Minho’s love is quiet. It’s lingering touches and wandering eyes from across the room. It’s shared glances when someone says something funny, your eyes immediately finding one another with a knowing look. It’s his back against the headboard as he scrolls through his phone, his other hand playing mindlessly with your hair while you watch tv. It’s the damp soil of the plant you swear you’ll be able to take care of all on your own, already watered by the time you wake up in the morning, Minho long gone for a day of practice. It’s the way he orders for you at restaurants, already knowing what foods you’re comfortable with. It’s the extra french fries that keep showing up on your plate, an innocent look on his face when you catch him in the act.
Minho’s love is warm. It’s the feeling of his jacket being draped over you when you fall asleep in the car. It’s his breath against your neck at night when he pulls you into his chest and tightens his arm around your middle. It’s the soft skin of his stomach when you shove your cold feet under his shirt, laughing as he shakes his head but still lets you get away with it. It’s his hands when he maps out your body, the blankets pulled tight around the both of you, fingertips trailing every dip and curve of your figure like he’s seeing it for the first time.
Minho’s love is loud. It’s laughter when he chases you down the hallway after you refuse to hug him, his body covered in sweat from the gym. It’s music blasting from a speaker in the kitchen while he cooks your favorite meal. It’s him screaming at the other guys to quiet down when he’s on facetime with you, the ocean-wide distance not enough to keep you apart. It’s the way he calls out to you, an excited “I’m hoooome!” when he gets back from a long day of work.
Minho’s love is gentle. It’s the press of his lips against yours when you open your eyes in the morning. It’s the tug of his fingers on the sleeve of your jacket when he pulls you towards the inner part of the sidewalk and takes your place instead. It’s his hand on the small of your back whenever you’re out in public, a reminder that he’s there. It’s his thumbs swiping the tears off of your cheeks when it all becomes too much to handle. It’s the way he holds you like he means it, like you’re something he’s scared of losing, as he promises over and over that he’ll never break you.
Minho’s love is quiet, warm, loud, and gentle. Minho’s love is more than just three words whispered into the space between your lips. Minho’s love is immeasurable in size and unexplainable in essence.
**colored tags indicate my inability to link your account. this could be due to an error when you filled out the google form or you do not have tags on.
“It was about time you addressed the cat and mouse game you and your boss have been playing for a time.”
s u m m a r y > > clashing heads with your annoyingly attractive boss was your everyday activity, but when a new, beautiful client comes in for the day you find yourself getting jealous. mr. lee, catching on, uses it to his absolute advantage, causing you to end up in a situation you did not think would end well. fortunately for you, with the way your dark-minded ceo’s mind worked, despite the hiccups in the middle, it ended just perfectly.
w a r n i n g s > > ceo! minho, secretary! reader, you get so annoyed at him all the time, he annoys you all the time, constant teasing, a fuckload of swearing, soooo much (kinda shit) sexual tension, flirtation back and FORTH, titles of endearment, minho is such a fucking dom, reader is a fucking BRAT, making out, fingering, oral (m. and f. receiving) you try to give him blueballs, unprotected sex (stay safe homies!!), semi-public sex (i mean they do it in his office so like), multiple orgasms, y’all be arguing during it all too HELP, minho has a sir kink sjsjskke, minho is so AGGRESSIVE HOLY SHIT, SO MUCH degradation, use of gags? (i mean he uses his tie so) basically you are 100% minho’s bitch by the end period!!
a u t h o r ’ s n o t e > > hello horny fia is back again with a minho oneshot because she can not control herself!!!1!1! thank you @hyuckworld for so much inspo and helping me out omfg the tie thing still on my mind !1!1! anyway this is inspired by minho’s soribada look cause he mf SERVED! and i hope y’all enjoy !
back to masterlist
YOUR SMILE WAS MORE LIKE A FLASH OF TEETH.
“For the last time,” you seethed, trying your very best to contain your bubbling temper, “You cannot see him if you don’t have an appointment.”
The woman before you, a striking image of curls and curves, fitted red dress, white blazer, and Louboutins elevating her height, knifed you with finely-lined eyes. “But I don’t need an appointment! Mr. Lee said so himself I could arrive at his office when I wished to speak with him!”
You pursed your lips. Of course Mr. Fucking Lee said so.
genre: arranged marriage au, stuck in another dimension au, strangers to lovers, fluff with angst, humor, occasional 4th wall break by yours truly
description: when you find yourself waking up to a good-looking man who claims to be your husband, there isn’t much for you to do aside from assuming you got stuck in a drama, you know?
word count: 48.6k +
author’s note: and we are finished with these two! this is quite long but i didn’t feel like separating them into two parts for the sake of fulfillment. to whoever is willing to go through with everything, thank you and i hope you like this 💞
warning: there is this one part where minho and mc fight and they both flinched, my writing getting worse in the bottom half of the story, probably lots of typos i can’t catch…
You have had a fair share of envious moments before.
Whenever you see adorable and loving couples wandering across the streets, sharing a cold boba drink while letting their shared scarf do the deed of warming them up in the cold winter night. You want to gouge your eyes out to save yourself from the public display of chaste affection but at the same time, you cannot stop staring because if you stare long enough, you might just be able to replace the couple with you and the imaginary perfect boy in your head.
You have had a fair share of needy times before. Not just to fulfill the long list of guilty pleasures you could not possibly handle on your own, but also just to fall in love with. You want somebody to feel up against, to hold close to, to remember, and laugh to yourself about when you are going about your daily life.
And for sure, you have prayed for a significant other at one time or another; discreetly whispering towards the birthday candles and the new year’s fireworks. For years, the odds were not in your favor, until at this exact moment when you opened your eyes after long hours of sleep you could not remember yourself ever heading to.
tw: afab!reader, nsfw mdni!, established relationship, using of pet names, mentions of hickeys, marking, probably more...
song choice: shinunoga e-wa - fuji kaze
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"you did not tell them the reason you wore long sleeves was because of bed bugs, " you scoff at your boyfriend, right after he finished the live.
"well, what was I supposed to say" he turns his chair to you.
"chris, you don't know how hard it was for me to hold in my laugh the whole time, " you throw yourself on the bed, stretching your bones.
"I saw that... " he covers his face with his palms, "that's why I was humming that stupid melody."
you giggle at his response, watching as he got up and went to get ready for bed. you took your socks off and placed your phone by the nightstand,
"you could've got the hotel sued, honey, " you gasp when chan exits the bathroom.
"don't worry, love, they don't have the address, " he smiles at your remark.
he places his cap on the drawer before taking his black hoodie off, your eyes getting stuck on his abdomen,
"yeah, definitely bed bugs, " you smirk.
chan rolls his eyes and throws his hoodie at you. he plops in the bed next to you, groaning sleepily as you put on the soft piece of clothing.
his fingers traced the once purple marks you left on him one week ago, when you first had the chance to spend the night together in what felt like ages,
"I think I need some new ones tho... " chan whispered, turning his head to you.
"please, they'll make you go to the doctor, " you throw a pillow at his face, embarrassed by his request.
"just saying, the hickeys are fading away... "
"after you literally called me a bed bug? " you cross your arms, trying your best to look offended.
"oh c'mon loveeee, " chan places his head on your thigh, his fingers grabbing at your inner flesh, "y'know I didn't literally mean it, don't you?"
your pout seems to melt away when your eyes meet his loving gaze, his fingers rubbing your legs giving you some type of strange comfort. but still, you're not gonna give in that easily, so you lift your leg up, attempting to lay on your side,
"or, " chan holds you down, restrictioning you from moving, "I have a better idea."
his hands grab your thighs as he positions himself between them. his plump lips nibbling at your soft skin, teeth slightly sinking in it. you whimper, fingers pulling at his locks when his mouth gets a little too close to your cunt.
chan pushes the hoodie up to reveal your belly, placing small kisses that felt tinglish. his lips quickly made their way up to your chest, his fingers cupping your breasts, as he gently sucked at the tender flesh.
with closed eyes, he left reddish marks all over your cleavage, your head thrown back to give him more access,
"I could mark you up,"
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a/n: hi this was very rushed and kinda trash, but I had a vision with this one (the vision wasn't achieved)
Prompt: Rivals/enemies getting angry whenever someone else talks badly about the other.
Pairing: Lee Know x female reader
WC: 1.1k
Warnings: a bold proposition from the devil incarnate makes for an interesting night of bowling ft. hhj being told to stfu. drinking, tension and angst (sexy and otherwise), e2l, a suggestion of oral sex 🔞
Gina immediately falls into an apology, preceded by her clasping of your hands before you can turn tail and walk right out of the bowling alley.
“I knew you wouldn’t come if I told you he was invited,” she explains over the din of skittles being destroyed. “You can deal for just one night, right?”
Irritation—the best friend of anger—sets you on immediate edge. And to think you’d actually looked forward to tonight, for it was one of the few occasions you were available to attend an Economics social since the term had started. Curses of being a working student.
You cast a glare down the length of the bowling alley, to the lane in which other students from your course are gathered. Hyunjin in his letterman jacket, Felix in a snatched pair of jeans... and Minho, resident demon and evil incarnate. It gripes you all the more that he looks astonishingly good in dark slacks and a sleeveless Sex Pistols vest, his dark locks long and unkempt. Christ.
“Hey,” Gina shakes you. “You can deal. Right?”
It’s not through any form of virtue that you sigh and ultimately acquiesce. It’s the long look that the demon casts in your direction; a challenge in brown eyes issued wordlessly. If you leave, he wins.
“Fine. My drinks are on your tab all night.”
Gina yelps her thanks and drags you towards the lane, the smell of popcorn and cheap booze permeating the deeper in you get.
Felix turns as you approach, all sweetness and light. “You’re here! Finally!”
“Hey, you,” Gina beams, hugging him.
Hyunjin is mid-bowl, but still manages a keen wave.
Minho, meanwhile, is inspecting the rack of bowling balls, not bothering to so much as acknowledge your presence while he turns them over in search of the ‘right’ one. Like they’re all so different.
“Hi, Minho,” Gina greets him obnoxiously, bending into his line of sight. “How are you?”
He sighs. “Peachy now that you’re here.”
“Look who made it,” she says, yanking your wrist to bring you close.
Minho smiles saccharine; it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Awesome. We needed a drinks gopher.”
You scoff indignantly. “You talking about me?”
Minho blinks slowly as he regards you, his thick lashes sweeping his cheeks.
“I’m no gopher,” you retort.
He cocks his head, brows pulling together in confusion.
“What?” you snap.
“Didn’t know gophers could talk,” he muses quietly, then picks up a heavy ball and turns to the lane, thoroughly uncaring.
Gina whistles through her teeth. “You think you two’ll ever stop hating?”
“Not while there’s blood in my veins.”
The three men finish their short game quickly, with Minho emerging smugly victorious. Watching from the sidelines in the stuffy booth seat, the rickety table already laden with beer bottles, it began to dawn on you that what you had thought to be a fun and harmless night of bowling and drinking, might just turn out to be that much more competitive. Felix sets up a new game on the prehistoric monitor, punching in initials to save time. Hyunjin takes his turn, the picture of long-legged elegance as he sweeps low and throws the heavy sphere down the lane smoothly. Strike. Felix goes next, managing half the grace (and points) as he hits a spare. Gina follows; her ball slides straight into the gutter. When your turn rolls around, you resolve to not take it too seriously. There are no stakes, after all—
“Want to make things interesting?”
Minho’s voice, low in your ear, startles you. You turn to him, the multicoloured spotlights of the bowling alley striking interesting shadows over his—objectively handsome—face. Something warm simmers in your gut.
“Interesting how?” you reply quietly.
The corner of his mouth is tugged into a crooked smirk. He looks down the bowling lane, then back to you. The next words out of his mouth take years off your soul.
“If I win, you’ll let me eat your pussy.”
You stare at him, dumbfounded.
“If you win,” he says softly, “you get to choose.”
“... Choose what?”
He shrugs. “Whatever. You can call in a favour, or have me grant a wish. I’m down for anything.”
“B— But... you want to... with me?”
“What? You don’t like getting eaten out?” he asks mockingly. “Or is it that you’ve just never had anyone do a good job of it?”
You fall over your words, head spinning with the impossibility of what’s happening. He regards you thoughtfully, then sighs and says, “Guess that’s what happens when you only date fucking losers.”
“Excuse me,” you snap, a touch of normalcy restored. “You don’t know a damn thing about my past boyfriends.”
Minho smiles in that way that makes your skin tingle. “And what a certified tragedy that is.”
“You’re just—”
“So, are you in?”
You hesitate; perhaps short circuit. If you know Minho at all you can be certain that this is a trick of some sort, a scheme with the end goal of making you look like a fool when all is said and done.
Minho steps closer, his warmth rolling over you with the proximity.
“This isn’t me trying to set you up,” he says. “You don’t need any help from me to look like a clown.”
“Fine,” you hiss. “You’re on, prick.”
He grins wickedly, watching as you stroll away and call back, “God help you if I win!”
You don’t win. In fact, you lose by a margin considered embarrassing.
Hyunjin laughs like a hyperventilating seal, pointing at the suspended scoreboard. “How can you be so bad?!” he cackles. “Even fucking Felix managed a strike at the end there!”
Felix, in all his tipsy enthusiasm, beams. “I’d like to thank the power of vodka.”
Minho observes you coolly from the booth seat. You drop your head into your hands, unable to withstand his gaze or the relentless ribbing.
Gina speaks out in your defence, “Come on, guys. Who even bowls these days, anyway? We should have done karaoke.”
“Right, because my singing is so much better than my throwing arm,” you despair.
“You’re fucking awful!” Hyunjin—somewhat carried away—hollers loudly. “I bet you sing like a strangled cat, too!”
“Hey.”
All eyes turn to Minho. Hyunjin’s warbling dies off to a thin hiss, the amusement and apparent humour extinguishing in a sad puff when his eyes meet the elder’s.
“Watch your fucking mouth about her,” Minho deadpans.
You’ve heard it said of the moments in which the innocent female lead experiences a flutter of affection for the first time, and in her naïvety is unable to distinguish what this strange new sensation might be. Arrythmia of the heart? Had she eaten something odd? Gas?
Not even. You know exactly what the steady, strong thump in your chest is, and you despair. Not for him. It can’t be for him.
Minho rises from the booth and strolls towards you. With the tip of his boot he lazily kicks your chair leg, jostling you in place.
genre — boxer au, enemies to lovers, hinted strangers to lovers
word count — 1.2k
aug’s notes — got reminded of how leeknow used to do boxing, wanted to write something i might follow up on with a part two? this is kinda like a test product :)
“You should take a self defense class since you live alone now dear.”
No Mrs. Kathy, you don’t need a self defense class. You don’t want to go to a self defense class, and living alone does not make you a weak and vulnerable person. In fact, you’re thriving with your own company.
But that’s not what you said. Of course not, Mrs. Kathy was simply a nosy old woman doing her nosy old job, it felt pathetic to let her words get under your skin.
“I might do that! Thank you for the suggestion.” You lied, lips pulled into a tight smile.
As much as you would’ve preferred to disregard the interaction and proudly admit what she said was long forgotten, it wasn’t. Instead, it bugged and bugged. Until you simply couldn’t bear to repeat that god-forsaken phrase for the 100th time and had to confess.
“Don’t get me wrong, Mrs. Kathy is a nice woman but this is really, really getting to me.” You deflate, arms stretched out on the wooden table. Sitting across from you Chris, your coworker, cocks a brow. He’s impressed. It’s been a while since you’ve had an itch like this.
“Look at you, dealing with your first problem in the big scary adult world.” God, even if you went deaf you’d still hear the teasing in his voice.
Except you’re used to this, used to his antics despite the sweetness you know him for personally. Chris was an older brother to you, an undeniably attractive and charismatic brother that was being an ass at the moment.
You mutter a “I’ve been in the adult world” under your breath, assuming he heard the remark from the knowing smirk sent your way. Great help dude. You’re a savior.
“‘Just playing, I can hook you up.” There’s a certain lilt to his voice you can’t quite translate as he stares down at his drink, dissolving the salt covering the rim of his margarita into the cocktail.
“Hook me up? This isn’t arranging my marriage so I can make sure to get married before thirty asshole.” He scoffs at your bitterness, warm brown eyes flickering back at you with mischief glittering beneath hardly visible irises.
“I mean you wouldn’t be living alone anymore-OKAY okay. But on a serious note. I can arrange something. I have a friend. His name’s Minho, I think he’d be the perfect person to help you out.”
There’s that lilt in the voice again, and somehow, perhaps in the midst of your desperation, you agree.
2 pm, Tuesday. In front of the real sketchy looking building. You have to walk into the place and go down the stairs to your left, from there you’ll figure it out.
If GTA was real, you think one of the buildings would look like the one in front of you.
Graffiti covered the walls, and you couldn’t feel more out of place in the foreign downtown surroundings. Minho. His name was Minho. That’s all you need to remember. Oh, and the stairs to your left. That too.
When you first stepped in, you were pleasantly surprised to find the space not occupied with greasy men and the smell of cigarette smoke, but a diner. Light blue hues here and there, and dimmed lights placed above each booth. A few glances here and there, but the atmosphere wasn’t all too bad.
Almost immediately you caught sight of the stairs hidden in a far corner, your step forward increasing the sound of bass seeping through the walls—getting louder as you approached the door at the bottom. And whatever had earlier crossed your mind was now completely gone without a trace upon turning the knob.
Inside was a boxing ring. Not a self defense class or a gym, but a nicely sized room with a boxing ring on one side and punching bags scattered on the other. Even with the new surroundings, the revelation of what you’d gotten yourself into hadn’t quite registered yet. Especially not when the one man appearing to be around your age in the middle of the ring pulled off his helmet and boxing gloves and turned to face you.
He was painstakingly beautiful. Dyed grey hair tousled in bizarre directions due to the helmets jostling, dark chestnut eyes similar to that of Chris’ yet the strangers’ were more soulful.
“I think I came to the wrong place, sorry I’ll be leaving..” You hurriedly reach for the door before he speaks, effectively stopping you in your tracks.
“If you’re the one Chris mentioned you’re in the right place. Either come or go, don’t waste my time.”
Initially he seemed passive, his tone then distorting into impatience. To say his bluntness surprised you underestimated the situation. With these circumstances though you found yourself more enticed than offended.
“You really suck at introductions.” One step forward, one step closer to this stranger you had no idea about. He could’ve been a mass killer for all you knew. It didn’t matter right now because his attitude was the only thing determining your next move.
“Oh? Wouldn’t want to hurt your feelings sweetheart,”
He leaned forward, a conniving tilt of his head used to address you.
“Lee Minho. It’s a pleasure.”
One fact about Lee Minho. He has a shit-eating smile when he gets his way. It pisses you off.
“I could say the same.” You basically spat, watching him collect additional gear.
He threw the items your way, leading you into the ring. The more you considered it the funnier it became, realizing you were surely not dressed in proper boxing attire compared to this noticeable veteran.
“Ever boxed before?”
“Nope, I do want to beat that look off your face though.” His shit-eating smile returned, giving you a once over.
Opening his arms, it’s almost like he’s daring you to give it your all. Another part of Lee Minho that pisses you off. His arrogance.
Somehow, it’s kind of hot.
You wait for his move, dodging narrowly and attempting to land hits yourself till you notice a glove placed on your shoulder. Holding there, not going through with the move.
“There.”
“And there.” This cycle goes on, pointing out open spots. Your frustration bubbles furiously, blindly swinging before being swiped off your feet to pummel on the ground in exhaustion. Minho squats down from above you, index tapping your chest that causes you to squeak out in surprise.
“I’d recommend wearing a thicker shirt next time, but I don’t mind the view.” Embarrassingly enough, due to the sweat clinging to your skin your bra was very much visible through your shirt. The man only shrugging and hopping to his feet.
Wait.
“Next time?” Your lips pull at the corners, following not far behind him putting equipment away. He doesn’t reply, earning a satisfied hum from you. Bingo.
Out of nowhere, a t-shirt is thrown your direction.
“Put it on. You can give it to me next Tuesday. You better come back.”
You somewhat wish you would’ve said thank you of a sort, maybe bothered him about his red ears. Except all you did was wave a goodbye and watch him disappear upstairs. Apparently marking the end of this uniquely strange.. boxing class? Something like that.
. ..
FaceTiming Chris the next morning before work, you listened to him talk until the line quieted and you found him squinting at your shirt.
"Whose shirt is that?"
all rights reserved by @sunboki. repost and plagiarism will not be tolerated.
Warning: angst, swearing, some fluffy tones, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, slow burn, Knight!Bangchan, Princess!reader, royal au, mentions of supernatural powers, mentions of toxic family relationships, gunplay, mentions of poison, mentions of gouging out eyes, mentions of war, gore, blood mention, weapon mentions, russian roulette mention, mention of self harm, mentions of suicide, age gap mentioned, needles mentioned, power dynamics, classism, smut, oral (m. and f.receiving), handjob, hair pulling, choking, breathplay, hand kink, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap), voyuerism, dom!Chan, brat!reader
Synopsis: Bangchan believes that everything is going well. He believes that that the two of you are happy, especially after the night at The Amethyst. Oh, how wrong he is.
A/N: Please note that the last scene there is a rather violent gun scene. No member in Stray Kids is actually holding the gun but there are members involved. Triggering scenes bolded and in italics.
Remember the acts committed in this are not representative of Stray Kids and their character. This is purely friction.
SYNOPSIS: The relationship between your father and you has never been the best, but when he invites you to his wedding with a much younger fiancée and expects you to attend the event with a partner, you’re confused about what to do. Until your best friend offers to pretend to be your boyfriend for this one night…
☁️ GENRE: angst, fluff, smut
🌟 WORD COUNT: 8.6k
🌷 CONTENT INFO: chan x afab reader, nonidol!au, university!au, filmstudent!chan, filmstudent!reader, bestfriends2lovers, fake dating, friends2lovers, reader has ADHD and anxiety disorder, reader is described as (possibly) queer
🕯 WARNING: toxic relationship with father, relationship with huge age gap (neither reader nor chan), detailed description of anxiety attack, toxic talking about mental health issues/not taking it serious, homophobic comments, consumption of alcohol
🎆 SMUT WARNING: dom!chan, sub!reader, fingering, piv, unprotected sex (pls don’t be stupid), praise, name calling (princess, angel, good girl, babygirl, slut), choking
🛼 AUTHOR’S NOTE: I didn't proof read this lol- also sorry for the word count I got carried away
The characters do not portray any of the skz members in real life, the names are just used for fiction. Also minors do not interact, this post contains mature themes. By clicking on “read more” you consent to nsfw content.
Even though it’s already May, the weather isn’t as hot as usual, making it a bit more bearable to work on this university project you don’t have that much time left for. It’s nothing new to you, procrastinating as long as you can, convincing yourself you work better with stress and pressure but if you’re being honest, you just work much more disciplined that way because you don’t have a choice anymore.
Dad: Samantha and I are getting married next week. It’s a very spontaneous decision but of course you’re invited. Just call me and I’ll tell you more about it.
Dad: Samantha and I are getting married next week. It’s a very spontaneous decision but of course you’re invited. Just call me and I’ll tell you more about it.
Dad: Samantha and I are getting married next week. It’s a very spontaneous decision but of course you’re invited. Just call me and I’ll tell you more about it.
Feeling your vision instantly getting blurry, you lay the device aside, not even bothering to open the message. Yeji immediately senses something is wrong, that’s why she asks: “Bad news?” It’s amazing how observant she is, even though she is attentively reading a text, your friend somehow noticed how your mood shifted within a few seconds.
“Yeah, it’s okay, don’t worry”, you lie through your teeth, knowing it's bad timing to talk about your relationship with your father. But this still doesn’t stop you from diving into intense daydreaming, letting your bad experiences and memories with him appear on your inner eye.
To sum it up, the relationship between the both of you hasn’t been abusive but not exactly healthy either. Your parents divorced when you were still a child due to your father being unfaithful and secretly being with another woman, even having a child with her. You’ve always been closer to your mom anyway, still until today, so it hasn’t really ever bothered you that much that he was emotionally distant.
At least he has always paid the bills, making it possible for you to study at your dream university, even though he thinks bad about the degree you're majoring in. The main problem is the huge difference between the both of you that has grown over the last fifteen or more years. It started when he stopped calling you regularly, nowadays only texting you every few months and visiting you for an hour on your birthday.
Many times you’ve asked yourself if you are the one who destroyed the relationship between you, but then you remember he isn’t really close to any other relatives in his family either. It’s almost funny, how your mother talks more to your grandmother - her ex mother-in-law - than her ex husband does.
The other thing is, the older you’ve gotten the more you’ve realised he should have been the one to keep the relationship going. It is absolutely problematic to expect an elementary school student to regularly call their parents, when it was his job to do so. But even when the rare occurrence of him speaking to you appeared, you more and more felt like he wasn’t actually interested in you.
So in conclusion, you’re not that close to him and probably never will be, making it even more uncomfortable receiving an invitation to his wedding. The next weird part is that his fiancée isn’t that much older than you are, she’s in her late twenties while your father is already over the age of fifty.
The more you think about what might happen at his big event, the more your anxiety level within your stomach rises. Already feeling your heartbeat going up in rates per minute, palms of your hands getting too sweaty to grab the pen you’re taking notes with and your vision becoming dizzy as if someone has put a filter over your lenses, you try to breathe at a normal pace but helplessly fail at your attempt.
If you don’t do something now, Yeji will notice - that’s for sure. That’s why you excuse yourself to the bathroom, the way you’re stumbling to the stalls is blurred as if you’re drunk. Entering one of them, your face falls into your hands, covering your glassy eyes. At this point, everything you’re able to hear is each one of your deep but cut off breaths, as you try to fill your lungs and stomach with enough air.
The tiles under your feet become a blurr, as you slide down onto the dirty bathroom floor, knees almost touching your chest while your palms are still connected to your eyes filled with tears who threaten to roll down your cheeks. Your breathing gets heavier with each second and you’re sweating like you’ve just ran a marathon.
But then the bathroom door opens and someone enters the stall next to you, instantly making you hold your breath again. It’s not that you’re shocked someone walked in and got scared about that, but the anxiety grows even more now, knowing you’re not alone. That’s why you try to remember how you’ve overcome these situations before, even though it’s totally hard to just focus on any thought.
Taking deep breaths has usually helped you, but you’re afraid the silence in the room will create an echo of the sounds you make. Trying to concentrate on something else, you search for five things you can visually see, spotting the tiles underneath you, some graffiti on the walls, a sticker above that, the window on the wall and your dark nail colour on your own fingers.
Since this has already helped you, realizing you’re breathing is at a normal pace again, you skip the other parts of this psychological process, grabbing your phone from your jeans pocket. The time already reads 11PM and you’re sure Yeji is probably tired, considering the fact that both of you have been here the whole day.
After some more minutes, you leave the stall, check yourself in the mirror, hoping no one notices how red and swollen your eyes have become. Washing your face helps at least a bit, the dry paper towels irritate your skin but at this point you don’t care anymore. When you go back to your designated seat, Yeji has already packed all your stuff together, as she explains: “I think we’ve done enough for today, haven’t we? I’ve checked the buses, there’s one in a few minutes so if we hurry we might still get on this one. Is that okay?”
Simply nodding, not getting away from the idea Yeji knows something is up with you, you agree with her and leave the library. Even though you’ve been good friends for a long time, it’s not easy for you to open up to anyone, especially not about the relationship with your father. So you just hope everything is soon forgotten and she won’t ask further questions.
♡
The bus ride was uncomfortably quiet and you’re relieved to finally get home, quickly running to your bedroom, hoping your roommate won’t bother you. Falling face first into the mattress, you bury your eyes and all your feelings in your pillow, as the tears start streaming down. There’s nothing holding your emotions back anymore, you just let it happen, not caring about someone hearing any noise.
It feels good to let it all out, shout into the cushions, the material lays soft on your skin. This is what you’ve been doing since you were little, usually when your parents got into a fight and your father started yelling at your mother again. Hiding in your bedroom under the blanket, your plushies there to protect you, has always made you feel at least a bit secure. It’s like you’re able to escape all the bad aspects of the real world.
When you’re sure, you’ve calmed down a bit, you place your hands on each side next to you, making it easier to stabilize yourself in order to get up. Sitting on your bed now, blanket still over your body, you reach out for your phone, checking for notifications, when you realise your best friend has texted you some minutes ago:
Channie <3: Hey hey, everything okay? Wanna do something tomorrow? I hope you were able to be productive at the library.
Trying to decide what to answer, you shift in your seat but your thinking process is interrupted by an unexpected call from none other than your father. Contemplating if you should pick up, you realise it’s already past midnight, hoping nothing bad has happened, you slide the green phone symbol and accept the call.
“Hello, Y/N”, he greets you, voice as cold as usual and you already start to grab the blanket laying over your thighs as an attempt to calm down your anxiety. “Hi, dad, is everything okay? Why are you calling me at this time?” You ask him, your voice is quiet like it always is when you’re speaking to him. With his strict demeanour it doesn’t take him a lot of words to let your insecurities come back to life again, his demanding nature always puts pressure on you.
“Well, I’m sure you’ve received my message about the wedding. I’m just calling so I can explain some more things”, he begins and your heart is beating as fast as it did some hours ago at the library, the anxiety filling your stomach and the familiar feeling of being helpless makes it hard to think straight. “I just want you to know there will be lots of important people there so I hope you’ll bring a male partner with you, I don’t want any of my colleagues to think my daughter is unwanted or dating women”.
There was no need for him to pull this homophobic stunt, but the mention of his hateful comment reminds you why you’ve never told him you’re attracted to women as well. The dilemma for now is though - what are you supposed to answer to his stupid and hurtful request, or rather, demand? Not wanting to deal with any of his bullshit anymore, knowing for sure if you disobey him he’ll just yell at you, you give in: “Okay, I’ll bring my boyfriend then”.
Right after finishing your sentence, you hang up and continue crying yourself into your pillow and to sleep, ignoring the fact you’ve just made up having a partner. Unfortunately, by being overwhelmed with all the emotions bubbling up, you don’t notice the following message you receive:
Channie <3: hope you’re okay, good night <3
♡
You’re torn from your sleep, when you hear the front door creaking, immediately expecting someone to break into your dormitory. Fears soon being proven wrong, you hear your best friend greet you: “Hey, Y/N, can I come in? I’ve brought breakfast for us.” Still half asleep, you giggle about how careful and shy Chan sounds, allowing him to enter your bedroom.
His curly hair looks like he’s just taken a shower, the strands hiding half his face. He places two iced coffees down on your nightstand table, putting a paper bag filled with food next to them. When you grab and open it, you’re welcomed with the delicious smell of two avocado mozzarella bagels, pulling them out of the packaging and toddleing to the kitchen to bring some plates.
“Here you are”, you say as you hand Chan one of them, as he places his bagel on it, taking a seat next to you on your bed. “How do I deserve such a wonderful surprise?” You ask him, giving him a teasing smile, but the boy doesn’t seem as cheerful as you are. His facial expression immediately shifts, you’re sure it’s pity it’s turning into and your concerns turn out to be true when he begins: “Yeji told me you’re not doing well and when you didn’t answer my messages, I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
Sighing in disbelief, a bit annoyed about your other friend not knowing how to shut up for once, you roll your eyes and take a bite of your bagel. “We can talk about it, if you want”, Chan offers, giving you a reassuring smile, totally careful which words to choose. “It’s nothing serious, it’s actually nothing at all”, you lie, as your gaze is fixated on the bread laying in your hands.
“Y/N, I'm sure there’s something up and I know we can find a solution for whatever it is”, Chan says, as his hand finds your shoulder, softly patting your skin. You dare turn around to him now, laying your food aside. “But it’s embarrassing”, you try to explain, hoping he won’t judge you for what has been on your mind the past twelve hours. “It’s probably not, don’t worry. You can tell me everything”.
So you take another deep breath, unsure where to start exactly but you begin: “My father invited me to his wedding with Samantha, I think you remember her. The young girl who’s definitely dating him just for his money.” Chan caringly nods, as his hand searches for yours, connecting your fingers with his own. “How do you feel about that?” He asks you, his eyes observing how your hand lays in his.
“I mean- I’m not surprised and I must say I don’t really care about that part. That guy is pathetic and I think he knows himself.” Chan nods and you know internally he’s agreeing with you. “But the worst part is”, you continue explaining, feeling your heart beat getting faster again and your best friend immediately notices it, holding your hands tighter, “he called me last night and demanded I should attend the wedding with a male partner, making this stupid homophobic comment.”
Chan’s jaw clenches and you can see the anger building up in his face, knowing exactly what he’s thinking. “He’s in fact pathetic and a total asshole as well”, is all he can say at that moment, hoping it’s okay he can’t control his emotions. You only realise you’re crying, when the tears rolling down your cheeks are swiped away by Chan’s thumb, as he holds your face up, telling you everything will be fine.
When your sobbing gradually stops, making it easier to focus on the conversation again, Chan’s hand is still on your face and he places your chin between his index finger and thumb, pulling your head up, so you look right at him. “What if we go there together? We can either have a great time there or sabotage something if you want revenge, I’m down for anything. But if you don’t want to go at all we can do something else as well on that day”, he suggests, guiding his hand away from your face.
Feeling bad about the fact you can see the pity in his eyes, you turn away from him, kind of embarrassed about his idea, not wanting to bother him with your problems. “Chan, you don’t have to do this. It’s okay, I’ll go there alone. He’ll make his typical comments anyway.” Shifting in his seat, moving a bit closer to you, he grabs your face with both his hands now, making you look at him again.
“You know what? I’ll be there to comment on his pathetic existence and before the wedding, I’ll plan an evening just for the both of us so you’ll be distracted, okay?” Looking at him with glassy, big eyes, you nod and answer: “Okay.”
♡
The location Chan has chosen is beyond mesmerising, you’re convinced you’ve never noticed the little restaurant at the corner of this less busy street before even though you’ve been living in this area for a few years now. Like the gentleman he always affirms to be, he opens the door for you, letting you enter first just for him to stand in front of you again, telling the waiter he’s made a reservation.
Sitting down at one of the tables right in front of the window, you’re able to observe the street outside being illuminated by the lanterns surrounded by flowers and bushes. This part of the town is way more tidier and posh, but you don’t mind the latter aspect for tonight. Looking through the menu, you take your time deciding what to eat, telling Chan about your choice when he asks you, so he can make the order for the both of you.
It doesn’t take a long time for your food to arrive, enjoying your meals neither of you talk much, but it doesn’t bother you. Silence with Chan is always comfortable, you don’t have to keep bubbling all the time, sometimes it’s even better to remain quiet and still feel great with his company. The food is actually very delicious, the flavours are melting on your tongue and you’ve finished your plate sooner than you’ve wanted.
When both of you decide to leave the restaurant and go for a walk, Chan asks for the bill and pays for everything despite your protesting. Walking out the front door and crossing the street, you’re directly at the river of your city, but before sitting down he takes you to a little shop near there, buying some drinks for the night. Getting back near the river bank again, you take a seat as close as possible to the water which is beautifully shining in the dark.
Opening both beer bottles with a lighter, Chan hands you one of the drinks and you start taking some sips, deciding gulping down the whole half a litre at once would be stupid. Your best friend and you keep sitting in silence for a few more minutes, until he asks: “So, how do you feel about the whole situation? Do you wanna talk about it?” You’ve actually hoped to get away with not having to speak about the issue, but now Chan destroys your plans with his caring nature.
“I don’t know, I feel very uncomfortable about this whole thing”, you’re able to admit, but only because your eyes are focused on the river, escaping Chan’s gaze on your side profile. “There’s nothing you have to be embarrassed about, I’m your best friend. Also, if speaking about this is hard for you, I can get some more drinks”, he jokes and you giggle at his suggestion. “Just start when you’re ready, but I think it would be useful if you introduce me to your problems in order for me to know how to behave at the wedding.”
Of course, he’s right with that and you know that but it’s never been an issue for you to trust him with his secret, it’s more of the opposite actually. The real challenge you have to overcome in the first place is opening up to anyone. Talking about your problems has never been easy for you, even at a young age - another thing you blame on the emotional distance of your father.
“Well, you know I’m not that close with him”, you begin and even though you’re still not looking at him, you can feel his glaring furthermore lingering on you, “I mean, he’s always made sure everything regarding financial stuff is covered with the amount of money he has, but he’s not exactly my dad, you know?” Chan nods and it’s the first time now you dare turn around to look at him. Different from how you’ve expected, there’s no uncomfortable pity in his eyes, he’s simply listening to you.
“The sad thing is, I’m used to it, I don’t expect him to develop his skills on an emotional level, it’s always been my mom and me and it’s not like I’ve been neglected or something. But the older I’ve got, the more I’ve realised he’s toxic as well. It’s not just the fact on a political spectrum we’re so so different, but also lifestyle wise”, you try to explain, still unsure how to continue.
Chan senses it’s hard for you to talk about these personal feelings, so he encourages you to explain further, when he asks: “How is that?” Shifting in your seat, you bring your gaze onto the river in front of you again, a small ship is currently passing and you try focusing on it.
“He has different, pretty much pressuring expectations on me because he’s always valued my existence and the relationship he has with me on my achievements in life. The first thing is that he’s annoyed I’m taking my university degree in film production, telling me it’s useless, I won’t find a job and do real work like he does. Basically, anything that’s not mathematics and stuff like that, is stupid in his opinion”, you explain to your best friend, already feeling the anger building up in your stomach when you think about the stubborn and ignorant words of your father.
“Wow, typical privileged old men, I guess”, Chan answers, shaking his head in disbelief, “I hope you do know, what you’re doing isn’t useless. I mean, the passion you have for studying despite your mental health situation is beyond impressive for me, I wish I was that creative.” Warm smile erupts on your face, you look at your friend again.
“Good transition, the next thing he’s making me feel stupid for is my ADHD. It’s the only of my psychological issues I’ve told him about, I’ve given up on the other ones. Even though his father and nephew have ADHD as well- my grandpa isn’t diagnosed, but still- he says I’m just imagining things and young people these days just don’t know how to work hard”, you tell your best friend and with the alcohol entering your system, your anger turns from disappointment to sadness and faster than you realise, tears are appearing on your lower lash line, threatening to roll down your cheeks.
When one droplet meets your soft skin, Chan is fast to swipe it away with his thumb, right before he says: “I’m so sorry, I hope you know nothing he’s saying is true. Your ADHD is valid and I know, it’s making not only university but also everyday life way harder for you.” A weight drops off your shoulder, when you attentively listen to his kind words, knowing it’s coming directly from his heart.
“Thank you, Chan”, is the only thing you can reply at this moment, as he grabs your hand, softly caressing the back of it before he tangles his fingers with yours. “No, not for that. You know, you can always tell me anything, princess”. The unexpected use of the pet name catches you off guard, even though he’s used it before but your vulnerable and tipsy state makes you experience even the littlest emotions much more intense.
“But for real”, he begins, playing with your fingers, “there’s no need to be embarrassed or shy about anything, if I knew you’re tortured with your silent cry, I would have helped you earlier”. You don’t know if it’s just the void he’s filling with listening to you, attentively trying to understand all your sorrows and just being there for you, but at this moment he’s just so much nearer to you than he’s ever been, speaking on an emotional level.
You swear you’ve never felt so secure and understood before in your life, it’s like you can finally breathe again, no need to think you’re judged only for being yourself. It’s nothing new, you feel protected in his presence, just as if the rainbow is coming out thanks to the sun replacing the thunderstorm and dark clouds.
His thumb is still caressing the back of your hand, when you look up at him, his gaze fixated on your fingers. For just a tiny second you imagine what it would be like, if there was more than just friendship between the both of you, but you’re afraid these feelings just occur because he’s assuring safety. Also, it’s never been easy for you to feel comfortable around men and you’re convinced this won’t happen in the near future.
That’s why you pull away from him, afraid of your own emotions, unsure how to handle the sudden outbreak of confusion. Your best friend with him - nothing more. Don’t let this get to your head.
♡
Waking up the next day, sunbeams shooting right in your face, you mumble something under your breath, annoyed that your sleep is interrupted. When you realise you might have turned off your alarms in your sleep, you instantly grab your phone from the nightstand table, tapping on the screen as the time reads 11AM. Shit. You’re late.
Yeji is gonna kill you, when she finds out she’ll have to wait for you yet again, because you’ve overslept as usual. Rushing to the shared bathroom, you try the least to look somehow presentable and less dead, putting on a simple black shirt combined with wide length jeans, while you brush your hair a few times, so you look less similar to a bird nest.
Grabbing your purse, you leave the dorm and sprint to the bus stop, texting your friend on the way when you, luckily, see the right vehicle driving around the corner and entering it once it’s stopped. At least, you’ll still make it on time. Not bothering to find an empty seat since you’re only staying for a few stations, you wait for the bus to reach your destination.
Yeji is already in front of the mall, waiting for you as she scrolls through her phone, but looks up, when you walk towards her. “Hey, beautiful, how are you?” She asks you, a bright smile on her face while she pulls you into a warm hug. “Everything alright, I’ve made it on time, you should be proud.” Your friend giggles about your remark. “I actually am quite impressed to be honest.”
With it being lunch time, the mall is less busy even though it’s a sunny Friday, so you decide to use this fact to your advantage, as you stroll around the stores, trying to find a fitting dress for the wedding tomorrow. You soon realise every dress you like is either too expensive or probably too much for the event, knowing your father is more of a minimalist when it comes to his style.
Telling Yeji about your concerns, she reassures you with just the right idea: “We can’t do much about the price thing, but if I was you, I would choose the prettiest dress I can find. For the main character moment.” Laughing about her idea, you answer: “Well- I’m not sure, it’s not like I’m not comfortable enough but I don’t want to get stupid comments for overdressing”.
Yeji halts in place, as she stands right in front of you, a serious look on her face as she says: “First of all, they’re gonna make offensive remarks anyway, so why not look good while getting them? Second of all, there’s no such thing as overdressing, the others are just underdressing. So why not be the main character and the villain at the same time, right?”
Some time passes by until you come across a dress that’s just suited for the occasion and the emotional state you're in. The dark violet, almost black shimmering, fabric falls down onto the floor, revealing a leg with the cut on the side. The thin strips are supposed to hold everything in place and when you try the clothing on, you’re sure it’s the right one. Actually, you’re convinced you’ve never worn something that’s made you feel so powerful.
Yeji was in fact right, you can be the main character and the villain at the same time. Taking the dress off again, you reach for the prize tag and almost start crying when you read the number written on it - the dress is way over your budget. Almost sobbing, your self pity is interrupted, when you receive a message from your fathers bank account, telling you he’s sending you money to shop for a dress.
Usually, daughters or sons with bad relationships to their parents don’t want to take any money they get from their toxic father or mother, but at some point in your life this opinion changed for you. Since he’s at least always made sure, financial problems shouldn’t be something for you to worry about by paying for much more than necessary, you decided that if he can’t be emotionally available, you’ll use him for his money instead. In addition, the thought of him paying for a dress he sure won’t like, makes you even more hyped up for taking revenge.
Putting on your everyday clothes, your phone buzzes once again, receiving a message from your best friend:
Channie <3: Have you already found a dress? Tell me which colour it has, so I can wear a matching suit :)
Right. The Chan situation your brain has successfully been able to suppress throughout the whole day is finally catching up now, letting second guesses about last night appear in your head again. Even though he’s been nothing but caring for you, it still feels embarrassing to you, you’ve been so vulnerable around him, knowing you have a hard time trusting anyone, already sensing they’ll eventually turn their back on you.
But it would be immature to completely ignore him, so you decide to at least answer his question and try to avoid him until tomorrow.
♡
Getting out of the taxi, Chan and you stand in front a mesmerising building, probably from the renaissance epoch, greeted with a beautifully colourful front yard, different types of flowers not only visually pleasing, but the smell of them soon find their way to your nose, helping you calm down for the following event.
Your father and his fiancée - now wife - had the ceremony in private, which leads to the party starting in the evening, making it much more bearable knowing you don’t have to stay here the whole day. As you enter the house, many guests are already there, none of them familiar to you, probably just some business colleagues of your dad or Samantha’s relatives.
Chan and you decide to search for your designated seats, which you find soon after, sitting down on the wooden chairs at one of the round tables without recognising any of the people gathering with you there. Probably, they are all family members and friends of your father’s wife. The elegantly dressed waiters soon arrive at your table, bringing different kinds of food and drinks.
From time to time, your best friend right beside you lays his hand on top of your thigh as a reassuring gesture. You know he’s just doing it, because he cares for you, wanting to make sure you’re alright, but something about his hand grabbing your skin makes your head go dizzy. Hoping you don’t blush at his innocent actions, you try to focus on the plates in front of you.
When everyone has finished their meals, you see the newlyweds for the first time, as your father stands up from his seat right at the opposite corner of the big room, as Samantha copies his movements. Taking his glass in one hand and his wife’s own in his other, he starts making a toast: “Dear family members, dear friends, dear guests, I’m happy we’re all here together, celebrating the only thing that actually matters in life - love”.
As you hear him lying through his teeth, you almost choke on your drink, but Chan is fast to notice, helping you breathe again, as all the other guests are staring at you. Of course, your father sees what’s happening as well, shooting a piercing glare right towards you, before he spontaneously adds: “I’m also very happy that my only daughter is here with her partner, thank you, darling”.
You don’t even have to turn around, in order to see the look Chan is giving your father, the boy right beside you needs all his strength not to stand up and punch him in the face. Deciding to simply nod, as dozens of pairs of eyes are laying on you, you hope for the best this atmosphere will soon change for the better.
The night goes on, you’re observed in talking with Chan. He’s made some attempts speaking to the other guests at your table, finding out they’re some of Samantha’s friends, but he miserably failed. Of course, it isn’t his fault but actually every one of them just looked at you, judging the both of you with their piercing gaze, so you know for sure they don’t like you simply because of your looks or possibly by what your father or Samantha has told them.
When some more time passes, you come to the conclusion you still have to at least talk to your dad once this evening, as every guest does at weddings. When you tell Chan about it, he offers to go with you, also wanting to present himself as your boyfriend since this is what he came here for. Or at least that’s what he’s telling himself. He’s definitely here just as a friend, not because he secretly has a crush on you.
Walking towards the newlyweds table, your father already spots you from afar, a fake smile appearing on his face as usual. His wife is engaged in a conversation with a friend, not noticing you until you come closer to them. “Y/N, darling, I’m glad you’re here!” He greets you, pulling you into a - rather uncomfortable - hug. Chan stands right beside you, trying his best to seem as polite as possible.
“Hello, we wish you both all the best”, you begin, thinking it’s a good choice to start with something like that. “Thank you so much!” Your father says, the happiness on his face makes you want to throw up. “This is Chan, my boyfriend”, you introduce your best friend and he immediately shakes hands with the man in front of him, as you observe both their body languages.
From your perspective, it’s totally clear Chan is really trying his best not to jump at him since there’s so much he wants to tell your father. “Nice to meet you”, Chan says, as they both stare at each other, a strict look on the older man’s face. It’s at this moment that Samantha turns around to greet you as well: “Oh, hey Y/N, I’m glad you’re here! Are you enjoying the party with that- dress?”
Rolling your eyes in disbelief, even though you’ve already expected her to drop a comment like that at some point, you answer: “Yeah, it’s okay.” Samantha giggles at your reply, just before she continues: “I guessed that. You’re always so… negative, why don’t you smile a bit more? The sun is shining, everyone’s having a great time, of course you have to be the one to ruin it again.”
Chan’s jaw clenches and he’s still trying to resist snapping back at her, but this sentence is his last straw: “Samantha, right? Hi, I’m Chan. Happy marriage or whatever, but there’s no need to bicker at my girlfriend, just because she’s looking better than you tonight even though you’re the bride. Kinda pathetic, if you ask me.”
It would be an understatement to say she’s shocked about the way your best friend is talking back at her, defending you with just a few words. But as expected, Samantha isn’t able to stand up for herself, that’s why she orders your father around: “Babe, let them leave the party! I don’t want either of them here”. Your dad knows she’s making a scene, that’s why he tells you and Chan to follow him to another room so you can talk in private.
He guides you to another room, as pompous as the party hall, golden moulding on the ceiling and filled with antique furniture. “You think you can sabotage my wedding, young man?” Your father asks and Chan immediately steps away out of reflex, hoping nothing bad will follow. Even though he still has the urge to fight him, there has never been a moment when he’s been convinced to act upon his desires.
“You think you can let your wife talk to my girlfriend like that?” Chan asks back, not expecting the other one to actually answer his question just like he did. “Come on, we both know she was right with that. I don’t know how long you two have known each other, but it’s quite typical for my daughter to disrespect adults.” Chan scoffs at your dad, mostly being annoyed about the fact he’s talking as if you’re not in the room.
“You know, she’s an adult herself and you can talk to her as well, right?” Your father turns his head towards you, letting his gaze wander from your head down to your feet, inspecting your outfit and judging the dress you’re wearing. “So you’ve spent my money on this?” He asks, looking right at you now. “Obviously”, you reply.
“So, you’ve got your grade on the exams already?” He questions, as usual, the only thing he cares about is your academic career, only measuring how ‘good’ you are based on how well you’re doing in university. “Wow, what a timing”, is all you can say, scoffing under your breath. “What? I’m allowed to ask, after all I’m the one paying for your useless degree. Just so you know, a bachelor’s degree is okay, but don’t dare think about signing up for a master’s program. You should start working already.”
You don’t know what’s driving you over the edge, but you feel tears emerging on your lower lash line and it won’t take much more time for them to glide down your cheeks. Chan right beside senses it, that’s why he steps in: “You’re her father, you should support her with her life choices and also- Y/N is so good at what she’s studying, she’s the best one in our year, getting invitations to film festivals and TV shows, it’s definitely not useless!”
You swear, you’ve never seen Chan this furious before, anger building up in his whole body, as he takes all his strength to at least somehow stay polite. “I don’t care, you said she’s an adult, right? I’m not responsible for her anymore.” Feeling the warm droplets touch the skin on your face, you cough under your breath, as you try to focus on a single thought.
“You’ve never been responsible, actually. You’ve never acted like a parent, at least not on an emotional level”, you’re finally able to tell him, not caring about the fact you’re bawling your eyes out by now. Chan softly takes your hand, giving it a few squeezes as a reassuring gesture. “And you know what”, you continue, “At one point I stopped caring- I don’t care anymore- let’s stop expecting anything from each other from now on, okay?”
Holding your best friend’s hand tighter, you take a few steps back, telling Chan to move with you and you soon after leave the venue.
♡
Getting back to your apartment, Chan places both your jackets aside, walking to the kitchen to take two glasses and fill them with tap water. You sit down on one of the chairs at the kitchen table, glad now your roommate isn’t here tonight. Putting the drinks on the surface, Chan takes a seat next to you, as none of you say a word.
Gulping down the whole liquid at once in order to calm down mentally, you place the glass onto the table right after, gasping for air. Your best friend in front of you is attentively observing every move you make, before he convinces himself to speak: “Do you need anything?” Instantly shaking your head, you answer: “No I don’t think so.” But the tears rolling yet again down your cheeks are betraying you.
“Hey”, Chan begins, as he gets up from his seat, immediately pulling you into a hug, as you stand up, “I’m here, princess.” Your best friend smells like a mixture of pineapples, feeling safe and coming back home after a long, exhausting day - the addition of calling you by that name again makes your knees go weak, as you hold onto him tighter.
“Promise me, you’ll never leave me?” You ask him, secretly hoping you don’t put too much pressure on him, but Chan knows you’re in a vulnerable state right now and even if you weren’t - you’re the only person he wants. It’s the same for him, you’re his home, his comfort, his everything. You’re the one he can lean on after a rough day, a week or even a month.
“You’ll never get rid of me, don’t worry”, he answers, slowly caressing the back of your head, as you get lost in the fact of him being so close to you. Of course, he’s been your best friend for some years now, you’ve both kept everything on a platonic level, but since possibly the beginning of the semester you’ve started looking at him in a different way.
But you’re afraid - afraid he’s going to turn his back on you, leaving you like everyone else does. At least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the past months. Maybe you’re just afraid of losing him as a friend, in case he doesn’t return your feelings. But when you gradually pull away from him, his gaze instantly lands on your face and you see his eyes flicker down to your lips.
You don’t even realise if it’s been half a second, a whole minute or eternity when he places his lips on yours for the first time, but you instantly give in, allowing him to guide you through the movements. What was supposed to be an innocent encounter in the beginning, soon turns into a heated make out session, when his tongue enters your mouth, fighting for dominance with your own.
His hands immediately grab your waist, as they slowly wander down onto your hips, passionately squeezing the flesh through the clothing, as the kissing never stops. At one point, your lips disconnect in order for the both of you to gasp for air and so he’s able to make the following suggestion: “Why don’t we go to your bedroom and I’ll show you how much I really care about you, angel?”
You swear you might pass out if he keeps going like this and this is only the beginning. Letting him guide you to your room, you both walk through the door and he sits down on your bed, patting on his thighs so you position yourself above him, now straddling his lap. Your lips find his again, the kissing continues and his hands are on your hips again, this time slowly wandering down until they meet your ass, staying there for a few seconds until they travel under your dress.
“Is it okay if I touch you here?” He carefully asks, as his fingers brush the fabric of your underwear. When you instantly nod, he questions again: “Words, princess, talk to me.” Blushing at the way he’s speaking to you - so soft but yet so sinful - you answer: “Yes, please touch me, Chan.” It’s unmissable how much he adores the fact you’re saying his name in combination with being so eager about him making a move on you.
“Good girl”, he whispers, his piercing gaze on you, as you look at him with big eyes. At first, his finger slides over your laces but he soon pushes the cover aside, as he meets your wet folds and his index and middle finger immediately start drawing circles where you need him the most. It doesn’t take long for you to verbally let him know, you’re enjoying this a little too much, as you keep repeating his name between moans.
Chan pulls his fingers away for a second, making you whine because of the loss of touch, just for him to guide them to his mouth, sucking on them before they find their way back to your wetness. Slowly pushing one digit inside, another one follows soon after, as his thumb finds your clit again. You roll your eyes to the back of your head, somehow trying to withstand the unbearable pleasure, but give up at one point.
When you look down to where your bodies meet, the veins in his hands are pretty much visible, as you observe how the pace of his fingers increases. Unintentionally, you start grinding, moving your hips to the rhythm of his digits. Immediately noticing it, his free hand finds your jaw, as he turns your head so your eyes are on his. “Babygirl, are you enjoying this a bit too much? Feels good to fuck yourself on my fingers?”
That’s everything he needs to say in order for you to feel the knot in your lower stomach tighten, which Chan immediately senses since you’re clenching around his fingers, as he says: “Just like that, gonna cum all over my fingers, angel?” Smirk on his face, his voice a bit mockingly, you know he’s enjoying the way your body responds so easily to his motions and words. “I- fuck- I’m gonna-“, you cry out, unable to form a whole sentence because just at this moment you come undone, as you hold onto his shoulders, in order to stabilise yourself.
Head still dizzy, Chan pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth again and cleaning them by licking off your liquid, as his eyes never leave your own. Soon after, his lips are on yours again and you taste yourself but don’t mind, the kiss instantly becomes passionate, as you continue grinding on his lap. His bulge presses right at where his fingers have just been and when he realises, he lifts you up and lays you down onto your back.
Painfully slowly, he grabs the hem of your dress and guides it upwards and you don’t need to be told twice to understand what he’s asking for, when you pull it over your head, leaving you there in nothing but your underwear. Your bra and panties soon meet the floor as well, right before your hands land on his shirt, slowly unbuttoning the fabric. Chan gets rid off his pants and boxer shorts after that, so by now you’re both bare naked, just staring at each other, admiring the other person’s body and beauty.
Some moments later, he’s crawling on top of you, his eyes never leaving yours, as he stabilises himself on his forearms. Taking his cock in his hand, he positions his length right at your entrance, teasing your bundle of nerves with the tip, as a mischievous smile appears on his face. “Chan- please, just ruin me- do whatever you want”. The man above you giggles about your eager desires, slowly entering your heat, when he says: “Princess, I didn’t expect you to be such a slut for my cock.”
Immediately clenching around him, not only because of the way he’s talking to you but because his length and thickness makes you feel much tighter than you actually are, you close your eyes and tell him to keep moving once you’re used to the feeling. Chan starts thrusting into you, the pace slowly increasing, as he’s looking right at you.
Keeping the balance of his body by positioning one arm right next to your head, the other one lands on your cheeks, thumb softly caressing your cheeks. “You’re being so good for me- your cunt feels so good around me”, he says in between moans, while you try your best not to get completely lost in pleasure. Unexpectedly, his fingers wander down, landing around your throat, as he puts pressure on the sides.
“Look at yourself, didn’t know you could be such a good slut for me”, he adds, almost driving you over the edge with his words. But suddenly, Chan pulls out of you, just to grab you by your waist and turn you around on your stomach. His hands wander between your legs, slowly brushing your wet folds, as he lifts your ass up.
When he slowly guides his length into your heat again, you’re sure you’re going to see stars soon, unable to withstand the sensations anymore. He continues thrusting into you, one hand next to you again and the other one landing on your neck, roughly pushing the side of your face into the pillows underneath. “Fuck- Chan, right there- please”, you say or rather cry out, when he hits just the right spot with this new position, sliding even deeper into you.
“Good girl, keep moaning my name like that- I know you’re close”, he says, only speaking the truth, as you realise you’re getting nearer to your second orgasm of the night. But Chan is close too, regarding the fact your walls don’t stop clenching around him and it takes him a lot of resilience to not cum yet. “Fuck- close- please”, you murmur under your breath, letting the guy above you smirk again, even though you can’t see his facial expressions at the moment.
“Come on, princess, be a good girl and cum for me”, he orders and you instantly give in, reaching your climax, as he keeps thrusting into you. Soon after, his moans increase their volume, right before he paints your walls white. Pulling out of you, as the mixture of both your liquids run down your inner thighs, he gets up from the bed and brings wet towels from the bathroom, helping you clean yourself.
But the longer you just sit there, the more the familiarly uncomfortable feeling increases, post-sex realisation hitting you. That’s when you feel the tears build up on your lower lash line again, but Chan immediately senses it, when he asks: “Hey, what’s going on? Did I go too far? Was it too rough?” Shaking your head, knowing damn well it has nothing to do with any physical memories you share now, you answer: “No, don’t worry about that. Everything was great. I just feel so stupid about something else.”
Taking a seat right next to you on the bed, Chan’s hand finds your face, slowly caressing your cheek, before he places his index finger under your chin, making you look at him. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s on your mind? We’ve agreed on being honest with each other.”
Sighing under your breath, you feel your heartbeat becoming faster with each second, knowing it’s now or never. But then you remember, how calm you feel around him, that you’ve never been that truly yourself around someone else before. Chan is your best friend, your soulmate, your home. He won’t hurt you, he’s here to protect you from all evil, fighting for you even in the darkest nights.
“I hope this won’t destroy anything between the both of us, but I’ve wanted this for a long time- I want to be more than friends”, you explain, sheeply looking at him, as you lay your hand on his. Feeling the weight on his shoulder finally being lifted, Chan takes a deep breath right before he answers: “I’m glad you’re the first one to say that, I’ve had a crush on you for ages, Y/N, I thought you would never notice.”
Staring at him in disbelief, totally relieved, you say: “Really? Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Chan slowly shifts in his seat. “I didn’t want to scare you and I was probably a bit afraid as well. But better late than never, right?” He says, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.
𓏲 WARNINGS. language, mild violence, minho is a jerk at first, cliche asf, mildly suggestive, a brief allusion to assault (but it’s stopped before anything happens), blood, injuries and tending to them (i am not a doctor), food, mentions of war and famines, poison, mentions of death, reader gets carried around and has hair that can be put in a ponytail, petnames, includes the rest of skz as various people (TV-14)
𓏲 SUMMARY. when you agreed to marry the prince of the crimson clan in order to sign a peace treaty, it feels like your entire life is crumbling down in front of your eyes. forced to move to another kingdom, you’re afraid of being shackled in a loveless marriage. minho’s reputation precedes him, and the stories you’ve heard aren’t exactly great. yet the seemingly perfect kingdom has many secrets, along with a dark history that goes beyond anything you would’ve imagined…
𓏲 A/N. ot related to GoT at all!! just liked the title lol. inspired by the webtoon subZero. this is just a flaming pile of garbage lmfao - i started this fic back in july but i only got like 1k before i gave up. then, i recently picked this story back up since i didn’t want to give up on it. a lot of effort went into this, but i recognize that this story isn’t perfect. i came to a realization of how much i despise my writing style while i was writing this :<. i’m a tad bit afraid that only like two people will read lol but oh well, we shall see :) on a lighter note, i really hope you enjoy and please don’t forget to lmk your thoughts as i’ll literally jump with joy :> side note: the reader comes from the azure clan but the royal guard is caled the cerulean guard.
𓏲 SPECIAL THANKS TO. @luvseos for beta reading the prologue-ish part, tysm!! (also, i’m so so sorry i am not able to tag you so i assume you deactivated :( ) @hyuukais and @kurosism for going over the first part of the fic! thank you guys a lot and i really appreciate all of your nice comments and suggestions <3 big thanks to @sw1mmingfoolz for reading through the first part! thank you for all your sweet comments :> and @celestialgyu for going through the entirety of this. I was nearly gonna start crying in the dms tysm <3
@seung-scrittore oh my god leo you are a savior for going through this entire monster!! thank you! i can’t stress it enough how grateful i am <33 i really appreciate it :< also sorry for having to correct shitty typos and my malfunctioning grammar lmfao
@chaninfused furat thank you for listening to my rambles as i was losing it on main lol. it was really nice and helpful talking to you, especially as your (self proclaimed) no 1 stan lol. also shout out to your arab prince! minho cause i’m still on the agenda and i can’t deny i thought of him while writing this. go read danse macabre for some quality prince!minho (and great plot)
@choihaiyun for the amazing banner idea/creation <3
MASTERLIST
The night was coated in inky darkness, thunder rumbling outside your window.
It was a cold winter night, heavy snow coating your entire kingdom like a blanket. Loud arguments echoed through the room, various voices from both sides unable to reach an agreement.
You weren’t surprised—it was a tough decision to make on your part, or rather, on your uncle’s part. The men from the Crimson clan appeared in your kingdom a few days ago with an unexpected offer: a peace treaty. After many years of war, your entire kingdom was in ruins and it came to no one’s surprise that your uncle jumped at the opportunity to finally end the conflict that had been going on for over a century.
That was, however, before he had heard the details of said treaty, and after finding out what the last requirement was, he was about to turn it down at lightning speed.
That’s when you suddenly stood up, dusting the imaginary specks of dust from your finest gown—the one you were ordered to wear tonight.
“Enough!” you shouted over the loud voices in the room.
Everyone, both your people and the people of the Crimson clan, immediately turned their heads towards you in surprise, not expecting such an outburst from the crown princess. You’d been silent the entire meeting, choosing to keep quiet and let them talk, but you’d had enough. Everybody was speaking over you, arguing over your future like it was some sort of commodity; nobody even bothered to ask you what you wanted.
Taking a deep breath, you finally whispered, “I agree to the marriage.”
Warnings: swearing, mentions of warfare/violence, mentions of blood, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, outdated sexual norms/attitudes
Author’s Note: Feedback and reblogs are what keep me going - so any and all thoughts are greatly appreciated!! This is unedited because I just wanted to get it out lol; I will be doing a read-through tomorrow for errors, but if you guys find any in the meantime, please let me know!!
Summary: You took a deep breath before lifting your head, staring right at Chan. “I can be your collateral – as your wife.”
As you trudged up the stone stairway, heavy buckets of water swinging from your arms, you stopped to wipe the sweat off your forehead – and curse the day your father had ever been born.
Pairing: Minho x fem!reader
Word Count: 9.3k
Genre: Enemies to lovers, suggestive, college au
Warnings: Heavily suggestive content, kinda intense makeout scene, use of she/her pronouns, profanity, bickering / arguing, slight physical violence (punching, shoving, etc), let me know if I missed anything
Summary: Minho never liked you, that was painfully obvious, but the feeling was mutual. You both had clawed your way to the top of the class at the dance academy and were in constant competition with each other, always at each other's throats about one thing or another. When one of your teachers has had enough of your bickering, he pairs you two together on a project that will impact your final grade. Minho's unpredictable and forward behavior only serves to irritate you, while your devilish and demanding attitude seems to only fuel his fire. Can you two sort your differences and create an entire routine together, or are you doomed to failure in the face of your discourse? What happens when feelings of disgust and hatred start to twist into forbidden pleasure?
A/n: If you have time to read, you have time to reblog. I mean that in the nicest way possible, because likes do not count towards the algorithm. This has not been proofread, good luck y'all. Please send corrections to my ask box.
ost: Horns - Bryce Fox
[she got horns like a devil, pointed at me]
[and there's nowhere to run from the fire she breathes]
"No, no, she's doing it entirely wrong!" Minho exclaimed, standing up from his seat in front of the practice stage and pointing at you. "She's so bouncy, she's missing beats and-"
"Minho." The teacher interrupted sternly, gesturing for him to sit back down. "Are you the teacher today? Should I just go home and let you take over?" The sarcasm in his voice was obvious, causing Minho to mumble a quick apology and return to his seat.
"At least I'm not as stiff as a robot." You spat from the stage, glaring at the boy that had been making your life miserable since you got here. You couldn't pinpoint exactly what had set him off, but a few people hinted to the fact that you scored higher than him on the placement test for this class. It was a feat no other student could seem to accomplish, out-ranking the ruthless top student. You were well on your way to dethroning him and he clearly wasn't happy about it.
"Both of you cut it out." The teacher corrected you as you gave a huff and Minho responded with a smirk. "Minho, why don't you come up here and join (your name). That way we can take a look at your individual styles and discuss the differences."
"I don't want to dance with them!" You both called out in unison, causing a few classmates to snicker at the pink hue floating onto both of your cheeks. Occasionally you both were on the same page and it was somewhat painful to think about how similar you could be.
"And you're not always going to like the person you end up being on a stage with, but you have to learn to get over it and be civil." The teacher had a point, but Minho was the kind of person that would make you quit a job and never look back. You'd never accept a contract if it meant having to deal with him, the constant nitpicking and sarcasm only fueling your anger.
Trudging his way onto the stage with you, you couldn't help but notice how well put together Minho looked at all times. Sure, you hated him, but you also knew how ridiculously attractive he was despite his rotten attitude. Every feature of his face perfectly placed and proportioned, his hair falling in a frame just above his eyes that were locked on you. You both stood in complete silence, staring each other down like two predators competing for the only prey in sight.
"What are you staring at?" He snapped, lowering his head slightly to adjust the angle of his gaze in an attempt to intimidate you. You knew this trick all too well, you weren't going to fall for it. There was nothing intimidating about a spoiled brat.
"You'd be hot if you weren't such a whiny bitch about everything." You responded under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear but quiet enough to not alert the teacher. If nothing else, you were brutally honest.
"Oh, is that so?" His voice was quiet and suddenly smooth, his eyebrow raised in both curiosity and suspicion as he ran his tongue along his bottom lip. Before he got a chance to take advantage of the moment, the teacher was already counting you off and you both nearly missed the beat.
"Notice how Minho is perfectly on beat? Each move beginning and ending exactly in tune with the counts. That's the kind of precision you all should strive to have." The teacher explained as the class watched him for a moment. You could feel Minho's ego getting bigger by the second, though it was entirely undeserved. "On the other hand you have (your name), who sometimes will hold a beat just a moment over the count. Now, normally this would become an issue. But if you listen closely to the music behind it, you can see that it fits perfectly to the emotions being expressed. Her body flows with the feeling of the song, which gives a lot of stage presence to something that would normally feel scripted." The class nodded, now watching you for a moment before turning to the teacher as you finished the choreography. "You should aim to be the best of both of them. Precise and passionate."
"Are we done up here?" You asked, rolling your eyes and giving Minho a shove to create space between the two of you. Just because you had ended the choreography so close to each other didn't mean he had to stay there. Stumbling slightly, he shot you a glare and moved to shove you back, though you leaned out of the way to ensure he would just bump into you instead. "Excuse me? Stay the fuck away from me." You hissed, giving him a smug smirk.
"Minho-" The teacher started, but was quickly interrupted.
"She shoved me first, did you not see that?" He raised his voice, pointing at you as your smug expression melted into a pout of pure innocence.
"I don't care who started it, you're not children. Act like the young adults you are and behave. I shouldn't have to say this to someone your age." You turned to walk off the stage, winking back at Minho as you ran your fingers through your hair. Getting him in trouble was oddly satisfying, as was irritating him right back. Two could play this ridiculous game.
"But she-"
"You know what? Why don't we make the next project a partner project? You two can work together to get over your differences." Stopping in your tracks at the instructions, you whipped your head around to look at the teacher in disbelief. As you opened your mouth to speak, he held up a hand to stop you. "You'll be getting an email with the instructions and each other's contact information. I fully expect to not see either of you in class until the due date. I've had enough of your bickering."
"But sir I-" You started.
"I suggest you figure out your issues and promptly get over them, as this will be part of your final grade. You both are far too advanced to need any more of this class until finals week. I'm sure you'll do fine."
"This is your fault!" You both shouted at each other, pointing fingers with eyes wide and panicked. More snickering from your classmates had you frustrated enough to just give up the fight, it wasn't worth getting any further punishments.
"Fuck you!" You called, stomping out of the door and slamming it behind you.
"I know you want to!" Minho called after you, following your path out the door but finding that you had already run off. He'd catch you again eventually... you did have to work with him, after all.
-----
"He's punishing both of us." Minho's voice over the phone was clearly irritated as you both read over the email together. "Give an emotionally provoking performance, but points will be docked for every move that doesn't fit perfectly within the counts." He sighed.
"That's not difficult, if you'd just have some feelings for five minutes." You scoffed in response.
"You say that like you can stay within the counts. You'll have us failing in the first minute." His attitude was obvious and you were definitely not looking forward to this project in the slightest. "And the song he chose for us? Icing on the fucking cake. It sounds like a stripper's song... the beats are so slowed and heavy. Every count is loud and obvious."
"Good thing I used to be one." Your response was instant, not skipping a beat. Sometimes you surprised yourself with your own wittiness. The extended silence followed by a concerning monotone made you giggle, though you covered your mouth to muffle it.
"Are you serious?" Though you couldn't see it, you were sure his eyes were a bit wide and he had a slightly raised eyebrow. Surely the comment would pique his interest a bit.
"Wouldn't you love to know." There was a low hum in response and you could feel your face begin to heat up a bit. "Just... meet me in the courtyard in like, an hour? We need to start putting this together."
"Yes ma'am. Should I bring your coffee too, since you wanna talk to me like I'm your servant?" The sarcasm was thick but you were ready to throw it right back at him.
"Oh, good idea. Iced latte with whole milk and three sugars, thanks." You quickly hung up before he could come up with a response.
When you arrived at the courtyard in front of the main building, you weren't surprised to find Minho already sitting on a bench waiting for you. If you were on time, he was early. Anything to show you up.
"I see you didn't bring my coffee." You smirked, shrugging your bag off your shoulder and onto the ground in front of him.
"You're an insufferable devil woman." Minho scoffed in response before reaching behind his own bag to hand you the exact coffee you had requested. "But I always keep my word." Though surprised, you gently took the cup from his hands with a mumbled 'thanks'. It was strange to see his name scribbled on the cup, even stranger that he had taken the time to stop and buy it for you. He didn't have a coffee of his own, meaning he had gone out of his way for you. This had to be a trap somehow.
"I strive to be. Glad it's working." Your flat tone seemed to irritate him a bit, his eyes narrowing in your direction as you continued to speak. "So I was thinking of some choreo on the way here-"
"There's no need for your input, I can put an entire routine together myself. I just have to figure out a way to teach it to you." He rose to his feet, taking a step closer to you.
"It's my project too, you arrogant fuck. You're going to take my input and you're going to fucking like it." You took a heavy step towards him this time, your body language shifting as your fuse was already beginning to burn. Something about your tone made Minho's blood begin to boil in an unexpected way. In any other situation, he would make a sarcastic comment and simply walk away. He had no time for such immature banter... except when it came to you. You could keep him backed into a corner all day and he'd continue to fight you, constantly searching for a moment of weakness to strike back. Something about you kept him coming back.
"My arrogance is earned. Can you say the same?" He stepped closer still, a smug smirk plastered across his face as your anger was building. He knew what buttons he was pressing and he intended to keep pressing them until you began to combust.
"If you think I'm arrogant-" You were cut off as you stepped forward, feeling his breath for only a brief moment before his hands gave a hard shove to your chest. Stumbling back in surprise, you gritted your teeth and allowed your vision to go red. A short fuse was certainly an understatement when it came to your tolerance of Minho. With a swift lunge, you placed a punch square into his chest, causing a gasp to escape him as you partially knocked the air out of his lungs. In some sick way, it looked like he had enjoyed it, a smile playing across his lips as he chuckled.
"You're a fool, you know that?" He knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted you to lose your composure, he wanted you to touch him in any way he could get you to. In a twisted way he enjoyed it, though he couldn't quite put a finger on the reason. Something about your attitude and devilish nature just got him in some way, but admitting that would be admitting weakness. Instead, he'd continue to toy with you. "C'mon, keep fighting. I'm recording all of it so I can create the choreography from it."
For someone as irritating and condescending as he was, Minho certainly was brilliant. What a better way to bring passion and emotion into the routine than to literally be fighting each other like you did on a daily basis. With a huff, you lunged at him again, this time his hand catching your wrist before you could land another blow. In response, he twisted your arm around to the side, pulling you around to face away from him before jabbing an elbow into the crook of your neck. You let out a whine that had a hint of pleasure laced into it. This was certainly a strange feeling, considering how angry you had been just a moment ago. But this was just as much a dance as it was a fight, and you knew how to flow with someone like him.
He went to reach for you as you leaned to the side, avoiding his grip as you pulled your phone out and hastily started the music. You both gave a silent, understanding look as you placed the device on the ground and turned the volume up. Once more you approached each other, steps matching the beat of the song. You reached for his shirt, pulling him close before pushing him back, perfectly in time with the count. He snaked behind you, wrapping his arm around your chest and bending you back, allowing you to fall into his grip before boosting you back up to your feet.
Out of the corner of your eye, you caught his fist coming towards your arm. Surprising even yourself, you put your hand up just in time to catch him before the impact. A group had gathered around now, both confused and fascinated by the sight. At first glance it appeared to be a childish sparring match, but the crowd was beginning to watch the routine unfolding before them. As much as it disgusted you to think about, you both were so in sync with each other that the choreography would be a breeze to work out.
"Is that all you've got?" His voice was condescending, fingers dancing up your chest and around your neck. Freezing in place, you allowed him to wrap his thumb and finger just under your chin, pressing on the well known 'safe spots' to give the feeling of a lack of air without the danger. His head cocked to the side, an almost lustful expression painted on his face as he seemed to stare straight into your soul. If anyone was the devil, it certainly had to be him.
Feeling yourself becoming lightheaded, you suddenly realized he was actually doing this... in front of everyone! He was actually giving you the feeling of being choked out and you were too busy enjoying it to stop him. Giving a quick double tap on his wrist, he let go immediately and placed a hand on your back to stabilize you as you stumbled. You wanted to say something about it, but you knew he'd simply brush it off and make you look like the fool. Instead, you wanted to get a reaction out of him that would hopefully be as dumbfounded as yours was. After a moment of skillfully moving around each other, you reached your own hand up to his neck. As you went to squeeze, a muffled chuckle came from him as he ran his fingers roughly into your hair, pulling your head back and to the side. On cue, you moved with him to avoid more pain, making it appear that this was all part of the routine and he hadn't just caught you completely off guard. As your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, you knew he was winning. His goal was to break you and you were starting to crack already.
His grip loosened and you slipped away, slightly out of beat this time but you were beginning to panic. You had to get back at him in some way, but the song was almost over. There was a lull in movement as you both contemplated your next steps, a normal part of creating a new routine from scratch. You both gravitated towards each other once more, this time with a series of hand and arm movement isolations that mirrored each other. On the last beat of the song, you brought your lips to his ear, giving a small sigh that caused him to grab your arm and let out a stifled groan. His grip dug into your skin as he tried to compose himself, both of you frozen in this compromising position for what seemed like an eternity. The sweet taste of an unlikely victory sat well on your tongue as you caught sight of the flustered look on his face. Cheeks red, eyes darting around, and breathing a bit more labored than you'd expect from someone with his amount of stamina. As you tried to pull away, his grip tightened and held you in place for a moment, presumably to give him enough cover to pull himself together. His glare returned once more as you were freed from his hold.
"I'll look at the video when I get back to the dorm and start creating a routine from there." His tone was rushed as he gathered up his phone and handed yours back to you as well. Throwing his belongings back into his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he turned to walk away without another word.
"So that's it? You put me through all of that and I don't even get to be part of the process?" You called after him, your brain still trying to figure out exactly what had just happened between you two.
"Call me when you wake up tomorrow. We'll have a long day ahead of us." Of course he would ignore your comment, when did he ever care what you had to say? He was going to make this project entirely about him and you were going to have to force your way into it. It was going to be a long day indeed.
-----
5am sharp, you made it a point to be up as ridiculously early as possible. Anything you could do to annoy the absolute life out of Minho throughout this entire process was worth waking up at this ungodly hour. As you listened to the phone ring, you were surprised to hear him pick up after only a few seconds.
"Finally, you're awake." His voice was stern, acting as though he had been awake and ready before you called. There was no way.
"Don't act like you've been up all morning. It's 5am, get off your high horse." You rolled your eyes, knowing he couldn't see but he could certainly hear it in your voice.
"I've been up since 4, but who's keeping track, really? Meet me at the practice studio, and bring food. We'll be here all day. I assume you have nothing better to do." The scoff at the end of his remark made you want to hang up, block his number, and fail your final just so you didn't have to work with him anymore. But of course the competitiveness in you wouldn't let you, you wanted to prove to him that you could handle anything he threw at you with grace. Time to put your horns on, little devil, you've got a long day ahead of you.
Stumbling into the practice room after finishing the last bite of your bland sandwich from the student cafe, you suddenly realized what you had forgotten - your coffee. All you had was water. How were you going to put up with Minho's bullshit without some-
"Iced latte with whole milk and three sugars, right?" A smug smirk playing across his face, there was Minho with your coffee in hand. "I figured you'd be in too much of a hurry to remember." Once again you timidly took the cup, a word of gratitude uttered under your breath as you sat your bag down.
"So I'm assuming today I'm learning the choreography, then I can practice on my own? You know, limiting our contact so we don't drive each other insane?" You questioned as you sipped your coffee and began your usual set of stretches.
"You think you can learn a whole routine in one day?" Minho laughed, shaking his head in disbelief of your optimism. "I think it'll take me a week just to teach you half of it." He continued, breath hitching for a moment as you casually bent yourself backwards, back arched perfectly, just to see if you were still able to. It had been a while since you had tried to use your devilish charm to throw someone off, perhaps you should dust off your skills.
"I'll have it memorized by the end of today." You insisted, hands on your hips as you stared him down. He appeared to be slightly flustered, though it was a fleeting expression that quickly returned to that of borderline disgust at your words.
"Whatever you say, princess." There was venom in his words, but you were far too tired to care right now. His attempt to rile you up would have to wait until the adrenaline kicked in.
"It's too early to be contemplating murder, but try me again in a few hours." You retorted with a wink that shot electricity down Minho's spine. Though he would never admit it, going so far as to beat the pulp out of anyone that suggested it, your little devil horns always seemed to get the best of him. He had never met anyone that was at his level of skill and wit until he laid eyes on you. He was determined to pick and prod at you until he broke you down, much like a schoolboy teasing the cute girl on the playground until she cries. Emotions just... weren't his thing.
Hours seemed to fly by as you impressed him with your ability to learn the choreography. As much as you hated to admit it, he was good at putting together a routine that was as visually pleasing as it was challenging. He was certainly going to give you a run for your money, but that was his plan all along. If you were truly up to his level of skill, you'd pull the dance off with ease and earn him an easy A. It was a win-win situation for both of you.
"You're off count. When I pull back, you're supposed to come with me, but you're putting your foot forward on the wrong beat." Minho sneered, pointing down at your feet that were supposedly out of position. You had counted it in your head, not to mention the hours you spent listening to the song on repeat to memorize the counts. You were not wrong, not in the least bit. "Run it again."
"You're off count!" You shouted, watching him pull back an entire two counts early. Was he really going to try to blame this on you?
"I'm never off count." He scoffed, crossing his arms.
"Do it yourself, then. Prove me wrong." You braced your fist against the wall, ready to beat it on the paneling to make the counts louder in his ear. With another scoff he agreed, signaling for you to count him off. As he began the part you were debating with him, you began to bang your fist to the counts, calling them out as loudly as you could. You could see the disgust on his face, but it only fueled you more. "Three! Four! You're! Off! Count!"
"Well if you weren't making so much noise." He spat, approaching you with every intent to rile you up again. It wasn't going to work this time though, you knew you were right and so did he. Meeting his gaze and holding it hostage until he spoke again, you knew you were about to win this battle. Quite a few minutes of silence followed, both at a stalemate to see who would crack first. With a huff, Minho turned away from you. "I think we should take a break. Meet me back here in an hour." With that, he grabbed his own bag and slammed the door behind him. What a pretentious prick he was, not as perfect as he'd like to think, but too proud to admit it.
Your dorm was too far to walk back, it would take at least 20 minutes to get there, not to mention the temptation to go back to bed would be overwhelming for you. With no real friends on campus yet and nowhere familiar to go, you plopped down on the floor with your lunch and stared at yourself in the mirror. Minho was so arrogant, insufferable, and a downright headache for you. But when he was standing there, breath falling on your face as he didn't dare break eye contact, you wanted to put your hands on him. Not necessarily in a violent manner, but you weren't sure what intentions you would have. Something about him was magnetizing and you absolutely despised it.
-----
"Once more, without me this time." Minho commanded, restarting the song as you stared at him through the mirror.
"Oh, you think I'm watching you for hints?" Raising an eyebrow, you challenged his words. He certainly didn't think highly of you, did he?
"Absolutely. Nobody learns my routines in just a day." But as you danced, you were beginning to prove him wrong. Every count he mouthed was perfectly synced to your movements. You could see him watching your reflection in the mirror, his stoic figure behind you almost made you nervous. You never did like it when people stood behind you, especially people that have proven multiple times that they despise you.
"Are you willing to take any of my input yet?" You asked with an eyeroll, grabbing a towel out of your bag to dab the sweat off your face. The practice studio was always way too hot but the air conditioning was perpetually broken, go figure. Minho's head tilted slightly to the side, admiring your bravery but also curious as to what you could possibly come up with.
"I'll humor it." Giving a nod, he gestured for you to show him what you had come up with. Surprised by his willingness to hear you out, you had almost entirely forgotten what you were going to suggest.
"Ah, so... this part." You stuttered a bit, unsure of how to approach him with a suggestion as you moved your body into the pose. Some people took offense to changes in their choreography and you didn't know how he was going to react. Though you could deal with just about any reaction he gave, you were exhausted and didn't feel like having another round of yelling. "You know how it has the piano melody? If we both kinda circled each other to those down beats, we could start to lean into each other." You motioned for him to come closer to you, watching his expression carefully. His smirk was a bit different this time, though you couldn't place the emotion behind it. Just as you suggested, he leaned into you to mirror your pose. "Right, and when the music pauses, put your hand on my neck and then come back up when the instrumental comes back in."
"I see. You know the teacher gets uncomfortable when dances get a bit too... sensual. I like the way you think." Pride, the smirk was pride. He was... proud? Of your modification? He gave an airy laugh at your slightly stunned expression, his fingers dancing their way up your neck and resting on the same two spots as before.
"He wanted to make us uncomfortable working together, we'll make him squirm." Just as quickly as his hand had pressed onto your skin, he took it away and stepped back.
"Shall we try it with the music?" You nodded in response as he queued up the song, skipping through to the part in question. As you waited for the correct count, you could see the gears turning in his head. He was going to add something, change something, try to throw you off in some way. This was a game to him.
Just as you instructed, he followed your lead when you began to circle around, both of you leaning into each other and becoming dangerously close. Breath mixing in the air before you, you could still smell the hint of cologne beneath the sweat and you had to wonder what kind of person would put cologne on before a day of dancing.
"Follow me this time." He whispered as his fingers crept up to the sweet spots on your neck, giving it a light press that caused your eyes to flutter slightly. Before the pause between this pose and the instrumental kicking back in, he tugged down on you with his free hand. You dropped to your knees at the same time as him, your throat still clutched between his fingers. As soon as the correct beat hit, you used your arm to smack his away. "Very clever, I like it." His voice was sincere for once as he made his way over to his phone to pause the music. "I'll figure out a good way for us to get off the floor after that part but you did exactly what I was hoping you would do." He raised and eyebrow at you as he continued. "Keep making changes like that, perhaps you're not as useless as I thought you were." Of course every compliment had to come with a backhanded comment, were you really surprised? It seemed impossible for Minho to just say something positive and leave it at that.
"Could you possibly say something nice without ruining it? Just once?" You snapped, your glare locking with his.
"Perhaps." Grabbing a water bottle from his bag and snapping the cap open, he seemed to think on his words for a moment before taking a drink. "I don't think you've earned it yet, though."
"Earned it?" Your voice was filled with disgust, finally breaking your gaze to hastily pack your belongings into your bag. "You're so-"
"Insufferable? So I've been told." His smug tone and expression made you want to lash out but you were simply too tired. You both had been in this practice studio for almost 12 hours now, all you wanted to do was go back to your dorm and get into bed. But as you made your way out the door and down the hallway connecting the building to the outside, you began to hear rain. Peering out the window of the hallway, you could see it was absolutely pouring down rain outside.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" You groaned, realizing that you didn't even have a jacket to keep you warm and your dorm was way too long of a walk. You'd be soaked to your bones before you even got halfway there. Tired, starving, and frustrated, you could've cried if you weren't so focused on keeping up your image. Suddenly there was a jacket being wrapped around your shoulders and you nearly jumped at the sensation. Pulling the fabric close, the familiar scent of cologne surrounded you and you spun around to see Minho.
"How far do you have to walk?" His tone was soft this time, a look of genuine concern on his face as he briefly looked out the window and back to you.
"Twenty minutes, all the way to the other side of campus and then some." You sighed.
"My dorm is in the next building, why don't you come with me?" Cocking your head to the side, you wondered what exactly he was planning. He didn't like you, why would he be willing to help you? This had to be a trap, he had to be up to something. Recognizing the concern on your face, he quickly continued. "Just until the rain lets up. If you get sick and miss the final, I fail. I'd rather you be a minor inconvenience than have my grade tarnished by someone else." Looking at the rainstorm once more, you realized that you didn't have much of a choice. He was right, you'd probably end up sick if you walked home in this and that was the last thing you needed to deal with. If this was a trick, you'd just have to be the fool for once.
-----
"They usually hide from anyone that isn't me." Minho was surprised to see all three of his furry companions crawling out from under various furniture in the dorm, all vocalizing their disapproval of him being gone all day.
"You snuck cats into the dorms? I could get you expelled."
"And you snuck into an all boys dorm. You'd be expelled as well." He seemed entirely unbothered by your threat, though he knew as well as you did that it was an empty one. If he was rich enough to have his own personal dorm on the top floor, he was certainly rich enough to pay off any faculty to keep his name in good standing.
Carefully placing your bag on the floor and removing your wet shoes and jacket, you plopped down onto his bed without a second thought. You held out your hand and made a clicking noise with your tongue, an attempt to entice one of the cats to come to you. Lucky you, two of the three quickly made their way to your hand, bumping their heads against it and rubbing against your legs. A small smile tugged at your lips as one of the cats hopped into your lap, purring and rubbing their head against your chin.
"What are their names?" You asked as the furry friend made itself comfortable on your lap, enjoying the attention and gentle head scratches.
"That one is Soonie, and you've got Dori by your feet." Reaching down to pick up the third feline, he began to grin at their meowing. "And Doongie right here is very upset that I've been gone all day." You wanted to laugh at the childish voice he used with the cat, perhaps even use it as blackmail, but it was adorable and you hated to admit it. As soon as you got him alone and away from prying eyes, Minho actually seemed like a decent person. Perhaps he was just keeping up an image, much like you.
"They're probably hungry." You suggested, hand resting on the purring cat in your lap as you looked up. He reached into a drawer, grabbing a small plastic tube and handing it to you.
"Just open it and squeeze it a little, they'll lick it right out of the tube. It's their favorite treat." As instructed, you tore the plastic and gave it a gentle squeeze. Doongie leaped out of Minho's arms to join you on the bed, nearly jumping on Soonie's head. Dori was soon climbing up your legs, and before you knew it you had all the cats in your lap happily enjoying their treat. You started to giggle as they shoved each other out of the way and took turns eating. "Cats are funny little things. They'd never really admit they like someone, but look at them. They can't get enough of you right now."
"It's because I have food. Anyone can be easily persuaded with food." You joked, squeezing more of the treat out of the tube for the cats.
"Is that so? You wouldn't happen to be hungry, would you?" You snorted at his comment before realizing he was serious. Wait, was he trying to make conversation or was he actually hitting on you? Talk about emotional whiplash.
"Are you hitting on me?" You hadn't meant to ask so bluntly, but the words just slipped out in the moment. He studied your face for a moment before responding with a scoff.
"Why would I do that? We hate each other." He raised an eyebrow and gave a very knowing smirk. You were onto him, but he wouldn't come clean that easily. No, he'd make the devil work for her confession... if he would give one at all.
"But you-"
"I was simply trying to be polite, nothing more." He insisted as he got out three small bowls and filled them with cat food. As quickly as the cats had flocked to you, they were on the other side of the room meowing and pacing. As soon as the bowls touched the floor, they all began to quiet down and eat peacefully next to each other. "Fickle little things. One moment they love you, the next they couldn't care less."
Making his way towards the bed, Minho sat down in the small space between you and the headboard. As you turned to watch the cats, you felt fingers through your hair, tugging at the knots that had formed in the soaked strands. Angling your head back every time his fingers snagged, you wanted to ask him why in the hell he was touching you in the first place. You hadn't given him permission, he hadn't asked, and yet every time you opened your mouth to snap at him, the words hitched in your throat. Another snag, a bit harder this time, caused you to force air from your throat that barely produced a sound but caused your face to turn a few shades of pink.
"Oh?" His voice had a devious tone to it, quiet but clear as day. You didn't dare meet his gaze as he continued to rake through your damp hair, until he stopped on a particular knot that didn't want to come out easily. You could feel him wrap the strand of hair around his fingers before twisting his hand around and giving a good tug. Your head snapped back, spine arched, and a choked moan escaped your lips before you could stop it. This wasn't happening, right? This was a dream, a nightmare even, but surely not reality.
Suddenly his arm snaked its way around your body, grabbing at the small of your waist and forcing you around to face him. Releasing your hair from his grip and letting it fall against the side of your face, he admired the bright red hue of your cheeks and your wide, stunned eyes. Exactly as he wanted you, just as flustered as you had made him yesterday in front of all those people.
"What? A little tug on your hair and suddenly those horns disappear?" Low and smooth, his words were like rich caramel on your tongue as you found yourself pressing your lips to his. You weren't entirely sure what you were doing, your body acting of its own accord as you allowed his tongue to dance with yours and his hands to secure themselves on the edges of your hip bones. You despised him. His arrogance, his attitude, and the way he had you melting into him as he eased himself onto his back and pulled you atop him. You couldn't stop kissing him if you wanted to, you were trapped in whatever spell he had you under. A part of you didn't want to though, as you pushed your body against his embrace.
Finally he let you up for air, and you gave an inaudible gasp as you sat up straight. His hands were still gripping your hips that were now straddled onto either side of him, your aching knees holding up all of your weight. You tried to avert your gaze, there had to be something else in your line of sight that wasn't him. Failing to find a distraction, your eyes fell back onto him. You expected a smug smile, but instead were met with admiration for a few brief moments. Minho couldn't hold that kind of look for very long though, the smugness that you were anticipating was making its way across his face once more.
His hold on your hips tightened, pushing your weight down onto him and dragging you across his lap. The small amount of friction was enough to make your head spin but you needed a way out. This was your rival, your sworn enemy... what were you doing on top of him in his bed?
"It stopped raining." Your voice was a stunned squeak, eyes wide as you dropped your gaze from the window and back to him. Letting go of your hips and sitting up, his face was dangerously close to yours as he spoke.
"So you'll be going home, I assume?" His tone was nonchalant, as if you both weren't in the most compromising position that enemies could be in. You gave a nod as you quickly climbed off the bed and slipped your shoes back on. "Wear my jacket, otherwise security might spot you on your way out."
Slipping the jacket on without a word, you made your way to the door as he followed. You gave a quick pat on the head to each of the three cats and before you knew it, you were stepping out of the elevator. The walk home was a blur, but somehow you managed to pick up food on your way there and eat at least half of it before you could even get into your dorm. Collapsing onto your bed, you didn't even bother to take off your sweaty clothes or his oversized jacket. Right now you wanted nothing more than sleep, you could wash his scent off of you in the morning.
-----
Was he seriously going to act like nothing happened?
A week of practicing together, constantly drilling the same moves over and over until you were sick of seeing each other, and not one single word about what happened? How do you just... make out with your worst enemy and not even try to hold it against them?
Every day like clockwork, he'd show up at the practice studio before you with your favorite coffee in hand. You'd thank him under your breath, snarl at whatever snide remark he made, and begin your respective stretches on opposite sides of the room. But once the music started, the atmosphere completely changed. You were two very different people as soon as you began to work together, as soon as you could put hands on each other in a way that didn't compromise the images you both kept up. Ever since the rumors had started when someone caught you wearing his trademark jacket, you both had doubled down on the public displays of hatred, going so far as to schedule arguments in the courtyard just to prove a point.
But scheduling a public argument sounded like something that two people heavily in denial would do.
"You're distracted." Minho's tone was stern, staccato, and absolutely sick of you. "Don't get soft on me now, little devil. The final is in a couple days." The words threatened to suffocate you as they sat in the air, your mind racing with thoughts and not a single one of them was a witty comeback. He stared at you in the mirror, noticing the blank look on your face and began to grow concerned. "At least tell me you hate me or something, you're starting to scare me."
"That's the thing..." You started, mouth moving before your brain could catch up to it as you nearly said something you might regret. Biting the inside of your cheek, it took all your self control to not just spill your feelings out onto the floor. What was it about being alone with him that changed you? Your hatred for him was so strong that it seemed to have burned itself out.
"Don't say it. Not yet." His fingers curled around your shoulder as his voice was barely above a whisper in your ear, his breath warm on your skin. "You're far too stubborn to give up the fight now."
Your stunned expression was obvious as his lips curled into a smirk before he retreated to the other side of the room. He was casually rummaging in his bag while you were still trying to process what he had just said, the gears finally turning at just the right speed to realize that this, too, was a game. Everything was a game to him, including this absolutely forbidden passion that lived just below the surface of your mutual hatred. But in a way, he was right. Your stubbornness is what had you biting your cheek to keep a confession from rolling off your tongue, you weren't willing to crack just yet. No, you wanted to tease and taunt him right back, break him before he could break you.
"We hate each other until the final." You concluded, examining what looked like a silk ribbon in his hands. "After that, all bets are off."
"Then I fully expect you to put all of your emotions into our performance, no matter what they may be. Make me feel what you feel, and I will do the same for you." The way his eyes seemed to burn into your soul left you breathless for a moment, knowing exactly what he was asking of you. Keep a level head until the final performance, then put everything on the table once you're together on the stage. Neither of you wanted to waste the raw emotion threatening to break the surface and bubble over, you had already made the mistake of letting the feelings seep out once.
Letting the ribbon in his hands unravel, you watched with curiosity as Minho handed you the other end and began backing up until you were quite a few feet away from each other. You looked down at the silk, unsure of what new idea he was adding just a couple days before the performance. Whatever it was, you were sure you'd have it mastered in record time.
"In the last fight sequence, instead of me putting my arms around you, I thought I could catch you in the ribbon. We separate, you take one end with you, and for the rest of the routine we start to slowly drag each other in." He suggested, demonstrating how he wrapped the ribbon around his hand to shorten the length. "If you fold it on the down beats, and I fold it on the up beats, we should end up..." He paused, walking towards you until there was less than an inch between the two of you. "Exactly like this, tied together."
You couldn't help yourself as you gave an additional tug on the ribbon, bringing him that much closer to you. His composure was cracking, you could see it as his eyes fell to your lips and quickly darted back up. But you were going to play with him just a bit longer, you knew you could get him to buckle first if you played your cards right.
"With the music?" You suggested, letting go of the ribbon as soon as he began to lean in. Clearly a bit flustered at his own actions, he frantically rolled the ribbon up and tucked it under his wristband as he fumbled for his phone to start the music. Quickly skipping to the correct part, he sat the phone on the floor and joined you as you counted off.
Skilled as he was, you hadn't noticed him pulling the ribbon out of the wristband, convinced that he had forgotten about it already. Wrapping you up in the smooth silk, you quickly came up with an easier way to slip out of his grip. When it was just his arms, he made sure to keep them loose enough that you could shove them away to turn and face him, but the ribbon didn't allow you such leeway. Instead you pressed your back against his body, grabbing the ribbon as you slipped down and out of his grip, your figure sliding against his in a way that sent electricity through you. This, of course, changed the tone of the choreography. Instead of you fighting to get away, you were simply teasing the control back into your hands, a very fitting scenario at this point.
You would've been in an odd position, now crouched on the floor with the ribbon in hand when you should've been standing. But if you thought you were quick to the draw, he was even quicker, backing up with a tight grip on the ribbon that appeared to be pulling you to your feet. He was further enforcing the change in attitude, now enticing you to follow him in a game of cat and mouse. Who was going to win control by the end of the song?
When you both came together at the end of the song, breathing heavy as your eyes threatened to burn into each other, there was a moment where you realized something. You had never been able to work with someone as easily as you did with Minho. Your skills were so evenly matched and your ability to improvise was rivaled only by his ability to respond to it, unwilling to let you win any encounter you had with him. The experience had been both irritating and exhilarating, two top students fighting to outdo each other in their own project only to realize they're one in the same. As your next words left you, there was no longer any regret behind them, just a subtle hint of desperation in the moment.
"You can hate me again in five minutes." Before you could take a breath, he had you pinned against the mirror, roughly crashing his lips against yours as he gave a low sigh. The sound caused you to grab the front of his shirt in your fist, pulling him as close as you possibly could while his tongue invited itself between your parted lips. But this was the last time until the performance, you swore it to yourself. In five minutes you would hate each other again and that was that.
-----
Minho looked stunning, though admittedly he always did. You would've never told him to his face but he always looked so perfectly put together, even more-so in a flashy performance outfit. But right now you hated him, and you were about to give the entire audience a story about how that exact feeling was no longer genuine. Your dislike of him was simply an act at this point, a necessary performance until this grade was in the system and you could relax.
His arrogance was practically dripping off of him, the way he stepped so confidently towards you, his finger lightly brushing under your chin with a wink. He knew what he could do to you, but he also knew you'd be able to dish it all back to him and he loved every second of it. Your attitude was a perfect compliment to him, you were the outspoken spitfire he had always longed to have by his side and you were only a few minutes away from finally being his. As much as you wanted to act like you were unsure of how you'd handle your feelings, you knew you couldn't say no to him.
The silence before the music started was almost deafening, though you were prepared to tune out everything except the music and Minho. There was no teacher, no student audience, no cameras, no stage lights... just you and him. The teacher asked if you were ready to start and both of you nodded, nervousness melting away in the presence of each other. It was amazing just how quickly your feelings had twisted and changed.
As the music began it was like a trance, the counts echoing in your head as you made your way through every motion. With every mock punch and shove, you let your body flow into the movement to create the illusion of much bigger moves. A clever tactic to ensure that nothing was overlooked and add power to the performance, though it seemed powerful enough without dramatics. That was something you had always admired about Minho - his ability to make every performance bigger than it actually was. He didn't have to be center stage to capture attention, he would simply bait your gaze towards him with his presence alone.
His fingers fluttering up your neck to squeeze your throat had the teacher rubbing his temples between his fingers. Of course you two were going to be dramatic and obscene, he should've expected it, though he hadn't even counted on you two getting along well enough to show up for the final.
Down onto your knees you both went, eliciting small gasps from the students watching you. Some moves were forbidden, but some were simply frowned upon and avoided out of respect, and you were certainly walking a fine line being choked out on your knees. The smirk on Minho's face as he glanced at the teacher before returning his gaze to you caused your face to heat up, a pink hue sneaking its way across your cheeks, though your makeup hid it well. You had become so accustomed to his smirk that you didn't realize how much you had craved it in the days leading up to the final, having not seen him since the last practice.
The ribbon he chose for the performance was a glittery silk, reflecting under the stage lights and matching the sparkly design of your outfits. He wrapped it around your body as usual, but when you pressed your back against him and slid down, you felt one of his nails graze the skin of your neck before quickly returning to its position. Even now he was going to tease and taunt you, begging you to do the same even though you both knew you'd crack as soon as you were dismissed from the stage.
You were breathless at the end of the song, Minho's face mere inches from yours as you both were trying to steady your breathing. The lights and outfits made it impossible to perform without overheating, your forehead shining with sweat as you waited for the teacher to dismiss you. You subtly gave an extra tug on the ribbon, watching Minho's expression melt into a smile as he leaned his forehead against yours. He didn't care that you were going to be docked points for not holding your positions at the end of the routine, he didn't care that every student was whispering to the person next to them about you two, and he definitely didn't care that the teacher was scolding him as he took you into his arms.
It was all you could do to keep your composure until you were both in the hallway, the cool air from the vents feeling heavenly right now as you stripped off any unnecessary piece of your outfit. Before you could say a word to him, Minho was already kissing you like he hadn't seen you in months, his hands securing themselves on your waist. The few students walking by gave stunned expressions and frantically called out to each other about the rumors being true. But you didn't care, it was all background noise to you at this point as you melted into his hold.
"You hear that? They're all saying you're my girlfriend now." He was still struggling to catch his breath, his voice low and airy against your lips. You smiled against him, lips brushing against his and whispering your response loud enough for only him to hear.
“Oh, despise. Such a big word, baby,” Minho drawled with an obnoxious smirk, the one that simultaneously made you want to rip his hair out and kiss those perfectly delectable lips of his, “If it’s any consolation, I abhor your presence as well.”
“Wonderful,” you crossed your legs, a smile creeping onto your face as you leaned backward in your chair, “So why exactly are you here?”
Minho laughed, “The same reason I presume that you’re here for. A hundred dollars to put up with you is a tempting offer.”
falling rain — one shot
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this series (and this blog) are 18+ !! minors, please do not interact!!
• bang chan x female reader, other stray kids members are mentioned/featured, as well as other idols (itzy’s yeji, ateez’s san, nmixx's lily).
• non idol au, friends to lovers. angst, fluff, post breakup sadness and melancholia. drinking. explicit language. smut, oral sex (f receiving), protected sex.
• word count: 11k (11,199)
You fell out of love. It happens. All you need is time to piece yourself back together. But as you and your friends meet for a movie night, you don’t expect your ex to be there - yet he is, and it looks like he’s doing much better than you do. Luckily, your friends are there for you - especially Chan.
• author’s note: Here it is! Thank you for your support on the preview, I am so glad you guys liked it and were excited for the full story. I hope you enjoy it! Take care <3
The rain is cold against your skin.
You look up at the sky through your transparent umbrella. Swirls of pale gray cover the horizon, blurred by drops of rain sliding down the plastic material. It was darker earlier - the rain will stop soon.
The bus stops in front of you, its brakes squeaking. You close your umbrella and get on, sitting where you usually do, at the back, next to the window. Placed between your legs, your umbrella is getting your jeans wet, but you don’t care. You close your eyes, letting the music in your ears soothe you. You’ve been taking the same bus route everyday for years, so you know exactly how much time you have before your stop. It’s not like you’re afraid of falling asleep, anyway. You never sleep in transportation, and it’s not like your mind has been able to rest easy recently.
Your playlist transports you through melancholic melodies, pianos and violins lulling your senses. Your favorite songs do not let you forget the ache - they remind you of it, softly, tenderly. That’s what you want, anyway.
You’re not interested in forgetting. You just want to heal.
When you open your eyes, your stop is a minute away. You press the button and get up, ignoring the inevitable looks of the other passengers on the bus. People are always staring. Always judging. Often, you care. These days, not so much. You can’t control them, what they do, what they think. They’ll see the shadows under your eyes, the pale skin, the chapped lips, and they’ll tell yourselves, she isn’t sleeping much. She looks terrible. She must be going through something.
So what if I am, you want to tell them? Aren’t we all?
When you step off the bus, it’s barely raining anymore and you decide not to open your umbrella. You let the rain slide through your hair, against your hands. You’re so cold but you’re used to it. You haven’t been able to warm up in a while. The rain feels good, actually. It makes you aware of your body, of your skin. As you walk towards your apartment building, you tilt your head backwards and let the rain fall down your cheeks like tears.
Daylight has almost vanished when you unlock your apartment door, and you step inside with a sigh. You’ve grown to hate this place so much, but there is nowhere else to go. You should look for another apartment, but moving seems like an insurmountable amount of shit to go through and you just don’t have the energy. Maybe in a few weeks. Maybe in a few months. Maybe.
You start by taking a shower, the boiling hot water contrasting with your icy cold skin. You wash your hair, apply lotion. Your movements are slow but you get there eventually. Wrapped in your bathrobe, you open your closet and stare at your clothes. It’s not that you hate them, you just have no idea what to choose. You’re not going someplace fancy, so you end up slipping on a simple pair of jeans and a warm sweater.
You should probably eat something, but your stomach is in a tight knot. There will be food at Yeji’s place, anyway.
As you check your phone and realize you still have some time before you have to leave, you let out a long sigh and sit on your bed. You’re not sure you really want to go, but your friends organized this movie night a while ago and they are excited for it. Yeji’s place is perfect for it - she has a projector, which allows the movies to play as wide as the wall. Everyone has been tasked to bring their favorite snacks and drinks. It’s going to be a chill night, and you’ll be happy to see your friends, but everything feels exhausting.
You promised you were going to be there. So you will go.
It’s not like they will bother you, anyway. They all know you pretty well, although some more than others, but they are all aware of what is going on with you. No secrets to have. Still you don’t want to be a bore, and you know you’ll do your best to smile throughout. It’s not that they want you to - but you’ll still do it. It’s just who you are.
At least he won’t be there. Yeji said he wouldn’t - had plans already, apparently. It would be okay if your ex was there - actually, you’ve seen him a couple of times already since your breakup. But you need to be in the right mindset - and today you aren’t, so it’s good he’ll be absent.
You let out a long sigh and stand up to dry your hair.
You apply simple makeup, a bit of eyeliner, some mascara. You put on your favorite necklace. You decide to wear perfume. Little things to make you feel better, like you aren’t crippled inside, like you don’t have a decaying organ in your chest. It’s recent, that you’re able to do that. A week ago you would’ve showed up in sweatpants and messy hair.
Little steps.
As you grab a tote bag to fill it with the snacks you bought yesterday, you get a text from Yeji.
Everything okay?
Come anytime <3
She’s checking up on you and you’re grateful for it. Not a lot of people do, not even your closest friends. You don’t blame them - you haven’t been good company and sometimes it’s hard to find the right words. Some of them have been anxious that your breakup with San will mess up their friend group, and in fear of seeming like they’re taking sides, they just decided not to say anything. They take care of you differently - but sometimes you hate that they can’t talk about it with you.
Yeji doesn’t do that. She’s been there for you at every step - and it’s not because she blames or dislikes San. It’s just different for you and her, because your friendship not only goes way back when your friend group got together, but also way beyond.
Leaving in 5, you text back, and she sends a heart emoji.
Once you’re ready, you slip on your jacket and stare at your reflection in the hallway mirror. You look your normal self, except for the obvious exhaustion on your face, and the slightly vacant look in your eyes.
You can do this.
You won’t let your stupid, broken heart define you or your life.
When you get to Yeji’s, she pulls you into a tight hug. A few people are already there - Jeongin is already snacking on a huge bowl of popcorn, talking to Lily, who’s on her phone scrolling down Pinterest boards. Changbin and his girlfriend, the newest addition to your friend group, are bundled up under a blanket on the couch and wave at you.
You follow Yeji to the kitchen, putting the cans of soda you brought in the fridge, adding your snacks to the pile on the counter.
“You look really pretty,” Yeji tells you with a smile. “Is that the sweater we got together the other day?”
“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m still not sure about the color, though.”
“No, it suits you. I promise.”
You give her a sincere smile as she empties a bag of potato chips in a bowl. It’s quiet in the apartment, but you know it won’t last very long - except for Changbin, the loudest people have yet to arrive.
“How was work today?” Yeji asks.
“Fine,” you shrug. “Boring.”
She gives you a long look.
“You know you don’t have to stay there, right? You can find something else. With your skills it would be easy -”
“I know, Yeji,” you say in a low voice. “But not right now.”
You play with your nail polish, chipping a small piece from your thumb.
“Right now boring is good,” you nod, your voice a little more firm. “When I can focus more, I’ll look for something else. Promise.”
She smiles, taking your hand to give it a squeeze. “I just don’t want you to waste away where you don’t belong. You’re worth so much more.”
“I appreciate it.”
You put your head on her shoulder for a second as Jeongin’s laugh resonates through the apartment. It’s a sweet and familiar sound, and you start to believe it was a good idea to come.
Grabbing the filled bowls of potato chips, you and Yeji join the others in the living room. You sit down next to Jeongin, who quickly shows you the funny puppy video Lily has shown him, and you giggle at the screen. As Yeji starts to set up the projector, the door opens on a few more of your friends and you know it won’t be quiet anymore.
Chan, Jisung and Minho are yelling about something, raising the volume of the conversation a million dozen decibels, and you shake your head at the sight of them. Chaotic and loud as they are, even in your state you are grateful for them, because whatever the circumstances they can always make you smile, or, at least, provide welcome distractions.
They drop down in the remaining spots, either on the couch or the floor, Minho diving his hand down Jeongin’s popcorn bowl and Jisung arguing with Changbin about the type of beer he bought - of course, as usual, Jisung’s only answer to Changbin’s complaint is a simple traitor.
“THIS AGAIN…” Changbin yells at the top of his lungs.
You can’t help but smile. That game has been going on since Changbin moved out of his apartment with Jisung and Chan to move in with his girlfriend - Minho took his spot since, and there really isn’t any bad blood between them, but Jisung loves to remind Changbin how he abandoned them.
“Hey, Y/N,” Minho says, sitting down between you and Jeongin. You took the spot at the end of the couch, a blanket covering your legs. “How’s it going?”
“I’m okay,” you say with a smile. “What about you?”
“Fantastic. Did you check out that link I sent you?”
You start to talk a little - you and Minho work in a similar domain and it’s always nice to exchange ideas and anecdotes. You find yourself immersed in the conversation, the noise of all your friends chatting and laughing mixing into a background noise you can’t get enough of - it definitely helps the black hole inside your chest. You don’t feel so cold, you don’t feel so empty. You know it won’t last, and reality will catch up to you quickly, but for now you allow yourself to relax.
“Y/N.”
You turn towards Chan, who has stopped at your level. He’s smiling kindly at you, looking a little tired - but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. Like you, Chan barely sleeps. Neither of you can stop the ceaseless train of thought in your heads - while you stare at the ceiling, Chan works.
“Hey, Channie.”
“You want something to drink?”
“Yeah, maybe a soda.”
“Cool, coming right up.”
“Oiiiii, what about me?” Minho whines.
He asks for a can of beer, followed by Lily who has finished her previous one, and soon everyone is yelling at Chan to bring them something to drink. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and you chuckle.
“Let me help you,” you say, standing up. “Y’all are lazy,” you add, squinting your eyes at your friends.
Their protests all tangle together and you laugh, following Chan to the kitchen.
Your friends.
They are all precious to you, all in their own way.
But Chan. Chan.
The first time you met him you felt your heartbeat accelerate because he looked so damn charming. A kind smile, eyes like stars, and an energy that immediately soothed you. It did not take long for you to develop a crush on him. How could you not? He was kind, funny, talented, and smart. He truly cared for the people in his life and never broke a promise. Handsome, too, of course. The kind of guy that made you weak in the knees, that sent your thoughts reeling whenever he touched you.
Your crush had always been one-sided though, which was fine. You had quickly worked to overcome your physical attraction to him and made it a priority to develop your friendship. Because Chan understood you. You found yourselves exchanging looks and agreeing on similar things often enough so that one day, you sat down next to him during a party to ask for advice and you ended up talking for hours, forgetting to get drunk like everyone else.
You are not particularly close. You don’t know everything about each other. You mostly see each other with the rest of your friend group - rarely alone. You don’t text each other everyday - in fact, you barely do. But he’s a steady presence in your life, a friend you rely on, and you know it’s the same for him.
Tonight, you’re especially grateful for him.
Chan gives you a smile as he opens the fridge.
“I like your sweater,” he says, handing you a pack of sodas.
You put it on the kitchen island, smiling.
“Thank you. I like your earrings. Are they new?”
You’re used to Chan wearing his silver hoops, but today he’s sporting a simple black dot on one ear, a small lightning bolt on the other.
“Yeah, I felt like a change,” he nods. “They say it’s good for us, right?”
“I guess,” you answer simply. “It suits you.”
“Thanks.”
You exchange smiles, gathering all the desired drinks slowly. You glance at him sometimes, at the angle of his nose, at the dark curls that brush his ears. Your crush on Chan eventually faded away, although never entirely. You have just buried it so deep inside you sometimes you forget it is there - you haven’t thought about it for a long time.
Then again, your heart has been entirely occupied by San.
Heart.
Body.
Soul.
All of which lay in pieces, now.
Chan must see the shadows in your eyes, because he frowns a little, looking intently at you.
“Is something wrong?”
You shake your head, trying to shake the bad thoughts away at the same time.
“No, no, don’t worry.”
Chan gives you a smile and a short nod, although he’s still frowning. He can feel you don’t want to linger on it - you hope he knows it’s not that you don’t trust him. Besides Yeji, Chan is perhaps the friend you trust the most.
You remember every single hug he’s given you.
Always so warm.
Always at the right time.
He probably doesn’t know some of them gave you the strength to hold on. The most recent one, about two weeks ago.
“Can I have another one, please?”
The barman gives you a nod and turns to prepare you another beer.
Besides you, Yeji gives you a long look. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“Just one more,” you tell her, lifting an index.
She smiles, throwing an arm around your neck. She keeps a close eye on you - that’s why you feel comfortable to indulge in another drink. You need it, after all. Since your breakup with San, you’ve barely touched alcohol, choosing instead to drown in snacks and utter isolation.
So for your friend, it’s a step forward that you’ve agreed to come tonight.
It’s just you, Yeji, Chan and Jisung. A quiet night at the local pub.
A few beers, a board game.
When you have a new full pint, you and Yeji head back to the table and sit down. All of you decide to play another game, and Jisung starts shuffling the cards, telling you some dumb joke. You know he’s doing that to make you feel better, and it works. You find yourself smiling so much your cheeks hurt a little.
You place your head on his shoulder, affectionately, and cross Chan’s gaze. He’s smiling, too, fondly.
Your friends are talking and your heart hurts so fucking much.
You miss San. You’ve fallen out of love a long time ago, you now realize, but it’s still painful. You have to start over. You have to find yourself again. It’ll be long work - but you’ll do it. And as you look at your friends, you think to yourself they will make it easier. You’ve been drinking a little, and the emotion swells in your chest.
“Y/N, don’t cry!” Yeji cries out, noticing the tears on your cheeks.
You have not even realized you are crying. You touch your skin in surprise, letting out a giggle.
“Awwww, no, honey,” Jisung says, drawing you in his arms.
He rocks you like a child and you laugh as more tears drip down your eyes.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “I love you guys so much.”
“Nooo, you’re gonna make me cry too,” Yeji cries out, taking your hand.
“I know it’s not… Not easy for you, because San is your friend, and…” You sniffle. “I don’t want this to be difficult for you.”
“Don’t say that, Y/N,” Jisung whispers. “We’re your friends, too.”
“We’re here for you,” Chan nods.
Crying and laughing at the same time, your friends decide to keep playing to get your mind off of things. You’re grateful.
Yeji wins, of course. She always does. Once all your beers are finished, you agree to go. Chan will drive Yeji home - he’s only had one pint. Jisung lives close to you, so you decide to walk together.
You say goodnight to Yeji. She places a kiss on your cheek, squeezes your hand. Chan draws you into a hug.
It’s so loving. So steady.
It takes the breath out of your lungs.
“I love you, Y/N,” he says in your ear. “I’m here if you need me.”
You’re too dumbstruck to reply. But you know you’ll remember those words for a long time.
You do.
You still remember the words - you can still hear them.
He’s here.
He loves you.
Like a friend, of course.
But that is more than enough.
“Y/N?”
Chan’s voice brings you back to the present. You shake your head and chuckle.
“Sorry. I was just lost in thought.”
He nods, biting his lip nervously. “By the way, I wanted to ask. There’s this concert next -”
That’s when you hear the door open - followed by a voice.
His voice.
Your blood freezes in your veins, and you stare dumbly at Chan, unable to move.
You feel like bursting out in tears. No, no, no.
Not him, not tonight.
You feel Chan’s eyes on you. Yet, you don’t really see him. He delicately puts a hand on your wrist.
“Y/N…”
You try to gather your thoughts. You should’ve prepared, just in case. You feel so stupid. Of course it was all going too well.
You’re startled when Yeji bursts in the kitchen, puts her hands on your shoulders and seeks your eyes.
“Y/N, I’m so sorry, honey -”
“What the hell?” you hear Chan mutter next to you. “I thought he wasn’t supposed to come.”
“He wasn’t,” Yeji hisses. “I swear, he told me he couldn’t.”
“Fuck’s sake, this dude…”
You close your eyes and take a deep breath.
Slowly, you look up at your friends, gathering a smile.
“It’s okay,” you say, your voice clear. You take Yeji’s hands in yours, nod at her. “I’m fine.”
“Y/N…”
“I’m fine,” you repeat. “I’ll be fine.”
You look at Chan next, and you feel like your heart will burst out of your chest. There’s something in his eyes you can’t identify, a spark that is also a shadow. He’s frowning, his body slightly bent towards you, like he’s about to pull you into a hug. You clear your throat and nod, praying to all you can not to let your voice tremble.
“It’s all right,” you say. “He’s our friend. He should be here.”
And to some degree, you mean it.
Yeji gives you a tight hug, and you can hear Chan let out a long sigh from behind you. You can’t linger on it - you have to focus on yourself.
Stay calm. Breathe.
You can do this.
The breakup was hard for the both of you, you remind yourself. You loved each other, you really did, that much you’re sure of. San was never that good of a liar. You have a much more vulnerable nature than him, which was always a source of conflict between you, but you know your breakup affected him. You remember the tears in his eyes. The vein in his neck, pulsing, as he held them back. You remember the way his hand clenched yours. The way his words came out broken from between his teeth.
It’s over, isn’t it?
You fell out of love.
It happens.
You take a deep breath. You still want San to be your friend. You’ve agreed that you would try, and you intend to follow through on your words.
You take a step to follow Yeji back to the living room, but Chan puts a delicate hand on your shoulder. You turn around, plunge your eyes in his. You’ve always thought of them as a haven, a night sky full of stars, both deep and bright.
He stares at you with a clenched jaw and a furrowed brow. He smells as he always has, a smell you’ve wanted on your pillow for so long - and it still makes you slightly dizzy although you know there’s no chance with him.
“If at any moment you want to go home, tell me, yeah?” he whispers to you. “I’ll drive you.”
You’re a little entranced by the soft lines on his full lips and the way his low voice scrapes - but you manage a nod, after what feels like a long second.
“Thank you.”
He nods, gives your shoulder a squeeze and lets you go. The warmth of his hand lingers there, and it gives you courage to move forward.
San has already taken a seat next to Jisung and glances at you when you walk into the room. Your friends are kind enough to keep the conversation going, so the room doesn’t fall silent, but your heart sinks at the bottom of your chest.
Because San doesn’t look tired. He doesn’t look sad.
In fact, he beams.
Eyes sparkling.
New clothes, new watch.
A smile so wide it slices right through your heart.
Fuck, he looks so happy.
You have to bite your tongue so you burst out crying. You stagger a little bit, but Chan is right behind you and it prevents you from falling back. His warmth, the voices of your friends, everything makes it better.
“Hey,” you manage to say, although you’re not sure how. “You look good.”
“Thanks, you too,” he tells you, but his voice is distant. His eyes are too, like he doesn’t even see you anymore. Not like he did before.
It’s abundantly clear - your ex has moved on.
It’s not that you still have feelings for him - you just need time to grieve what you had. San was a huge part of your life for a long time, and suddenly he isn’t there anymore. That absence, that void, that’s what is difficult to deal with. Being so goddamn alone all the time. No one to make you feel loved. No one to love, either.
You’re still putting yourself back together.
You’re still healing.
Not him. He’s done it.
You should be happy for him, and in a way, you are. You’re not mad he’s moved on. But it happened so quickly. It hasn’t even been two months. You were together for more than a year. Maybe you’re jealous, maybe you’re bitter. But mostly it hurts.
How long is it going to take you? Why are you so goddamn sensitive?
You breathe out and help Chan bring everyone their drinks. San’s laughter is a haunting melody and you can’t wait for the movie to start so you can think about something else. You take your previous seat, and Jeongin rubs your back affectionately, offering you the bowl of popcorn.
Chan sits at the opposite side of the room. Pathetically, you wish he was still next to you. Instead you focus on the images that start playing, projected on the white wall in front of you. It’s a movie you’ve already seen, but that’s ok. It’s not like you can really focus, anyway.
Because all you can see is San. Funny, clever, happy. You know him, you’d know if he was pretending, but he isn’t. He’s liberated. It’s the only word that comes to mind. You wonder for how long you’ve been bringing him down. If he realized it and hated you for it. If he couldn’t wait to get rid of you. If he was just looking for an excuse and -
You close your eyes and put a stop to the intruding thoughts.
No. It wasn’t like that.
Was it?
You don’t know anymore.
You barely follow the movie because your thoughts keep spiraling. Around you, your friends are chatting, making jokes, and commenting on the movie. Jisung’s laugh is so loud it takes over sometimes and you take refuge in it. But your heart feels frozen in place, in the middle of two beats, unable to go forward. You stare into nothing. You don’t even touch your soda. The popcorn, either - so you hand it back to Jeongin. His presence feels good, too.
You hate yourself for being unable to live in the moment. For letting your mind wander like it is, dizzy and unkind.
In the movie, people say what they think.
In the movie, loving doesn’t seem so hard.
In the movie, it doesn’t rain.
It’s a blessing and a curse that everyone is watching the movie, and that you’re sitting in the corner, in the dark. Your eyes are filled with tears and suddenly one escapes and slides down your cheek. You fidget in your seat, faking a yawn to wipe it away. You pull the blanket over your trembling body. You laugh when the others do, although it’s heartless. Nobody notices - or so you think - and it’s a good thing.
You try to focus on the movie. It’s entertaining, it’s funny, and for a minute, maybe, you succeed in feeling better. Then you see, from the corner of your eye, San pulling out his phone. He stares at the screen, and in the dark, its blue light illuminates his face. He smiles at it and types a few words. You know that smile. Fuck, you were that smile, once.
You clench your jaw, hard, and wanting to look away you accidentally fall into Chan’s eyes. He’s looking at you, and although you can’t see his face very well in the darkness, you notice the worry in his eyes. He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t say anything - but you hear his silent question. You need to go?
You shake your head slowly, forcing a smile. I’m fine. I’m fine.
He nods. He doesn’t believe you.
You stand up on shaky legs and head to the bathroom. Once you close the door, you don’t even open the light. You wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of your own reflection. You just breathe out, breathe in, and then breathe out again. The tears fall down your cheeks, warm. They taste bitter on your lips.
Why can’t you be like him? Why can’t you move on, be happy?
You take a few minutes to collect yourself. It’s fine - you don’t mind seeing San. It’s good, if, unlike you, he’s able to rebuild himself. It’s all you wish for him, and you know it’s all he wishes for you, too. He’d probably be honestly sad to know you aren’t doing well. You can never tell him, of course. You’ll pretend as well as you can - you can’t allow yourself to be vulnerable with him for now. You’ll keep it for yourself, shamefully, selfishly.
It will be fine.
You’ll get over it. He did, so why not you?
Once you feel ready, you head out the bathroom, and Chan is there, leaning against the wall.
“Oh, shit, sorry,” you chuckle. “I didn’t realize someone was waiting. Did you -”
You stop as Chan puts his hands on your shoulders and pulls you to him. You fall into his arms, and you’re a little shocked so you don’t move at first. Still, Chan holds you there. You stammer.
“C-Chan, I’m okay, you don’t have to -”
“Y/N,” he says, and there’s something about the way he whispers your name that makes your heart ache. “I saw you crying. Please. You don’t have to hide.”
Gently, you let your head fall against his chest. He hugs you a little tighter.
“We’re friends, aren’t we?” he whispers. “You don’t have to hide.”
You nod. He said it in such a way, you don’t know what it is.
You are friends.
You’ve been for a long time.
Despite your crush on him, despite the awkward period where he was aware of it but didn’t say anything, despite all of that, you are friends.
But Chan has always been more than that for you.
Chan is a pillar, Chan is a mess.
Chan is both the lighthouse and the storm.
You like the feel of his arms around you. The way his chest moves as he breathes. The texture of his t-shirt.
Oh, God. Not again.
You can’t let your crush come back running. You’re just sad. You’re just lonely. It wouldn’t be fair to Chan, would it? He’s your friend. He’s not a pretty face you can choose to lust over whenever you’re lonely.
Don’t do that to yourself, Y/N.
Don’t do that to him.
Chan is your friend and he is only trying to be here for you.
“Do you want to go home?” he whispers in your hair.
You take a deep breath and nod. Chan takes a step back, smiling kindly at you. You do the same, although it’s a little faint. He bends his knees slightly to be at your height, gently rubs your cheeks to remove the tears and replace your hair.
“Let’s go, then, love.”
You don’t have time to gawk at him for using a nickname he’s never said before, because he turns and waves at you to follow him.
He tells your friends you’re feeling a little sick and he’ll drive you home. You say there’s the flu going around at the office, and you hate lying to your friends, because you know some of you will believe you and some won’t. Right now you don’t really care - even if they all knew it was a lie, they wouldn’t judge you. You make sure to not avoid San’s eyes and smile at him. You don’t want him to start asking questions.
You get your things. Yeji gives you a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek, making you promise you’ll text tomorrow. You nod, squeezing her hand and glancing at your friends. There will come a day when you’ll be yourself again.
You just need time.
Time and a lot of courage.
When you step outside, with Chan right behind you, you realize it’s raining again. You look up at the sky, now a profound black painted by hints of grey clouds. You run to his car, the rain heavy and cold.
The car is clean and smells nice. Chan pulls back his hoodie, starts the engine and drives away as you look back at the apartment building. You wish you were stronger.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Chan says, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping on his thigh to the rhythm of the song on the radio.
“Do you?” you tell him with a smile.
“I do,” he nods, matching your smile. “You’re telling yourself you should be stronger.”
You gawk at him, feeling both embarrassed and scandalized. He shrugs.
“Didn’t I ever tell you I can read you like an open book?”
“Tsk,” you retort. “Wasn’t that when we played Mafia?”
“Whatever applies to Mafia applies to real life.”
“Not sure that’s true.”
“This is.”
You glare at him and he does the same, playfully. You feel much more relaxed now that you’re here. It was always easy to talk to Chan - never does that change, whatever the circumstances. You are much alike in that you tend to put others before yourselves, often at the sacrifice of your own feelings. For some reason, though, that didn’t work between you. The walls immediately fall apart.
“So I’m an open book, huh?” you say, staring at your hands.
“To me, yes. When I have my eyes on you.”
“And you had your eyes on me tonight?” you ask without thinking.
“Of course,” he answers, stopping the car at a red light. “I stayed sober, kept a close eye on you. Just in case.”
You wince. “Just in case I started crying hysterically or made a scene?”
He shakes his head, looking at you. The red light reflects on his face, enveloping the car in its hue. The rain thumps on the car in soft sounds. Chan’s dark hair is messy on his head, charmingly curled at the tips.
“More like in case he did something,” he eventually says.
“Why would he?” you ask with a frown, assuming he’s talking about San.
“Well…” Chan sighs. “He can be a dick sometimes.”
You’re surprised by his words - you never would’ve thought that Chan disliked San. On all accounts, they are good friends. Chan chuckles nervously at your look, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Sorry. I know you were a thing for a long time, but… It’s just what I think.”
“Did he do something?”
Chan shrugs. “It’s just a feeling. Never really did anything. Except breaking up with you, of course.”
You scoff. “He’s an asshole for breaking up with me?”
“Yeah,” Chan stammers. “Just - like - who would ever let a girl like you go?”
His words don’t make a lot of sense to you. They come to you muffled, as if you are plunged in a dream or in a drunken state. You honestly can’t believe your ears.
“What are you -”
He quickly waves his hand, looks away from you to the road ahead - and fortunately for him, the light turns green, so he has a good excuse to change the subject.
“Don’t mind me. I’m just rambling.”
You really don’t want to let this go. Your heart is racing, and you honestly wouldn’t know San’s name if someone was to yell it in your ear right now. All you can see is Chan, his tightened jaw, gripping the wheel of his car, driving you home. His words echo in your head, and you’re trying to put everything together.
Did you miss something? Clearly, Chan has something on his mind, an itch he can’t scratch. Have you been so intoxicated by your grief and sadness that you blacked out? You haven’t been a good friend, that much you know. You just wanted to feel better, first. You were of use to no one feeling this sad and broken. But Chan’s agitation has clearly been there for a while. How long have you been this blind?
You open your mouth, trying to find the right words. Chan, what is going on?
Chan, are you angry at me?
Chan, please, tell me what’s on your mind.
You sigh in frustration. You’re silent for a while, your thoughts spiraling, and just when you’re just about ready to ask, your phone rings. You glance at the screen instinctively, and San’s name is like a slap on the face.
Are you okay? he asks in a text. Tell me when you get home.
Hints of your boyfriend. Remnants of the past. The text feels like a ghost is speaking to you. It makes you angry. It makes you ache.
You might not love San anymore, but you miss him.
“Are you okay?” Chan asks.
“Yeah,” you nod.
You’re about to say you’re fine, which has become an automatic response, but you remember what Chan said. I can read you like an open book. So instead, you take a deep breath.
“It’s San,” you explain. “He’s asking me if I’m okay and to text him when I’m home.”
Chan scoffs, and there is nothing amiable in the sound. “The guts on this guy,” he mutters. “I’m literally driving you and he knows that.”
You frown, sensing the anger in his voice.
“Seriously, Chan, did something happen between your two?”
Chan shakes his head. He doesn’t want to look at you.
“Chan,” you insist. “Tell me, please.”
He lets out a sigh, gripping the wheel tighter.
“We might’ve had… an altercation.”
“An altercation?” you repeat. “Like a fight?!”
“Not a fight,” Chan sighs. “Not a physical one, anyway.”
“What the fuck happened?”
The words escape your mouth. An uneasy feeling washes over you. Nobody has told you about this. Nobody has said a word.
“When did this happen?” you ask when Chan doesn’t answer.
“Like… a week ago, I think.”
“Why didn’t no one -”
You interrupt yourself and close your eyes. Looking out the car window, you realize you’re already parked in front of your apartment building. How did it go so fast?
For how much longer are you going to keep losing track of time?
“Chan,” you say, your voice shaking. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
He looks at you with timid eyes. They shimmer in the darkness but you can’t focus on them. You are trembling and you can’t hold on to a single clear thought. Your mind is a blurry mess.
Chan looks out through the window before he takes a deep breath.
“I didn’t want to do this tonight. You need to rest, you -”
“If you don’t tell me now, I’ll never be able to sleep, so it will be worse.”
You feel your hands shaking, so you clench your fists. Outside, the rain accelerates, pounds loudly on the car. The sound is almost unbearable but you don’t care.
“If you’re trying to protect me, I’m grateful,” you add, when you see he’s still hesitating. “But I can take it. I’d rather know.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispers, his voice quivering.
“We’re friends, right?” you tell him. “That’s what you said. Be my friend, Chan.”
He sighs and rubs his eyes. You’re scared, and yet a part of you feels perfectly calm. You hate the fact that something was hidden from you, but you’re so ready to withstand whatever storm is heading your way.
You’d rather stand in chaos than into nothingness.
At least the chaos makes a little sense.
“Before I say anything…” Chan sighs. “I don’t want you to take any of this on you, yeah? I know you’ll feel bad, but please, just remember -”
“For fuck’s sake, Chan,” you say with a nervous laugh. “Get to the point.”
“He has a girlfriend.”
You stare back at him.
“What?”
“San. He has a girlfriend. I thought it was too soon, that it was disrespectful of you, so I told him and it got heated, but… Yeah. Shit. I’m sorry, Y/N.”
It’s like the rain suddenly got quiet.
A girlfriend.
You should’ve known. You saw it, after all. The phone, the text, the smile. The happiness in his eyes. The trendy clothes, the new watch. All the hints were there.
He has moved on.
More than you expected.
Everything happens quickly. Your body acts before your brain registers it, and in the blink of an eye you’re outside in the pouring rain. You slam the passenger door behind you, you forget your bag, you don’t even think about it. You just walk forward.
It’s bitter cold.
In seconds, you’re drenched.
Your knees feel weak and you’re sure you are going to fall.
A sob escapes your throat.
It shouldn’t hurt that much.
You hate your heart.
You hate how vulnerable it is.
You want to move on, too.
“Y/N!”
You turn around, halfway to the door of your apartment, to find Chan running towards you. You raise your hand slowly. It’s shaking like a leaf.
“It’s fine, Chan. I’m f-”
“Stop saying that!”
You’re a bit surprised at the sudden anguish in his voice. He stops inches away from you, getting soaked by the heavy rain. It slides down his cheeks like tears, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead. He looks at you fiercely, his eyes blazing with light.
“I’m sorry, I just - I see you’re hurting and it’s killing me.”
You don’t know what to tell him. You wish he would go away. You wish he would hug you. You wish the pain would just stop.
“Y/N -”
“I don’t care!” you scream, the sound getting lost in the rain.
Chan frowns.
“I don’t care if he has a girlfriend,” you cry out. “I just…” You shrug, your eyes lost in Chan’s. “I just want to heal, too. I want to move on, too. I’m sick of being sad. I’m sick of hurting.”
There is such despair in Chan’s face you can hardly bear it. You wish you could tell him not to take the weight of your pain on his shoulders, but you know him better than that. He can’t help it. That’s why he’s here with you.
“You just have to give me time,” you say, your voice falling apart. “I’ll be fine eventually.”
He lets out a sigh, slides a hand through his drenched hair. A raindrop slides down his face, gets caught on his lips.
“Please, let’s go inside,” he pleads. “Let me be here for you.”
You hesitate, but the cold rain keeps you on your toes. You want to be home, in your own space, but you also don’t want to be alone. So you nod, and Chan lets out a sigh, thanking you in a whisper.
When you step inside your apartment you’re a little shy to turn on the lights because it’s messy, but you can’t really be bothered about that right now. Chan waits on the other side of the door, a hesitant look on his face.
“Come in,” you tell him.
He nods, closing the door behind him. Your place is modest, just big enough for one person, situated in the semi-basement of the building. It does not get much light, but it feels cozy and it is cheap.
The first thing you do is get a towel for Chan so he can dry his hair and his clothes. He hangs his hoodie on a hook near the door; luckily the t-shirt underneath is only damp. His dark blue jeans took the worst of the rain. You suggest giving him some dry clothes, but he insists he’ll be fine.
You tell him to get comfortable and go to change in your room. Your limbs feel weak as you slip on a pair of sweatpants and a crewneck. You cannot stop thinking about Chan's words.
San has a girlfriend.
He has opened his heart to love again.
The rain keeps falling.
It’s time you heal.
When you come back to the living room, Chan is anxiously staring at his phone. He puts it away when he sees you, smiling a little timidly.
“Feel better?”
“Yeah,” you nod. “Want a drink?”
“Sounds good.”
You give him a gentle smile and you both head to the kitchen, where you fill two glasses of soju. He takes one, clinking it against yours. You drink it in one go.
“Now that feels better,” you sigh.
Chan smiles at you fondly, and you nudge his arm.
“Chan. It’s all right. It had to happen.”
“So quickly, though?” he winces.
“We all heal at different paces,” you say softly. “Or maybe it’s his way of healing. Either way I’m happy for him.”
Chan leans one elbow on the kitchen counter, giving you a long look. You hold his gaze, confused at the sudden calmness you feel.
“You said you can read me like an open book,” you remind him, pouring yourself another drink. “Am I lying?”
He smiles briefly. “No.”
“Cheers.”
He takes another sip, and you imitate him.
“How about we sit down?” you propose.
Once in the living room, you sink into the couch. Chan sits at a comfortable distance, twirling his glass between his fingers. It’s strange to see him at your place - because of the size of your apartment, you rarely have friends over. You remember him driving you home a couple of times, but he must have been inside only once or twice in the three years you’ve lived here.
You talk a little, about everything and nothing. You drink some more, perhaps a little too much, but the soju warms your body. Chan relaxes, too. The bottle is quickly empty.
You both fall silent, and you stare at the bottom of your empty glass. The tears come back too easily.
“Chan?”
“Yeah, love?”
You peck your lips. Hearing him say that feels too good. It’s so new, but you already don’t want him to ever stop.
“Is she pretty?” you utter.
“Y/N…”
“She must be. Pretty and smart.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Do you know her?”
You look up, and Chan shakes his head. His hair is untidy, his cheeks a little red, his full lips as inviting as ever.
“I don’t. Ji told me they met at a party.”
You let out a shaky sigh. “So everyone knows?”
You hate the way your voice shudders, but you can’t help it. Chan shuffles closer to you, gently taking your hand in his. It’s warm and familiar.
“No,” he answers in a soft voice. “Just a few. We wanted to wait for the right moment - well, actually, I thought San should be the one to tell you.”
You laugh, wiping your tears. “No offense, but that would’ve been worse.”
Chan snorts amusingly. “Oh. Good thing it didn’t happen, then. I thought it’d be a good idea.”
“It’s a terrible idea.”
You both end up giggling, and Chan doesn’t let go of your hand. You sniffle. You don’t let go either.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” you say. But why are you so invested in this?”
“In your breakup?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not invested in your breakup,” he shrugs. “I’m invested in you, you’re my friend.”
“But it’s - you don’t have to, you can just be like the others, not take a side, you don’t have to fight anyone.”
“Why wouldn’t I speak out? It bothers me, you know me, I don’t shut up when it comes to people I care about.”
“But San is your friend, too.”
“But you’re -”
You frown. “I’m what?”
“You’re Y/N.”
The tenderness in his voice takes you by surprise. It seeps through his lips, echoes in his eyes. You feel your heart twist and turn - and just like that, his fingers slip away from yours.
“Sorry, I…” He closes his eyes, shakes his head. “Hell, I’m doing it all wrong tonight. And I should really stop drinking. How the fuck am I supposed to drive back home?”
“Chan, wait,” you say, ignoring him. “What are you trying to say?”
He sighs heavily. His face falls in his hand, and he breathes there for a second before he looks back up at you. He looks so tired.
“I know you had a crush on me,” he breathes.
You smile nervously. “Why are you bringing this up?”
“Because I have a crush on you, too,” he says.
You blink, and it’s like the world tilts. You haven’t been drinking that much, it can’t be the soju. Still, you feel dizzy and warm. Chan is looking at you with fondness and anguish.
He didn’t say had.
He said have.
His words are right there, still on the tip of his tongue.
In his eyes.
So damn bright.
No - he’s here because he’s your friend. That’s it.
Isn’t it?
“I don’t understand,” you breathe out.
“I never acted on it because San had wanted to ask you out for a while,” Chan explains with a shrug. “And you know me. I never put myself before others. And although I sorta knew you had a crush on me, I convinced myself San was better for you.”
You look down at your hands, feeling completely overwhelmed.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” you whisper.
“Because you were so happy with him,” Chan says, his voice shaking. “You found each other and it was good, and who was I to say anything? At one point it didn’t even matter anymore, and I buried it deep inside of me, told myself I was over you. You were over me, after all. It was just a crush, anyway. I was so sure you’d be in this with San for the long run.”
So did I, you want to say. Your throat feels so dry, however, you can’t say anything. You can just stare at Chan. He smiles at you almost carefully.
“When I heard about your breakup… Everything came rushing back. The other night, after we got drinks, and I saw you crying… I was just so worried about you. So gutted to see you hurt, it was almost unbearable. And then he said he found someone else and I couldn’t understand, and we argued. It was heated, but it’s fine now. We’re good.”
You close your eyes because the world can’t stop spinning. You were so cold earlier, but now you’re almost sweating. You’re too warm. The world is ablaze.
Chan is your fire.
“I’m not saying I’m in love with you. I can’t say I am. But if I let myself go…” He stumbles on his words. “I just might.”
Time has stopped. You can barely breathe.
You feel the sting of shame.
The delightful warmth of Chan’s confession.
You’ve been so blind.
“You just mean so much to me,” he says, his voice both low and soft. “I just want you to be happy. I just want you to be loved as you should be loved.”
When you open your eyes, it feels like he’s sitting closer to you although he hasn’t moved. He’s not touching you, but his smell overwhelms your senses. You can’t look away, and he watches you back.
“How I wish I could,” he breathes, his eyes drilling into yours. “Fall into you. Show you how you could be loved. ”
You drink his words like they’re the essence of life. You feel, in each one, a wish, a hope, a possibility. Ropes that were drawn and never knotted together. Lifelines, waiting to be grasped.
“I never was,” you breathe.
He frowns. “What?”
“Over you,” you explain. “I never was over you. I’m not.”
He closes his eyes.
“Fuck, Y/N, don’t tell me that.”
“It’s true,” you say, voice trembling. “I loved San, of course I did. But you were always in my heart and you will never not be.”
Chan’s eyes drip down your eyes to your lips. You feel an ache inside your chest. It’s like it’s starting to rain indoors. What an odd feeling.
“You don’t love him anymore?” he asks carefully, weighing every word.
“No.”
Your voice comes in a whisper, but it’s full of certainty.
“But Chan, I…” You swallow. “I can’t - I can’t listen to what my heart says about you, it’s not fair, you’re not… You’re not a stand-in, you’re not - you’re more important than that, and…”
“Can I kiss you?”
The question catches you off guard.
“Just once,” Chan smiles. “I want to taste your lips. Just once.”
What could you say to that? How many times did you dream about Chan’s lips on yours, wondering what they felt like? Were his kisses kind, delicate, hungry? You’d see him drink whiskey and wonder if the taste would linger on them. You’d see him kiss another girl and picture yourself in her place.
And now he was offering you a kiss.
Hell, he wanted to kiss you.
So you find yourself nodding, and Chan takes a long look at you, as if he’s waiting for you to change your mind. You remain immobile, lips parted, awaiting his. Slowly, he plucks them, grazing them against his - and they sink into yours, soft, like a cloud, deep, like the ocean.
You collapse in his arms, wrapping yours around his neck. He slides his fingers through your hair, his other hand embracing your waist to pull you closer. You can’t hold back a sigh from escaping your lips, and Chan responds by kissing you deeper, the movements of his lips getting almost feverish.
“Chan,” you moan when you gasp for breath.
“Fuck, I can’t stop,” he growls, placing small kisses on your lips.
His fingers dig in your skin, and you desperately want to disappear against him, so you move your leg so you can straddle him. Chan wraps himself around you, and you feel the dampness of his clothes but you don’t care. You take his face in your hands, plunging back into a needy kiss. Chan’s hands wander on your back, on your hips, on the back of your neck. You can only lean into him. His tongue teases your lips and you open your mouth to let it in. It plays with yours, and you can feel walls tighten.
By now you are fully making out, your hips grinding against his. You can feel him getting hard, and it sends your mind reeling.
“God, you’re so perfect,” he moans around your lips.
“I’ve thought about this so often, Chan,” you admit.
“Same,” he grins. “I… Fuck, I can’t tell you this.”
“Tell me,” you insist, trailing kisses alongside his jaw, on the delicate skin of his neck. It makes him shudder, and can almost feel his cock pulsating under you.
“I thought about your lips,” he breathes out. “Your body. How you would sound moaning against me…”
“Fuck, Channie…”
You clench at his words, pressing your core on his erection. He grunts, his fingers slowly making their way under your shirt. You tug at his, and suddenly, like a flash of lightning, you realize what you are doing. Your heart skips a beat, and your mouth dries. Everything rushes back. You stop, and he does the same, leaning back.
He looks more attractive than ever with his hair tousled by your fingers, his full lips red and wet from your kisses.
“I’m sorry, I just -”
“Is this going too fast?” he asks you gently.
You hesitate. “It’s not that. I just - I don’t want to give the wrong impression.”
Chan frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Like you’re just a rebound or something,” you shrug.
Chan smiles - that cheeky grin of his, his eyes sparkling at the same time. It toys with your heartstrings. How could anyone not adore this man?
“I don’t care,” he answers. “I’ll be your rebound.”
“Chan, I’m serious,” you sigh.
“So am I,” he says, twirling a strand of your hair around his index. “If it’s something you want, then I’m here. I want to. And it doesn’t have to mean anything tomorrow, or ever. We’ll always be friends.”
You breathe out, briefly closing your eyes. All you want is to keep kissing him, to forget the world in his arms. To be desired, to be loved.
It’s all you want.
But your heart still aches.
So much has happened tonight - you feel so heavy.
You sigh again. “I just… Fuck, I’m sorry.”
Chan cups your cheek.
“It’s okay, love,” he says, placing a kiss on your forehead. “It’s all so fresh. I can leave if you -”
“No,” you quickly interrupt him, pushing a finger against his plush lips. “Please. Stay with me.”
Chan nods, his eyes not leaving yours. You should move. You should get going - get a glass of water, sleep it all off. But you can’t move, lost in Chan’s gaze, your body a bundle of nerves. You lean forward, settling your forehead against his.
“It’s killing me,” you chuckle nervously.
Chan giggles, and the sound is delightful. “We have time, love. I won’t let you go, now. I got you.”
He places a soft kiss on your lips.
“If you’ll have me.”
As an answer, you give him another kiss. You slide your fingers through his humid hair, inhaling his scent.
“Will you sleep here tonight?”
“I’m here, baby.”
The word makes something melt inside of you. You shiver, and instinctively, he sprawls his warm hands on your back.
You’re overwhelmed by the tenderness and the hurt.
You feel so loved.
So abandoned.
So alone.
So supported.
So seen.
Your lips find him again like a magnet. You kiss him deeper than before. You’re losing your mind.
“Y/N,” he breathes in your mouth.
The words escape your lips. “Fuck it, I want you.”
He groans, his fingers diving in your skin. His cock twitches under you, making you lose all sense.
“I want this, Chan,” you sigh, biting his lip. “But I don’t - I don’t want you to think I’m using you, all right? You’re my friend, I care about you, I -”
He laughs. “You can use me all you want.”
He starts kissing you again, feverishly, as if it hasn’t just been a few seconds since he last did it. You arch your back, closing all distance between your bodies. Chan starts placing kisses down your neck, his tongue teasing your thin skin.
“I’ll make you feel good, baby girl,” he whispers. “I’ll make you forget for a little while. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“It’s just you and me tonight. Let the rest fade away.”
He puts his strong hands on your ass, and slowly moves it. You sway your hips, and the friction of his erection against you makes you moan softly. You plunge your face in the crook of his neck, kissing his shoulder blades.
“Just you and me, yeah?” he whispers.
“Just you and me,” you nod.
In a swift move he removes your shirt, groaning at the sight of your bralette. It’s made of a thin lacy material, so he can perfectly see your nipples, and immediately leans in to brush his lips against them. You shudder, your nails digging in the back of his neck.
He removes your bra to gain access to your breasts, gently massaging them in his hands and sliding his tongue around them. Meanwhile, you caress his cock above his jeans, loving the way he tenses at your touch.
“Hold on to me,” he tells you in a breath.
You wrap your arms around his neck and he lifts you up, only to gently lay you down on the couch so he’s on top of you.
“Let me see you,” you breathe, grabbing his t-shirt.
He obliges, removing the piece of clothing so you revel in the sight of his toned chest. You take off your sweatpants and stare as he removes his jeans as well, giving you a better sight of his athletic body. His boxers do nothing to hide his erection.
“Before this goes any further,” he says, and his voice sounds so raw it sends shivers down your spine. “Do you have -”
“Bathroom,” you say with a nod.
He smiles, bends to steal a kiss and disappears. You look up at the ceiling, suddenly very aware of your nakedness, of what you are about to do.
It feels like you’ve been through ten days in one.
This morning you woke up with dread.
Now you are filled with hope.
Is this going too fast? Should you wait?
Maybe.
You don’t want to.
This feeling in your chest, that Chan helps surge, that threatens to burst - all this light, all this love. It’s been a while since you’ve felt that. From someone else, from yourself.
So what if it’s too fast? You want to live.
And if there’s a person you trust, it’s Chan.
“Got it,” you hear him say as he reappears.
You don’t really know what to say because you have all this love and light inside your chest and words would not feel enough, so you stay silent, only pull him back into a kiss. He lays on top of you, warm and a little unsteady. You can feel he’s a little nervous, just like you, but you don’t mind. You need his softness. You need his realness.
You push his boxers down, feeling his cock touch your stomach. The sensation is enough to clear your mind, and you bite Chan’s lower lip a little. He answers with a slight chuckle.
You want to tell him how crazy he makes you. How nice it is to feel him so warm and hard. How much this means to you. But for some reason, you can bring yourself to say anything, and neither does he. You just breathe together, febrile and eager. His fingers graze your wetness, and you shiver. Sensing your pleasure, Chan applies some pressure on your folds, leaning two fingers on your clit. You arch your back, moaning a little louder than you expected. Your hands reach for him, palming his cock, your own fingers brushing his tip.
“Fuck,” Chan grunts. “Y/N…”
“Channie, please,” you whisper.
“Wait,” he answers. “I want to do something first, if this is my only chance.”
You frown, opening your eyes as you feel him move. You quickly understand what he means, however, as his lips trace a path of wet kisses on your stomach and your thighs. Soon his breath is against your core, and you forget how to breathe.
When his tongue touches you, it’s like a hundred sensations at once, and you can’t hold back a shaky moan. Your fingers grab the couch as Chan pushes your legs further apart. He kisses you, pressing his tongue into you, attentive to your reactions.
“You’re gorgeous, you know?” he says, although you barely hear him. “Keep moaning for me, baby girl.”
A surge of pleasure goes through your body, enveloping you in silk, and you grab Chan’s hair, instinctively pushing him against your clit as his tongue encloses it.
“Fuck, fuck, Chan, I’m…” you whimper.
“Are you coming?”
You nod, and he buries his nose in you, embracing your sensitive spots. Your orgasm makes your whole body tremble against him, and he holds your legs as you do, making sure to accompany you throughout.
As you come down, slowly, you blink back into reality. You look at him a little timidly, realizing your fingers are still tangled in his hair. You place your palm against his head, caressing it tenderly.
“I’m so sorry,” you mutter. “Did I hurt you?”
“Not at all,” he chuckles. “It was beautiful.”
You bite your lip and he moves so he can kiss you. Your taste is on his lips and his tongue and it’s making you a little dizzy.
It’s been a while since you’ve felt as good as this.
Not that the sex with San was bad - but it faded at the same time your love did. When you broke up you had not touched each other like that - barely kissed, even - for weeks.
Although you’re sensitive, you really want to make Chan feel good. You need him inside you, stretching you, making you whole. You align your legs so his cock falls between them, and you grind slowly. His breath hitches against your lips, and you take it as a hint he likes it.
“You made me feel so good, Channie,” you tell him in between kisses. “I want to do the same for you.”
“Fuck, you’re so warm,” he lets out.
“I want you inside me,” you say.
He nods fervently, puts on the condom he got from the bathroom and aligns himself with your entrance. You feel so relaxed and tense at the same time, tucked in his arms on the couch, the rest of the world faded away. He enters you slowly, letting you time to adjust to his size, and you breathe out slowly.
He feels so different. He feels so right. You are a bundle of nerves he unmakes.
He thrusts his hips at a measured, exquisite pace. Each time he goes deeper, and you cry out in pleasure, your fingers digging in the skin of his muscled back. You feel the fever, you feel the want. He breathes heavily against your neck, holding you tight.
“You okay?” he asks in a whisper.
“Don’t stop,” you tell him, arching a little to facilitate his movements.
Chan doesn’t stop. As he makes love to you - because it is what he is doing - you sense his thrusts getting a little more erratic. In the quiet of the living room you hear nothing but the sound of him plunging inside you, his cock smeared by your wetness, his breathing mingling with yours. It is so erotic, so loving, your second orgasm is building quickly and deliciously.
Chan accelerates. You pant, moaning nonsense.
“Come with me,” he breathes, and that is the last thing you need to come undone.
It’s enthralling how your soul escapes you and yet stays right there, against Chan, around him, with him. As you clench around his cock, you hear a delightful moan escape his throat, rough and hoarse, and it keeps you right above the clouds with him as he comes inside of you. You feel him twitch before he relaxes slowly.
His lips find your forehead and he plants the softest of kisses there.
As you sink into the couch, he removes himself from you, and lays down on top of your body. You don’t mind the weight - in fact, it feels just right. His nose is in your neck, his breath tickling your sweat-covered skin. Your fingers slide in his hair, and you close your eyes.
You give yourselves time to recover. As the high fades, you feel Chan’s breathing relax and get more steady.
“Channie,” you whisper with a smile. “Don’t fall asleep.”
“Hm?” he groans, lifting his head to look at you.
With his hair all over the place, his small eyes and swollen lips, he looks ready to pass out. It elicits a large smile from you, and you tenderly caress his cheek.
“Let’s get to bed,” you tell him.
He nods. You stand up on shaky legs, and help him on his feet. Together you close the lights in the apartment, and then you take his hand to guide him towards the bathroom. You take the time to clean up and head to the bedroom. The lights are off except for the fairy lights hanging above your bed. Once you’re there, you open a drawer, take out a t-shirt that will fit him.
You slip under the sheets, Chan next to you. He pulls you into his arms, and you put your head on his shoulder.
The rain has slowed to a drizzle.
Who knows what the sky will look like tomorrow?
For now you just want to sleep against Charm’s warmth.
“Get some rest, love,” he whispers to you.
“Goodnight, Channie.”
“Goodnight.”
Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a comment or reblog with a word in the tags if you can. It's truly appreciated ♡
genre: tattoo artist!au, (fluff, slightly suggestive, this felt like slow burn to me lol)
pairing/s: Chan / Reader, ( some of the stray kids appear in this but not all sorry )
word count: 20k+ ( again, idk what happened my hand slipped )
tw: none!! just slightly suggestive but NO SMUT in this we keep it safe here bc im weak
a/n: this was a ride….inspired by that one period of time ( PLS 191110 KAMP festival… ) Bang Chan kept wearing that fake lip piercing….n I love Bang Chan but like…I can’t write smut for the life of me so this is the best I can do,… I put a mix in there I guess hope u guys like it!! ps gif not mine idk how many times I need to say this
“Hi, welcome to peaches, what can I get you?”
You fumbled around in your bag for your wallet, looking up to make eye contact with the boy standing behind the counter, dark brown hair falling over his eyes slightly as he gave you an expectant look.
Taken aback by the sheer appeal of his looks, you avoided his gaze desperately, trying your best to calm yourself down as you wondered just why Felix wasn’t working today.
“Uh…I’ll just uh…I’ll get um. Can I have the peach thing?” you fumbled with your words, your hand going up to your head to scratch at your temple even though it wasn’t itching.
A small huff of laughter escaped the boy, your gaze darting up to look at him, somewhat curious to see what he would look like while laughing, but getting distracted by the shiny silver ring delicately hugging the corner of his lower lip, except this time you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.
“You mean the peach soda?” he quirked an eyebrow, giving you a small smirk.
content & warnings: explicit & strong language. mild thematic elements. angst galore. reader is sick. minho is a soft and doting bf. reader has a fainting scare/high temp/migraine. slight possessive behavior from minho (but in a cute and soft way, i promise!!). pet names (affectionately). cuteness overload.
word count: 8.3k
summary: it's the dead of winter when you suddenly come down with a bad case of the flu. and your doting boyfriend minho is more than happy and willing to help you through the pain.
a/n: yes, i am fully on the brainwashing and brainrotting train that is writing minho out to be a soft, caring bf. don't come for me, it's one of the only pleasures in my life rn!! i wrote this in one sitting (and yes, most of the content in here is based off of my own experience with the flu this past year), so it might be horrible or really amazing. lmk what ya'll think and if you'd like more of this content from me! :))
The first symptom of the flu to come upon you was a sore throat. It happened just after you and Minho had finished eating dinner - since it was a Wednesday night, Chinese takeout had been on the menu.
You were laying in bed, already cozied up in your pajamas and snuggled under the thick coverlets, reading one of the winter-themed books that you had recently checked out at your local library. When, all of a sudden, your throat started to feel scratchy. Every few minutes, you kept reaching over to your nightstand table to take a sip from the glass of water that you always kept there.
Just then Minho came out of the master bedroom’s adjoining bathroom, clad in the black sweatpants that he always wore to bed. He was shirtless since his hot-blooded self could never fall asleep if he had too many clothes on. You got a clear view of his chiseled chest muscles and sinewy biceps as he padded over to you with his slippers on and gave your forehead a gentle kiss.
When he pulled away from you and saw the discomfort that was evident in the way your brows were furrowed together, he frowned slightly. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He asked, tucking a few strands of your loose hair behind your ear as he peered down at you with those sparkly, expressive doe-eyes of his.
“I don’t know, my throat hurts all of a sudden.” You said, swallowing over the painful scratch in your mouth.
“Did you drink some water?”
“Yeah, but it’s not helping…”
“Let me make you some warm tea, then,” your boyfriend reached down and tenderly squeezed your forearm with a tiny smile stretching across his lips. “Surely that will help you feel better.”
“But- Min, it’s too late, you worked so much today… it’s okay, I can make it,” you protested, catching hold of his wrist and stopping him from leaving your side. You looked up at him with pleading eyes, even as your throat was screaming at you for something warm.
“It’s okay, kitten. Making the tea will only take a few minutes, and then I’ll be right back in bed with you.” Just then he bent into you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before pulling away and ruffling some of your hair with a wide grin on his face. “Wanna help you, baby, hmm?”
And how could you deny that face? Those words? So, you released your grasp over him and watched him flood from the bedroom. Not a minute later you heard rummaging in the kitchen, as your loving boyfriend began to prepare a cup of tea for you.
In his absence, you tried - and failed - to get comfortable in bed again. Your book was long forgotten on your nightstand, and your throat had gotten so progressively worse over a few minutes that swallowing was starting to hurt.
Just when you thought you couldn’t take waiting any longer, Minho walked through your bedroom door with a huge, steaming mug in his hands. “It’s lemon-chamomile flavour… I added some honey for extra comfort, too.” He said as he placed it into your outstretched palms.
“Thank you, baby- don’t deserve you.” You mumbled in a quiet voice, offering him a tiny smile.
“Does it hurt to talk?” He asked as he turned off the lamp on your nightstand before rounding the bed and joining you on his side. He got comfortable underneath the thick duvet before switching off the last remaining light in the bedroom.
Everything was thrown into darkness around you, and for a moment, you were disoriented. But then you felt a familiar hand reach over to you and grasp one of your free hands, squeezing slightly, and you relaxed into your pillows.
“Yeah, kinda…” Your voice trailed off into the night as you took a sip of the tea. It was piping hot, but even still, felt amazing as it went down. You could already feel the chamomile and honey concoction soothing your discomfort away. “This tastes amazing, Min. Thank you.”
Minho snuggled deeper into the covers, shivering a few times from the chill in the air. It was the dead of winter and even with the heat blasting throughout your shared apartment, your place always seemed to have a cold draft traveling between the few rooms. “I’m glad you like it.” Your boyfriend’s voice was heavy, indicating that he was truly exhausted.
You leaned over to him and carded a few fingers through his dark, chestnut-brown hair. “Now, go to sleep, you workaholic. You’ve got a jam-packed schedule for the rest of the week.” You said into the quiet that had suddenly fallen over the bedroom.
Your words suddenly had Minho groaning into his pillow, “Don’t even fucking remind me about tomorrow’s schedule- it’s gonna be hell, for sure,” he began in that deep voice of his that would always come out late at night. You had told him many times in the past that you loved the sound of it, to which he cockily said that he’d try to stay up later with you so that way you could hear it more and gush over how sexy he sounded. Secretly, he loved the praise… a little too much, if you were truly honest with yourself. “You’ll be okay to go to bed?” He suddenly asked, bringing you out of your reverie of thought on his sultry ‘night voice.’
“Just fine,” you whispered, snuggling down under the sheets. You could already feel the heat that was radiating off of Minho’s body, as he slowly warmed the two of you up just with his hot-blooded self alone.
“Okay, then… goodnight, my baby. Feel better in the morning, yeah?”
“Goodnight Min. And sure, I’ll try to.” You replied in a quiet voice.
And then there was no reply from your boyfriend, as he swiftly drifted off to dreamland. After you had finished your tea, you snuggled up against him, wrapping one of his arms around your waist and pressing your back against his inviting, bare chest. The chamomile had helped immensely to take the ache in your throat away, and in no time at all, you were joining Minho in dreamland.
When you woke up the next day, your throat hurt like a bitch. You had thought that the night before had been bad, but nothing compared to how dry and scratchy it felt so early in the morning.
Turning over on your side with a groan, you cracked your eyes open against the bright light shining through from the bedroom’s large bay window. You noticed how Minho’s space was already empty. You shifted a palm across his pillow, noting the coldness of the satin fabric.
Stumbling out of bed a few minutes later, you realized how quiet the apartment was. With a glance at the nearby clock on your nightstand, the time read just past seven in the morning. Minho was already long gone.
Since your sore throat had only gotten worse overnight, you deemed yourself unfit to go to work that day. So after having called up your manager and telling her that you had to take a sick day, you slowly got ready for the day. The hot shower worked somewhat in relieving your throat pain, but not by much. And by the time you had dried your hair, brushed your teeth, and thrown on some comfy sweats and one of the many hoodies that you had stolen from Minho throughout your relationship, a spilling migraine had begun to bloom across your temples.
“Just my luck…” You mumbled to yourself as you made your way into the kitchen. With a glance around the adjacent living room/dining room, you noticed how the apartment looked more tidy than usual. Your boyfriend must’ve cleaned the place before he left early that morning. The thought of him picking up because you didn’t feel well left a wide smile on your face as your trudged to the fridge.
Having opened the thing, you noticed a huge soup pot that was covered with a lit, sitting on the middle shelf. A note was attached to the top of it, and it read,
Baby,
Made some rice porridge for you this morning. Didn’t have time to wake you up to tell you, so only kissed you goodbye. Text me after you’re finished eating- I haven’t made the recipe in a while and want to know how I did.
Love you, and hope you feel better,
- Min XX
You felt the emotions rising inside of you as you read the small note again, and soon, your eyes were turning watery from unshed tears. He truly was the best boyfriend ever. Minho was the type of guy who liked to share his love for you in actions. He loved cooking for you and cleaning for you. But over time, since you two had started dating, he had slowly become more expressive with his feelings through words as well. It was a nice change that you gladly welcomed and it made your heart all fuzzy to know that he was trying to be a better lover for you alone.
In no time at all, you had heated a portion of rice porridge for yourself. It was chock full of tender, flavourful chicken, and tons of veggies - like carrots, mushrooms, and even zucchini. You drizzled some fish sauce and soy sauce on top of it and used the chopped-up scallions that Minho had left for you to garnish the porridge.
You took a picture to send to your boyfriend before you dug into the meal. And instantly, you felt so much better. The heat of the porridge slid down your throat and coated your insides with a fuzzy, comforting feeling. It was so very delectable and you finished it in just a few minutes. After you were done eating, you made sure to take some ibuprofen that you had on hand to try and combat the splitting migraine that was upon you.
Sending the picture you had taken earlier of your meal, you quickly texted Minho.
Min Today 10:03
Me: Just had the porridge… WHY have you never made this for me before?! It was amazing!!
Within a minute, he texted back.
Min: Wow, I had no idea you’d like it that much, I’ll have to make it again. It makes me happy to hear that you enjoyed it. :) Did it help with your sore throat? You looked to be in discomfort when I left this morning…
Me: Yes! The porridge really soothed me, I feel better already!
Min: Ok, I’m glad then :) You took off work today, right?
Me: I mean, yeah, since I can barely talk :(
Min: Awe baby :( I’m so sorry. Just rest today, I’ll try to be home earlier than I was last night.
Me: I’ll just be laying in bed all day haha… and ok, have a good day at work! Love you <3
Min: Love you too <;33
Staring at the bright screen of your phone was only making your headache worse, so you turned it off and trekked back to your bed. The exhaustion hit you as soon as your back hit the soft mattress, and halfway through the comfort movie you had turned on on the tv, you were already drifting off to sleep.
Late that same night, the fever started. At first, your cheeks were just flushed, which could happen from time to time. But then, the back of your neck started to feel warm too. And soon, it felt like your entire body had been doused in a scorching hot pit of lava.
Keeping to his word, Minho arrived home an entire hour earlier than the night before. When he walked through the apartment’s front door at eleven with both hands full of groceries, you immediately stood up from the living room couch to help him unpack.
“No, no- I’ve got it. Go sit back down,” he insisted, trying to shoo you away with his hand as he placed the many bags atop the kitchen counter.
You peeked into one of them and saw a huge box of multi-flavoured popsicles. “What’s all this for?” You mumbled in a weak voice.
“You, my dear… want to cook some good meals to help you feel better,” Minho said, turning you towards him so that he could get a good look at your face. When he noticed the deep crimson flush that stretched across your cheeks and traveled down to the part of your next that was exposed from your - formerly his - baggy hoodie, his brows furrowed. “Baby, do you feel warm?” The light in his eyes flashed with concern as he gently pressed a hand against your cheek and forehead.
“Y-yeah, a little…”
“You’re burning up,” Minho said, voice a little panicked as he led you back over to the living room couch, the groceries suddenly forgotten. You had only ever gotten a fever once before in all the time that you two had been dating, and it hadn’t been all that bad, to begin with. And it sure as hell hadn’t made you feel as hot as you did just then. “Here, let me get the thermometer.”
Then he was gone from your side and rushing into your bedroom, in search of the only thermometer you kept on hand. Resting against the couch, you tried to focus on anything else but the soreness in your throat and the heat that flooded through your veins just then. The headache had come back with a vengeance a little earlier that night, the ibuprofen wearing off fairly quickly. Much to your demise.
Minho was beside you again a few minutes later, thermometer in hand. “Baby, open for me,” he instructed, and you opened your mouth slightly so that he could slide the small thing under your tongue. The metal felt cold against your teeth, and time seemed to pass by agonizingly slowly, as you two sat there on the couch and waited for the reading. When it finally beeped loudly, Minho took it out and inspected it. “Nighty-nine-point-eight. You’ve definitely got a fever.”
You closed your eyes then, resting an arm across your eyes and groaning into the crook of your elbow. Even your eyelids felt hot. “Fuck- I’ll have to take off more sick days from work. I really can’t afford to do that-”
“Kitten, I think that’s the least of your worries right now,” your boyfriend said softly just beside you. You felt his hand wrap around your knee and squeeze the skin there gently. “I’m going to get some cold rags, okay? Just- stay here.” By the way that his voice had turned a little high-pitched, you could tell how he was slowly starting to get stressed out about the whole thing. Which was saying a lot, since there wasn’t much in the world that could stress him out.
The two of you rarely fell ill, and when you did, it was always a mild case of the cold. So for you to have so many symptoms all at once, must’ve been very overwhelming for your boyfriend. But, what could you do? The sickness was here, and it was here to stay…
You felt something cold press against your forehead amid your thoughts, and you cracked your tired eyes open to glimpse Minho leaning towards you on the couch, two other wet washcloths in hand.
“These will help to cool you down,” he explained, as he helped move you forward a little bit so that he could place the second cloth behind your neck. Then you let him guide you so that you were fully laying down on the couch, limbs sprawled out. You were too sapped of energy to even ask what he was doing as he gingerly lifted your oversized hoodie. When you felt the coldness of a third, and final washcloth press against your stomach, you understood his sudden actions. “You should take some ibuprofen, that’ll help bring your fever down.”
“I can’t take it without first eating something.”
“Then I’ll make you some food- did you have dinner?”
You shook your head no, the motion only making your pounding headache worse. You winced and grabbed at your head, massaging one of your temples.
“How about I heat some of the rice porridge from earlier?” Minho offered before standing up from his kneeling position on the ground.
But just as he was about to leave your side, you stopped him by grasping at the fabric of his dark-blue sweatpants by his knees. He was still sweaty from the apparent dance practice that he had been doing in the studio just before he came home. “No- I- I’m too nauseous to eat anything right now.” You mumbled, voice cracking a little bit from the pain that was solidly rooted in your throat. Your cheeks were so hot, it felt like you had gotten a sunburn while laying out on the beach, when in reality- you had been lying around your apartment all day, not even catching a single glimpse of the sun through the hazy January clouds outside.
“Okay, well, maybe you can take the medicine later when you feel a little better,” Minho said. He was squatting down at your side then, brushing back your hair from your forehead. “Just rest on the couch here while I put the groceries away, and then we can go to bed.”
You nodded in understanding, too tired to say anything else as he kissed your hot cheek and finally pulled away from your side.
That night turned out to be absolutely horrendous.
You tossed and turned throughout it, not being able to get comfortable. The cold washcloths had done little to help bring your fever down, and the throat lozenges that Minho had gotten for you at the grocery store earlier merely coated your throat in this weird aftertaste that left you coughing for half of the night.
Not to mention the headache.
Which had turned into a full-blown migraine.
The ache wrapped around your entire head, and it felt like someone had your skull in a vice-like grip, squeezing and squeezing the very life out of it.
Your boyfriend, who stayed up with you for the entirety of the night, was a literal fucking saint. He made trips into the bathroom every hour to dampen your washcloths with cold water again and regularly made you tea to try and help relieve your throat.
“Min- baby- you need to stop helping me now,” you whispered through the daze of tiredness. Because if you were drained, you couldn’t imagine how your boyfriend had to feel - what with having worked for the better half of sixteen hours that day. “You have so much on your plate right now, I can’t expect you to stay up all night just because I’m feeling like shit.”
“S’okay, I’m not sleepy…” But the way his quiet voice drifted off at the end of his words proved differently to you.
You turned on your side in bed, catching a glimpse of your boyfriend’s slumped form through the faint moonlight that shined through the bedroom window’s curtains. His shoulders were hunched over, his head hanging low, as he massaged languid circles into the palm of your closest hand.
“Yes, you are. Now, go to sleep.” You said firmly, pushing on his shoulders so that his head hit his pillow.
At your forceful movement, his eyes shot open. “I can’t leave you like this- baby, you’re in so much fucking pain right now. I-I feel horrible that I can’t help you more.” He said, his tone desperate. He threaded his fingers through yours then, squeezing a little desperately, trying to convey how strongly he felt about staying up with you and helping you practically survive the night.
“I know babe, I know…” You pushed away a few locks of his dark, chestnut-brown hair that had fallen in front of his face, giving him a soft smile. “But you need to sleep now, okay? That’s how you can help me feel better- by going to bed. I’ll be fine, so don’t worry about me.”
Minho was silent for a few beats, as you stared into each other's eyes. You were both incredibly stubborn when you wanted to be, but on this topic- you wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t jeopardize his packed schedule while also letting the boys down just because you weren’t feeling well.
“Alright,” he finally surrendered in a defeated-sounding voice. “But, you’ll wake me up if anything happens, right?”
“Of course.” You leaned down into him and gave the crown of his head a soft kiss. “Love you, Min.”
“Love you too…” He said, his eyes already closed. And just like that, you watched his face relax, body melting into the soft downy mattress, as he finally drifted off to sleep.
And hopefully, you’d soon join him in blissful sleep as well.
Turns out that you didn’t get a wink of shut-eye that night, tossing and turning underneath your thin sheet - you had thrown off the thick duvet coverlet that had been laid on top of you early on in the night. A thick coating of sweat covered your entire body, even with the cold washcloths still placed on you. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, had been out like a light.
In your sleepless, frail daze, you hadn’t managed to catch him as he left for work early the next morning. But as soon as your eyes opened, your head throbbed from the bright light flooding through your bedroom’s curtains, and a strong wave of nausea overtook you.
You shot from your bed and barely made it to the bathroom. You leaned over the toilet bowl and hurled up the little contents that were left inside of you. The only thing you had eaten the day before was the rice porridge that Minho had made for you in the morning and two strawberry-mango-flavoured popsicles to try and ease your throat.
It still hurt like hell, and your head was pounding from your migraine. When you leaned back from the toilet, a loud groan escaped past your lips from the distress that you were in. You sat there on the cold, tiled bathroom floor for a few minutes, just taking in deep breaths and trying to persuade yourself to get up when all you felt like doing was tipping over and passing out from exhaustion.
In the end, you managed to get up from the hard ground and brush your teeth before making your way back to your nightstand, where you had glimpsed a small piece of paper placed just atop your latest pick from your local library. The nightstand’s clock read just half-past ten o’clock in the morning.
You probably didn’t get much sleep last night. Try to take a nap sometime today when you can.
You need to eat something, but, if you’re too nauseous, at least drink lots of water. There’s some Pocari Sweat in the fridge, so drink plenty of that.
And please, try to take some ibuprofen if you can. It will help bring down your fever. Checked it before I left, temp is now at 102.8. It should’ve broken in the night.
Call/text me whenever you want to, I’ll be available all day and will be home even earlier than yesterday.
Love you, Minho XX
Even through your confused state of pain and weariness, a smile graced your lips at your boyfriend’s thoughtfulness. Since you rarely got sick, it was uncommon for you to experience this exact side of him. It was a whole kind of new Lee Minho, and to be honest, you quite liked it. And although the doting could be a little excessive and suffocating, it was the thought that counted, right?
Somehow, you found enough energy inside of you to get up from your comfy bed and into the shower. The hot water felt amazing on your skin, and did wonders for your bad migraine. You stood under the spout for at least twenty minutes - maybe even more than that. And when you were too tired to keep standing, you sat down on the cold tile of the stall. The steam that the scalding water emitted all around you also helped to calm your inflamed throat down, and you basked in the comforting feeling for quite a while.
It was only after you stepped out of the shower, legs slightly wobbly, that you realized your mistake.
You had a fucking fever, for God’s sake-
It should’ve been very obvious to you-
Not to take a scalding hot shower for that long.
Even still, there was no turning back. And almost immediately, you felt the repercussions of your actions. As you wrapped a fluffy white towel around your body and grabbed for the blow dryer, you suddenly felt very lightheaded.
And not the kind of lightheaded that you would sometimes get if you stood up from a sitting position too quickly.
No, this kind of lightheadedness was the kind where you felt like you were about to fucking pass out.
Just then, you realized how hot your entire body felt. You thought that it had been bad before- but nothing compared to the sheer heat that radiated off of your body.
With a racing heart and shaking limbs, you slowly shuffled out of the bathroom, clutching onto the wall for support. Your vision was going in and out, turning so blurry that you could barely see in front of you.
You fumbled around your nightstand for your phone, and with quaking fingers, you dialed Minho’s number as fast as you could. You were standing just beside your bed, legs feeling like they were about to give out on you. You were so weary and confused and felt like you were about to fall over, so half of what you were doing didn’t even make sense to you. But you knew that you had to get ahold of your boyfriend- in that scary moment, that was the most important thing to you.
The phone rang once,
Twice,
Three times.
Please, just fucking pick up-
Please don’t be in a meeting or at practice or-
“Baby? I’m so glad you called, how are you-” His gentle, serene voice rang out across your phone’s speaker that was pressed to your ear.
You let out a sob of relief, the tears finally flowing down your cheeks. “M-Min, I-I can’t-“ It was hard for you to speak over the dizziness and confusion.
“Y/N? What’s wrong? What happened?” Minho’s voice immediately turned frantic at your mumblings.
“S-So dizzy- got out of the shower and- and gonna pass out- help me, Min, please-” It felt like your knees were about to buckle just then, but Minho’s voice cut through your heated stupor.
“Lie down right now, baby. You close to the bed?”
“Y-yeah-”
“Lie down, completely stretch out your body. Can you do that for me?”
You said nothing more, shifting towards your bed and collapsing on top of it with a tiny gasp of exhaustion. “I-I’m on it-”
“I’m leaving the company right now,” Minho’s exclamation broke through your daze of fatigue.
“W-What? Baby- no, don’t- you have an important recording today and-”
“To hell with the schedule!” He was suddenly shouting through the phone, making you pull it away from your ear from the loudness. It only made your headache worse. When he heard your whimper of pain, he began speaking again but in a quieter voice. “I’m sorry for yelling, baby- it’s just that, the company can’t expect me to go to work when the fucking love of my life is about to pass out from the flu that she has.” His voice was much calmer this time and helped to soothe your racing heart a little bit. Your limbs were still shaking though, your vision going in and out.
There was silence on both your ends, as your slow mind processed his words. You heard shuffling on his line and muffled voices. Then he was talking to someone - it sounded like Chan - their whispers were hard to hear over the static of the phone.
“Baby?” Minho’s voice cut through your tiredness. You opened your eyes weakly, trying to focus your attention on the painting that hung on the wall just beside your flatscreen tv. It was of a single, pink tulip positioned in a grassy field. The piece was something that Hyunjin had gifted you for your birthday in the past year. “I want you to stay on the phone with me until I get home, okay? Just keep talking to me - about anything - just don’t close your eyes, alright?”
His instructions seemed like absolute torture to you right then, because all you wanted to do was close your eyes and let go - let your mind drift off into wonderland for even a few blissful seconds. “I’ll try,” you started, voice quiet as you nuzzled into the bed’s thick duvet that was still messed up from the night before. You hadn’t found the energy to make it yet. “I-I threw up this morning.”
“Oh, darling- I’m so sorry I wasn’t there… but, I’ll be there soon, yeah? I’ll take care of you, so don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” His tone was laced with concern, and a tiny smile spread across your lips at how attentive he was being toward you.
The entire thirty-minute commute that he took every day from your apartment to the company, you stayed on the line with your boyfriend, talking about whatever came to your mind. You were still nauseous, so food was never brought up, mainly just the changing weather and what you wanted to do that weekend since he’d have a break from schedules that Saturday, which was quite a rare occurrence for him.
Laying down on the bed had helped your dizziness somewhat, but every time you shifted just a little bit, your vision would go blurry again. It was annoying as fuck, to add yet another symptom to your myriad of other problems.
“I’m pulling up to the apartment right now, so I’ll hang up. Wait for me, baby.” Minho finally said after what felt like an eternity of him traveling home from the company. You mumbled an incoherent ‘yes’ before he hung up the call.
True to your promise, you kept your eyes open, laying as still as a statue on the bed. You were back to studying Hyunjin’s flower painting just as you heard the front door’s keypad being used. A breath of relief left you as shuffling echoed throughout the one-bedroom apartment, and in no time at all, there your boyfriend was- rushing into your bedroom with a wild look in his eyes and flushed cheeks, his dark brows furrowed.
“Kitten-“ he breathed out in a sight of relief at the sight of your still-awake form, “C’mere.” He dropped his backpack on the floor next to the door before he was bounding towards you. In one swift movement, he was lifting you off the bed, taking you up into his arms, and cradling your head against his chest as he sat back down on the bed’s plush mattress.
The tears started again almost as soon as he had you in his arms. Your sobs wracked through your body, as he brushed soothing fingers through your hair. You knew that crying would only make your migraine worse, but you couldn’t give a flying fuck about anything just then. You were just so happy to see your boyfriend, after such a disastrous morning.
“Y-You came back for me,” you sniffled after a long bout of silence that was filled with only your cries. You pulled away from his chest, looking up at him through blurry vision. “I-I was so scared, Min.”
Minho swiped his thumbs underneath your eyes, gently catching your falling tears with the pads of his soft fingers. “Of course I did, baby. I love you… and it kills me to see you this way. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to help you.”
“Just glad you’re here now,” you whispered, clutching onto his waist a little harder. “I’ll feel better now with just your presence alone… but, how long are you staying for?”
He tucked a few strands of your still-sopping wet hair behind your ear. In your dizziness, you hadn’t found the time to dry it yet. “Not leaving you again, darling. The company gave me the day off, Chan helped me persuade them.”
“B-But you’re gonna miss such an important day of schedules and-”
Your boyfriend shushed you with a slender finger to your lips. “It’s already done now, Y/N. So let’s just focus on helping you feel better, alright? By firstly, getting you dressed.”
You looked down and realized that you were still only clad in your soaked towel. “Wow, I didn’t even realize I was still in this…” Your voice trailed off, as Minho placed you back down on the bed and made for your walk-in closet.
“Is it a sweatpants and hoodie kinda day again?” He asked as he poked his head into the closet.
“A-Actually, I’m too hot to wear anything thick,” you managed to stutter out, perched at the edge of the bed. And soon enough, your loving, doting boyfriend emerged from the closet with a pair of soft, black cotton shorts and a thin, maroon-colored camisole.
“Will this do?” He questioned, holding up the items for you to inspect them from across the room.
Wordlessly, you nodded your approval. And soon enough, he was shifting his way toward you. In no time at all, he had helped slip the shorts up your bare legs, the loose waistband resting gently against your hips. Then, he guided the camisole over your head, gently pulling the thin spaghetti straps over your shoulders.
“All good?” Leaning forward, he tucked a piece of your wet hair that had fallen into the front of your face behind your ear.
“Mhm- but my hair’s still wet from the shower,” you mumbled, staring up into his dark pupils that were dancing with a myriad of emotions - but especially, concern. “Carry me?” You asked, reaching out your arms to him, supple and waiting, like a small baby that wanted to be carried by someone they trusted.
“Always, kitten.” He whispered, just as he pulled you up into his hold. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he charged for the bathroom. And soon, you were sitting atop the granite counter, as he ran his fingers through your hair.
The blow dryer was loud in your ears, and the heat from it only seemed to raise your temperature even more. You still had your legs wound around Minho’s torso as he worked with nimble fingers to dry your hair. You tipped your head towards his hand every time he ran a brush through your locks.
When he was finished, he pressed a palm against your forehead for what felt like the millionth time that day. “You’re still burning up, baby…” His voice trailed off, as he leaned across the counter, grabbing a stray hair bobble. He pulled your hair away from your face and fitted it into a loose ponytail at the back of your head. Immediately upon the feeling of your thick locks being out of your face, a content sigh of relief escaped past your lips. “I really need you to take that ibuprofen, honey.” A deep frown bloomed across his lips, turning his mouth downwards in a displeased kind of way.
“My migraine isn’t as bad as it was earlier, so I think I can choke something down now.” You said. Your eyes were still closed, as you breathed in the familiar scent - of warm, dark roasted coffee and cinnamon sticks - of your boyfriend.
And in no time at all, he had you seated on the living room couch, your eyes trailing over the food that he prepared for lunch. There was a bowl of the porridge that he had made the day before, a piece of plain, white buttered toast, and a yellowed banana. Not to mention the medicine set off to the side with a tall glass of water.
“Eat, baby.” Your boyfriend took hold of the tray that the food was on and positioned it on your lap.
He was sitting beside you on the couch, gaze locked on your form with a certain kind of intensity that would make you anxious if you didn’t know him so well. The intensity he had was only borne out of concern. He so desperately wanted you to get better, that’s all.
“Thank you, Min… it looks delicious.” You pecked his cheek gently, watching as a soft smile cracked across his lips before you delved into the lunch.
You had to admit, the food was exceptionally good. The porridge helped to alleviate your throat, and the bread filled your stomach comfortably. You hadn’t realized how hungry you had truly been until you started eating. But halfway through the meal, you stopped when you noticed how your boyfriend hadn’t moved from his spot of watching you.
“Aren’t you going to join me?” You asked, motioning towards your spoon that was laden with porridge.
He shook his head slowly, “Want to take care of you first, that’s all.”
You gave him a deep frown. “Min, you're already taking care of me. Just making this meal is enough for me.”
“I know, but I wasn’t here earlier- don’t want to take my eyes off you for even a second, in case something happens.”
“I’m not going to pass out, baby. I’m fine now. So please, eat some lunch, yeah?”
“You still have the flu, Y/N. Just because you haven’t passed out yet doesn’t mean you won’t in the future,” Minho crossed his arms in front of his chest, canting his head to the side, eyes trailing on your red-cheeked face. “And I want to be sure I’m here to catch you if that happens.”
“Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence…” You grumbled softly, turning your attention back to your cooling porridge. There was no use fighting him on the matter anyway. He was a stubborn mule when he wanted to be, and apparently, Minho would run himself ragged before he ever looked away from you again.
It was only after you had finished your lunch, and had downed four ibuprofen pills and a glass of water with it, that Minho finally got up from the couch to put your dishes away and make something for himself. He rounded the couch a few minutes later, pressing a cold washcloth against your head. The sudden coolness surprised you, and you slightly sat up from your laying position on the couch to catch a glimpse of your boyfriend.
Minho took a seat at the end of the couch, near your feet, a plate of food in his hands. For his meal, he was having a rather bland-looking sandwich, with a green apple sliced thin set off to the side.
“That’s all you’re having to eat?” You raised an eyebrow at him, propping yourself up on your elbows to get a good look at him.
His gaze was already on you even before you met his stare, as he bit into his sandwich. “Don’t pass judgment on my habits when you hadn’t eaten anything until just now.”
“But I’m the one who’s sick here…” You protested, shaking your head in disapproval at the lack of food on his plate. He was a growing guy, always in the gym, always straining his body for work. He needed to eat enough to fuel himself properly. Changbin was always harping about such things to the boys, but especially, your boyfriend. Since, as Changbin put it, ‘he never seems to get enough macros in for his height and weight range.’ Whatever the hell that meant.
To that, Minho said nothing, merely biting into his sandwich once more. His silence only made you more agitated with him, and that, coupled with your slightly-pounding migraine and your drowsiness only helped to add fuel to the fire.
“I”m worried about you, Min… you need to eat more if you want-”
“You’re worried?” He suddenly let out a dry, humorless scoff. And instantly, you recognized his tone. In the blink of an eye, his entire demeanor shifted. It changed from the intensity he had from caring for you, to the intensity that he always got whenever he was worked up. Whenever he was worked up about you, and your safety. “I’m the one who’s fucking worried here, Y/N!” He practically burst out in a loud voice, throwing his plate down on the nearby coffee table in his sudden exclamation.
“Minho-” You began in a soft voice but you were quickly cut off by his raising voice once more.
“Do you have any fucking idea how scary it was to get a call from you this morning and have you practically fighting for your very life to not pass out right then and there?” He ran a few frantic fingers through his hair, clutching at the roots, slightly bending over, and resting his elbows against his knees. “Because damn it- I was practically shaking from all the worry. And then I come home and find you literally naked and sopping wet and crying and-” Just then, his voice cracked, his words fading off into the distance.
And in the next beat, you were moving. Towards him, so that you were right up in his personal space. You took hold of one of his hands, pulling it away from tugging at his locks of brown hair. Squeezing your fingers between his own, you pressed a soft kiss to the top of his hand.
“Baby, I’m so sorry… it’s my fault that everything became such a big mess. I didn’t have to take such a long, hot shower.” You admitted, giving his skin another kiss.
Minho pulled his head up just then, as it had dropped between his hunched shoulders in his distress. His eyes slid over to yours instantly. “Don’t apologize, none of this is your fault. You were only trying to relieve your symptoms, I get it.” He held onto your hand a little tighter, like in that moment, he needed to be grounded in the reality of you. That you were still there with him, still living and breathing, albeit tired as hell and ill to the bone. But still, there nonetheless. “And please, just... don’t leave me, okay? I can’t lose you, baby… I can’t…” His voice became a tiny whisper at the end of his words, misery flashing across his face, radiating deep in the way that his eyes softened at the sight of you, his brows creasing with the tears that he could never seem to shed.
“Min, I have the flu… not the damn plague.” You laughed, lips grazing his hand again as you placed another peck against his skin. “And of course, I’m not going to leave you.”
“Good, because I’m never going to leave you either.” And suddenly, he was taking hold of you, pulling you onto his lap and burrowing his face into the crook of your exposed neck. He blew raspberry kisses against your heated skin, making you burst out into a fit of giggles. You kicked your feet up into the air, trying to escape him as his nimble fingers tickled you at your sides.
And all at once, just for a few minutes, he helped you forget about everything - about your sickness, the discomfort, and the fatigue. All of it. Helping by kissing away the swarthy thoughts and tension-filled temples.
Later that day, your fever finally broke. The medicine seemed to kick in just in time and helped to completely take away your headache. Your throat still felt dry and scratchy, but continually downing warm cups of tea was slowly helping that. You and Minho spent the day lounging around the apartment, watching random reality shows that were playing on the tv, and indulging in a whole pint of chocolate ice cream an hour before bed.
But despite having all that sugar and caffeine right before laying down, you found that sleep threatened to take over you as soon as your head hit the pillow.
“Will you go in to work tomorrow?” You asked, laying on your side and facing your boyfriend as he sprawled out in the bed just a little ways away from you.
“I don’t know… I hope not.”
“The boys will need you, baby. I think you should.”
After all, he was an integral part of the team. He couldn’t simply disappear from Stray Kids for even a few days and not have them feel the lasting effects of his absence.
“Let’s not worry about that and just focus on going to bed, okay?” He reached out to you, clutching onto your hip and pulling you towards him.
When your forehead was comfortably rested against his bare, muscled chest, you peered up at him with a faint smile pulling at your lips. “Thanks for taking care of me today, honey. I don’t deserve you…”
He pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead, his voice rumbling with sleep as he spoke, “I’ll do anything for you, kitten. And of course, you deserve me- I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”
Without another word said between the two of you, you closed your eyes and breathed in deeply. Your boyfriend's comforting scent washed over you, seeming to soothe a tender spot inside of you, and all at once, you were falling fast and hard into a deep slumber.
The first thing you noticed when you awoke the following morning was that for once in what felt like an eternity, the blinding morning light shining through the bedroom curtains didn’t automatically make you feel like shit. Instead, it helped to place a content feeling deep inside your heart.
And the second thing that you noticed when you awoke the following morning was the fact that your boyfriend was still in bed.
He had both arms wrapped around your waist, and when you dragged away from his chest, a muffled groan fled from his slightly-parted lips.
With a glance at your nearby clock, you noticed how it was well past the time that he usually got up for work.
Minho cracked an eye open from the shifting of your figure, a lazy smirk blooming across his mouth at the sight of your eyebrows raising on your forehead in surprise. “Guess I won’t be going in to work after all…” He said, voice husky with sleep.
You squirmed in his arms until you were loose enough to get a good look at him. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and suddenly, you thought that perhaps the huskiness of his voice wasn’t just from sleep. “Why are you staying home today? I thought you said you were going to go into the office.”
Shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, that same smirk was still on his face. “The sore throat woke me up in the middle of the night.”
A loud groan bubbled up and out of you, as you scrubbed a frustrated hand across your face. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Hey- well, at least you’re feeling somewhat better now… that way, you can take care of me when I nearly pass out after a hot shower.”
With that, you shoved at his shoulder gently, sending a glare his way. “This isn’t funny, Min. You shouldn’t have gotten so close to me- shouldn’t have kissed me! Now you can’t go to work for God knows how long because of this stupid flu!”
He waved a noncommittal hand in the air, batting away your worries like he didn’t have seven other boys who depended on him, like he didn’t have a whole company counting on his work, like he didn’t have millions of worldwide fans anticipating his presence. “Eh- to hell with it all, I was bored with work anyway. And besides, I cannot ever stop myself from kissing you, baby. At this point, I’m pretty sure it’s hardwired into my brain as a daily need to function.” He gave you a playful wink, and you rolled your eyes exasperatingly.
“You're so stupid,” you grumbled, hating the idea of seeing him go through the same pain you went through. You had survived the worst of it already, but you wouldn’t wish it on anyone - not even your worst enemy. “Well, you better promise that you won’t be a pain in my ass and actually accept my help when you need it.”
He shook his head noncommittally, “I shall make no such promises.” You felt a hand clutch at one of your sides, just as he was pulling you against his warm body once more. “Now, c’mere and give me a kiss.”
You smiled against his mouth, melting into his hold as he pressed kiss after soft kiss to your lips.
Because even though now you were both sick,
At least you had each other.
And at the end of the day, that’s all that mattered…
That Minho had you, and you had him.
So even despite feeling like a literal ball of hot, steamy garbage baking in the summer heat,
You felt like, at that moment, you could whether anything in life - any storm coming your way, any curve ball thrown at you, any toxic person coming into your path,
Just as long as you had him by your side.
As long as you had Lee Minho, your beautiful, loving, eccentric, doting boyfriend, you’d be just fine.
Fin.
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