic for beta-ing this! it's been a long damn time since i've written anything, so this might not have seen the light of day without jo, the hype-man. on that note, i suck at summaries; just read the fic, lmao. svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.

For being the walking disaster that he is, there have been shockingly few moments in Lee Seokmin’s life where he’s needed to shove his oversized foot into his oversized mouth.

Prior to the incident at your apartment, the last time he’d embarrassed himself like this was when he’d asked his oldest sister, Soyeon, in earnest whether or not she was pregnant, only to learn that she was just bloated; and he’s just an ass.

To your credit, you’re far from cruel when he slips up, but that almost makes it worse. You visibly deflate when he asks his well-intentioned but ill-fated question, rather than letting him have it the way his two siblings would have done.

The day in question went like this:

He asked, “Did you reserve your room yet for the 31st? If not, we can double up. It’ll be a lot cheaper.”

And you blinked, stunned like you’d been slapped. “Have I what?”

It dawned on you both at that moment that, for whatever reason, his parents’ thirtieth anniversary party was in fact news to you. Two things then happened at once: you tried to hide your surprise and the twinge of pain that comes with being excluded; and he racked his stupid brain to find any explanation for why you had to feel either one of those things.

The best option he found was to gently toss his middle sister, Seonmi, under the metaphorical bus. 

“Seonmi’s been working on something special for them. You know how she gets,” he waved dismissively. “So obsessed with finding the perfect napkins — ” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “— and creating custom cocktails, that she misses the forest for the trees.”

You didn’t look convinced. Likewise, you didn’t look any less uncomfortable.

Fuck.

“I’m sure it was an honest mistake.” To drive his point home, he reached from his spot on your couch to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. “I have a plus-one, so it’s not like it’ll be a logistical problem. You belong there as much as we do.”

And he meant it, wholeheartedly. 

All his life, the running joke has been that Soonyi and Minseok Lee have four kids: two biological daughters, a younger son, and his otherwise unrelated twin, who spent more time sleeping on his top bunk than in her own home next door. 

The way he saw it — and the way he’s sure his parents would see it — is that no family gathering is complete without you. That’s a hill he’d die on if need be.

You shifted in your seat, which caused his hand to slip off your knee, whether or not you meant for it to happen. Glancing uneasily out your window, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, mumbling, “I don’t know…”

Seokmin frowned. You didn’t see it, though, and therefore weren’t moved by it. Instead, you cycled through your anxious thoughts at high velocity. If he was still touching you, he’d be worried that your sparking brain might catch him on fire.

“What if it’s not a mistake? I mean, what if it’s a couples thing?” 

He couldn’t even classify these questions as rhetorical because he wasn’t meant to hear them in the first place. Though you asked out loud, each one of them was for your ears only. From his half of the couch — miles away — his frown deepened, unbeknownst to you.

“You know, Seonmi follows me on Instagram; she’d know that Kai and I broke up a few months ago. Maybe she doesn’t want me to feel awkward? Even if I went, and I didn’t feel weird about that, her expecting it to be weird might make it weird, right?”

Fuck.

You’d spiral all day if Seokmin didn’t stop you. As much as he loves how thoughtful you are, he knows better than most that you have a tendency to take it too far, inflicting that relentless consideration on yourself until it wounds. 

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario. 

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

Begrudgingly, you’d conceded, just like Seokmin hoped you would. You sat with him while he figured out travel plans to the mountain resort, helped him visualize what the hell he needed to wear to an event like this. When the time came, you sent him half the cost for the room he booked, even though he repeatedly insisted that you didn’t need to chip in.

Now, that unsolicited sum sits untouched in his Venmo balance. You sit next to him on the night train out of town.

Sit, he thinks, is a bit of an understatement. You’re barely upright, so exhausted from your work day that his shoulder and side are bearing most of your weight. His arm went from tingling to numb an hour ago, but Seokmin doesn’t mind. There isn’t a burden he wouldn’t carry for you, up to and including you yourself.

Besides, he’s not worse off for being left to his own devices. In fact, he keeps himself thoroughly entertained by taking selfies of the pair of you. The aftermath will stay securely in his camera roll — largely because you’d kill him if you saw how squishy your face is, pressed against his coat, or how your little pout trembles slightly, almost as if you’re trying to talk through your sleep — but he still finds it worth the risk. This mochi-cheeked version of you is one of his favorites.

When Seokmin has amassed enough silly photos to comprise a dossier, he tucks his phone back into his pocket with a self-satisfied smile. You’re still out cold, so you don’t stir at his subtle movements or the sound of the concession trolley rattling your way down the aisle.

The girl manning said trolley is significantly outweighed by the thing itself. She hardly looks old enough to have graduated high school, he figures, and he can’t imagine how it is that she’s working at this hour — or how she got stuck doing this job, when it takes all she’s got to maneuver the giant metal contraption through all the train cars.

“Anything, sir?” She asks politely, albeit slightly out-of-breath. 

Even though she’s speaking to him, her gaze is directed squarely at his hat, leading him to believe that she may also be too shy for her job. Nonetheless, it’s been two entire hours since his dinner, and he’s on the brink of starving to death, so he coughs up a few bills in exchange for several different snacks. 

She could do him the kindness of assuming his massive pile of food is for sharing, but she doesn’t. She gestures to you and whispers, “Anything for your —?”

Seokmin intercepts the question, knowing exactly where it’s headed: in the same direction as the million others like it that he’s heard over the years. 

“— parole officer?” He supplies with a smile, “No, this nap is fueled by a lot of crab rangoon. She’ll be out for the duration, I fear.”

Both halves of his response seem to stun her, which means he has to cover his inevitable laugh with a fake cough. 

This bit of yours will truly never get old, although the implications that prompt it did a long time ago. It was a stroke of genius on your part, dodging inaccurate references to your relationship status by offering up something too absurd to converse around.

“You two make such a cute couple,” an Uber driver once told you.

“He’s not in a relationship,” you’d politely corrected him. “He’s in witness protection. I’m duty-bound to keep him and his identity safe.”

The silence turns awkward, so Seokmin thanks the girl and gives her a smile he hopes says, “you’re allowed to run away from me now; I won’t take it personally.” She bows her head a little too eagerly, then skitters off with a grimace, like she pulled something in her neck.

Alone again with you, he wiggles gently upright in his seat so that you can rest more comfortably against his pectoral, rather than his shoulder bone. Even though you’re still asleep, Seokmin swears he hears a quiet mmpfh, as if you’re expressing gratitude. He bites his lips to keep from smiling, knowing that smiling in your proximity is one step away from laughter: the only thing you’ve never been able to sleep through.

Instead of giving into the urge, he murmurs, “You should get paid royalties whenever we use that joke. Being as smart as you are should pay off.”

Now, he knows he’s not simply hearing things because you’re just barely loud enough to overcome your own mumbling. 

“Agreed,” you sigh on an exhale before slipping off to sleep again.

“Well?” 

There are two beats between his first question and his next: the unfilled gap you’ve left in the conversation and the cab’s trunk shutting firmly. “‘s that cool with you?”

Seokmin stares at you, staring at him. His expression is soft, like your lack of responsiveness is something to be fond of, rather than annoyed by. It’s unexpectant, too, leaving the door wide open.

You blink. “Sorry — I — What did you say?” 

Hitting him when he least expects it, you shift your suitcase from your dominant hand so you can gesture properly to the bright, poorly crocheted bucket hat flopping over his forehead. “It’s a bit hard to hear you. That hat is so loud.”

His quizzically raised eyebrows drop in an instant. Likewise, that airy smile of his flattens into a straight line. 

Bullseye.

“Is it me that you hate?” He asks, tone dead serious as he points his finger towards his own chest. “Or is it the very concept of whimsy?”

You’re too busy biting back a grin to protest when, without being asked, Seokmin reaches out and takes the handle of your suitcase into his own hand, as well as the garment bag you’d draped over your arm. Before turning away to abscond with both sets of luggage in addition to his own, he shoots you an incredulous look. It dissolves entirely before his face even disappears from view. 

“This is an objectively delightful hat,” he mutters, nonetheless, in furtherance of the bit.

He spots a member of hotel staff standing on the sidewalk directly outside the hotel’s double doors and pleads his case to them. “She made me this hat, you know,” he announces, gesturing back to you with a nod.

The valet’s uniform hat casts a shadow under the lamplight, but it doesn’t do enough to hide the expression on their face. It is abundantly clear — even in the dark — that they didn’t hear a single word Seokmin said before he offered up that bit of trivia, seemingly apropos of nothing. They muster up a customer-service smile that doesn’t reach their eyes and tell him it’s a wonderful hat. Meanwhile, you roll your eyes from behind because nothing either of them just said is true.

That hat is the byproduct of delusions of grandeur and innumerable skeins of color-conflicting yarn. You made it for yourself, believing that you were the kind of cute and kitschy person who could pull it off; and inconsolable weeping Christ, were you wrong. It was — no, is — your greatest fiber arts failure.

Frankenstein’s floral monster would be in a secondhand shop somewhere if you’d had any say in the matter. It isn’t because you didn’t. Seokmin “rescued” it from the “to donate” pile on your bedroom floor. Since then, he’s worn it at every — public — opportunity, season be damned.

Admittedly, he’s exactly the kind of cute and kitschy person who can pull it off, but you’ve decided out of sheer pettiness to keep that appraisal to yourself.

You take your time catching up to him, both because his long legs make it hard to keep pace; and because the room is reserved under his name. After all, he’s the welcomed guest, not the reluctant party-crasher. The receptionist is already handing him a white keycard when you finally reach the desk. Seokmin holds it up between his index and middle fingers, closed-eye grin sparkling in a matching shade of ivory.

Though the journey up to your shared room is long, the real trip is being confined to an elevator with mirrors for walls. 

No matter how hard you try to avert your eyes, you manage to keep finding some new, horrible angle of your stale, post-train state. It’s torture. Three versions of you stare back with deep, dark undereye circles; and all you can think about is how dull your complexion is — especially in comparison to Seokmin, who may as well be bioluminescent with the way he glows from the inside out.

It’s joy, you know, his primary state of being and something he radiates like no other. He’s happy to be here, happy that you’re here, and happy to be happy. Whether or not he means it to be, it’s infectious. Now, you feel yourself starting to smile, too.

Despite your quiet observation, you must have missed him looking at you. Seemingly out of nowhere, he carefully sets down your belongings, raises his now-empty hand, and cups the right side of your jaw. Unaware that you’ve frozen solid, he swipes his thumb carefully over your cheek, tilting his own head to the side and frowning.

“I got you bad, huh?”

You blink.

“The zipper on my coat,” he explains, laughing. “Looks like it took a bite out of you when you used me as a pillow on the train.”

For reasons you can’t possibly explain, the only word to roll off your tongue is a sheepish, “Sorry.”

For a second, Seokmin is just as confused as you are about whether you’re needlessly apologizing to him or his coat. He chuckles quietly at how easily distracted you both are, then he gets back to the point: “Does it hurt?”

“No.” 

Your response comes unnaturally quick. Your pulse does, too, when you finally make eye contact with him. After clearing your throat, you give him a half-hearted smile, ignoring whatever medical event you seem to be experiencing. “I didn’t know it was there until now.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then rescinds his hand. You watch in silence while he re-encumbers himself with your luggage and turns back to face the elevator doors, which open almost immediately.

Seokmin steps out easily, like the weight of your respective burdens doesn’t mean a thing. “I’d say this way, please, but I’ve already forgotten the room number,” he admits with a sheepish laugh. “The keycard’s in my pocket.”

You take his cue and reach into the front, right pocket of his coat for the keycard. As soon as you see the room number, you snort.

“You booked room number 218 because that’s your birthday, and then… what? You forgot your own birthday?” 

“I’m deeply flawed.” He sighs, put-upon. “Now, let’s go, Bambi. It feels like you packed a week’s worth of bricks.”

There’s no time to point out that you never asked him to carry your suitcase or bag for you in the first place. Likewise, there’s no opportunity to ask exactly how many bricks is a week’s worth. He’s on the move again before you can blink, energy evident in each step regardless of how late it is.

Once again, you follow Seokmin’s lead. Despite the signage, which is clearly visible on the wall, he walks confidently in the wrong direction, prompting you to grab him gently by the elbow and steer him the opposite way. His smile doesn’t falter; he plays it off as if he was just testing how closely you’re paying attention. 

It takes several turns down several additional hallways before the pair of you reach your target. When you come to room 218, you tap the keycard against the reader, causing the lock to click open. You turn the handle, push the door open into the room, and step awkwardly out of the way so your personal bellhop can get by.

“This is what I was trying to tell you when you so viciously insulted my favorite accessory.” Seokmin nods his head towards the center of the room. “All of the rooms Seonmi included in the reservation block have a king-sized bed — singular. The rooms outside the block are criminally overpriced for ski season.”

It’s far from the first time you’ve doubled up, so you shrug. “Just like old times, right? Like, when you thought your house was haunted, and you forced your way into the top bunk with me?”

“First of all,” he says as he sets both of your suitcases down and places one hand on his hip, the other pointing at you. “We were six.”

After locking the door behind you, you toe off your shoes, smirking at him from over your shoulder. “What’s your second point?”

“It was haunted —” He insists. Then his stern expression melts into something smug, the way it always does when he’s about to blatantly rewrite history. “— and you asked me to come up there because you were scared.”

A laugh slips out of you automatically, but you selflessly decide to let him have this. Crossing to him, you pat him on the bicep, patronizingly simpering all the while, “You are the brave one.”

Even though you’re both cowards, and he knows it, he pockets this little victory with a pleased hum and a grin.

Turning away from him, you make a beeline for the closet area near the door. There, you shuck off your coat and hang it up, out of the way. While you do, Seokmin passes you both your garment bag and his. From there, the pair of you work in efficient silence: you, pulling your respective formal wear from their bags and smoothing out any wrinkles; him, tucking away your extensive collection of toiletries in the bathroom.

When everything is in its place, you turn back around and notice for the first time how beautiful the room actually is. Though the shades of the floor-to-ceiling windows are almost completely drawn, the snow-covered mountains are at least partially visible through the gap in fabric. If you had the time, you’d spend all day tomorrow sitting on the forest green, velvet chaise directly in front of the window, staring at frosty peaks so massive, they feel close enough to touch.

To your right, an electric fireplace heats the room, while a portrait-framed television hovers on the wall above the mantle, flipping through famous artworks as a screensaver. In between flashes of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms and Klimt’s The Kiss, you catch a glimpse of Seokmin’s smile reflecting on the black screen.

Awestruck, you turn to him and sigh, “Don’t let me get used to this.”

He jerks his thumb to his right, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Don’t judge me if I steal one of the bathrobes. They’re probably more expensive than half the shit in my apartment.”

“I won’t, but they’ll bill you for it when they figure it out,” you warn him. “On that note, do you need to shower or anything before I start my skincare side quest?”

Seokmin shakes his head, causing the crocheted abomination to flop. “All yours. My hair’ll get weird if I don’t deal with it tomorrow before we head out.”

And with that mental image of his insurmountable cowlick, you quickly grab your pajamas and shuffle off towards the bathroom.

The first few seconds after you close the door are spent gawking at the insanely intricate, geometric tile pattern in the walk-in shower. Thinking of how much time it must’ve taken to lay each one of them, you set to work on your own tedious task: your ten-step regimen of cleansers, toners, serums, and moisturizers. Seokmin says otherwise, but you don’t think any of them truly make a difference. As stupid as you know it is, the routine itself is therapeutic, even if your skin is no more bouncy and glowy than it was before.

When it’s all said and done, you emerge from the bathroom to find your best friend stretched out on the half of the bed nearest the door with his eyes fixed on his phone screen. It’s the side of the room he always chooses, claiming that it’s to protect you from any intruders, but you know the truth: he’s too much of a freeze baby to sleep near the window, and he knows you like it cold.

“Feeling refreshed?” He mumbles to the best of his ability; his sweatshirt hood is pulled up and drawn so tightly that it squishes his cheeks and chin, restricting his movement.

Chuckling quietly as you go, you pad over to your half of the bed and slip under the comforter. Like a moth to a flame, the other occupant sends his last text, tosses his phone to the side, and scoots closer to you, eager to siphon whatever extra body heat he can. His head winds up on your shoulder, while your cheek rests against the top of his head.

“Before you tell me that I look it, I’d encourage you to stare long into the abyss that is my under-eye circles.”

When he laughs, it’s merely a puff of air from his nose. “You never look as tired as you feel,” he says distractedly, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “Pretty miraculous, given how little sleep you get.”

That comment warms you up so thoroughly, you wonder if he can feel it. Then, you wonder if that was the point. You intend to tease him for that, but then it dawns on you how fidgety he’s being. It’s rare for him.

“You okay, Thumper?”

It feels silly, using that nickname after so long. Your clumsiness stuck around for the ride, continuing Bambi into perpetuity; but he grew out of his companion name when he hit puberty, and his giant feet were suddenly proportional to the rest of him. 

He’s certainly no bunny, nor is he a child, but the low ebb of anxiety rolling off of him reminds you of the scared little neighbor boy you used to know. It fits, even if it is silly.

At first, Seokmin begins his explanation without peeling his gaze off his restless fingers. “Apparently, Seungcheol and Mingyu are in town.”  Then, his eyes slowly lift up to find you peering down at him. “They want to meet up to go snowboarding before we leave.”

Ah.

There it is: the top-secret look in his eye that only you can decipher. The one he’s been practicing for years, at your insistence, for moments like this, when he needs to be talked into something. When he needs to be brave and avoid missing out on something he’d love, solely because it freaks him out.

You respond the same way you always have; the way you once pinky-promised you always would: “I triple-dog dare you.”

He sighs deeply, neither fully resigned nor relieved, but then he nods. His head knocks slightly against your shoulder as he does. “I’ll do it.”

And that’s that; it’s settled.

Or so you think.

A beat passes in silence, until Seokmin suddenly pipes up again, “But you’re going to have to hold my hand on the chair lift, or I’ll pass out and fall to my death.”

“Deal.” 

You grab his hand now in consideration of your promise and scratch affectionately at his palm. Surprisingly, his thoughts haven’t made him clammy. His skin is even softer than usual, likely due to the expensive hotel lotion he’s undoubtedly now harboring in his suitcase. Tongue firmly in cheek, you look at him sideways. 

“Just — leave the hat in your suitcase, okay? The snow will be blinding enough.”

Seokmin’s been dressed and ready for at least thirty minutes, but you’re still standing exactly where you have been for the last forty-five. Face pinched, you turn this way and that in front of the mirror, smoothing fabric that’s already wrinkle-free, apparently for the hell of it.

“I’m oh-for-three.” Your exasperated sigh is punctuated by your bare, right foot stomping on the carpet. It doesn’t make the impact you likely hope it will, at least sonically. It does, however, speak volumes about how close to the ledge you are.

“All of them looked good,” he says earnestly. “I think this one is my favorite, though, if that means anything.”

Apparently, this is the wrong answer. Your wild-eyed gaze lifts from your own reflection until you’re staring him dead in the eye through the mirror.

“Why did I even pack this?” You ask, “Do you see this?”

Suddenly, you lift a manicured hand to point at your neckline, from which he’d admittedly been averting his eyes. “This is too much cleavage for a family function, isn’t it?”

As quickly as you glanced at him in the first place, you go right back to fussing with your dress, thankfully missing the way he swallows thickly.

Fuck, now he’s staring — but you’re the one that made him look in the first place — and he can feel heat rising to his ears, a dead giveaway. His sudden silence does enough to communicate his struggle. He has no idea how to respond without vaulting over the boundaries of your friendship.

Is it hot in here?

Deciding to rely on his usual tactic, he jokes his way out.

“If you think I’ll ever side against tiddie…” He forces a grimace, shaking his head gravely. “Then you really don’t know me at all.”

You laugh loudly, and whatever one-sided tension filled the room snaps like a twig. Better still, the smile you give him stays on your face while you reassess your dress. Seokmin takes it as a personal victory that you commit to his choice, rather than cycle back through your options for the second time. 

While this means that you’ll both be able to hit the open bar sooner rather than later, the biggest upside is that he no longer has to keep excusing himself to the bathroom so you can change again, and again, and again.

You finish up quickly, tossing on jewelry, and then turn to him. His shoulder keeps you steady while you slip into your devilishly high heels. Seokmin pays them little mind now, however; his attention is drawn to the accessories you’ve chosen. Sure, they match perfectly with the rest of your outfit, but that’s not what strikes him. It’s the fact that everything you’ve picked was gifted to you by his parents at one point or another.

Unable to stop himself, he reaches out and gently taps on one of your dangling earrings. “Eighteenth birthday,” he muses to himself. 

Then, both his gaze and his hand lower to your necklace. He skims his fingertip along the delicate, gold chain, inadvertently making you freeze up. “Christmas 2019?”

You shake your head slightly, though it barely counts as movement.

“Ah,” Seokmin corrects himself. “2020.”

Sensing that he’s somehow made you uncomfortable, he reels himself back in and clears his throat. “Shall we?” He asks, furnishing you with a bent arm to loop yours through.

You take his cue, link your arm to his, and sigh, “I suppose we shall.”

The walk to the elevator is quiet, in that neither one of you says a thing. Seokmin can hear the gears in your head turning, though, without any conversation to drown them out. 

You step inside that glorified, mirrored box; and for a few minutes, he lets you work through the thing he knows ruined your sleep last night. That is, until he hears your breathing come a little quicker than usual.

“Hey.” 

It was supposed to be a jumping off point. He was going to go from there and reiterate that you belong here with him. The plan was to reassure you for as long as it takes to get you to believe it, but you look up at him almost helplessly, and his Etch-a-Sketch brain is wiped clean in an instant.

The very best he can do is smile and offer a single word: “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes twinkling. 

Your plagued frown curves slightly back in the right direction. The creeping shroud of doom lightens, if only a little bit.

“That’ll do, pig.” You swat his arm, but he says it again, emphatically, “That’ll do.”

Halfway through you scolding him for quoting Babe at a time like this, the elevator door reopens, ready to regurgitate the pair of you out onto the ballroom level. 

Unlike the lobby, which sits only one floor below, this floor looks like it was ripped straight from the pages of a fantasy novel. Everywhere he turns, there’s something new — and vaguely elven — to look at. Fairy lights hang in perfectly spaced arches from the lofted ceiling, delicately illuminating the exposed, wooden beams above. The chandeliers — plural — are crafted out of antlers of some kind, cutting between rugged and highly refined.

As stunning as it all is, Seokmin’s mind snags on a single conclusion. You’re the one who voices it, though, much to his surprise.

“This is the most Seonmi thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you whisper to him, all without taking your eyes off the extravagance in front of you. “Is this a dress rehearsal for her wedding next year?”

He bites down on his lips hard to keep his laughter to himself. Of course, you’re dead on. Nothing about this space feels like his parents, who are supposed to be the sole focus of this entire event. He already found it odd that they agreed to such a big to-do in the first place — especially when it would require their loved ones to go out of their way, literally and financially — but this is….

“Am I being petty, or is this kind of… selfish?”

Petty, no. 

Psychic? Probably.

“You’re right, and you should say it.” Seokmin nods and withdraws his arm from yours so that he can drape it properly around your shoulder. “This way to the beer, please. We’ll need it.”

Merely four steps in the direction to the bar, and a screech rings out from somewhere neither of you can locate. In fact, Seokmin’s head is turned the opposite way when someone launches themself at you, damn near ripping you from his hold.

“Oh, my god! I knew you’d come!”

Soyeon’s relief in seeing you is palpable. Seokmin can practically feel his bones being crushed as she hugs you tight, swaying from side to side. He catches a glimpse of your expression, which barely peeks through the curtain of his oldest sister’s hair; you’re far happier now than you were in the elevator.

His sister kisses the side of your head. “I missed you so fucking much. I love my residency program, but I hate how far away it keeps me.”

A solid minute passes by like this. When it starts to get unbearable, Seokmin clears his throat, hoping to remind his sister that she hasn’t seen him in months, either; and he’s also standing right here.

Instead of greeting him, Soyeon shoots you a wry smile. “Who is he today? A fugitive you’re harboring?”

In tandem, the two of you appraise him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. See, this he didn’t miss: being both of his sisters’ least favorite younger sibling.

“Oh, no, though I can see why you think that.” You shake your head, then reach out to pat his shoulder patronizingly. “If anyone asks, this is a foreign diplomat, and I’m the interpreter he can’t understand a word without. Best not say hi to him; he won’t know what you’re saying.”

Soyeon nods, though Seokmin wonders if she truly  gets what you’re trying to achieve. Not quite, he realizes a moment later. Instead, she covers his chin with her hand so she can squeeze both his cheeks at once.

“He’s adorable,” she coos. “Doesn’t look old enough or mature enough for diplomacy, though.”

Seokmin rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be doctors, can we?”

Again, in tandem, all eyes on him widen with feigned shock. Between overlapping gasps of “he does understand!” and “someone’s been studying!”, he shakes off his sister’s touch and scowls.

“If you’re going to keep bullying me, can you at least do it at the bar? That way, I can numb my suffering with booze.”

At this, Soyeon drops the charade and pulls him into a hug like a vice grip. She holds him so tightly that his vision starts to get spotty. It’s not until he gently pats her back, begging for air, that she lets him go.

“I missed you too, Thumper,” she swears, prompting you to snicker.

Now, he’s annoyed for a completely different reason — one that makes even less sense to him. That nickname hasn’t bothered him in the last decade, so it shouldn’t now. Then again, the only person who’s called him Thumper since middle school is you.

The rules are different for you, if they exist at all.

“And I promise to catch up with you later, but I’ve got five thousand questions for Bambi, and the answers aren’t half as juicy with you around.”

Just like that, his plus-one is subtracted.

As much as you love Soyeon, she’s no Seokmin. With him, talking is easy; he never rushes to fill silences, doesn’t steer the conversation with a white-knuckled grip. 

On the contrary, his oldest sister comes forward with a pickaxe, smashing through small talk while she mines for the wild stories she thinks she’s missed out on since moving away.

You don’t blame her, really. If you spent all your hours in a hospital, only sleeping in the lulls between other people’s trauma, you’d probably become just as intense — the human equivalent of a cracked-open fire hydrant — in the search for closeness, too.

In the thirty minutes you sit with her, you brief her on all the cliffhangers you’d left her with the last time you saw her.

Yes, you’re still stuck with your lease in the same apartment; and the old lady next door still regularly sets off the building’s fire alarm by accident.

No, you decided not to stay with Kai and haven’t spoken since the breakup; he needed more of your time and energy than you wanted to sacrifice for him.

No, Seokmin still hasn’t gone out with anyone that you know of in months. In fact, it’s been so long since either of you have touched on this topic, especially compared to how little time he and the last girl were together, that you can’t even remember her name. 

Beyond that first, limited fact, you keep your mouth shut about the rest. It’s not your business to share; and it wouldn’t kill her to ask Seokmin about himself for once.

The longer you spend with her, the more frustrated you find yourself getting, although you keep this fact to yourself, too. Soyeon and Seonmi have both spent their lives fussing about Seokmin, talking about him like he’s some helpless baby, without doing much to get to know him.

That’s it.

If you were at all confident that Soyeon would take the initiative, you’d let her find all of this out on her own. She won’t, you know, but maybe it’ll sink in if she hears it from you.

“Seokmin’s doing really well, now that you mention it,” you offer, though she barely mentioned him in the first place. “He got promoted last month; he’s now lead architect on that massive commercial lot downtown. Apparently, it’s still a secret, whatever it is they’re putting there. Must be something special.”

Seokmin is something special, you all but yell inside your head.

Soyeon’s eyes brighten. 

Nobody loves secrets quite like she does. You wait for the barrage, anticipating all the questions to which you’ll have to respond with “seriously, I don’t know,” but they don’t come.

Instead, she puts her drink back on its coaster, reaches out, and squeezes your wrist with her slightly chilled hand. “I’m grateful that he’s always had you, Bambi. If he didn’t, I don’t know if he’d lean in to opportunities like that.”

The look on her face tells you she means it. Maybe that’s what makes your stomach sour: that she can sit there, hearing of Seokmin’s accomplishments, and still find a way not to credit him for them.

Anger ignites inside of you. The flames lick up your esophagus, ready to explode, and you suck in a breath with every intention of letting her burn.

But then an arm slinks around your waist. Seokmin’s head bumps slightly against yours until you’re cheek to cheek.

“I hope I’m interrupting something.”

For a second, you think his slight tipsiness caused him to misspeak. Tilting your head to the side the best you can, you look at him out of the corner of your eye and catch his very subtle wink.

Soyeon opens her mouth, but Seokmin makes his wish a reality.

“Sorry, sis,” Seokmin says, entirely unapologetically. “I just found out that the band takes requests; and I’ll be goddamned if Bambi and I don’t show you clowns the meaning of dance.”

It takes no encouragement whatsoever for you to slip off your stool, get to your feet, and inch your way closer to his side. Then, like a starting gun was fired, the two of you bolt clumsily away from the bar, with you shouting “sorry!” over your shoulder as you go.

Your heels skid against the dance floor when you finally reach it, but Seokmin steadies you before you can eat shit in front of god and everyone.

“You’re way too expressive, you know that?” The fact that he’s out-of-breath doesn’t keep him from laughing. “I could’ve seen that grumpy turtle face of yours from space.”

Unintentionally, you prove his point, drawing your eyebrows together and frowning. “I do not —”

“— Also, I lied,” he interrupts yet again.

This, coupled with the everything else going on, leaves you too stunned to speak.

“This band is all trot, all the time. They don’t take requests — trust me, I tried — but if you stay here with me long enough, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Seokmin doesn’t wait for you to answer because he knows it’s a yes. He doesn’t wait for you to assume your position, either, and instead holds your left hand in his right before placing your right on his left shoulder. This close, you feel the urge to tell him how handsome he looks with his hair parted off his forehead. You don’t, however.

The music swells behind you. Seokmin leads, and you follow, swaying slowly and moving across the floor.

“Two birds?” You remember to ask, one eyebrow arched.

His right arm lifts. “Spin,” he whispers. You step under his arm, then twirl. While you’re facing the opposite direction, he continues, “There. Do you see it?”

“Oh, my god.”

You do.

The bar stool you were just occupying is now filled by Seokmin’s great-uncle, Hajoon, while his new and much younger girlfriend, Yunhee, hovers near his shoulder. Even from this distance, you can see the look of abject distress on Soyeon’s face, totally unhidden by her attempt to seem engaged.

You return to your position in front of Seokmin, your hand accidentally landing on his bicep, rather than his shoulder. Flustered by the deceptive bulk there, you immediately scoot your palm back to where it belongs.

He leans in so that only you can hear him. It doesn’t feel necessary at all, given how loud the band’s horn section is, but you don’t recoil this time. 

“They had me trapped over by the appetizers,” he explains, low voice making you shiver involuntarily. “Every time he started a story with when I was your age, I wanted to point out that Yunhee hadn’t been born yet.”

You can’t help the laugh that erupts out of you and therefore can’t pull your head away from Seokmin’s ear in time to save him. Instead of wincing or complaining, he looks at you and breaks into laughter of his own as soon as your eyes meet. The effect doubles, and before you know it, both of you are teary-eyed.

“How the hell did you get away from him?”

It’s a feat you've never once managed. Uncle Hajoon’s inability to read a room is equal parts due to his horrible hearing and his tendency to never stop talking. Even if he did leave space in the conversation for you to excuse yourself, you’d never successfully get the message across.

Seokmin lifts his arm again but not for you. He takes his leave to spin himself, simpering as he goes, “That’s where Yunhee came in handy, actually. I didn’t know she had it in her, but she’s not as much of a dud as we initially thought.”

“Oh?”

“She told him that I should be able to dance with my girlfriend, and he shouldn’t keep me any longer.” He shrugs. “It didn’t seem like the time to correct her.”

All the heat in your body goes straight to your cheeks. Nonetheless, you attribute it to the dancing and choke out, “No royalties for me, then.”

“Not this time.” Seokmin shakes his head. “I said that Soyeon was trying to catch up with everyone and would love to hear his stories.”

You bite back a grin. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“Maybe.” He smiles with every single one of his teeth. “But you’re free.”

“Surprisingly so. I haven’t felt the Eye of Sauron on me at all yet.” Just in case your statement serves as a jinx, you glance around the room for Seonmi. The tension you’ve been keeping in each one of your muscles slackens when, once again, your radar is blip-free.

“Dinner was supposed to start ten minutes ago. If I had to guess, she’s either leaving a scathing Yelp review or personally waterboarding the chef as we speak.”

“Both at the same time,” you counter, earning a wry smile. “She inherited your mom’s self-assuredness. If she believes she can, she will.”

After the pair of you dance through two more songs, the band breaks, and the hotel’s battalion of waiters come in, bearing domed, silver trays. Seokmin takes off in a hurry for your assigned table in the far corner of the ballroom, so famished that he barely remembers to tug you along behind him.

Through the meal and all its complimentary wine pairings, you do your best to focus on the conversation. Seokmin introduced you to the few people sitting with you that you haven’t had the occasion to meet yet. While he does what comes naturally to him, charming them with ease, you struggle for the first time to pay attention to him.

A few tables over, Seonmi sits down with her fiancé, joining the company of her parents; Soyeon and her date are there, too, leaving Seokmin out by design. Like an insane person, you can only watch her, rather than Seokmin’s blatant theft of bites from your plate. She laughs at whatever jokes her mother cracks, but you’d recognize that look of veiled angst anywhere. She isn’t happy, you realize. You can’t avoid the feeling that you’re the reason why she isn’t.

Time passes, somehow too quickly and too slowly. The plates are emptied, then cleared away by the wait staff — except for your half-empty glass, which is your third. Much like the other guests at your table, the joyful buzz you’d been feeling so far leaves, too.

All that’s left is you, Seokmin, and that ominous, storm cloud you can’t seem to shake.

“You’ll probably feel better if you talk to her.”

He’s always more observant than you give him credit for. You snap out of your zoned-out stare across the room in order to look at him. You frown. “I doubt it. She already looks pissed. Me parading my presence here despite her isn’t going to help anything.”

“Bambi,” Seokmin sighs, not impatient but gentle. “She’s not exactly warm, but she has always liked you. There’s literally no reason why she wouldn’t be happy to see you —”

You open your mouth to argue.

“— that happened over twenty years ago, and you really need to stop feeling guilty about it —”

You close your mouth, cross your arms self-consciously, and sink in your seat. Despite yourself, you glance over at him and catch the way he’s looking at you. He doesn’t need to say the words out loud for you to hear them.

It’s either the unspoken dare, his reassuring, soft-eyed smile, or all the blasted merlot that does you in. You’re not sure which of the three was the coup de grâce, and as you slink off towards her table, you realize it doesn’t matter. For one reason or another, you’ve decided that fear isn’t going to get the better of you this time.

Seonmi somehow senses you coming. Even without the band underscoring your movement, your timid steps across the mahogany parquet should’ve been impossible for anyone to pick up on. 

Must be an older sister thing, you think, being doomed to keep a perpetual eye on others. 

She doesn’t say anything when you slip into the chair next to her, which doesn’t bode well but isn’t a deal breaker, in and of itself. The important thing is that she doesn’t get up to leave. You tell yourself that this is a good sign. The knot in your stomach begs to differ, however.

Say something.

Say anything.

“Everything’s… lovely, Seonmi, seriously.” You gesture around you, smiling, but she only gives you a cursory look. “You’ve really outdone yourself with this one.”

Seonmi takes a sip of her cocktail — something bitter, the petty voice in your head assumes — and lets the corner of her mouth rise slightly. If it’s the closest thing you’ll get to a smile, you’ll take it. She hasn’t granted you a proper one in the decades since you got gum in her favorite Barbie’s hair.

“Thanks, kid,” she sighs, setting the drink back down on her personalized, cardboard coaster.

You can’t remember the last time she called you “Bambi”, let alone your real name. Just like Seokmin, you’ve always been a child to her. Apparently, you always will be, no matter what you do.

Her grip around the glass remains rigid, not unlike her overall posture. Condensation weeps under and around her manicured fingers, uninhibited. You watch those droplets soak through the coaster’s design, darkening her parents’ initials and wedding date, while you mull over whose turn it is to talk.

Ultimately, as is usually the case, Seonmi makes this decision for you. Without so much as a glance at you out of the corner of her eye, she muses, “It was a lot of work, getting all the details ironed out.”

You pick up on the subtext immediately. One of those details would’ve been the guest list; another, the invitations. Seokmin assumed it was all an accident and said as much to you no fewer than a hundred times, but this little comment from his sister blows his assurances to smithereens. 

Your exclusion wasn’t an accident at all.

Suddenly, somehow, the room is twenty degrees colder. You shoot a panicked glance over to where Seokmin was just sitting, wanting nothing more than to slink back to his warmth with your tail between your legs; but he’s not where you left him. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

“Ah,” is the best you can do.

And then the two of you sit awkwardly in silence while the seconds age in dog years.

You should’ve brought a drink over with you so you’d have something to do with your hands. Or your phone — except you left it on its charger, you idiot — or a time machine, so you can revoke your bullshit decision to walk over here in the first —

“He deserves that, don’t you think?”

The combined suddenness of her voice and the switch in topics makes you jolt ever so slightly. You try to pass it off, to pretend that you’re simply adjusting the skirt of your dress, but your efforts go unnoticed. Seonmi is too busy pointing casually ahead, drawing your focus to the center of the dance floor.

Like absolutely no one else is watching, Mr. Lee twirls around his laughing wife, his heart-shaped smile beaming so brightly that it almost hurts your eyes. The love of his life has to hold one of her hands over her mouth to keep her laughter from bursting out; the other hand is raised with the rest of that arm, allowing her husband to spin himself underneath. When he’s halfway through, she surprises him, drops her arm down, and embraces him fully, giggling all the while.

It almost makes you tear up — Mr. Lee’s unabashed, silly love, and how much it reminds you of his spitting-image of a son; the way Seokmin’s mother’s eyes sparkle in the same blissful, radiant way his do. Maybe the same can’t be said for his older sisters, but it’s abundantly clear where Seokmin came from. It’s even clearer where he should end up.

“Yes,” you breathe, and it almost sounds like a laugh because of course, he does. Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that really a question?”

No, you realize too late, it’s bait.

Without batting an eye, she counters, “Is it really so hard for you to let him have that?”

Seonmi turns her head to look you dead in the eye. Confusingly, despite her words, there’s nothing in her tone or gaze that reads like malice. If anything, the slight furrow of her brow shouts concern.

Your mind is spinning too fast to keep up with. Whatever her next move is, you’re too dizzy now to see it coming and too disoriented to follow it. With the knot in your stomach tightening further, you stammer, “Is — what?”

“God,” Seonmi drops her face into her hands. “You don’t get it, do you?”

A fish on dry land, all you seem to know how to do is open and close your mouth. You may not be literally flailing, but with the state your mind is in, you may as well start.

“Seokmin loves love.” 

She says each of these words slowly, like she’s trying to hammer each nail through a thick skull. 

“It’s the one thing he’s wanted most since he was a kid, yet I can count on one hand the number of short-term relationships he’s been in. He doesn’t ever bring anyone home to meet us; he doesn’t bring anyone to weddings, or parties, or holidays; he just brings you.”

Of course, you’ve been right there through all of his situationships. He’s always scant on details when they end — and you’ve never pressed for any — but you know better than anyone that nothing has stuck long-term. 

You’ve never thought about how odd this really is, but with Seonmi spelling it out for you now, you can’t come up with a single, good reason why someone as objectively incredible as Seokmin can’t make these things work — or why, even as you rack your brain, the only constant you can find in his life is you.

She glares now, as if she’s daring you to speak; as if you’ve got anything she’d deem worth adding. The bulldozer revs up again, whether you’re ready or not: “You’ve always been the only person he saves space for, whether or not there’s a place for you, and he has no room left in his life for someone to love him like that —” 

Seonmi points again to her parents, who are circling slowly on the dance floor, talking softly to one another. 

“So, what is it? Do you truly not see what he’s missing, or are you choosing not to because you like his attention?”

Your eyes burn with tears, but you can’t let them fall, and you can’t wrap your head around why that is. 

Who are you hiding them from: Seonmi or yourself?

The longer she stares at you, the muddier it gets. You don’t want her to be right. You don’t want to be the kind of person she’s describing; but there’s something awful whispering in the back of your mind, saying that you might be. 

You’ve left every relationship you’ve been in, telling everyone who asks in the aftermath that you like being on your own better. But that’s bullshit. It’s not your own company that you keep when you’re single; it Seokmin’s. 

He makes sure that you never spend a day feeling alone, that he’s always available over the phone in the rare times he’s not physically with you. As his best friend, he treats you better than every single one of your exes ever has. Like you’re worth more than anyone else will credit you.

What kind of friend are you if you feel relieved whenever his relationships expire?

Seonmi’s hand drops, landing half-heartedly clenched on the tabletop. Just the same, her voice drops until it’s almost a whisper. 

“I am begging you,” she pleads, eyes narrowing desperately as they search yours. “If you don’t want him, someone else will. Please just —  get the hell out of their way.”

By the time you reach the elevator, all you’re left with is a blur. You’ve already forgotten how the conversation ended, or which one of you was the first to get up. If she said anything else to you, it was drowned out by your own hammering pulse and a looping chorus of voices validating your biggest fear, stating in no uncertain terms that you don’t belong.

You’re shaking when you reach your floor. Heels clicking under unsteady footsteps, you make for room 218; and as you go, you shove your hand into the well-concealed pocket of your dress for the keycard Seokmin forgot to grab himself on the way out earlier.

He’s certainly not in the room when you finally step inside, although you have no clue where he’s gone. It’s for the best. The door closes behind you, and with no one to see it happen, you burst into tears.

All rational thought flies out the window, shaken off by the tornado of utter confusion tearing through your brain. You grab your suitcase, needing nothing more than to be anywhere else, and begin haphazardly throwing your things back inside of it.

Why did you still come with him, knowing it wouldn’t end well? It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve told him no; he would’ve listened if you truly meant it.

If you didn’t mean it when you initially tried to squirrel your way out of this, why not? Was it just your friend asking sincerely that won you over without a fight; or was it because you knew, deep down, it’d hurt to see him bring someone else?

Why would it hurt?

The answer to that will crack the foundation of everything the two of you have built, but only if you admit it to yourself. It can’t threaten you if you don’t say it out loud, don’t make it real.

So, you won’t. 

You’ll bury it deeply enough to forget about, repour the concrete, and tiptoe through the rest of your life with your best friend still at your side.

That is, if your friendship survives the weekend — rather, your sudden departure from it — at all.

“Halmoni, it’s time to go back to your hotel, okay?” 

He coos this, as if he’s pleading with a toddler at bedtime, because that’s exactly what it feels like to wrangle the drunk, 80-year-old clinging to his arm.

Physically, she needs to hold onto Seokmin to keep herself steady. Mentally, she’s ready to run and has made several attempts to do just that when she thinks his guard is down. It’s no wonder the hotel staff cornered him and begged him for help; she’s too wily for those who don’t know her.

The manager had at least done him the courtesy of hailing a cab. It sits out front, warm and waiting, while he shepherds his grandmother through the lobby.

“— and another thing!” She slurs.

There is never not another thing. She shouldn’t bother concluding her sentences in the first place; she’s never done talking.

“I told your sister — I said, Sunny —”

Seonmi, he dares to presume, although he doesn’t dare to correct her.

“— you can’t have stuff like this —” She gestures animatedly, albeit vaguely around her. “— in places like this and expect retirees to pay for it! I said — oh, what did I say? — Ah, I said, ‘find me the cheapest motel in the area, or I’ll be staying in your room with you’ —”

Her kitten heels hit the brick outside with an angry thwump.

Seokmin can’t help himself. “She didn’t go for that?”

“No!” His grandmother squawks. 

The driver sees the ball of a woman wobbling his way and quickly exits the cab, skirts around it, and flings the back door open for her. 

“I can’t imagine why, halmoni,” he lies through his teeth, which shine down on her in his best, least sincere smile. “You’re a blast in a glass.”

She roars with laughter, even while two grown adults work together to pour her into the backseat without bumping her head on the doorframe. “Glast in a blass!”

“Exactly. Can you —?”

He gives up before he finishes voicing his request; it’s no use. Instead, he bends down to hug her and finagles the buckle of her seatbelt while she’s too distracted to fight him off. That click is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, after the clunk of the door shutting her in.

By the time Seokmin turns to the cab driver, his grandmother is fully slumped in her seat, pilled peacoat rising and falling with every wine-laced breath.

“I am so sorry.” He sighs, which devolves into a sheepish laugh, and fishes all of the cash out of his pocket. No tip could possibly cover the emotional toll of this ordeal, so he does his best and gives the driver everything he has.

The driver’s eyes widen. Seokmin gets the impression that he doesn’t quite understand the task he’s undertaking. 

Poor bastard.

Seokmin continues, “My grandfather is at the inn already; he didn’t feel well enough to come here, but he’ll be ready to get her inside once you drop her off.”

“Sounds easy enough.” The driver smiles and holds out his hand to shake. 

Seokmin reciprocates, and he declines to explain just how wrong that assessment is. He thanks the man and chirps a quick goodbye to his grandmother before rushing back inside.

Walking into the ballroom, he hopes to find you and Seonmi laughing about whatever misunderstanding had gotten in your way before. At the very least, he expects you to still be sitting next to each other at the same table. That would be good enough, he thinks; he could assist in repairing the situation from there.

The problem, it seems, is beyond his help. Neither one of you occupies the same table. If his quick scan tells him anything, you’re not even in the same room.

No matter which way he turns, he can’t spot you. His sister, on the other hand, is near the far corner, having what looks like a nightmarish conversation with their parents. There are approximately five billion things Seokmin would rather do than get in the middle of that, but you don’t have your phone on you, and he has no other way to find out where you went.

Above the heads of the two women, Seokmin’s father catches sight of his approach. They lock eyes; there’s something insane in his father’s gaze. The older man shakes his head, mouthing “no.”

Seokmin stops short, raises his hands with the palms up to get across his confusion, and mouths back, “Bambi?”

In response, his father extends a single finger and points upwards. He then makes a shooing motion with his hand. His wife and daughter are so engrossed in their argument that neither of them catches the pantomime or Seokmin’s quick exit, back the way he came.

On the elevator ride upstairs, Seokmin worries. The most likely explanation is that you went to find your phone so that you could find him – but you haven’t texted or called him in the time he’s been looking for you, so he supposes it isn’t likely after all. 

Maybe, he thinks, the wine caught up to you. You’re not as strong a drinker as you think you are. While he walks down the hallway to room 218, he steels himself. Even though you both hate it, he’s ready to hold your hair if he walks in and finds you with your head in the toilet. That dress looks too good on you not to be expensive; he’d rather talk you out of your embarrassment tomorrow than have you shell out for dry-cleaning.

You didn’t deadbolt the door behind you, which strikes him as odd. In fact, you didn’t even close it properly; it isn’t latched. All he has to do is tap on it for the door to open.

“Bambi?” He calls out before stepping inside entirely, thinking it’s only decent to confirm in advance that he’s not an intruder. “Sorry for disappearing. I had to pour my grandmother into a cab – it was exactly as awful as it sounds.”

The faint rustling sound he hears isn’t coming from the bathroom, which is both dark and unoccupied. Part of him wants to take this as a good sign, but the rest of him wonders if he’s walking in on a burglary. That flicker of fear is followed by a stupid sense of validation: 

You always laugh at him when he cites this as his reason for choosing the bed closest to the door; you claim it’s statistically unlikely. Finally being able to say “I told you so” after a robbery wouldn’t make either of your belongings magically reappear, of course. That said, it might make him feel a little better.

But the figure rooting through your suitcase isn’t a bandit at all. It’s you with your coat on.

“Um,” he starts, unintentionally startling you. “What is….” 

His question peters out when you look up at him. There are broken mascara tracks down your cheeks, as if you tried to wipe them off without actually looking at them. Above them, your wide eyes are wet, like you’re seconds away from crying all over again. Even worse, you’re trembling.

Seokmin’s only instinct is to reach for you. Before he can wrap his arms around you, you jerk away from him. “Please don’t.”

So, he stops, though he doesn’t understand why. This is quite literally the only time in your life that you’ve pushed him away.

“What’s going on?” Ideally, he’d project calm at a time like this. He just sounds desperate. “What happened with Seonmi?”

“She — um, she didn’t — It wasn’t that bad; I’m just… You know how sensitive I get when I drink wine.”

Like a switch flips, a half-hearted smile takes over the bottom half of your face. It’s not real; if it was, your eyes would light up and crinkle at the corners. Whatever that look is, it’s bullshit.

Seokmin gestures to your suitcase, where everything you brought with you has been unceremoniously shoved. “Sensitive enough to, what, run away? No. I’m not buying it. She said something — or did something — to make you this upset. Bambi, what happened?”

His urgency is selfish, he knows it. Seonmi’s always been way too intuitive for her own good. There’s no way she hasn’t noticed the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking; how god-awful he is at acting platonic.

He tries — has been trying, for a long time now — to shake these feelings off because he knows you’re not emotionally available. Because he knows who he’s supposed to be for you, and how devastating it would be if he threw your friendship away.

That devastation is right in front of him now; and it’ll  push you out of his life forever if he doesn’t shut it down. He has to get in front of it.

You strike first, though. “Seokmin, why didn’t you bring anyone else?”

There are two ways for him to interpret that question: with the emphasis on anyone, meaning not you; or as an escape route. For your sake, he chooses the latter.

“She gave me a plus-one, not a plus-two,” he says softly.

Despite his tone, it must hit you like a punch. You nod curtly, once. “Got it. Basic math. Thanks, Seokmin; that was never my strongest subject.”

Foot, meet mouth.

You immediately set back to work, reaching for the lid of your suitcase to close and zip. Before he thinks once, let alone twice, his hand darts out and flattens against the mesh inner pocket on the top, preventing you from doing so.

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “Not happening.”

You don’t scowl at him the way he expects, nor do you even stop to look at him. It’s far worse than that; your eyes start swimming, focused helplessly on your suitcase. 

When you speak, your voice cracks. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I knew that this invitation shit wasn’t an accident; I knew I wasn’t welcome to —”

“— You came anyway.” Seokmin doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the point is moot. Softening at the edges, he quickly continues, “And I’m glad that you did because I don’t want to be here with ‘anyone else’.”

It’s not the whole truth, so it may as well be a lie. You know him too well for him to get away with it; it was stupid of him to try. Your head turns, and the slight narrow of your eyes says it all.

I triple-dog dare you to tell me the truth.

This fork in the road has two dead ends. His only options are to do just that or double down and lie straight to your face, while you see straight through him. Either option pulls the pin, he figures, so it’s no longer a question of who gets hurt; it’s who gets hurt worse.

Seokmin jumps on the grenade.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else!”

It comes out too loudly, startling you. In a way, it’s angry, too. He wishes could project that anger onto Seonmi for starting shit, as usual, but the person he’s maddest at is himself for putting you both in this position.

For the first time ever, he can’t decipher the expression on your face. He’d shove his foot into his mouth to try and keep himself quiet, but his adrenaline is firing on all cylinders, and he can’t seem to stop shouting.

“And I’m really fucking sorry to say it because I know you don’t want to hear it, not from me or anyone else. So, you can leave, alright? I’m not going to stop you.”

The force of the surprise almost knocks the air out of him, so quick that Seokmin can’t process what’s happening until his back is flush to the wall behind him — until your hands, flat against his white button-up, curl to grip the fabric, and you kiss him so hard that he sees stars.

You’re surprised too, it seems. When you pull away, chest heaving, you freeze in the same way he does. Eyes searching the other’s, unsure of what to do now that twenty-plus years’ worth of boundaries have been blown to bits.

You whisper, “Are you still sorry?”

Of the five million feelings swelling inside of him — fear, kind of; joy, yes; fucked up by your blown-out pupils, definitely — regret isn’t one of them.

Actually…

He cups your face in his hands like water from a spring, drinks down the sight of you in this new and perfect light. “I’m only sorry that it took me this long to tell you,” he confesses before kissing you back twice as hard.

You’d ask Seokmin to pinch you and prove to you that you’re not dreaming, but the fear you feel at the thought of waking up is too overwhelming. 

Even if it wasn’t, he can’t help you, can he? 

His hands are far too busy.

Your pretty dress is long gone now, having been shucked off and tossed somewhere out of sight. In its place, it’s Seokmin’s body that now drapes over yours, warm in touch and tone, like molten gold. 

His middle and marriage fingers curl inside you, working you up again; and all you can do is cling desperately to his hair, whimper, and wait for the fall.

“I take back what I said earlier,” he murmurs between nips and kisses at your neck.

You can’t ask him to elaborate. You’re too close to careening over the edge for the second time tonight; too busy babbling fucking nonsense.

His simper against your throat reverberates all the way down, lights up your every nerve in tandem like a switchboard. “Only an idiot would tell you to be less expressive.”

The pad of his thumb swirls over your clit; its movement synchronizes with his middle finger inside of you, targeting your weak spot. He presses down on that spongy patch of nerves, and your hips buck involuntarily, a hallmark of your body begging for you while your words fail.

“You were right, though.” 

You summon all your concentration. “I’m always right,” you counter. Seokmin pulls his mouth away from the underside of your jaw just to look at you pointedly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He picks up the pace of his ministrations, pulling no punches. You’re teetering on the ledge with no real ability to lift your own neck; your head crashes back against the pillow as you wail, clenching and gushing around his fingers.

“I do know how sensitive you get,” he snickers before slipping his fingers from you and sweeping down to kiss you sweetly.

The ringing in your ears has barely subsided, but you’ve decided not to take anymore of his teasing laying down. Slipping your fingers from his hair, you move your hands to his shoulders; and with whatever muscle control you still maintain, you flip him off of you, onto his back.

“How long —” 

You climb over his lap and straddle him, placing your palms flat against his chest. It’s as much a show of dominance as it is a carefully disguised trick for balance. 

“— have you been waiting to say that?”

Caught red handed, Seokmin shoots you that trademark, heart-shaped smile. His cheeks were already flushed from the effort he just expended on you; that perfect pink only deepens when he blushes and laughs, “What, you think I can’t come up with killer lines in the heat of the moment?”

You scratch your nails gently down the lines of his abdominal muscles. “Nope,” you purr.

Sitting up on his elbows, Seokmin tilts his head to the side and narrows his dark eyes at you. You’re nowhere near used to seeing him look at you like this, like you’re something to be devoured. The feeling of being wanted so badly makes your stomach flip.

“Give me some credit, won’t you?” He asks, voice low. “You’re a knockout; you’re naked in front of me for the first time; and it’s a miracle I can talk at all when I feel this concussed.”

When you lean in, he licks his lips expectantly. You’re close enough to kiss him, of course, but you stop a few millimeters shy of your mark and watch him fight the urge to pout. His eyes search yours, almost pleadingly.

“Is that why you’re still not naked?”

Seokmin’s next move is to reach for the black briefs he’s still got on, but you stop him, encircling each of his wrists with your hands.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut with a patronizing shake of your head. “You’re fired. I’m in control now.”

If the little sigh he lets out is any indication, he is very much on board with your self-promotion.

He takes your cue and reels himself in, allowing you to move further down his body, your fingertips hooking under his elastic waistband and tugging as you go. When his length finally springs free, you duck your head to take him into your mouth, beyond eager to feel his weight on your tongue.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, eyelids fluttering, while you swirl your tongue around his head. “Feels s-so —”

The rest of his sentence gets stuck in his throat; you take what you can of him down your own throat, working whatever remains with your hand. 

Seokmin wants so badly to watch, you know he does, but he’s sensitive, too. His head tips back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open.

It’s messy, the spit dribbling down your chin and the sound brought forth by the suction of your mouth around him. The obscenity of it all spurs you on. Nothing inspires you quite like Seokmin’s breathy whines and low moans, though. Above all else, it’s his reaction to you that slicks the inside of your thighs.

You’d give him the ending he deserves, right down the back of your throat, but you feel his fingertips graze your shoulder, beckoning you to look up at him.

Voice rough, he pleads, “Come here.”

With his steadying hands on you, you move back into your original position with your bent knees on either side of him. You immediately spot the indent his teeth have left on his lower lip, which is now slightly swollen. Delicately, you brush your thumb over the mark. “Oh, you’re a goner.”

Seokmin looks at you pointedly. Though you tease, you’re even worse off: drunk on the taste of him, as much as the sight of him underneath you, wanting you just as badly.

“Alright, alright,” you concede. “I am, too.” 

The hand you use to wave dismissively at him then reaches down between your thighs, fingers wrapping around his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

“But I’m taking you down with me.”

And you do.

So thoroughly that you barely recall him staggering off to the bathroom when all is said and done, the wash cloth he returns with to clean you up, or the way you slump into his waiting arms before promptly falling asleep.

You sleep so soundly, in fact, that you don’t stir when the sun blares through the open curtains. Likewise, when Seokmin carefully maneuvers himself out of the tangle of your limbs and places your head on a real pillow instead, you’re none the wiser.

What finally gets to you is the thwack of the expensive, hotel-issued shampoo clattering against the floor of the shower, echoing off the tile like a sonic boom. You sit bolt upright in bed, staring bleary-eyed in the direction of the bathroom. 

As if on cue, Seokmin pokes his head out of the doorway to see if you managed to sleep through the noise. Damp hair splays over his forehead, hanging just as loosely as his lazily-knotted bathrobe. If you weren’t still too sleepy to function, you’d love nothing more than to grab him by that tie and drag him back to bed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Bambi,” he coos, though his mouth is full of both toothpaste and a toothbrush in a distinctly greener shade of blue than usual.

You merely point at his mouth with a half-powered look of distress, otherwise unable to put your suspicion into words. He doesn’t get it; he glances down at his chest, looking for what he assumes is a stray glob of paste.

When you finally do speak, it’s a prayer: “Please tell me that’s not mine.”

Seokmin blinks at you, then down his nose at the toothbrush he’s using. He cocks his head to the side, opens his mouth to assure you it isn’t, and finally, when the realization makes his eyes widen, he groans.

You wail, “Noooooo!”

Memories of your last trip together clash before your mind — specifically, attempting to navigate a drug store in a foreign language while you shopped for the replacement toothbrush Seokmin is currently holding.

Ears bright red with embarrassment, he ducks back into the bathroom. Immediately, you hear a rush of water from the tap, which nearly drowns out his feeble cry of “I’m sorry!”

“I know it’s an honest mistake, but how do you make it twice?” 

You collapse back onto the pillows and bury your face in your palms; and you stay that way, even when you hear him padding softly over to you. The mattress shifts under his weight as he makes his way, one knee at a time, until you feel him looming over you. His hands reach out and gently pull yours from your face.

Before you can get any ideas, Seokmin flattens himself on top of you; a weighted blanket, smelling like vanilla and spearmint. He folds his arms across your chest and props his chin up on the top of his right wrist, bright eyes sparkling as he peers up at you.

Suddenly, you find it very difficult to be annoyed with him. The worst part is that none of this is by design. He always just looks at you this way, not to get out of trouble but because you’re you.

Your hand reaches out of its own accord and brushes the remaining damp strands off his forehead. When your touch lingers, Seokmin leans into it, warming your palm with his cheek.

“Hey,” you say, after failing to come up with anything better.

He beams. “Hi.”

“Why are we awake at this hour?”

That smile of his evaporates slowly, giving way to a grimace you’ve seen before. “Seungcheol and Mingyu want to meet up at the ski lodge before the post-brunch crowd gets there,” he explains. “And I told my parents we’d get breakfast with them first, since yesterday was… well, mostly a disaster.”

“And it will conveniently provide you with time to think of a way out of snowboarding?” You chuckle quietly and pat his cheek.

Seokmin shakes his head firmly, then stretches his neck enough to kiss you.

“No,” he mumbles defiantly against your lips. “I never back down from a triple-dog dare.”

[eoieopda]

@secretgwenstacy omg thank you for coming back for this, especially after several months 😭 that’s so kind of you. i’m glad you liked it 💕

[a11100]

SOFT FOUNDATIONS - kim seungmin

summary. after moving into a new apartment complex in seoul for uni, y/n finds herself falling for her new neighbour, despite how rude and annoying he is - unless he’s the one that falls first without realising? pairing. neighbour!seungmin x architecture student!reader. mentions. 23k wc, kindddaaa enemies to lovers? fluff, angst, mentions of academic stress and homesickness, a bit suggestive, making out, seungmin’s a bit of a dickhead. this has been in my drafts for wayy too long i hope u enjoy 😭

y/n learned very quickly that seoul didn’t wait for anyone.

she wasn’t used to this relentless pace where cars rushed without pause, people brushed by without looking and somehow even the air felt heavier - thick with noise, heat and urgency. it was nothing like busan where mornings had been slow and salty, where she spent her free time at the beach with friends and family, listening to the waves crash against the shore like a steady reminder that time could stretch if you let it.

here, time shoved you forward.

the apartment complex itself was massive. it was tall enough to block out a lot of the sky when she’d first arrived and the corridors were so long, doors lined up perfectly, the fresh smell of potted plants and cleaning disinfectant wafting around the whole place. however, the floor y/n stood on felt strangely hollow.

despite the size of the building, there were only two apartments on her floor - hers, and the one directly opposite. the rest of the corridor led to emergency exits and blank walls, making the silence feel deliberate and almost intentional.

too quiet. as if no one even lived here.

“guess i chose the emptiest floor.” she muttered as she placed her bag down by the pile of boxes, “lucky me.”

she wiped her damp palms against her jeans, eyes drifting over the boxes stacked unevenly around her. everything she owned - all her clothes, her books, framed photos from home, small pieces of a life she’d carefully packed away - was sealed inside brown cardboard boxes and strips of tape.

her phone buzzed in her pocket, and when she realised her mother was calling, she took a deep breath and swallowed hard. she tried not to let her voice betray her hesitation, to brace herself for her parent’s worried and caring voices that she knew would stab straight at her chest.

“did you arrive?” her mother asked immediately.

“i did.” y/n replied softly, glancing down the empty hallway again, “i’m inside the building. just… unpacking.”

her father’s voice chimed in from somewhere nearby, almost like he was walking over as soon as he heard his daughter’s voice on speaker, “how was the travel? is the apartment okay? the person at the desk didn’t seem too sketchy, right?”

she let out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh, “the apartment is decent sized and it’s really quiet but it’s okay… and no, the person at the desk was extremely kind, appa.”

she didn’t mention how tight her chest felt or how the silence pressed in on her ears, making her feel smaller than she’d ever felt before.

“you can always come home if it’s too much.” her mother spoke gently, “there’s no shame in that, sweetheart.”

y/n swallowed hard and her grip tightened around her phone, “i know.”

but she didn’t want to come home, not yet. she wanted to prove something to her parents and to herself. she wanted to believe that she could survive seoul, university, independence. that she wasn’t just a twenty-three year old who needed the sea and the familiarity of her shitty office job to survive for the rest of her life.

she wanted to prove that she can move forward with her life, that she can graduate in what she loved and make a difference for herself.

“i’ll call later.” she promised before her heart could cave into the softness of their voices, “i need to finish unpacking.”

when the call ended, the quiet returned immediately. with a deep sigh, she unlocked the apartment door and slid a few boxes over with her foot to keep it open. she crouched down and wrapped her arms around another box, one of the more heavier ones. her muscles protested as she lifted it, grunting softly but she didn’t give up.

“hey- wait!”

the sudden voice startled her so bad she almost dropped the box. with her struggle and the hazy emotion weighing her heart down, she didn’t even hear the door opposite to hers opening and the scurry of footsteps walking out. her eyes snapped to the noise and she saw a blond-haired boy rushing towards her with his arms already reaching out.

“careful.” he instantly took the box from her with ease as if it weighed nothing at all. adjusting his grip and flashing her a kind smile, he chuckled, “this one’s way too heavy. you’re gonna regret that tomorrow, trust me.”

y/n blinked, momentarily frozen. he’d stepped into her space without hesitation, but weirdly, there was nothing invasive about it. if anything, his presence felt oddly comforting, like he’d simply decided she didn’t need to struggle alone and acted on instinct.

she didn’t know if she was being open-minded or was just that easily impressed in that moment.

“oh, sorry-” she said quickly, without thinking what she was apologising for, “i didn’t mean to- i didn’t think-”

“it’s fine!” the boy beamed with an easy smile and y/n could practically see the sparkle of kindness in his eyes. they were very expressive, “i’m felix. you must be the new neighbour, right?”

she nodded, “i’m y/n. i just moved in… today.”

“welcome!” felix replied warmly, already moving towards her open apartment door, “you picked the quietest floor in the whole building.”

she huffed out a small laugh, “i noticed.”

as he lowered the heavy box just inside her doorway to the side, y/n took a second to look him over. his blond hair was placed perfectly, tucked behind his ears like he’d just freshly styled it. he was wearing a clean, grey jacket and looked like he was going out but just so happened to run into her.

“where are you from?” felix asked once he’d straightened up and faced her, slightly startling her out of her temporary thoughts.

“busan.”

his brows raised in surprise and that’s also when y/n noticed the constellation of freckles dusted across his cheeks. they seemed to brighten his face even more, making him look almost animated, “no way!”

a tiny, embarrassed smile tugged at her lips, “what?”

“my friend jeongin’s from busan too!” he exclaimed, “he talks about it constantly, like the beaches, the food, the vibe. i think you just became his new favourite person and he doesn’t even know it yet.”

something warm settled in her chest, loosening a knot she hadn’t realised she was carrying.

“really? that’s actually… really nice.” she smiled properly now.

felix beamed, “seoul’s already being friendly, huh?”

she gave him a shy smile and he tilted his head, studying her in a way that wasn’t uncomfortable but more curious if anything, “you’re accent’s different. not seoul. that’s why i asked.”

“is it that obvious?”

“a bit.” he laughed, “but it’s nice. you can tell when someone’s not from here. seoul accents sound… rushed.”

“that checks out.” she replied lowly and the two of them shared a small easy laugh before y/n also raised her brows in question, “your accent’s different too. you don’t sound like you’re from seoul either.”

his eyes widened, a bit impressed as he nods, “yeah, you’re right.”

“so where are you from?”

“australia.” he smiled fondly, “i moved here a few years ago. my korean still sounds a bit weird sometimes, especially when i get excited.”

“that explains it.” she chuckled, already feeling comfortable with this new face, “i thought i was imagining it.”

“nope. guess we’re both outsiders, huh?”

that thought settled somewhere warm in her chest. outsiders. the word didn’t feel as lonely or heavy when it applied to someone else too.

“guess so.”

y/n was about to say more. she wanted to ask how long he’d lived here, whether it ever stppped feeling foreign, how he adjusted to it all, what he does for fun or for work, but another voice had cleanly cut through their new moment just as quickly as the thoughts had rushed into her mind.

it was a flat voice. unmistakably unimpressed. lazily monotone.

“felix, why are you carrying boxes for strangers?”

both of them turned their heads to the sound.

a boy leaned against the doorway of the opposite apartment, arms crossed loosely over his chest. unlike felix, who looked like he’d stepped out mid-plan, this boy looked like he hadn’t planned on leaving the apartment at all. his dark hair was slightly mussed as if he’d ran his hands through it too much, a soft hoodie hung off him, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and sweatpants sitting low on his hips.

he looked comfortable. domestic. but the questionable furrow of his brows and the look on his face made it seem like they’d just interrupted his lazy afternoon he hadn’t intended on sharing with anyone.

there was nothing lazy about his gaze.

his eyes moved quickly, shamelessly, taking her in with the precision of someone who noticed details whether he wanted to or not. felix’s attention felt open and welcoming but him? it felt measured and controlled.

her first throught was that he looked a little annoyed, not dramatic or loud, but like he noticed everything and commented on nothing. her second thought was that despite all of that, he was still extremely handsome.

“this is our new neighbour!” felix spoke to him, unfazed by his dull tone, “y/n, this is seungmin. we live right across from you… only ones on this floor.”

the boy, seungmin, looked back at her.

this time, his gaze lingered a lot longer than a quick scan. and she felt it - the uncomfortable awareness crawling up her spine. like she was placed under some microscope. like he was deciding whether she mattered enough to remember.

“…okay.”

the word landed flat between them.

then, without another breath, his attention shifted back to the blond, “felix, bring food on your way home.”

just like that, he turned and walked back inside, the door slamming shut behind him. the small period of quiet that followed felt tense, swallowing his presence just as abruptly as it had appeared. the way he’d just left the scene… like she wasn’t even there. no greeting, no acknowledgement for more than a few seconds, not even the courtesy of a nod.

y/n stared after him as heat slightly crept up her neck in embarrassment? irritation? or something else entirely? she couldn’t quite place the feeling.

while she was still staring at the closed door with a blank look, felix rubbed the back of his neck and let out an awkward laugh, “sorry about him, he’s not great with people.”

“that’s one way to put it.” y/n muttered under her breath.

because somehow, felix felt like sunshine - bright, effortless, the kind that warmed you without asking permission. but seungmin… seungmin felt like still water - quiet, unreadable and deep enough that you couldn’t tell what was hiding beneath the surface.

and standing there in the hushed hallway of a city that didn’t wait for anyone, y/n had the unsettling feeling that both of them, both sunshine and silence, were about to change her life in ways she wasn’t ready for yet.

•••

y/n sat back against the sofa cushions, her shoulders sinking as the last of the day caught up to her. it was hectic but she’d gotten through it: sorting out her clothes, lining her books on her bookshelf, organising her kitchen essentials with careful ease and putting up posters and frames that gave her the painful reminder of home everytime she looked at them.

felix had stayed this morning to help build her new bookshelf. despite her protests that he’d be late to wherever it was he was going, he had insisted, and y/n couldn’t argue. he seemed nice, sweet, and they’d talked for a while after.

she told him that this was her first year at uni studying architecture after having a crappy office job to save up money. he told her that he was interested in music and that he and seungmin worked at a studio downtown along with their friends.

she told him about the happiness by the beach and he told her tips to avoid the busiest hours for public transport. she told him about her friends back home and he told her about how he and seungmin met back in their first year at uni. it was nice talking to him. it felt refreshing, like he understood anything she told him, and even though she’d just met him, he already felt like her first real friend here.

the lights were warm, dimmed, casting soft shadows over a space that no longer looked empty. it now felt lived in, barely, but enough.

on the small coffee table in front of her sat a cup of buldak, the steam long gone as the surface started to collect oil and spice. she nudged it closer, absentmindedly swirling her chopsticks as her tired eyes skimmed over the multiple tabs open on her laptop screen.

architecture didn’t ease you in. she knew that much. from the moment she’d opened her laptop, it felt like the course had already sunk its teeth into her.

tomorrow wasn’t just another day - it was her first real one. a new campus, new classmates who probably already knew where they were going, new routines she hadn’t had time to build yet. everything felt too big and too fast as she stared at the screen, eyes flickering over the same paragraph for the fourth time as the tiredness of the day slowly picked at her eyelids.

she exhaled slowly as she debated leaving this pre-reading for tomorrow morning before her first lecture, to just sleep for now and wake up a little earlier. however, just as she was blinking the sleep away, she heard a bass.

at first it was subtle - barely more than a distant thump, like someone knocking far away. she frowned and paused mid-breath as she listened. closely. another beat followed. and another. and another. the sound crawled through the wall across the hall, low and rhythmic and practically vibrated itself into her apartment.

her shoulders stiffened. she waited, hoping it would pass. maybe it was just one song, just a short burst of noise. that was reasonable. people made noise and she could handle that.

but the bass didn’t stop.

it only grew louder, more confident, layered with muffled voices and laughter she couldn’t make out. each beat started to press achingly against her skull, steady yet relentless, unravelling whatever remained of her concentration thread by thread. the thinness of the walls suddenly became painfully obvious, as if they were mocking her for expecting any peace in the first place.

she checked her phone. 10:15pm.

it wasn’t even that late, but late enough to be considerate. late enough to not blast music like you were alone in the world. y/n sat there for ten minutes, pressing her temples, sighing through the noise as her eyes droned in on the darkness on her screen.

her patience snapped.

she stood up abruptly as irritation pushed her forward before doubt or anxiety or any shyness could kick in. she didn’t bother changing out of her pajamas (a loose shirt and shorts that had tiny strawberries on them) - her slippers thudded against the cool floor as she moved across the dim corridor outside.

‘you moved into the quietest floor in the building’ felix’s words from this morning echoed in her mind and she huffed out a humourless scoff. she remembered him telling her they worked in music, but she didn’t think she’d be getting a demo this soon? if this was the quietest floor, then she hated to hear what the loudest floor sounded like.

the closer she got to the opposite door, the louder the music became. her jaw clenched and she knocked. hard. after just a few seconds, the music seemed to lower just a tiny bit and her heart thudded loudly in anticipation, adrenaline still racing. for a moment, nothing happened.

then the door swung open.

seungmin stood there with a questioning look on his face that seemed like it was mentally cursing out whoever had just interrupted his annoyingly loud music session. once he realised who it was, he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe lazily. his brows lifted, not in question, but mild amusement. up close, he looked aggravatingly put together - hair damp, skin clean as if he’d just stepped straight out of the shower and straight into being a problem.

he had a subtle clean scent to him. it was something woody, sultry and y/n hated that she actually liked it.

“yes?” he asked, his voice calm and smug.

y/n crossed her arms tightly over her chest, nails digging into her skin to keep herself grounded, “it’s past ten. your music is way too loud.”

his brown eyes flicked past her and down the empty hallway, slowly like he was checking whether anyone else might complain. funny. once his gaze reached her again, it lingered just a second too long: straight from her eyes, down to her lips, then back up.

“is it?”

“yes.” she replied, flatly, “the walls are thin. some of us are trying to sleep.”

a corner of his mouth twitched up. he leaned back against the frame, looking entirely unbothered and entertained.

“sleep? at ten?”

“yes.” she snapped, “some people don’t stay up all night.”

he hummed thoughtfully and let his eyes drag over her features once more in an unhurried sweep, “sounds boring.”

her fingers curled into her arms, “sounds responsible.”

“not my problem.”

the words seemed to hit harder than expected. her lip curled in disbelief and she stared at him, incredulous, “excuse me?”

“you heard me.” he said lightly, “if the walls are thin, that’s a building issue. not a me issue.”

“you live here. that makes it your issue.”

he shrugged, “i disagree.”

her jaw clenched so tightly it was starting to ache, “are you seriously refusing to turn down?”

“i’m considering it.” seungmin tilted his head, almost mockingly, studying her like she was just a passing curiosity.

“considering it.” she repeated with a huff of disbelief, “funny.”

“yeah… still deciding how much effort this conversation really deserves.”

y/n felt heat crawl up her neck as she noticed his expressive eyes droning into hers. her brows furrowed as something in her snapped.

“you’re incredibly rude.”

“and you’re incredibly dramatic.” seungmin replied easily, folding his arms over his chest as if he really didn’t have the energy for this conversation, and yet, was putting all his effort into being annoying.

“i knocked on your door because you’re being inconsiderate.”

“no, you knocked on my door because you can’t sleep.” he corrected, “that’s not the same thing.”

“wow, you’re unbelievable.” she chuckled sarcastically.

“thanks, i get that a lot.”

her frustration only spilled over as she gestured vaguely behind her, “listen. i have my first day at uni tomorrow. i need to be up early. i need quiet.”

he blinked once, unimpressed, “congrats.”

“that’s it? that’s all you have to say?”

“what do you want me to say?” he tilted his head slightly, “sorry i exist?”

“i want you to turn the music down.”

seungmin sighed a long, theatrical sigh as if she’d just asked him for something unreasonable - it was incredibly dramatic, like he was trying to test her patience even more, and y/n felt another remark on the tip of her tongue before he turned around momentarily and pressed some sort of button on a remote.

three clicks. the music softened a bit, but it was so minimal it felt insulting. not enough to matter. not enough to help but just enough to say he’s done something.

“there. problem solved.”

her eyes narrowed and the thin thread of patience she’d been clinging onto finally seems to snap at that smug little look on his face, “that barely changed anything!”

“it changed.” he replied, calmly like he was correcting a child, “you’re welcome.”

“that’s not compromise. that’s you being petty.”

for a moment, something flickered in his eyes - something questionable, maybe a flash of genuine consideration - but then he smiled. a slow, deliberate kind of smile that showed he’d gotten the exact reaction he wanted. he looked pleased with himself.

“glad you noticed.”

her chest rose sharply, “you enjoy this.”

“a little.”

“you’re actually unbelievable.”

“aw, and yet… you came all the way over here.” he glanced over her once more. it was unhurried and infuriatingly attractive, the way his dark eyes lingered on her skin, making it prickle more than it already was standing at his door like this.

“don’t flatter yourself.”

“too late.”

the silence stretched between them. it was heavy and uncomfortable as they both maintained the contact, everything they left unsaid bleeding through their tense gazes. the music still hummed in the background - low and pulsing like a reminder that he still had control of the situation.

and he knew he did, with that stupid smirk crawling up his lips.

y/n let out a sharp breath as every ounce of the petty fight practically drained out of her, “fine. do whatever you want.”

she turned on her heel before he could say anything else and padded back to her apartment, her skin buzzing like static.

“sweet dreams!” seungmin called after her, his voice carrying satisfied amusement as she opened the door, “try not to let the music keep you up!”

she didn’t look back as her door slammed harder than necessary, the sound cracking through the space before fading. for a second, all she could hear was nothing but the echo of the slam and the faint shutting of his apartment door.

and then the bass came back. he’d turned it back up, that little shit-

y/n crawled into bed as if her covers could shield her from the painful reminder that he was still there, that he was right across the hall, perfectly aware of what he was doing as the music bled into the walls. she stared blankly at her ceiling and tried to breathe, thinking about tomorrow instead. sleep came to her like that, fitfully, as if even rest had to fight him for space.

it was only her first night.

and somehow, already, it felt like she’d moved in opposite the devil who had all the time in the world to make her life absolute hell.

•••

it was only about 30 minutes later when felix stepped out of the elevator with a plastic bag hooked around his wrist, the warmth of it seeping into his palm and fogging the thin plastic. the smell of fried chicken, salty fries and ramen clung to him, familiar and comforting after the chill of the night outside.

however, his brows furrowed instantly when the bass hit his ears… it practically rolled through the floor and felix came to a stop just outside the elevator doors as the sound vibrated up through his soles. he closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

“seriously…” he murmured under his breath, already resigned.

there was no mistaking it was seungmin. no one else on this floor- hell, no one else in the entire building probably played music like that: loud and obnoxious enough to fill the space but controlled enough to feel intentional. felix adjusted the bag on his wrist and moved down the hallway as the bass seemingly grew louder with every step.

after a quick glance at the door of his new neighbour, he already knew what to expect when he opened his own: seungmin was stretched out on the couch like he owned half the place, which technically he did. one arm was thrown over the backrest, the other lazily scrolling through his phone. the speaker sat on the floor beside the couch, pulsing with sound, music humming through the apartment like a second heartbeat.

he looked far too comfortable.

felix kicked off his shoes by the door and carried the food into their open-plan kitchen, setting it down with a dull thud and shouting, “you’re being loud again.”

seungmin didn’t even glance up, “am i?”

felix leaned against the counter with folded arms after washing his hands, “i could hear it all the way from the elevator.”

“the elevator has good taste.” seungmin replied, almost bored, “not my problem.”

“you live with other people. that automatically makes it an us problem, min.”

he got no response.

felix sighed and walked further into the apartment with the food. his eyes instinctively went to the speaker as if it was personally offending him now, which it kind of was. he sat the food down and grabbed the remote, “did someone knock on the door earlier?”

that finally got him a reaction.

seungmin’s eyes flicked up, smirking, just for a second, before his expression smoothed back into indifference, “yeah.”

“was it the old lady from upstairs complaining about her beauty sleep again?”

he snickered under his breath, “nah, i think she’s chosen to ignore us completely.”

felix’s shoulders then dropped as he looked at the boy, “was it the girl across the hall, then?”

seungmin’s lips twitched, “obviously.”

“seungmin…”

“she didn’t look happy.” he added on, his tone light and amused as flashes from just 30 minutes ago came through his mind, “very intense for someone in strawberry pajamas.”

“that’s because you were being annoying!” the blond draggged a hand through his hair as frustration mixed with concern, “i talked to her this morning. she just moved here from busan.”

seungmin scoffed as if he was supposed to care and dropped his eyes back to his phone, “and?”

“and she’s alone.” felix countered, “it’s her first year. first night. completely new city. she’s probably homesick and hasn’t slept properly in days.”

this time seungmin didn’t say anything. he quietly listened, eyes trained on his now blank screen but his throat bobbed with slow irritation, or was it a hint of sympathy? guilt? he didn’t know. all he knew was that felix’s kind tone was making him feel bad, making him remember their own first days at uni a few years ago and that got a deep, disturbed sigh out of him.

felix glanced over at him, studying his silently calculated expression, “you didn’t have to make it harder for her.”

“i didn’t mean to-” seungmin stopped himself, clicking his tongue in annoyance, “okay, maybe i did.”

“why?”

he shrugged. his eyes drifted across the room, anywhere but felix’s wide, questioning gaze, “she was bossing me around.”

“she probably just asked nicely.” felix corrected gently and seungmin hated the kindness in his tone, hated how he could so easily make him regret his bad actions with that caress of softness that characterised felix. he’d always been like that - gentle, caring, understanding - ever since they became friends all those years ago.

he exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening as he moved to sit up properly on the couch, “you always take everyone else’s side.”

“i take the reasonable side.” felix’s lips curled into a sneaky smile as he started opening the food. the smell of grease and seasoning instantly fills the room, warm and inviting, and he continued, “you can be nice for once, min. it won’t kill you.”

seungmin watched his bestfriend quietly, without judgement - the way he smiled easily, the way he moved like he belonged anywhere without trying. like the world hadn’t dulled him down yet, and deep down, he hoped it never would.

it was irritating.

and, somehow, impossible to resist.

“fine.”

felix froze mid-bite, “fine?”

seungmin reached forward and grabbed the speaker and felix’s eyes practically lit up as he twisted the knob properly this time. the music turned off completely and the apartment retreated back into that gentle quiet, like it wasn’t even there to begin with.

“see? that wasn’t so hard.”

“don’t make it a thing.” seungmin was already reclining back into the couch with his food in his hand.

the tv had started playing some random movie felix picked and the two of them focused onto that for a few silent minutes, the sound of wrinkling plastic and soft breaths being the only sound between them as they ate.

that was until the blond turned to seungmin after taking another bite, “you should apologise tomorrow.”

he snorted, “don’t push it.”

“i’m serious!” felix leaned back, “she’s your neighbour. you’re going to see her a lot more now.”

“unfortunately.”

that earned him a slap on the shoulder, “just say sorry.”

seungmin didn’t answer. they kept eating in a quieter, more comfortable silence. as the movie kept playing in the background, felix talked about nothing in particular - something that happened at the recording studio, something he saw on the walk back, how good the food smelled - seungmin found himself listening as he always did, despite his better judgement.

but when felix wasn’t looking, his eyes drifted toward the wall across from them.

toward the apartment on the other side.

her annoyed voice replayed in his head - the sharpness in it, the exhaustion behind it, the way she’d stood her ground with flushed cheeks and furrowed brows like she wasn’t afraid of him at all. and what topped it all of was the sudden thoughts about her eyes - how expressive they were, how annoyingly beautiful they were, how they stared up at him…

he harshly swallowed before his thoughts could linger any further.

another hour later, felix was already yawning, eyes fluttering as he fought back sleep. he turned the tv off before grabbing his phone and standing up — “i’m going to bed. we have an early day tomorrow.”

just before he left though, he turned back to the boy who was still slouching on the couch with a blank expression and eyes deep in thought.

“apologise.”

“yeah, yeah.” he rolled his eyes, waving felix off.

he didn’t mean it.

but later, as he lay awake in the quiet of his own bedroom with the music now just a distant echo in the apartment, he found himself thinking about her anyway - about the girl from busan who’d knocked on his door like she belonged there.

and that, more than anything, annoyed him the most.

•••

by the time y/n reached the apartment building the next evening, the city had already begun to soften.

7pm in seoul was a strange in-between hour - it was still busy, still loud, still glowing but no longer frantic. the weird edge of her first day had dulled as the public also started to rewind: neon signs flickered awake one by one, their reflections bleeding into the rain-slicked pavement from a brief afternoon drizzle.

everything felt slower, warmer, almost easy.

y/n barely noticed any of it.

her body felt heavy and achy, the kind of exhaustion that settled behind her eyes and tugged at her shoulders, made her drag her feet. her first day on her new course had not eased her into university, not even in the slightest. her fist real assignment already loomed her mind like a test she hadn’t studied enough for, the weight of the thought sitting uncomfortably in her chest.

she told herself she had time. she told herself everyone felt like this. but still, the unease followed her all the way to the building’s lobby.

she pressed the button to the elevator with her knuckle, the metal cool against her skin, and leaned her head back against the wall. for a moment, she closed her eyes and let the low buzz around her wash over her.

just a second of calm. that’s all she needed.

the doors pinged open. she opened her eyes, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

because seungmin stood inside.

for half a heartbeat, her brain stalled and she considered just turning around and pretending she forgot something. maybe her charger. maybe her dignity. but instead, her feet dragged her inside before she could make a choice, adjusting the strap of her bag higher on her shoulder. the elevator began its smooth descent and neither of them spoke at first.

seungmin leaned casually against the huge mirrored wall, one ankle crossed over the other, jacket draped over his arm. he looked like he’d just come from somewhere social - hair slightly mussed like he’d ran his hands through it too many times, the faint scent of something clean and expensive clinging to him. soap, maybe, or cologne. something subtle.

something that had her mind reeling at the ravishing smell of it.

he caught her reflection in the mirror and his eyes flickered to her tired ones, her slumped posture, her clasped hands.

“you’re back early.”

she scoffed quietly, “it’s seven.”

“for you that’s early.” he said, tone light, “you know, considering 10pm is your bedtime.”

she frowned slightly, “you keep track of my schedule now?”

“hard not to.” he replied smoothly, “thin walls.”

y/n rolled her eyes but there was no real heat behind it. she was too drained to be irritated at him, too drained to care that he was right. the elevator continued to hum around them as she looked anywhere but at him. meanwhile, seungmin couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her. as if wanting to talk but not knowing what to say that didn’t sound offhandish.

“how was your first day?” he finally asked, trying to be casual, like he hadn’t been pondering for the past few seconds.

she hesitated, “long.”

“good long or bad long?”

she considered it, staring at the glowing numbers as they ticked upwards, “overwhelming long.”

“that tracks.”

“why does everybody say that?” she finally looked at him with the faintest crease between her brows.

he shrugged, “because people on your course always look like they’re one breakdown away from greatness. trust me, i’ve had friends in that field.”

despite herself, a soft laugh slipped out at his words, seemingly startling both of them at the same time. for a split second, y/n looked embarrassed at the sound, like it escaped uncontrollably but seungmin didn’t mind. he noticed, of course he did, he noticed everything. his lips twitched in a barely-there smile, tugging at the corners of his mouth as if he’d won something small but strangely important.

the elevator jolted faintly between floors. y/n adjusted her grip on her bag, shifting the weight and of course, seungmin noticed that too.

“you’re gonna hurt yourself carrying it like that.”

“i’m fine.”

“didn’t say you weren’t.”

that made her look at him, “do you always talk this much?”

“only when people are interesting.”

“that’s unfortunate for you.” she snapped back and he chuckled quietly.

another pause stretched between them, filled with the soft mechanical whir of the elevator and the distant murmur of voices drifting below. seungmin thought back to what felix had told him last night about apologising, about how alone she might feel. his eyes subtly traveled to her quiet expression once again and he felt a spike in his heart rate as he thought about what to say - of course he wasn’t going to apologise… that wasn’t him.

but he wanted to test the waters, despite the little conversation they’ve had so far.

and y/n… she could feel his eyes on her as she stared down at her shoes and all she could wonder was how long this elevator ride felt as the awkwardness pressed into her. seriously… how much longer till they were at their floor? how much longer before she had to endure more of his conversation-

“you still mad about last night?”

her gaze stayed fixed on the doors, “i don’t have the energy to be mad.”

“mm.” he nodded, “that’s worse.”

just then, the elevator pinged on their floor. sighing in relief, y/n stepped out first, her pace a lot quicker than usual as she headed down the hallway before him. she had not a second more to waste as the exhaustion of the day quickly ran up her body again. meanwhile, seungmin followed behind, unhurried with his hands in his jacket pockets. he watched her shoulders slump the moment she thought she was out of his sight, the stiffness melting into something more honest.

at her door, she fumbled with her keys, fingers clumsier than usual as if she knew he was watching.

“…hey.”

she paused. then turned. for a second, it looked like he might actually say something meaningful, real. his expression shifted as if he was about to admit something but instead, he nodded towards her bag silently.

“try not to collapse.”

y/n narrowed her eyes, nodding at him with a sarcastic curl of her lips, “thanks for the advice.”

his laugh echoed softly. they both unlocked their doors and despite everything, y/n felt just a little lighter as she walked into her apartment with a tiny smile on her lips.

however, seungmin had seemed to walk into the warm, sweet, unmistakable smell of chocolate and butter. he stopped just inside the doorway, one hand still in his pocket, blinking like he’d just walked into the wrong place.

the apartment lights were on brighter than usual, the windows fogged slightly from the heat, the air thick with something indulgent and delicious in a way their place rarely was. that only meant one thing: felix was baking again… which meant he was either really stressed or really happy about something. there was no in-between as seungmin trudged over to the kitchen hesitantly.

his suspicions were proved correct when he saw felix in his signature yellow polka-dot apron, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. he was humming softly to himself - off-key but committed - as he pulled a tray of brownies from the oven and set them down with a satisfied little huff.

“…why does it smell like domestic bliss in here?”

felix turned at the sound of his best friend’s voice, his face instantly lighting up, “brownies!”

“for what?”

he grabbed a knife and began cutting them into even, ridiculously precise squares, “for y/n.”

seungmin snorted as he walked over to the bowl with scraped batter remains to the side sneakily, “of course it is.”

“she probably had a long day.” felix said simply, not looking up.

“so did i.” seungmin swipes a finger through the leftover batter before making his way over to the fridge for some water. the cold air rushed out to meet him as soon as he opened it harder than necessary, “you’re doing too much.”

“someone should be nice to her.” he shrugged, completely unbothered, “you clearly weren’t, and now i’m having to go and apologise.”

“i didn’t ask you to do that, lix.”

felix pursed his lips at the boy, “yeah, because you should’ve done it.”

the bleakness in his words landed heavier than they should’ve.

seungmin didn’t reply after that. he drank his water, staring at the opposite wall, pretending not to care as felix slid the warm brownies onto a plate, the steam still rising faintly from their glossy tops. he pretended not to care when felix left without another word after their short conversation about each other’s days. he pretended not to care when he heard laughter spilling through her door as he walked back from the convenience store later that evening.

her laughter.

it was bright. unrestrained. pretty. the kind that rang clear and easy, not guarded or tied or careful, and it hit him straight in the chest weirdly. he’d heard it briefly in their elevator ride up together but this was different - she sounded at peace. felix’s deep laugh tangled with hers and drifted into the hallway like it didn’t care who heard.

something curled in seungmin’s chest. it wasn’t irritation or anger, but awareness.

the sudden realisation of her presence, of her existing just beyond that door, relaxed enough to laugh like that. with felix. because of felix. seungmin lingered longer than he should’ve in the corridor… he couldn’t help but be nosy, or maybe he didn’t want to admit but he liked the sound of her laughs. like she felt safe and happy, at peace. he could’ve been there too, except he’d chosen to be a dick to her ever since she’d arrived instead.

he hated himself for standing there for so long.

when felix snuck back in an hour later, the apartment was already quiet. seungmin sat on the couch with his arms folded, expression unreadable. he had his phone in his hand but he’d been blankly staring at nothing for the past 15 minutes, too caught up in random thoughts.

“have a good time?” he asked flatly.

felix chuckled as he took of his shoes and padded inside, “yeah. we talked a lot and she showed me some childhood photos.”

“thrilling.”

“she’s really easy to talk to.” felix added, now setting the empty plate in the sink.

“congrats.”

at his tone, felix tilted his head, studying him. he knew seungmin like the back of his hand, they’d been friends and roommates long enough to know when he was irritated (more than usual), he also knew it specifically had to do with a special someone who’d walked into their lives a day ago.

“you’re annoyed.”

“i’m just tired.” seungmin shrugged, still not looking at felix.

but felix smiled to himself - soft, knowing, far too perceptive for seungmin’s liking. he had a feeling he knew where this was going, he knew seungmin would crack soon enough.

he always did.

•••

for the next month or so, it started becoming a pattern neither of them could ignore.

it wasn’t dramatic or intentional, truly, there were no grand moments - just a steady, irritating persistence that settled in quietly. the building wasn’t small but it wasn’t large either; the kind where you could realistically avoid someone if you tried. and y/n tried, or atleast that’s what she told herself.

after the first few instances, she kept her head down in shared spaces, lingered a little longer in her apartment when she heard him leaving his own in the mornings just so she didn’t have to take the elevator down with him. but it didn’t matter.

because somehow, seungmin was always there. even after about a month of staying there, she still couldn’t figure his scedhule out.

he seemed to leave the apartment whenever he felt like it and it had become hard to ignore him.

the elevator, in particular, had become their own private section of hell. or rather- hell for her. seungmin, on the other hand, seems to find it endlessly entertaining, like time itself was conspiring in his favour whenever they ended up trapped together. alone.

one time, it was around 9pm when y/n had finally made it home from a rough day that felt like it stretched on forever: group work that went nowhere, independent project deadlines stacking ontop of eachother, back-to-back lectures and a rushed grocery run because she’d been too busy all week to remember what an empty fridge felt like until it was a problem.

by the time she reached the elevator, she was already juggling her thin stack of folders in one arm and her groceries cutting through the other, her bag half-sliding off one shoulder. her eyes were unfocused as she stepped inside.

of course, she didn’t notice him until she straightened up. seungmin was already there, leaning casually against the wall with his hands tucked into the pockets of his puffer jacket. when he saw her again, something in his expression instantly shifted into that familiar, infuriating spark of mischief.

like he’d just been handed a gift. of course.

y/n froze for a second too long. she let out a quit breath and stepped fully inside, the doors shutting behind her with a soft hum and the space immediately felt smaller than it had any right to.

“rough day?” his curious gaze went to the endless things in her arms.

y/n stared straight ahead, “no.”

seungmin hummed, clearly unconvinced, “that’s a lot of ‘no’ for someone carrying her entire fridge in her arms.”

she jabbed the button for their floor harder than necessary, even though it was already lit. she couldn’t help it. it hadn’t even been a minute and he was already pushing at her nerves, poking at the edges of her patience when she barely had any left. seungmin watched her finger, then slowly dragged his face back up to her face - her jaw was tight, expression pursed, shoulders tense.

he didn’t know what it was seeing her like this…

he teased everyone - it was practically second nature to him - but something about her reactions did something to him. the way she always had something to say back, the way her hair always looked slightly ruffled but still put together, the way she had a faint crease between her brows, the way her soft lips pressed together when she was holding back a comment.

and her eyes… they seemed to get him the most whenever she decided to finally glare at him back. they were sharp but unyielding, and pretty… so pretty as she stubbornly avoided his gaze.

“you’re going to break it.” he said lightly.

“good.”

he snickered, “violent tendencies already? wow, seoul’s really changed you, huh?”

she shot him a look then, all narrowed, blank gaze and tight expression, and he had the audacity to look away first.

that was how most of their elevator rides would go: her ignoring him, him prodding at her composure, teasing her until she snapped a glare back, her storming out the moment they’d finally reached their floor. and seungmin would just watch her go, tongue poking the inside of his cheek, smirking to himself.

it didn’t stop there.

they began running into eachother in the lobby at odd hours. y/n would be rushing out early in the mornings, still adjusting her scarf or her bag, and seungmin would be leaning against the wall by the entrance with his phone in hand, headphones in his ears and adorned in one of his ridiculous puffer jackets that he seemed to love so much.

one morning, she nearly collided with him as he held the door open. for what? or who? she didn’t know until she had them both nearly tripping on their own feet.

“oh-”

seungmin furrowed his brows but then his expression shifted and he hid his smile when he saw who it was, stepping aside smoothly, “careful.”

y/n frowned and rolled her eyes when realisation set in, “you were standing in the way.”

“no, i wasn’t.”

“yes, you were.”

“not my fault you were walking like you own the goddamn floor.”

she paused, lips pressing together as she swallowed whatever it was she’d been about to snap back. instead, she just sighed, “i’m late. move.”

seungmin lifted his hands and gestured towards the open doorway, all sarcastic and dramatic, “by all means.”

she rolled her eyes and brushed past him, muttering something under her breath. something about how ridiculously tall he was. or about how he was always everywhere. and seungmin would just laugh in response. not a scoff or a chuckle, but a real laugh - all warm and unguarded and genuine - that followed her out onto the street and lingered in the back of her mind far longer than she wanted it to.

she told herself it didn’t matter, but it irritated her more than it should’ve. it echoed in her mind as she sat in lectures, made her heart rate spike whenever she heard another laugh that sounded even remotely close to his. it disappointed her when she realised it wasn’t him and then made her even more mad that she was disappointed over that. she hated that she thought about him more than she wanted to.

and that, more than anything, unsettled her.

•••

the hallway wasn’t usually this loud. ever.

but the noise of chatter and presence was the first thing y/n noticed as she stepped off the elevator one afternoon. she’d come back for lunch since she had a longer break between lectures, something unusual, and of course, the sudden murmur of words overlapping and conversation bleeding down the hallway had her anxiety spiking at the new voices.

at the apartment opposite hers, a small cluster of guys had gathered. some of them leaned against the wall, half sitting against it, clearly waiting around rather than visiting. one of them checked his phone screen for the third time in those ten seconds she’d been walking over.

“she’s probably going to think we’re loitering.” the one half-sitting against the wall muttered, running a hand through his thick hair.

“we are loitering.” another one replied. he was quite tall as he lazily stood with his arms folded and his shoulder leaning against the wall beside the open doorway.

“felix said five minutes.” the third one replied. he was a bit shorter than the other one and looked a bit younger too as he glanced at her apartment door.

y/n didn’t say anything as she calmly walked over to her door. she figured they were seungmin and felix’s friends, the same friends they met up regularly at the studio and made music with, the same friends they made when they first met back in uni - as felix had told her. she didn’t know if she should disturb their waiting around or if it would look rude to stay silent and slip into her apartment.

she chose the latter.

seungmin, leaning against the open doorframe, noticed her first.

she didn’t look at any of them as he eyed her, his head tilted down a bit, trying to be subtle. she looked quiet, careful, introverted like she was trying to disappear before any of them noticed her. but of course, seungmin knowing his extroverted friends, knew they would immediately notice the new presence, especially since they were just talking about her.

and they did, when han saw seungmin staring at her.

“oh.”

hyunjin straightened up, “oh, that’s her!”

y/n stopped at her door. her fingers tightened on her keys and phone, shoulders instantly tensing when she became aware of their attention on her. she could feel it - it wasn’t invasive, just present. she unlocked the door without looking over.

felix’s voice drifted from inside of the doorway, “i’m almost ready!”

that’s when she figured they were all waiting for him.

han sighed, “he’s never almost ready.”

hyunjin chuckled, “give him another five minutes, he’s probably deciding what shoes go with his outfit.”

jeongin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. he subtly looked over at y/n again and that’s when he saw her look over, making eye contact with him and an instant, polite smile landed on her lips. his eyes slightly widened and they were both immediately bowing their heads in greeting.

“hi.” he whispered.

y/n, still a little reserved and unsure of the newfound attention, smiled as the other two boys looked over and bowed their heads in greeting too. lastly, her eyes landed on seungmin for a few brief seconds and her expression flattened. felix had told them all about her, about his very few moments spent with her, about the silent feud she and seungmin had going on.

seungmin hadn’t cared at the time.

but now, as he stood there, watching his friends finally meet her eyes and smile at her, it was hard for him to ignore the burning in his chest. y/n, on the other hand, took this as an opportunity to talk to them.

“we’re just waiting for felix. he takes… a while.” the boy who looked younger than the rest spoke up as he pointed towards the door.

she huffed out a quiet laugh before she could stop herself, “i’ve noticed.”

seungmin scoffed, “you have?”

she finally made eye contact with him. the tiniest hint of sarcasm lit up her eyes, “thin walls.”

han practically had to cover his mouth to hid his grin as he watched seungmin’s usual bored, resting-irritated expression tighten slightly. he narrowed his eyes at her silent challenge, “you’re holding a grudge.”

“i’m holding a memory.”

hyunjin laughed softly, “she’s funny.”

she shifted her bag higher on her shoulder, “you’re his friends?”

“unfortunately. since five years ago.” han said and y/n nodded when they each started introducing themselves, all while seungmin practically seethed through his teeth as he stood there. when itcame to jeongin, he gave her another kind smile - not overbearing, just warm and familiar.

“felix told me you’re also from busan. you’re here for uni, right?”

“yes!” her eyes lit up, “he told me he had a friend from busan too. that must be you.”

“guilty.” jeongin chuckled and y/n noticed then how similar his accent was to hers. it was nice to finally feel even a small closeness to home, and jeongin seemed like a really friendly guy. she suddenly had this overwhelming urge to ask him where abouts he was from, about his life there before he came here, and so much more she couldn’t even think of.

“i moved here about five years ago for uni, but i’m kind of doing an extra year for credits.” he added and y/n nodded in understanding, “what do you do?”

“architecture.”

“oh.” he huffed, his mouth rounding and eyes playfully widening, “respect. i could never.”

she laughed, “what do you do?”

“media and communications, which means i lie about being busy.” he replied, “and music is kinda something we all do together, away from uni.”

she smiled, “at least you’re honest.”

seungmin watched the entire exchange with his jaw set just a little too tight. his eyes flicked between them more often than he meant to, lingering for seconds too long before he forced himself to look away. it shouldn’t bother him. it didn’t bother him. why would it? she was allowed to talk to whoever she wanted. jeongin was being nice, they had something in common so he was being friendly.

this was just… conversation. casual. completely harmless.

so why did his chest feel vaguely irritated?

jeongin chuckled again at something he didn’t hear her say and seungmin looked down at his shoes silently. he told himself to relax. to stop being weird. to stop caring.

as if right on cue, felix finally appeared, bouncing out of the apartment like a golden retriever released into open space.

“oh! you met already.” he said brightly, glancing at y/n and jeongin talking infront of her door, “see? told you you’re practically his favourite person. busan people always find eachother.”

“that is the corniest shit you’ve ever said, lix.” han laughed out loud, throwing his head back as y/n laughed along too. seungmin’s eyes went straight to her when he heard it, like he’d just won some sort of prize and he swallowed when his heart did some stupid flip in his chest.

“is that a rule?” y/n asked playfully.

“absolutely!” felix nodded, “it’s science.”

“don’t spread misinformation.” jeongin also chuckled. the simmering tension from before had instantly dissipated the second felix had entered, and they all talked for a few more minutes until seungmin sighed and interrupted, saying they would be late to the studio.

y/n shook him off, “i should get going too. my break’s not that long.”

they all nodded and jeongin added, “if you ever need help with literally anything, let me know.”

and she’d given him the biggest smile in return — genuine and sincere, like the offer had actually meant something to her — “i will, thanks.”

she’d finally entered her apartment and the rest of them started walking towards the elevator. something hot and uncomfortable crawled up the back of seungmin’s neck before she shut the door, eyes boring into the wood even after it had locked behind her. his jaw tightened more than it already had during that entire exchange.

for no reason he wanted to acknowledge.

their footsteps echoed down the empty corridor and the second they were out of earshot, out of her space, han elbowed seungmin hard in the ribs, “you were being weird.”

“i was being normal.”

hyunjin turned to walk backwards in front of them, hands in his pockets as he grinned, “you were glaring.”

“i don’t glare.”

“you were radiating.” hyunjin corrected, “like some stressed lamp.”

seungmin rolled his eyes as he jabbed the elevator button, “that’s not even a thing, stupid.”

han hummed thoughtfully, “i don’t know, it wasn’t a glare…”

“thank you.”

“it was more like a glow.”

seungmin’s lips parted in a scoff, “what- that’s worse.”

the doors opened and seungmin instantly walked to the corner by the huge mirrored wall, folding his arms and leaning against it like he’d done a million times before. with her. his eyes stubbornly fixed onto the glowing numbers above the door, anywhere but his friends’ knowing glances and sneaky smiles.

his mind, traitorous as ever, had wondered to her before he could even stop it.

her laugh surfaced first, then the way she listened, genuinely attentive, nodding along instead of waiting for a gap to speak. the polite warmth she carried without it feeling rehearsed - this was his first time seeing her so social, talking to someone other than felix and him, and he wondered how confident and kind she was outside of their little bubble.

and the way she’d talked to jeongin like she’d known him forever… it annoyed him more than anything else ever had in this building. and he hated that it did.

felix, standing quietly near the doors, watched seungmin unknowingly. he watched his distant eyes fill with emotion, he watched the shift of his tight jaw, the poke of his tongue in his cheek as he looked to be deep in thought. he didn’t say anything.

he just smiled to himself, like he was watching the first domino tip.

•••

2 weeks later.

the day had already taken everything from her.

her project lead’s voice replayed relentlessly in her head as she walked home, each step heavier than the last. the city blurred at the edges as dusk settled in and streetlights flickered on. seoul moved around her like nothing had happened, like her whole world hadn’t stopped after today, like she wasn’t dragging something broken inside her.

“this isn’t what you were supposed to do.”

“you don’t seem to understand spatial intention at all.”

“did you actually think this was ready to be presented?”

“did you even read the instructions workbook or learn anything before starting?”

each sentence had landed with calm, clinical pain - a polite stab that somehow hurt worse than shouting ever could.

in that moment, y/n could do nothing but stand there with her hands clasped infront of her, nodding along like she understood. like her self-confidence wasn’t shrinking with every word. like the red marks slashed across her drawings weren’t screaming at her from the page. like weeks of late-nights, revisions, second-guessing and careful thinking hadn’t just been dismissed with a disgusted sigh and a look of disappointment.

FAIL.

the word followed her onto the bus. it sat beside her as she stared out the window, it walked with her down the street, pressed in tighter with each step forward and with each swallow past the lump in her throat. she had never felt as useless, as stupid, as alone in her life as she did in that moment.

her phone suddenly vibrated in her hand and the buzz against her skin seemed to break her out of her trance. she glanced at the screen and the name displayed made her slow to a stop. for a moment, she considered letting it ring, considered pretending she hadn’t seen it until she was safely behind her door, where she could fall apart without anyone hearing.

almost.

she answered anyway.

“hello?” she tucked the phone against her ear, her voice thin and fingers gripping her bag like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“hi, sweetheart.” her mother’s voice came through instantly - all loving and gentle and familiar in a way that made her chest ache, “how are you? did you get home safely?”

that was all it took. the concern, the gentleness, the way her mother always sounded like she was smiling just for her, the way her mothers voice jabbed straight at her already tender heart. y/n’s steps instantly slowed.

“i’m almost there.” she swallowed hard.

“that’s good. i was just thinking about you.” a pause, like she was getting hard to hearing her own daughter’s voice after a busy week of barely any contact, “how was today, love?”

the question was caring, gentle, unassuming. and it shattered her anyway.

she laughed once, breathless and cracked, nothing like humour, “i failed.”

silence met her words on the other end. it wasn’t a disappointing or shocked kind of silence, but just space. her mother’s brows furrowed and she carefully asked, “failed what?”

“my project, eomma.” y/n sniffled, “they hated it. they said i don’t get it, that i don’t understand what i’m doing. i tried so hard.”

her vision blurred as she pushed the lobby door open to her building, walking straight to one of the empty elevator doors. her fingers slowly went numb from the cold as they met the heat in the building, yet they shook even as she pressed the button to her floor — “i stayed up for weeks. i redid it all so many times. i changed it and changed it again and they just-” her voice cracked and the tears began prickling at her lashes, “they looked at me like i was stupid for even being there. like i don’t belong there. they were so disgusted.”

“you do belong, my love.” her mother said instantly. no hesitation. no doubt.

y/n shook her head even though no one could see her, “i don’t think i do.”

the elevator ride passed by in a haze. she barely registered the numbers changing up, the soft buzz of moment, the shakiness in her own breathing.

“listen to me.” her mother said firmly now after listening to her small sniffles, her own heart clenching at the sound, “failing at something doesn’t mean you don’t belong. it means you’re learning, and learning hurts but you’ll improve. even if it was something stupid on their end, take this as a lesson and learn from it, don’t let them get to you.”

“it just feels like i wasted everyone’s time.” y/n whispered, “yours. dads. mine.”

“you didn’t, sweetheart, don’t say that.” her mother replied, “you were brave enough to try. do you know how many people never even get as far as you’ve gotten?”

the doors opened and she stepped out without really noticing anything. she let muscle memory lead her towards her own door as the tears blurred her vision, the lump in her throat expanding with every emotion piling higher and higher.

“i miss home.” she croaked out, breath shaky, “i miss the sea. i miss your cooking and dad’s stupid jokes. i miss my friends. i miss when everything made sense, eomma.”

“oh sweetheart.” her mother murmured and tears came to her own eyes. she pressed the phone closer to her ear as if that could being her daughter closer, as if it could give her one of her warm hugs and comforting kisses, “nothing makes sense when you’re building a future. that doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong, honey.”

her apartment door came into view and she stopped. her keys slipped from her feeble grip, clattering to the floor. the sound echoed way too loudly in the empty hallway as everything she’d been holding in since that moment at uni - every forced breath, every swallowed word, every blinked back tear - finally gave way.

she pressed her forehead against the door as she sobbed. her tears ran down her puffy cheeks as her shoulders shook, her palm moving up to muffle her sobs as the pain of everything seemed to push out of her all at once - the aching feeling of sadness, the loneliness, the homesickness… it all pressed at her.

“i-i don’t want to be a disappointment.” she cried into the phone where her mother listened with a tender heart and watery eyes, “i didn’t move all this way just to fail.”

“you are not a disappointment, y/n.” the woman tried to keep her voice strong for her daughter, firm and unwavering, “you are my daughter. you’re allowed to struggle and fall apart. you don’t have to be perfect to feel worthy, sweetheart. it’s only a small bump in the road, there’ll be so many more and you’re allowed to feel sad but don’t let it consume you. prove them wrong and come back stronger.”

on the other side of the hall, a door handle turned.

seungmin was fully dressed, jacket and cap on, shoes on, ready to head to the studio where he was meeting his friends to go over some lyrics. his fingers were already curled around the handle as he pulled it open.

and then he heard her. crying. and he froze.

the sound was slightly muffled through the tiny gap in the door, until he opened it a tiny bit more and suddenly it was unmistakable. raw. unfiltered. like something breaking without permission. he let go of the handle slowly as he shut the door without a second thought.

but he stayed stood there, heart thudding against his ribs, listening to something he knew he shouldn’t be listening to.

something too private. too exposed.

“i’m trying.” y/n’s weak voice cracked through again, “i swear i am.”

seungmin furrowed his brows and his features creased with the tiniest hint of worry and curiosity - this wasn’t the girl who snapped at him in elevator, this wasn’t the sharp looks, the rolled eyes, the stubborn defiance that made him smirk. this was someone standing alone in a hallway, unraveling where she thought no one could hear her. she probably thought he and felix were both out and something tight twisted in his chest the further he listened to her pained sobs, her tiny sniffles, her low whimpers.

who was she on the phone with? why was she crying? did someone hurt her? what was he supposed to do?

if he opened the door, would it help or would it humiliate her? would she hate him for hearing this? for seeing her like this? he didn’t know so he stayed still, stayed silence and stayed inside. her cries rose and fell unevenly. he suddenly felt useless in a way he wasn’t used to - painfully aware of the thin walls between them. his fists clenched as he held back and just listened.

“…don’t even know anyone here. not really.” she muttered, “i just need you to tell me i’m not stupid for making this choice.”

something in him hurt when he heard that.

eventually, her sobs softened. her breathing steadied - still shaky but quieter now. he heard her still whispering to whoever she was on the phone with, picking up her keys. the faint scrape of metal in the lock followed and the door opened with a faint creak. then closed.

silence rushed back in and seungmin didn’t move for a long time. still taking it all in. the shock, the cries, the unfamiliarity of it all, and mostly the way his heart tugged with a certain guilt… and maybe protectiveness.

when he finally stepped away from the door, his own apartment felt wrong - too quiet and empty, like it was holding the echo of something it shouldn’t have heard. he left for the studio a lot later than he intended, not wanting her to hear his door or even think that he was listening.

all night, no matter how hard he tried to focus after that, he couldn’t forget the fragile sound of her crying alone. or the unbearable knowledge that he’d been close enough to help but didn’t know how. so he does the next thing he can think of and asks his most trusted friend with clasped hands and a confused look on his face.

“hyung.”

felix hummed, “yeah?”

seungmin hesitated. he leaned back against the couch, then forward again, like he was reconsidering the distance between thought and speech.

“if someone’s… struggling or just having a hard time,” he started, eyes fixed anywhere but at felix, “and you didn’t know what it was about, like, at all, what are you supposed to do?”

felix’s thumbs paused mid-game as he looks up, “someone?” he echoes lightly.

“yeah. just- someone.” seungmin says too quickly.

felix sets his phone down at that and leans back on his hands. it was rare of seungmin to be worried about someone else the way he was right now, and it was a little intriguing, “depends. do you talk to them?”

seungmin shrugs, “not really.”

“do you like them?”

seungmin chokes on absolutely nothing at that, “what? no. i mean-” he tsks, “that’s not the point.”

felix smiles to himself, “okay, then… small things, i guess. give them stuff that doesn’t ask for anything in return.”

seungmin nods slowly, casually, as if he wasn’t mentally noting everything down, “like what?”

“hmmm, maybe coffee?” felix shrugs, “or food? a note, maybe. just letting them know they’re not alone, without forcing them to explain.”

seungmin nods, pursing his lips in thought, “what if you don’t know what they like?”

“do you know anything?”

“i know they were tired.”

his expression softens just a bit, “that’s enough.”

there’s a small beat of silence, filled only by the low bass of the track looping again mixed with the hushed voices of their friendgroup on the other side of the room. seungmin nods his head in response as he slowly, thoughtfully, takes a sip of water, still mentally noting the information. his brows furrow like he’s already planning it out and felix watches him.

he smiles sweetly and gently adds, “you’re bad at pretending you don’t care, you big softie.”

“yeah, whatever.” seungmin mutters as he’s already grabbing his jacket, walking out the door without another glance.

•••

morning comes too fast.

not with sunlight peeking through the blinds, or birdsongs, or anything gentle - just the quiet awareness that she’s awake again, that sleep hadn’t been the escape she hoped it would be. the ache is still there. it’s dull and persistent, sitting heavy in her chest like it never clocked out overnight. her eyes burn before she even opens them, lashes stiff with dried tears, head throbbing faintly from crying herself into exhaustion.

y/n stares at the ceiling.

same hairline crack near the corner. same faint shadow where the light never quite reaches. everything looked exactly like it did yesterday, and somehow that makes it worse - like the world didn’t even notice she’d fallen apart.

whe she finally rolls onto her side and pushes herself up, her body feels slow and weighted. fragile in a way that makes even standing feel like too much effort. yesterday clings to her: her tutor’s clipped tone, the fail, her mothers voice all steady but worried, breaking something open in her chest that she’d been holding together with sheer stubbornness.

it wasn’t even just that she failed… it was the aching feeling of everything that came after that. it was like she’d woken up from the familiar routine she’d fallen into, and suddenly she was crying thinking about anything and everything.

her reflection in the bathroom mirror comes into view and she squints. it’s bad. eyes swollen, skin dull, the unmistakeable look of someone who’s been weighed down by too much lately and slept too little. she splashes cold water onto her face, once, twice, but it doesn’t seem to dim anything. the sadness isn’t on the surface. it’s settled deeper, behind her ribs, in the quiet spaces where sympathy doesn’t reach.

she pulls on an old hoodie and pads into the kitchen, feet cold against the floor. the routine helps a little - kettle on, mug out, instant coffee torn open with more force than necessary. it’s something to do. something normal.

the doorbell rings.

she freezes, hand hovering mid-pour. no one ever rings her doorbell, ever since she’d moved here a few months ago. felix comes around occasionally but he always texts her to ask if she’s free beforehand… so who could it be now? her first instinct is to ignore it. pretend she didn’t hear it. whoever it is will go away, but it rings again and it feels softer this time, almost hesitant.

curiosity edges out her exhaustion.

she shuffles to the door and peers through the peephole first.

the hallway is empty.

her brows furrow as she opens the door slowly, cautiously and after scanning the empty space in front of her for a few seconds, her eyes drop to the doormat that sits outside her doorway.

there’s a cardboard box with a plastic cup of coffee and a straw. beside it, a small paper bag that looks almost too warm to touch, the faint sugary scent of pastries drifting up immediately. and tucked carefully between them, there’s a bouquet of flowers - simple, warm-coloured, nothing dramatic or overdone. they’re a beautiful mixture of different flowers and stems, the kind of flowers someone buys because they think about it, not because they want to make a statement.

her breath instantly catches.

she crouches without thinking, like the moment might break if she moves too quickly. her fingers hover before she lifts the bag, inhaling the sugary, delicious scent of baked goods. then she picks up the flowers and the coffee - an iced vanilla latte. her favourite. who did this and how did they know this was her favourite?

a tiny smile tugs at her lips as she examines the surprise and that’s when she notices a folded note tucked between the stems of the flowers.

she opens it slowly.

you’re doing better than you think. take today one step at a time.

there’s no name. no explanation. nothing to indicate who did this and her throat tightens as she reads it again and again. it doesn’t tip her back to tears but it burns, the kind of ache that comes when kindness finds you completely unguarded. her chest feels a little lighter, a little more happier, like this secret someone had loosened a knot she ignored she was carrying.

she straightens up, holding the things, and her eyes travel down the hallway. it’s completely empty. her brows furrow and her gaze then drifts to the door across from hers - felix and seungmin’s apartment. it’s closed, quiet, no sounds, no movement - she thinks back to yesterday.

they couldn’t have heard me, right? she was sure they’re usually out at that time, unless seungmin was home like he always is. unless he heard me? no- the thought makes her stomach twist. the idea feels ridiculous - humiliating even - and she shakes it off immediately.

felix is almost always in and out. and seungmin…. no. absolutely not.

she purses her lips and brings everything inside, setting it carefully on the counter. the apartment suddenly feels different. it feels brighter, positive, like someone saw her at her lowest and didn’t ask her to explain it.

like the sadness from yesterday had dissipated and she felt motivated already.

she spends the next hour of her morning watching a show, enjoying her coffee and pastries - which annoyingly taste far better than they had any right to - and placing the gorgeous flowers in a vase for her dining table.

later, after she’s changed and feeling even more refreshed, she heads downstairs to collect her mail. the day isn’t good, but it feels a lot more survivable and that’s something. she’s only there for a few moments, sorting through her mailbox when someone clears their throat behind her.

“morning.”

she’s startled slightly, turning around to see felix leaning against the opposite row of boxes. he’s fully dressed like he’s about to head out, as he always is, jacket sleeves rolled up and face looking as bright as ever. it instantly brightens her mood.

“oh- hey.” she smiles kindly.

that’s when the question immediately lands onto her lips before she can think of anything else, “can i ask you something?”

he straightens a little, “sure.”

she bites the inside of her cheek, suddenly unsure as her eyes drift from the papers in her hands before lifting back up to his questioning ones, “did you… leave something outside my door this morning?”

his brows knit together, “what? no.”

“oh, okay.” she nods and her shoulders drop. she doesn’t know why she thought it would’ve been felix… he doesn’t seem like the type to do something like that in secret. he would’ve been knocking on her door with the happiest smile and a warm hug ready.

“but now i’m invested.” he adds when her gaze dims, “what was it?”

she tells him about the coffee, the pastries, the flowers, the note. she doesn’t mention everything that happened yesterday, but just fragments of it - how she was feeling a bit down and tired. felix listens closely, too closely, his features softening with every word.

and somewhere behind his eyes, something clicks into place.

he hums quietly, “that’s actually really sweet.”

“you’re sure it wasn’t you?” she asks again, slightly embarrassed now.

he shakes his head, smiling, “promise. i’d atleast sign my name. and why would i give you pastries when my brownies probably taste a thousand times better?” he teases and y/n can’t help but softly laugh.

“hey, they were pretty good. a close second to your brownies.”

“yeah, yeah.” he waves it off, “guess it’ll stay a mystery.”

y/n exhales at that, still feeling a little lighter, “guess so.”

felix bites back a grin. he has a very strong guess about who it was - one that involves a certain bestfriend asking very specific questions last night, a certain bestfriend who had gotten up a little earlier than usual today probably to go pick up these treats, a certain bestfriend who felix had never expected to be so soft towards a stranger he claimed he didn’t like.

but of course, he keeps it to himself. he was still surprised seungmin actually took the advice and did everything felix had suggested.

instead, he speaks up about something else, “actually, i should probably let you know i’m heading out today. studio stuff. i’ll be gone for about a week.”

“oh.” y/n raises her brows in surprise, nodding along, “that’s cool. i was wondering why you were dressed so formally at 10am on a saturday.”

“yeah, i’m leaving in a bit with some of the guys.” he chuckles, “seungmin’ll be home though.”

she stiffens before she can stop herself, “he will?”

felix nods, clearly amused, “yeah, i mean- don’t expect miracles. he barely leaves the apartment anyway.”

she smiles, “yeah, i’ve noticed.”

“but he’ll be around. so if you need anything… technically, he’s there.

she nods, not trusting herself to respond to that properly. as if she hadn’t already been bumping into him everyday for the last few months, now he’ll be the only one on the floor with her. that thought caused a pit in her stomach. was it anticipation? dread? was she expecting anything to happen? no, but it caused her ears to tinge pink anyway.

“good luck with your work! have a safe journey.” she says to felix anyway and as he thanks her and they part ways, felix can’t help but glance back at her once more. he decides then that some mysteries are better left to unravel on their own.

•••

it’s late by the time y/n finally sits down to do some work.

the day had already bled out of her, only leaving the quiet behind but she didn’t mind.

it had been a great day - she’d gone for a relaxing walk unlike the usual when she’s running late for lectures. she’d sat down and finally started a book she’d been wanting to read lately, she watched some netflix, made dinner in peace. it was nice to have a day where she didn’t have to worry about the endless mess that was university.

she hadn’t expected the motivation to come back. but here she was, at 9:30pm, motivated to finish her assignment. it stares back at her like it always does and the familiar knot in her stomach doesn’t tighten the way she expects it to. her hands don’t shake as she reaches for her pencil. that alone feels like a small victory.

she doesn’t try to reinvent everything, but instead she does one angle at a time. one problem at a time. she sits at her desk for a long time until she shifts to her bed once her shoulders start to ache and her tea beside her becomes untouched and cold.

she rubs at her eyes, blinking hard, and tells herself she’ll stop after this paragraph. after this sketch. after this thought fully lands. her focus wavers just for a moment. the blinking cursor waits on the screen as her chin dips to her chest, the pencil slipping from her fingers and she doesn’t even register it.

sleep takes over without warning.

her body doesn’t even realise it and she’s back in that seminar studio.

everything feels wrong. the room stretches far longer than it had in real life, the ceiling soaring so high it disappears into a dark shadow. the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, more insistent and harsher than usual, as if there’s trapped insects battering themselves against the glass. the air feels thick in her lungs, stale and unmoving, and every breath tastes faintly of dust and paper.

her project is pinned at the front again.

at first, she feels a flicker of relief. it’s a familiar sight, something she knows. but then it curdles immediately - the boards are warped, edges curling inwards, paper shrinking and yellowed as if it’s been left out in the rain and forgotten. the ink starts bleeding where it shouldn’t. the lines she’d drawn so perfectly start to wobble and fracture, rotting from the inside out.

the room is silent. oppressive. her own pulse feels too loud.

then the lights snap off.

darkness swallows the room whole, thick. and absolute - and just as her heart lurches and she gasps, they flicker back on all at once. everyone is now staring at her.

her classmates all line the room in neat rows, completely frozen and her stomach drops when she realises none of them have faces anymore. they’re completely faceless. just smooth, pale ovals, blank like unfinished mannequins. their heads tilt slowly in sync like they’re being pulled by some invisible string.

“explain it.”

she snaps her head to the side when her project lead’s voice booms in the background. she can’t tell where it’s coming from as it echoes everywhere and nowhere at once. the boards behind her begin to move. one by one, they peel off the wall and hit the floor with heavy, wet sounds - it’s not a clean sound, but something sickening and soft. like flesh hitting concrete.

each impact makes her flinch.

“this is embarrassing.”

the words seem to vibrate through her bones. another board falls.

“you wasted everyone’s time.”

her chest tightens. y/n tries to step back, tries to put distance between herself and the wreckage but her feet won’t move. she looks down and realises there’s concrete all over, sticking her in place. she’s instantly panicking, hot and choking, as she opens her mouth to speak, to explain, to justify, to scream for help.

but blueprints spill out instead.

they pour from her throat in endless sheets, unfurling and multiplying, sliding past her lips and down her chest. it slices at her mouth and lips and then the paper starts to wrap around her wrists, her arms, her ribs, tightening with every breath she takes. she claws at them but for every sheet that she manages to rip away with a grunt, three more wind themselves around her, binding her tighter and tighter.

she can’t breathe.

the faceless students are laughing at her.

the screeching sound drills straight into her skull until it feels like her head might split open. the room starts to tilt, walls bending inward, the ceiling stretching higher, higher, higher-

and then it breaks.

she’s suddenly outside.

there’s no wraps or concrete or students or boards but she’s free. the shift is so sudden it makes her dizzy and once her eyes finally adjust past the tears of frustration she sees the sea. the ocean churns violently ahead of her but it’s not the regular bright sea blue. the water is black and furious, waves crashing too loud, too hard, salt spraying against her skin and stinging her eyes.

she recognises this beach.

busan.

she’s back in busan.

the sky is hanging a lot lower. storm clouds loom over her like a lid about to snap shut. y/n gasps and turns to take in her surroundings. she’s fully panicking, brows furrowing, lips quivering and that’s when she spots them near the shoreline.

her parents.

relief crashes through her so fast it almost knocks her over. she gasps and runs towards them, sobbing, slipping in the wet sand, lungs burning and goosebumps forming over her bare arms.

she screams for them, she cries and shouts but neither of them turn around. her mother folds her arms over her chest without a single glance. her father turns slightly, slowly, and her heart instantly sinks. she sharply gasps. his face is blurred, unfinished, like someone erased him halfway through and never bothered to go back. his features are blurred, smudged into something unrecognisable and yet it feels like she can still see the angry look on his face.

“you chose this.” he says, voice hollow, echoing deeply over the roar of the waves, “don’t come back.”

y/n frowns, her tears slipping out of her eyes at rapid speed. the ocean surges forward once her father turns back around and y/n can’t even call out to them again as the water wraps around her ankles, then her calves, then her thighs.

it’s cold and merciless as it yanks her off balance. she stumbles and the power of the pull makes her fall into the water, her hands scraping uselessly through the water and sand. the tide pulls harder and drags her fully under.

y/n doesn’t wake up — she tears herself out of sleep.

she wakes up screaming.

the sound rips from her throat before she even knows she’s awake, sharp and broken, like her body instantly went into fight or flight. she jolts upright, every muscle locking at once, her breath clawing its way out of her chest in short, useless bursts. her heart is pounding so violently it makes her vision blur, a sick, dizzying thud that feels too big for her ribs.

her hands fumble at the sheets, the mattress, the pillows - anything solid like the ground might still be falling away from beneath her. sweat slicks her skin, her clothes clinging uncomfortably, hair plastered to the back of her neck.

for a moment, she can’t tell where she is.

the room feels wrong. too quiet, too dark, too small. she doesn’t even know what time it is as the shadows stretch strangely along the walls as if the apartment is holding its breath with her. this doesn’t feel like her home. it feels like a trap.

“i can’t-” she gasps, throat burning, words breaking, “i can’t- i can’t-”

her chest tightens painfully like a band cinching around her ribs tighter and tighter and the air just feels wrong. the walls seem wrong. the ceiling seems wrong. her own bed feels wrong. she can’t stay here. so she stumbles out of bed with wobbly legs, knees threatening to give out. the floor is cold against her bare feet but she could care less as she rushes over to her front door.

the hallway outside is pitch black, save for the faint emergency light glowing at the far end. the darkness feels endless and she feels as though she’s back underwater, scraping against sand and nothing as she tries to claw her way out.

she doesn’t think and instantly moves towards the door on the opposite end. her hand slams into the wood once, twice, again and again as the tears continue flowing and her shoulders keep shaking. the sound echoes too loudly in the quiet corridor but she doesn’t care as she keeps knocking.

“please-” she whimpers, eyes darting around her as if waiting for someone or something to reach out and take her.

“please please ple-”

for a terrifying second, nothing happens.

and then the door opens.

seungmin stands there. his hair is rumpled from sleep, his eyes heavy and unfocused and he’s still rubbing at the sleep in them when his confused gaze lands on her. and something in his face changes instantly. her composure shatters completely the moment their eyes meet. her face crumples, breath hitching violently, knees giving out like her body has reached its final limit.

“oh.” he breathes, barely louder than the hum of the hallway light and her shaky cries.

she collapses forward.

seungmin catches her without hesitation. his arms wrap around her and he pulls her to his chest, firm and steady, grounding in a way she didn’t realise she was desperate for until that exact moment. her feeble fingers clutch at his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her upright as the sobs and fear tear through her so hard they steal the air from her lungs.

“it’s okay.” he murmurs immediately into her hair as she clutches to him, “hey, you’re safe. you’re safe, i’ve got you.”

the words are muffled by the ringing in her head and ears. safe. i’ve got you.

seungmin guides her inside gently, one hand still secure on her back as he closes the door behind them, sealing the hallway, the darkness, away like it never existed. his apartment is warm and he flicks a lamp on, casting tiny wisps of gold to land on the walls and coat them in cozy light.

everything here feels solid. real. unlike her apartment when she woke out of that nightmare.

y/n’s still trembling when he eases her down onto the couch but he doesn’t move away - she doesn’t let him move with her fingers still tangled against him. his hold is tender, arms firm around her shoulders, the other resting between her shoulder blades as he applies steady, grounding pressure - as if anchoring her to the present, to this moment.

“breathe with me.” he says softly as his eyes rake over her distressed features, “slow. just follow me.”

she tries.

her chest stutters, breath catching uselessly in her throat as her teary eyes drone into him.

“it’s okay.” he says again, patiently, “you’re doing fine. c’mon, breathe with me. again.”

he breathes slowly, deliberately, exaggerating each inhale and exhale until she finally matches him, clumsy at first but he doesn’t rush her. he stays. he keeps breathing with her until the panic visibly loosens in her eyes and her lashes stop fluttering rapidly.

minutes pass. maybe longer. it’s already long past 3am.

her body gradually remembers how to exist without danger and soon enough, she’s a lot calmer, a lot steadier, heartbeat slowing from a frantic gallop to something survivable. seungmin, still wrapped around her, still staring down at her with furrowed brows and worry in his eyes, passes her a cold water bottle.

“water. drink, please.”

she takes it from him carefully, fingers shakily brushing his and she sips it slowly. the cold liquid practically scratches against her raw throat and she gulps down as much as she can before the dizziness can return. he takes it from her when she holds it out and puts it to the side.

“it was a.. nightmare.” she whispers hoarsely, staring down at her lap, “but everything just felt so real. everyone was laughing and then i was in busan-” her voice cracks, “i couldn’t go home.”

seungmin’s jaw tightens as something unreadable flashes across his face. he guesses this was why she was crying yesterday… it had to be something to do with home and uni. he only hopes his little present that morning had been worth it…

without a word, he pulls her closer, chin resting lightly against the top of her head in a protective, grounding manner.

“that sounds terrifying.” he says quietly, “anyone would be shaken by that.”

she nods but doesn’t say anything else. she doesn’t trust her voice anymore. she rests against him without realising, the hardness of his chest a supporting comfort against her weak body.

time stretches again — the silence in the room isn’t suffocating, it’s gentle. safer. her body relaxes little by little, the last of the fear ebbing away as fatigue settles heavy in her limbs. as she takes a final deep breath, fingers curling in her lap, that’s when she realises she’s still half-crumpled into him. his arm is still around her and his thumb is still rubbing slow, comforting shapes against her arm.

y/n looks up then.

he’s already looking at her. too close.

his expression is completely unguarded - there’s concern written into every line of his face where there’s usually mischief and irritation. y/n stares up into his dark eyes, studying him for a silent moment. that’s when she sees how long his lashes really are, how his messy fringe slightly touches them whenever he blinks. she notices the tiny mole he has under his eye, how perfect his brows are, how beautiful and clear his skin looks up close.

for a heartbeat, the world narrows to the space between them. she can’t help herself when her eyes drop to his lips. they’re so pretty, she realises. pink and soft and slightly parted as he takes tiny breaths.

seungmin notices and his breath stutters, his heart rate spiking. he doesn’t know if it was the heat of their closeness pulling him toward her or if it was the weeks of pent-up irritation and constant bickering.

for one suspended second, neither of them move. they just stare at each other as the air turns fragile, charged, like one wrong breath could shatter something neither of them were ready to name.

y/n leans in. just a little.

his throat bobs, swallowing hard, eyes flickering down to her soft lips - and for one reckless moment, he wants to close the distance. he wants to forget everything except this warmth, this closeness, this smell of her raspberry shampoo and something distinctly her. he wants to forget all the bickering and the rolled eyes and the sneaky remarks and just remember how ethereal she looked in his arms, despite having cried her eyes out.

she looked like an angel. a perfect angel affected by the harshness of reality.

she leans in and her lips are practically an inch away from his-

he pulls back.

slowly. deliberately. like it costs him something real. he exhales as his eyes shut for a fraction of a second and y/n pauses where she is. reality crashes back in all at once.

“i-i’m sorry.” she says quickly. heat rushes to her cheeks and shame starts to creep in, “i’m sorry, i didn’t mean-”

“no.” he says immediately, voice slightly strained as if it was taking him everything to hold back but she didn’t realise it, “don’t apologise.”

there’s a brief silence - one where y/n sits up and purses her lips, sighing deeply as if trying to compose her thoughts whilst seungmin tries to look anywhere but at her, afraid his body would give in and react before his mind after what just happened. the silence is thick and heavy with everything left unspoken, undone.

she wraps her arms around herself, turning her head but avoiding his eyes, “…i should go. i’m okay now.”

he nods, though his hand lingers on her arm a second longer than necessary, reluctant, as if trying to memorise the warmth of her skin before she leaves — “if it happens again… you know, the nightmares, then don’t hesitate.”

she manages a small, tired smile, “thank you. for everything.”

she stands up and slips back into the hallway, closing his door behind her softly, like she was a mere thought passing by. a dangerous, risky thought. seungmin stays on the couch long after she’s gone. his heart is still racing, the lingering warmth of her presence, the faint scent of her perfume, it all sticks like a ghost in the room.

he rubs a finger over his lips as he tries to shake any thoughts off. he knows now. he knows that wasn’t just fear. whatever this was between them, whatever it has been, it’s already too far real to ignore.

it wasn’t just the heat of the moment.

and he hates that he doesn’t want it to be.

•••

after that night, y/n carries the embarrassment everywhere.

the memory won’t soften no matter how many times she tells herself it wasn’t wrong - just poorly timed, born from fear and exhaustion. she keeps replaying the moment he pulled back but she could see the care in it, the restraint and somehow that makes it worse because it means he noticed. it means he wanted it too but thought against it unlike her, who wasn’t even thinking in the moment.

so she decides to give him space.

she decides to go back to how it was before - when she would avoid him, when she would try everything to not bump into him. at first it was because of annoyance, but now it was shame. shame of seeing him again after that moment of vulnerability.

what was she thinking? running to her neighbour like that? especially seungmin? the same insufferable, easily annoyed seungmin who chose to make her life hell literally on her first night here?

that’s how their scedhules suddenly start feeling out of sync, like she’s bending her days enough just to avoid crossing paths.

seungmin notices. of course he does.

he notices the way he barely sees her anymore, and whenever they do happen to run into eachother and he’s about to speak, she pretends to have forgotten something and walks off. it irks him. he’s not the type to speak up anyway, but the one time he wants to talk to her, she’s suddenly everywhere and no where at once. it’s like she’s put up invisible barriers and everytime he runs into one, it reminds him of the moment he pulled back on that couch.

that choice still sits heavy in his chest.

felix comes back halfway through the month. he still jokes around, still mentions y/n randomly and whenever he does, seungmin can’t help but sit straighter, swallow hard and nod slowly. felix still visits her like nothing has shifted. and outwardly, nothing has.

no one mentions that night. felix doesn’t ask about anything and seungmin doesn’t offer.

instead, something else starts to happen.

she starts showing up with jeongin.

it had happened completely by accident. she was just leaving her second lecture of the day, making her way through the urgently crowded corridor, mentally listing everything she still needs to do when she bumps into someone.

“sorry-”

“whoa- hey.” she looks up and jeongin blinks back at her in surprise, an easy grin splitting onto his lips when he recognises her, “hey y/n, how’ve you been?”

that’s how they start talking almost everyday.

they exchange numbers, start walking each other to classes, meet up for study sessions. they talk to each other about busan - jeongin tells her all about his childhood with his two brothers and y/n tells him about her house by the beach, about her weekly dinner dates with her friends, about why she decided to start uni so late.

there’s no dramatic sparks in the air, it’s just quiet understanding that passes between them. jeongin sees her as a friend, as a kind person who decided to listen to his endless rants about his slow professors. they let each other complain about deadlines, and when she tells him about her course, he listens. no teasing. no rushing her through it.

it feels… easy.

safe.

like she’s finally made a friend here (other than felix).

and when he offers to walk her home one afternoon before heading to the studio, she doesn’t overthink it.

seungmin starts noticing jeongin’s presence more and more - he hears her laughter ringing down the hallway mixed with his before it disappears faintly behind her apartment door, her name being spoken a little too comfortably - and he notices, not because something romantic is happening.

but because something could.

so a few days later, when seungmin and jeongin are sitting by a few of the couches in the studio, he decides to bring it up. subtly. in that stupid way he usually did where he tried to skip around the main question and gather random bits of information instead.

the lights are dimmed down, and led lights cast soft pools of coloured light over tangled wires and half-empty cans of beer. felix is hunched on the beanbag with his headphones in his ears, listening to something only he can hear as he plays away on his phone. hyunjin and han are on the other side, taking turns in the recording booth. jeongin is spinning around mindlessly on a swivel chair and seungmin… seungmin is stuck with his thoughts as he stares at him.

at first he ignores him. intentionally. he scrolls through nothing on his phone, takes a sip of his coffee that’s gone cold, grimaces but still drinks it anyway.

five minutes pass.

then ten.

it becomes unbearable.

“so,” he speaks up, tone casual, eyes fixed on a random thread on the sleeve of his sweater, “you’ve been on campus a lot lately, huh?”

jeongin looks up, still slowly spinning on his chair, “yeah, my scedhules been hectic this month. you noticed?”

“mmm.” seungmin hums like this is a neutral observation and not a carefully baited line, “yeah, you haven’t been able to come to the studio much, so i figured classes have you busy. just… noticed.”

jeongin narrows his eyes slightly, “not creepy at all.”

“is campus still crowded this time of year?”

jeongin furrows his brows, confusion plastering on his face, “uhh, yeah? i guess.”

“mmm.” seungmin hums and takes another sip of his cold coffee, grimacing subtly, “meet… many people?”

jeongin’s chair stops spinning. slowly, he looks up at seungmin once again, his eyebrows raising in amusement, “hyung.”

“what?”

“you’re being weird.”

“i’m always weird.”

“yeah, but you’re being extra weird right now.” the youngest conceded, chuckling. he watches seungmin’s expression for a second and then decides to blurt out exactly what him and the others have been thinking about for weeks, “it’s y/n, isn’t it?”

at the sudden mention of her, seungmin chokes on his coffee. he covers his mouth as even felix looks up at the random outburst, “what? y/n- what do you mean?”

jeongin grins instantly, “wow. so it is obvious.”

“what’s obvious? nothing is obvious, i didn’t even say anything-”

“you didn’t have to.” the youngest says, practically laughing now, “you’re doing that thing where you ask ten questions without asking the question.”

seungmin scoffs, “i was just making conversation.”

“sure.” jeongin nods, entirely unconvinced, “well, if you were hypothetically asking… she’s okay. busy. normal uni suffering. why are you never this worried about me, huh?”

“shut up.” he murmurs, “that’s it?”

“that’s it, yeah.” jeongin shrugs absentmindedly as he goes back to slowly spinning around in his chair, “we hang out sometimes to study or just talk.”

each word lands carefully, precisely, and seungmin hates how his chest reacts to that. how that sliver of opportunity runs through his mind yet again, and he doesn’t realise that it shows on his face too.

“relax. it’s not like that.”

“i didn’t ask.” seungmin scoffs, looking away but he doesn’t deny the tiny sigh of relief that leaves him.

“didn’t need to. we can tell.” jeongin mutters but looks away before seungmin can even snap a glare towards him. the room goes half quiet for a few seconds after that - a silence that includes nothing but the random click of han’s keyboard and hyunjin’s scribbling on paper.

jeongin’s grin lingers. it’s not smug or taunting but just knowing, like he’s realised something his friend hasn’t had the courage to name out loud. seungmin looks down, still picking at the thread on his sleeve as his chest tightens with crowded emotions that don’t sit neatly together.

jealousy, sharp and instinctive. guilt, more corrosive.

it’s the kind that seeps in when you realise you’ve been standing in your own way this whole time.

because that’s the thing… jeongin isn’t doing anything wrong. seungmin knows him, he knows jeongin, he knows he always has good intentions, he knows he isn’t going to cross any lines, he knows he’s just there as a friend, giving her space to breathe, to laugh and feel normal.

it’s the same way she is with felix.

if jeongin was careless or arrogant or pushy, then maybe seungmin could justify the knot in his chest. maybe he could tell himself he’s protecting something, guarding himself. but there’s nothing to guard… no claim to stake. just the thought of her that echoes in his mind for some stupid reason.

jeongin grabs his phone and he’s already drifting back into his own world, unbothered, like usual. the moment passes for him. it doesn’t for seungmin.

the truth seems to settle in his bones, slow and merciless.

one: jeongin isn’t the problem.

two: that somehow makes everything worse.

•••

3 days later…

seungmin is in the kitchen. he’d just gotten back from a long afternoon at the studio, fixing up a new remix he’s been interested in lately with han. he’s stood there with his coat still on, scarf still wrapped loosely around his neck and a glass of cold water halfway to his mouth when the sound bleeds through the thin walls like it always does: footsteps in the hall.

not just one pair, but two. a door opens across the hall from his and normally he’d tune it out, just think of it as background noise, none of his business.

but there’s laughter.

her laughter.

and of course his heart rate spikes up as if it’s got a mind of its own because instantly he’s furrowing his brows and his ears perk up to listen carefully from the kitchen. the sound is soft, warm, unguarded. the glass hovers just beneath his lips as the sound carries, a lot clearer now. footsteps overlap, someone stumbles slightly and he can hear a soft ‘hey’ being mumbled, followed by another burst of laughter that’s closer than it should be.

jeongin’s voice slips through next.

seungmin freezes and his stomach drops.

he doesn’t mean to listen. he really doesn’t. but the sound doesn’t fade - it lingers in the hallway, intimate and careless, like they’re standing right outside her door.

he can hear keys clinking. someone bumps into the doorframe. more laughter follows, quiet and closed together, and seungmin’s chest tightens until the breath he’s holding in turns sharp. it shouldn’t feel this personal. he shouldn’t feel like he’s being cut out of something when he never claimed it in the first place.

so why the fuck does it feel like that? why the fuck does he feel like he’s standing on the wrong side of the door, listening to something he’s wanted without ever realising or admitting out loud?

before he can talk himself down, before the guilt can catch up to his instinct, he grabs his phone. he’s instantly scrolling through his recent contacts and pressing on the name.

jeongin answers on the second ring.

“hyung? what’s up?”

y/n watches him answer in her apartment, heat creeping up her neck when she noticed seungmin’s name buzzing on the screen. her eyes travel to a blank spot on her wall, lip coming between her teeth as she tries not to think back to that moment, to try not to get even a glimpse of his voice through jeongin’s phone.

but she hears him anyway. his voice is light, casual.

“hey, felix needs you at the studio. he just texted me.”

jeongin pauses for a moment, lips parting as he glances over at y/n waiting patiently on the couch, her laptop in her lap.

“now?” he asks.

“yeah.” seungmin replies smoothly, “something with your track. he sounded stressed, you might wanna go and check it out before he explodes. you know how he is.”

jeongin pauses again, a little longer this time, as he thinks of what to do. seungmin imagines him glancing at her, weighing his choice. he imagines her standing there with him, maybe smiling, maybe mid-sentence.

there’s a sigh and a small shuffle on jeongin’s side, “okay. i’ll head over. might be about 15 minutes.”

seungmin doesn’t know why relief hits him sharp and immediate, but it does, followed closely by shame. he gives him a brief goodbye and ends the call before either feeling can settle. he then stands there with his phone clutched in his palm as he listens into the hallway. minutes pass and the hallway shifts again. the door opens and he can hear footsteps, softer this time, and jeongin’s voice bidding her a quick goodbye and a promise to text.

then there’s silence.

a faint smirk tugs at his mouth, reflexively, but it doesn’t feel like triumph. it feels more like relief.

temporary. ugly. earned the wrong way.

later that evening, the post room just behind the lobby hums faintly, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the air lightly scented with cardboard and dust. y/n stands infront of one of the metal mailboxes longer than necessary as she thumbs through her endless envelopes and packages. her parents’ and friends’ handwriting stares back at her - familiar, and unmistakably feeling like home. she smiles in anticipating at what trinkets and presents they’d sent her this time.

she’d talked to her mother almost everyday after that day, reassuring her repeatedly that she’s fine and sharing her worries - it helped her relax more than she thought. it was better than bottling them up. with a final exhale, she slowly starts slipping the packages into her bag.

footsteps approach beside her but she doesn’t turn, continuing to pack away her things.

that is.. until she catches a hint of that same scent. woody. fresh. clean. and her heart rate spikes. there’s a tiny pause in her movements but it’s so brief, no one would’ve caught it. she doesn’t look up even though she already knows who’s stood there.

“busy month.” seungmin speaks up lightly, too lightly, as he stops beside the parcel shelf, scanning the endless amount of boxes like this was some coincidence. like he didn’t see her walking in here and take that opportunity to try and talk to her.

“you’re barely home anymore.”

y/n shuts her postbox harsher than she intended to, “do you need something?” she asks, still not facing him.

he lifts a medium-sized parcel up, weighing it in his hands.

“nope. just this.” a beat passes and then, more quieter and serious, he adds, “and an explanation.”

she turns her head to look at him, “an explanation to what?”

“jeongin.”

the name lands heavy between them. she studies his expression for a second, over those same features she couldn’t stop thinking about since that night. but she doesn’t stay for long, doesn’t let it soften her, doesn’t let it cut through the stubborn rule she’d built up of trying to avoid him.

of course she had a feeling seungmin knew. how could he not? he lives opposite her, he would’ve clearly heard jeongin coming over. might’ve even seen him. maybe jeongin told him they’d been hanging out… they are friends after all. that much she could figure out - but what she couldn’t figure out was that look in his eye.

like it hurt him in some way.

her expression shutters, “that’s none of your business.”

he scoffs, “didn’t stop you from bringing him over.”

her fingers curl around her bag strap, “why do you care?”

seungmin opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. frustration flashes across his face, raw and unpolished. for once, there’s no clever line waiting to save him.

she doesn’t wait. she steps past him hurriedly, like she didn’t have it in her to continue this conversation further. her heart pounds against her ribs with something dangerously close to hurt burning under her skin. seungmin’s eyes widen slightly but he follows after her. they both come to stop infront of the elevator doors.

“you ignored me for a whole month.” he speaks up, “and then you randomly start hanging out with jeongin.”

y/n internally sighs, still not looking at him. she reaches forward and jabs at the elevator button once again, harder than necessary, “i didn’t realise i needed your permission to exist.”

“that’s not what i-”

“then what is it?” she snaps and turns her head to him, “because you didn’t exactly make it easy for me to stay.”

seungmin’s lips part in shock just as the doors open with a soft ding. he doesn’t even know what to say as she gives him one last look and silently steps into the elevator. seungmin follows, of course he does, and the space instantly feels small, the silence too loud, the tension too sharp. the doors close with a hushed thud that seems to feel heavier than it should.

he doesn’t take his usual spot in the corner by the mirrored wall. instead, he stands beside her, shoulder to shoulder, his hand nervously dragging through his hair. his jaw tightens as he speaks, “you think i didn’t notice you blatantly avoiding me?”

“what did you want me to do?” she replies, trying to be casual, “you pulled away first.”

“no.” he says sharply, “i stopped myself.”

that earns him a brittle, raw laugh, “congratulations.”

“you don’t get to pretend that night didn’t matter.”

her breath stutters but she still doesn’t turn to look at him, “because it didn’t! why should it? it was a moment of weakness.”

“weakness?” he huffs in disbelief, “seriously? y/n, you were wrecked. i didn’t want to make it worse.”

her heart tightens in her chest and her fingers curl against her sweatpants at her sides, “just- forget about it. please.”

“no.” seungmin turns his entire body at her words. he’s now facing her and she’s so clearly aware of his burning gaze on her but she still doesn’t turn. seungmin’s entire being is practically shaking with everything he’s not admitting, everything he’s been hiding away, everything that’s been driving him crazy.

but he doesn’t care anymore.

he’s breaking apart and he doesn’t care.

“i swear, in that moment i didn’t know what to do.” he admits, voice straining, “but that doesn’t mean i didn’t want-”

“want what?” y/n finally snaps her head to him. she doesn’t realise how close he’s actually standing until her eyes are droning into his, his scent mixing in the air between them, their breaths mingling together.

she leans closer, eyes sharp but seungmin seemed to read all the emotion in them, “and why are you asking about jeongin now, huh?” her voice drops, “jealous?”

he opens his mouth to deny it but instantly thinks against it.

instead, his hand reaches up to catch her wrist - not rough, but firm, grounding - pulling her into him just as the whirring of the elevator starts to soften, coming closer to their floor. y/n doesn’t react to his touch, but she can’t deny the way her heart rate spikes through the roof, the way her cheeks flush and her stubborn expression cracks.

“because i can’t stop thinking about you,” he finally admits lowly, voice rough and stripped of pretence, “and it’s driving me insane.”

her breathing speeds up and she doesn’t know why. his brown eyes bore into hers, as if scanning for any sort of disagreement or discomfort. but she doesn’t pull away, doesn’t move, and doesn’t stop the way her eyes flicker down to his lips. she stares at them for about half a second and seungmin watches her, watches the way her eyes round and her breath stutters through her parted lips, the way her head leans closer to him just a tiny inch - close enough for their noses to almost brush.

“and i hate it. i hate how much you’re consuming me, how much i think about you, how much i fucking miss you when you’re literally right across the hall from me.” he breathes out fitfully, “you drive me insane.”

and he closes the distance.

his lips are on hers in an instant, with the quickest move of his head.

it’s desperate - all pent up frustration and unsaid longing crashing together. y/n gasps softly against his mouth, fingers clutching his hoodie like she’s afraid he’ll disappear if she lets go and seungmin kisses her like he’s been holding his breath for weeks and finally gave in. like he’s been drowning and she was his first breath of oxygen.

he drags his hands to her waist to hold her as his lips deepen the kiss, gradually pushing her backwards until her back hits the wall of the elevator. y/n’s head is spinning, her body overheating with how close he was, how good he felt, how gently yet desperately he moves his hands up to cradle her jaw and neck and she wraps her arms around his neck.

after about a minute, he pulls back only a breath away, his lips still grazing hers. y/n is breathless, hazy eyes searching his.

“shit- i’ve been dreaming about this since that fucking night.” he murmurs as his thumb rubs over the underside of her swollen lips.

“yeah?”

“mmmm.” he subtly nods and y/n giggles when he leans back in to kiss her again. this time it’s softer, teasing, like he’s already gotten comfortable to the delicate feel of her lips and the warmth of her mouth.

neither of them realise when the doors slide open with a faint hush. neither of them notice as they stumble into the hallway, still tangled, hands finding familiar places like this was always inevitable. seungmin, with one hand around her waist, backs her toward her apartment door, her spine pressing into it as she breaks the kiss just long enough to fumble for her keys in her pocket.

seungmin doesn’t waste time moving down her jaw instead. y/n smiles to herself as she turns around in his hold, still with his lips kissing all over her jaw and neck, and she tries opening the door but fails miserably.

“seungmin-” she stutters, shoving her shoulder up at the ticklish feeling of his soft lips nibbling at the junction between her neck and shoulder, “patience- hey.”

“i’ve been waiting for this since the second you ran over to my door in your stupid strawberry pajamas, complaining about my music.” seungmin tightens his arms around her waist shamelessly, “do not tell me to be patient.”

“god, you’re so dramatic.” she mumbles as she finally puts the key in the lock and pushes her door open.

“yeah, whatever.” he mutters, spinning her around and pressing his lips to hers, slower this time, more deliberate like he’s finally choosing her without hesitation. he kicks the door shut behind him and they disappear inside together, the click of it echoing softly down the empty hall, their mail and parcels long forgotten on the floor outside her door.

and for the first time since she’d moved in, the hallway is completely, blissfully silent.

because the noise in her life, in her mind, in her heart was with her this time and for once, she didn’t mind it.

•••

the next morning, y/n wakes up slowly - not to the shrill cry of an alarm, not to the distant rumble of traffic weaving through streets outside, not to her phone buzzing on the nightstand and definitely not to the upstairs neighbour vacuuming early in the morning.

she wakes to warmth.

real, solid and steady warmth.

it wraps around her like something intentional, like something that chose to be there.

golden sunlight spills through the curtains she didn’t have a chance to close last night, painting her room in soft strips of honeyed light. dust mites drift lazily through the air, suspended and glowing, as if even they were reluctant to move too quickly and disturb the stillness. the sheets are wrapped around her waist and her cheek is pressed against bare skin, warm and smooth and firm beneath her.

for one disorienting second, her brows knit together and she has to drag her eyes around her plain white ceiling and curtains before she remembers exactly what happened, where she is, who she’s with.

a gentle heartbeat thuds right under her ear and the memory of last night comes rushing back in a blur that makes her stomach flip: the elevator, the kiss that had her knees weakening just thinking about it, the way they’d barely made it inside before he had her pressed against her entryway, sighing into her mouth like he couldn’t believe this was real.

her lips curve before she can stop them.

she shifts slightly, testing the reality of this - and the arm around her waist tightens automatically, pulling her closer like it was instinct, like he was afraid she was running off somewhere.

“morning.” seungmin murmurs into the silence above her. his voice is rough and raspy with sleep, it makes her stomach clench with butterflies.

his breath brushes her hairline and y/n tilts her head up to look at him with warm cheeks. his hair is a complete mess - dark strands sticking out in every direction, clear evidence of sleep and her hands from the night before. his eyes are still heavy-lidded, still hazy, still soft with the kind of vulnerability he’d deny having if he were fully awake. one arm is lazily slung around her waist, the other tucked under the pillow like this was the most natural position in the world.

like he belonged there. in her bed. in her space. in her world.

“you snore.” she teasingly smiles, moving up slightly to rest her chin on his chest.

he blinks at her, offended, “i do not.”

“you do. i could hear it in my dreams.”

“you’re lying.”

“you drool too.” her fingers slide up from his bare chest and into his hair, combing gently through the dark strands. he narrows his eyes at her.

“this is slander.”

y/n bites her lips to hold back her laughter, but it slips out anyway - breathy and bright, filling the space between them. seungmin, clearly pouting, pulls her closer in retaliation and buries his face against the curve of her neck.

“you’re awake for five seconds and already annoying.” he mumbles against her skin, his deep voice muffled but affectionate.

“it’s a gift.”

he huffs out a small laugh and they fall into a comfortable quiet after that. it’s the kind that settles naturally between two people who don’t feel the need to fill every second with words. it’s heavy and content, like the room itself was exhaling with them. the world outside exists but it seems like a lifetime away as they both lay there, curled up in one another, with no stress or worries about the day ahead of them.

his thumb traces lazy, slow circles against her bare waist as his lips press soft, unhurried kisses along her shoulder, her collarbone, her neck. there’s no smug, teasing edge to him this time. his touch is just… there. absentminded and intimate, like this is something he’s always done, like his hands already memorised the shape of her.

y/n can feel the steady rise and fall of his back under her palm, her fingers running through his strands in a way that felt both relaxing and natural. seungmin was awe - like this was his own personal heaven and he didn’t ever want to leave - his mind was calm, his heart was content and his body was comfortable.

with her.

he suddenly looks up from her neck, eyes tracing over her face. the sunlight catches against her hair, lightening it even more - the golden streaks casting delicate shadows across her features, highlighting the curve of her cheek, the softness of her lips, the tiny moles scattered across her skin. she looked even more ethereal than he’d ever seen her. for a moment, he just stares.

y/n catches his eye and her heart does that stupid fluttery thing again - the one she hates because it makes her feel sixteen and dramatic and entirely too vulnerable.

“what?” she whispers, suddenly becoming shy under his intense gaze.

“nothing.” seungmin says quietly.

but he doesn’t look away.

he leans forward and captures her lips in his instead, slowly and carefully, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to. she doesn’t. she meets him gently, hand sliding to the back of his neck. the kiss is nothing like the night before - no urgency, no desperation. just a slow press of mouths, soft and certain, like saying i’m still here. like saying i want to stay. his hand cups her jaw, thumb brushing along her cheekbone and y/n melts into it before she can stop herself.

seungmin deepens the kiss slightly, still slow, still careful like he’s savoring it, like he’s memorising the way she fits against him, the plushness of her mouth, the tiny noises she makes, the sighs of relaxation. she hums without thinking and he smiles into the kiss instinctively.

“careful.” y/n whispers once they pull away, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling, “we literally just woke up.”

“not my fault you’re so distracting.” he murmurs, nudging her nose with his.

her fingers trail down his back tenderly, “we should put some clothes on.” she whispers as her eyes search his, “we can’t stay here forever.”

“why not?” he leans down to press a kiss to the spot where her jaw and neck meet and he knows what he’s doing. he knows and he’s doing it on purpose, just to be annoying, “what if i said i like you like this?”

y/n can’t help but feel butterflies swarm her stomach when he looks back up at her, “and that i want to stay here forever? if you’re here.”

she rolls her eyes but her hand slides up to the back of his neck anyway and she pulls him back in. seungmin laughs against her mouth and kisses her again - deeper, slower, like both of them genuinely have nowhere else to be. like the morning can wait. like time has paused just for them.

and just as he moves to hover over her and one hand reaches under the sheets, the loud sound of the doorbell suddenly echoes throughout her apartment.

they both freeze, mid-kiss. it seems to happen in perfect sync - like their brains register the loud, intrusive sound at the same time. her fingers are still curled into his hair, his hand is still warm at her hips, their lips barely a breath apart. neither of them move until the doorbell rings again.

they pull back and turn their heads toward the door of her bedroom, as if glaring hard enough might somehow burn a hole straight through the walls and silence whoever is outside. seungmin snarls to himself, annoyed and irritated as y/n lets out a long, dramatic groan, dropping her forehead against his shoulder. no one has ever rung her doorbell more than once ever since she moved in. half of the time she doesn’t even recieve any guests but the one morning she wants quiet, the one morning she wants to stay tangled in sheets and warmth and him, suddenly someone has decided persistence is a personality trait.

“i am not answering that.” she huffs stubbornly, burrowing herself further into him like if she can’t see the problem, it doesn’t exist.

seungmin laughs, the sound low and warm against her hair. his hand slides up to cradle the back of her head.

“it could be important.” he says, though there’s no conviction in his tone. even he doesn’t believe it.

“if it’s important, they’ll text.”

and as if the person on the other side was personally offended at her words, they start pressing the doorbell again. this time, it’s to some rhythmic tune - stupid and loud and it seems to annoy them both equally. y/n whines and tightens her arms around him.

“just pretend we’re not home.”

“they’ve already rung it three times.” seungmin chuckles.

“people make mistakes.”

“they’re knocking now.” he says once the quite obvious knocking starts. she shakes her head stubbornly, refusing to even entertain the idea of moving. seungmin presses one last lingering kiss to her hair, inhaling softly like he’s fortifying himself before battle, and then he starts to sit up.

her head snaps up instantly.

“what are you doing?”

“going to answer it?” he blinks at her like it’s obvious.

“no.”

“yes.”

“why?”

“because now i’m annoyed too.” he replies, rolling his eyes as the knocking resumes after a brief pause. he sits at the edge of the bed and hurriedly pulls on his discarded sweatpants from the floor.

“you were literally just laughing at me!” she accuses.

“i can laugh and be annoyed at the same time, baby.”

the nickname slips out so naturally he doesn’t even notice and neither does she as she’s weakly reaching for his wrist, “don’t go.”

“i’ll be right back.”

“you’re half-dressed, seungmin!” she says after him, eyes roaming his bare back as he starts walking out of her bedroom. he briefly looks down at himself, at his bare chest and low hanging grey sweatpants, and chuckles to himself.

“good! i’ll scare them away!” he calls over his shoulder and disappears through the threshold. y/n rolls her eyes, smiling sheepishly to herself as she collapses back into the pillows and the sheets that smell like him now - faintly like laundry detergent and something distinctly him.

but she wasn’t complaining. she decides to peacefully wait for him to come back instead.

out in the hallway, seungmin runs a hand through his already messy hair, not bothering to fix it or wipe the smirk off his face when he remembers how it got like that. he strolls towards the front door like this was a perfectly normal state to greet the world in. with one final, irritated sigh, he opens the door.

and freezes.

of course.

felix stands there with a paper bag and a familiar plastic container in his hand. he’s fiddling with the hood of his hoodie when the door opens, but the second his eyes lift and land on seungmin, everything about his face changes. his brows shoot up. his gaze drops slowly, from his messy hair to his bare chest and his sweatpants.

“oh my god.” a slow grin spreads slowly across his face, “good morning to me.”

seungmin sighs heavily, “go away.”

felix bursts into loud laughter and seungmin can only pinch the bridge of his nose as it echoes down the hallway and steps into the apartment with him.

“i came to drop off leftover brownies and cookies for… her.” he says innocently, eyes peeking over seungmin’s shoulder, “but this is so much better.”

“this is not what it looks like.”

felix snorts, “you’re right. it’s worse.”

seungmin shuts the door carefully before turning to see felix already leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes practically shining with mischief, “so… is she the ‘someone’ you were asking about? the one who was ‘just tired’?”

“felix.”

“and the pastries?” he continues to drawl, “the flowers? the note? wow, you went full romantic, huh? never thought i’d ever see this side of you, min.”

“for fucks sake- how did you find out about that?”

felix smirks, “she told me.”

seungmin bites back the smile threatening to break through as he remembers his small gesture. his ears are definitely red, though.

“that was nothing.” he mutters stubbornly.

“doesn’t look like nothing now.”

he rolls his eyes, “why were you ringing the bell so much?”

“i was committed.”

“to being annoying?”

“maybe.” felix shrugs, “but i didn’t think i would be interrupting something.”

“leave.” seungmin says flatly, nodding toward the door.

felix ignores him completely, still with that playful, teasing glint in his eyes, “you know, i was texting you this morning? you didn’t come home last night and the last person who heard from you was innie. he told me someone made him go to the studio because i asked him to.”

seungmin winces. he completely forgot about that - “my phone was off.”

“yeah. we know why now.” felix snickers, “hyunjin owes me twenty thousand won.”

“what?”

“we had a bet.”

his eyes widen, “you what?”

“hyunjin said you’d take at least three more months because you’re emotionally caged.”

“that’s ridiculous.”

“…and i said no, no, give it a few dramatic late-night encounters. maybe a few more bump-ins in the elevator and a near confession in the hallway and boom. endgame.”

seungmin drags a hand over his face, “you seriously bet on us?”

“of course! i believed in you.”

it’s at that moment that y/n decides she’s had enough of waiting for seungmin to come back as the curiosity of who was at the door and why it was taking him this long almost at her alive. she clambered out of bed and pulled on seungmin’s hoodie from last night, smiling at the delicate scent of him as she slowly padded out into the living room.

she looks warm and sleepy and entirely too soft for this moment. felix’s grin somehow widens even more when she sees him standing infront of seungmin, who looks like he’s about ready to evaporate.

“oh my god.” the blond laughs, “hi.”

“hi.” she blushes, suddenly hyper-aware of how the situation looked, stepping beside seungmin.

he instinctively shifts infront of her - not completely blocking her, just enouhh ch to shield her from felix’s delighted stare. his hand reaches back without thinking and finds hers, fingers threading together naturally.

“can you not stare.”

“i cannot.” felix replies honestly, “this is historic.”

y/n flushes a deep red and tries to hide her face behind seungmin’s shoulder. felix watches the tiny moment before him - he watches the way seungmin’s thumb absentmindedly rubs against her skin, the way he looks comfortable in her presence and her place, the way she naturally moves toward him like she washer safe place. he genuinely feels happy for both of his friends, even if it is a bit humorous.

“you two are disgusting.” he declares happily.

“get out.”

“fine! fine! i’ll go. try not to traumatise the hallway and your poor neighbour.” he points to himself, eagerly stepping towards the door to put his shoes back on.

y/n watches him and suddenly speaks up, “wait- don’t leave. you should stay for breakfast.”

seungmin snaps his head to her. his brows furrow, clearly against the idea, “uh- what-”

felix notices and decides to tease him further, just one last time, and grins happily, “you know what? breakfast sounds lovely.”

seungmin then snaps his head to the blond and the heat in his glare is enough to set something on fire. its sharp, almost threatening him for even thinking about staying more than he already has, and ruining their moment together.

felix laughs and raises his hands, “actually, i already ate. i think i’ll pass, but you guys have fun!” he says instead, grabbing the door handle and not noticing y/n’s shoulders slumping, “not too much fun, though.”

he leaves before she can even get another word out. for a second, the apartment is completely still again, safe for the faint echo of felix’s giggles outside the door. seungmin exhales in relief and she turns to him slowly.

“that was odd.”

“it’s felix. odd is his midde name.” he shrugs.

“what did he want?” she asks and seungmin steps forward to grab the paper bag felix had left behind. it crinkles softly in his hand as he lifts it up.

“to drop off more of his baking.”

the second he says that, y/n’s eyes light up instantly and she’s grabbing the bag excitedly, “wait- really?!” she stares into it as the smell hits her immediately - rich chocolate, warm sugar and something buttery and sweet. she lets out a delighted gasp.

“oh my- he’s actually the best!”

seungmin’s lips twitch despite himself. he scoffs lightly and folds his arms, “i thought you were more of a pastry fan.”

her brows tug together at that as she looks up at him, “why would you think that?”

he shrugs, “nothing.”

the word lingers between them.

suddenly, she thinks back to that day about a month ago. when she’d opened her door that morning to warm pastries and coffee and flowers after crying her eyes out the night before. she thinks back to how it had inevitably made her day a little better after crying out in the hallway. she remembers how she wondered whether he’d heard her or seen her.

what if he had?

her grip on the paper bag loosens slightly.

“seungmin.” her voice shifts - quieter now, but certain and firm. he hums in response, suddenly trying to avoid her eyes as he examines the wall infront of them.

“is there something you’d like to tell me?”

he rubs the side of his neck, “uhhh… i think those strawberry pajamas actually look really hot on you?”

she scoffs, heat rushing to her cheeks but she smacks his arm anyway, “not that! anything else?”

“what do you want me to say?” he tries to maintain composure.

y/n stares at him, really stares at him - at the sparkle in his eye as he tries to look anywhere but at her, at the way his mouth twitches just a bit like he’s holding something back. she thinks back to how she’d told felix and how he’d smiled in response, sheepishly, as if he knew or had some sort of idea - and that’s when she realises it.

“it was you, wasn’t it?”

he frowns faintly, “what was me?”

“you left those things on my doorstep.” her voice softens as realisation fully settles in, “the flowers and the coffee and the note… it was you.”

there’s a long pause where seungmin tries to think of what to say. would it make things between them awkward? would it make her happy knowing it was him? would it make her uncomfortable? he exhales slowly as he thinks and he can’t help the tiny smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth, like he’s been caught doing something he didn’t mean to.

he finally looks at her.

and the sight of her glossy eyes makes his expression shift instantly. her lashes are wet, her bottom lip trembles slightly despite her trying to stay composed.

he immediately turns fully and cups her cheeks gently, thumbs brushing beneath her eyes to catch the tears before they could escape.

“hey…” he murmurs softly, brows furrowing, and he’s scared he’s done something bad, “why are you crying? it was just a small gesture.”

she can’t help it. her mind had instantly ran back to how he’d seen her. how he’d taken care of her without her knowing. how he’d probably stood there, watching her collapse and not knowing what to do in the moment. how he’d tried cheering her up in his own silent, seungmin way.

it was both humiliating and comforting at the same time.

“it wasn’t small.” she sniffles, blinking back her tears, “it’s just- that day was so rough for me. i felt so… stupid and overwhelmed and alone. and then i saw that the next morning and it made me feel like someone cared. and i didn’t even know it was you.”

her voice cracks on the last word. his brows crease, heart visibly melting in his chest.

“baby…” seungmin whispers, leaning down to be at eye-level with her, his own eyes softening as they meet her teary ones, “that was kind of the point. i didn’t want you to feel awkward or like you owed me anything. i just wanted you to smile.”

her chest tightens.

“so why didn’t you tell me now?” she asks softly when her hands come up to grasp his wrists, “or last night?”

his lips tilt upward slightly, “i mean.. we didn’t really do much talking last night-”

she slaps his arm again to shut him up. seungmin laughs and despite the tears clinging to her lashes and the heaviness in her heart, y/n lets out a laugh too. it’s small and shaky but it’s there. his hands slide from her cheeks to her waist and he pulls her closer, kissing her temple once, twice, and rubbing his palm up her back in a slow, soothing motion.

they stand like that for a brief moment - laughing softly into each others shoulders, tears and smiles blending together in the quiet of her apartment.

after a second, she tilts her head up from his chest.

“but how did you know i love iced vanilla lattes?”

he lets out a small, amused breath, “i saw you drinking it all the time so i just figured it was your favourite.”

her heart bursts at his words. she’s instantly melting against him, feeling her whole body warm up with nothing but happiness. that’s all it takes - no dramatic confession, no grand explosion, just the fact that he noticed. out of everything - the flowers, the note, the pastries - just the fact that he noticed undoes her completely. the fact that he paid attention, that he remembered something so small and insignificant and made it matter.

for her.

“you’re so stupid.” she mutters lovingly and presses her cheeks to his chest.

“stupid for you.” he replies back easily.

he kisses her cheek, and then nudges his face into her neck playfully, brushing his nose against her skin before nipping just enough to make her squeal. she laughs out loud at the ticklish feeling and seungmin can’t help but smile to himself.

finally, finally, her laugh was his.

it’s not muffled through apartment walls, it’s not echoing down the hallway, it’s not because of someone else — but its all for him, all because of him. all for him to smile at the beautiful sound and ensure he keeps making her laugh like that.

because she was all his, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[writingwithoutconfidence]

Writing Situations and Tropes

It's quite long this time - it might help. Took me ages to write since I was trying to be as detailed as possible. 16 points, 8 of each. Writing (certain) Situations and Tropes

1. Fights should be about intent. Your character can be an amazing fighter. Your character can struggle to land a clean hit. Both are fine. What matters is why the fight is happening. There doesn’t need to be a fully developed reason like a tragic backstory — but there does need to be something. Fear. Instinct. Protection. Panic. A line being crossed. A fight shouldn’t exist just because you want your character to look impressive or “special.” Remember that. (note to self) (To people who want an example, I've written a fight scene in my WIP which I'm going to share with y'all very soon, and you can read it and kinda see what I mean by this. It's coming in Chapter 5.)

2. Breaking Points are so important. Breaking points don’t have to be obvious. How to make it even better? When it’s written from someone else’s point of view. Because suddenly, we don’t get access to that character’s thoughts anymore. We watch them break without being told it’s happening — and distance makes it hurt more. But wait. Want to make it hurt even more? Let the other character miss it. Let them see the smile. Hear the jokes. Watch your character act fine enough to be believable — so people and brush it off. Let them think, They’re okay. They always bounce back. And only later, with context they didn’t have at the time, do they realise that moment wasn’t stability. It was the breaking point. The last time your character had the energy to pretend. (PLEASE I'm begging you. If you've done this before PLEASE show me! I live for these situations. Message me or just put it in the comments, I'm sure there are other people who'd love to see it.)

3. Pain doesn’t have to be dramatic to be real. Pain isn’t always screaming, crying, or collapsing to the floor. Sometimes it’s replying “I’m fine” too quickly. Sometimes it’s going quiet in conversations they used to lead. Sometimes it’s doing everything almost right and not knowing why it feels wrong. Big reactions can work — but quiet pain often lingers longer, because it shows how deeply something has settled in. But sometimes, it can just be your character sitting down and realising they don’t have the energy to stand back up yet. Those are the best kind.

4. A death should leave a shape behind. A death isn’t powerful because someone stopped breathing — it’s powerful because the world doesn’t fit the same way afterwards. If everything returns to normal too quickly, the death won’t land. Same with killing off a character. Do it if you want too... but will it change how the character thinks? Does it change anything in the story?

5. Apologies can't be written just because it's needed somewhere. We’ve all read it. A: “I’m sorry.” B: “Sorry? You think saying sorry is enough?” So what I'm saying is simple. Let the character talk first. Let them explain what they did, what they misunderstood, what they failed to notice. Let them say, No, I need to say this, and actually say it — plainly, without excuses, without fishing for reassurance. Then, once the damage is named and owned, let “I’m sorry” land as a conclusion, not a shortcut. Because for the love of God please stop dragging it. We want to see them be besties again. We want to see them hold hands and skip around. We want to see them roll down a hill together. (I'm trying to be funny leave me alone. Anyway moving on)

6. Make the Villain lie. OH MY GOD Why the freak do Villains in movies have 10 whole ass minutes to reveal their evil idea? You're not an evil genius if you tell the Hero your idea dumbass. If you want your villain to feel truly evil, stop letting them explain themselves. Let their actions speak. Let the aftermath speak. OMG just had a lightbulb moment. Want to make your villain evil? Make them lie in their monologue. Let them feed the hero just enough information to sound believable — then send them chasing the wrong problem. While the hero is scrambling to stop Plan A, the villain is already halfway through Plan C. A villain who can weaponise trust, assumptions, and urgency is far more dangerous than one who plays fair. (This is the smartest writer thing I've said this year)

7. Parents are easy to flatten. Don’t. As a teen writer, I find myself doing this a lot when I'm planning, and I think it shouldn't be normalised. Whenever a guardian/parent is mentioned, they're often dismissed quickly in a child's eyes. Totally understandable. But what’s rare (and powerful) is letting the story look back. Not to worship the parents nor excuse damage. Just to acknowledge that raising someone is hard, thankless, and often done while carrying fear, exhaustion, and mistakes of their own. Let the child grow enough to realise that some choices were made under pressure, with limited options — even if those choices still hurt. Complexity doesn’t mean forgiveness. It just means honesty. This could also help you, as a writer, explain why your character acts the way they do.

8. Don’t borrow a disease — borrow the experience. If you’re writing about an illness or condition you don’t have, your job isn’t to perfectly replicate symptoms — it’s to respect the human reality of living with it. Avoid turning the disease into a personality trait, a plot device, or shorthand for suffering. Do your research, yes — but focus on how it interrupts life, not just how it looks on paper. Fatigue, frustration, accommodations, embarrassment, routine, resilience, boredom. And one more thing: accuracy matters, but humility matters more. Write with care, acknowledge limits, and don’t assume pain looks the same on everyone. (One of my characters has schizophrenia which makes writing difficult, but on a humanity perspective, it's easier to visualise. Doesn't mean I'm right though, so research is needed.)

9. If your “grumpy” character is rude to everyone, they’re not grumpy — they’re just mean. Grumpy characters usually have limits. They might be quiet, blunt, or irritable, but they still have tells: someone they soften for, rules they won’t cross, moments where they choose silence over cruelty. If they’re cruel in every situation, readers stop rooting for them. Grumpy characters can get annoying after a while but sometimes they can be important. Especially if you've created them.

10. If your villain makes good points but never wins, they’re wasted. A compelling villain should be right sometimes. They should succeed in small ways. If they’re always shut down immediately, they stop feeling threatening and start feeling performative. Honestly, there are SO MANY people who root for the villain more than the hero... so give them the satisfaction. Oops, Hero didn't expect that did they? Looks like Villain has the upper hand. And now it's up to you to see where you want your story to go. How are you going to make the Hero win? How are you going to give the Villain a satisfying ending?

11. If your slow burn jumps straight to devotion, you skipped the work. Slow burn isn’t about delaying the kiss — it’s about layering trust. Before love, there should be hesitation, misreads, secrets, small moments of care that don’t get acknowledged yet. If they’d already die for each other three chapters in, the tension’s gone. Slow burn means taking time to get to the point so please take time.

12. If your “found family” only shows up to support the MC, it feels hollow. Found family works because everyone needs something — not just the protagonist. Let them argue. Let them disappoint each other. Let support go both ways. A family that exists only to cheer is a fan club, not a family. Same with proper family. A 'happy all the time' and 'supportive' family seems way too unrealistic but having one that may fight all the time but would never leave MC in a vulnerable situation? That sounds more realistic. BUT this all depends on your MC's situation, life style and backstory. We can't have a MC with a history of domestic abuse be welcomed with open arms when things get rough. Even when they're with their 'found family' it doesn't necessarily mean they'd be comfortable all the time with them.

13. If you use miscommunication as conflict, give it a reason to last. One wrong sentence shouldn’t fuel five chapters of angst unless there’s fear, history, or risk involved. Make silence a choice, not a convenience. I'm going to be completely honest. What the f*ck do you mean the MC hates his lover/partner/friend because they didn't answer the question properly or they stuttered for a second? I'm sorry but that happens to everyone. Sure, if you wanna do that, go for it. But please don't drag it unless MC has a proper reason for doing so. (does this make sense?)

14. If your characters agree too quickly, you skipped conflict. People rarely align perfectly — even when they want the same thing. Let disagreements be small, persistent, and human. BUT I'm not saying you should create conflict every time your characters don't agree. I'm saying make sure if you want the scene to land, make there be a reason or emotion behind it.

15. Miscommunication can create growth. When used well, miscommunication isn’t just angst — it gives characters space to change. Time apart can force them to confront things they were avoiding, learn new truths, or grow into someone different than they were before. The key is that the distance does something. If nothing changes while they’re apart, the miscommunication isn’t development — it’s delay. And that's when readers start screaming at the page going 'talk to each other you dumb f*ckers!' (or is that just me?)

16. If your love triangle has a clear “correct” option from the start, it won’t work. A good triangle forces a real decision. Each option should represent something different — safety vs growth, comfort vs risk, past vs future. If one option is obviously wrong, readers disengage. Even if you know exactly who your character is going to end up with, the reader doesn't... so use that to your advantage. Show the worst parts of your chosen character, show the best in the other... then switch it around... and after, the reader will be sitting at the edge of their seat trying to figure out who the 'chosen one' is. So worth it.

Final note (because this matters): I’ve realised a lot of this is basically me rambling about what I prefer as a reader and writer. That doesn’t make it universal, and it definitely doesn’t make it “the right way.” If any of this doesn’t match your style, ignore it. Seriously. I’m not trying to make anyone change how they write — and if you read something here and thought, oh no, I shouldn’t do that, please don’t take it that way. Writing isn’t a rulebook.

These are just tips that helped me. That’s it. They’re not better. They’re not final. They’re just mine.

So take what works. Leave what doesn’t. And remember this part, because it’s the most important one:

Your writing is already incredible.

by writingwithoutconfidence

[thecalloffantasy]

Writing villains people actually fear (and remember)

It’s not about darkness. It’s about precision.

1. Give them a contradiction. Villains are scariest when they’re almost human. “He always apologised before hurting someone.”

2. Let them think they’re right. No moustache twirling — just conviction. “I’m not saving the world. I’m correcting it.”

3. Give them a normal habit that becomes unsettling. • humming off-key • straightening objects mid-argument • collecting people’s abandoned pens

4. Make their kindness selective. Kind to dogs. Cruel to friends. Kind to children. Absent to their own.

5. Make their presence change a room. Not with theatrics — with tone. “The laughter thinned when he stepped inside.”

How to make antagonists who aren’t evil (but still hurt you)

Some of the best antagonists are just… people.

1. Give them the same goal as the hero — different methods. Hero wants peace. Antagonist wants peace. Hero uses unity; antagonist uses control.

2. Let the antagonist be right sometimes. That stings.

3. Make the hero almost agree with them. “You’re not wrong,” she admitted. “But you’re not right either.”

4. Show glimpses of softness. “He tucked the child’s drawing into his coat.”

5. Let them break their own rules. Instant complexity.

[ariesrin]

20 Ways Characters Show Vulnerability Without Admitting It

Showing vulnerability is risky: it's weakness, it's fear, it's revealing one's flaws.

Showing vulnerability is a core part of driving the plot or character development, whether they're building relationships or force them to make choices they wouldn't normally do.

Exposing your character's doubts and insecurities shows the reader that your character is real and has depth.

Here are 20 ways you can create tension by showing vulnerability in your characters through actions:

Letting someone see them exhausted instead of pretending they’re fine.

Admitting they don’t know what they’re doing and not joking about it.

Whispering secrets to objects instead of people.

Holding back tears, not because they’re strong, but because they’re scared.

Accepting help and apologizing for it at the same time.

Taking a deep breath before speaking, as if bracing for impact.

Sitting closer than necessary, then freezing when noticed.

Saying “you don’t have to” when they desperately want them to stay.

Letting their voice crack.

Sharing something small first, testing the ground. Alternatively, sharing small joys to test if it's safe to share bigger ones.

Watching the other person’s reaction instead of finishing the sentence.

Fidgeting with sleeves, rings, or scars they usually hide.

Letting silence stretch instead of filling it with humour.

Admitting they were hurt without assigning blame.

Avoiding eye contact while speaking about something personal.

Trusting someone with a truth they don’t fully understand yet.

Hesitating before touching, afraid of rejection. Their hands hang in the air for a moment as if waiting for permission.

Saying “I don’t want to be alone” instead of “I’m fine.”

Letting someone touch them in a way they usually resist.

Smiling through pain, hoping no one notices the cracks.