The air was crisp, biting just enough to make you burrow deeper into the oversized scarf Jeonghan had insisted you wear.
You were standing in the middle of the glittering Winter Village, surrounded by the scent of roasted chestnuts and cinnamon.
Snow had fallen earlier, dusting the small market stalls and turning the whole area into a scene from a holiday movie.
"Are you warm enough?" Jeonghan asked, his voice soft as he turned his head, his breath misting in the cold. He was wearing a simple hat pulled low over his forehead, and his eyes, bright under the market lights, held a playful concern.
Before you could answer, he reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of your hair back under your hood.
Before you could answer, he reached out, his gloved fingers moving slowly, and gently tucked a stray strand of your hair back under your hood.
His thumb brushed your cheekbone, a completely unnecessary but electrifying contact that lingered for a breath too long.
Stop being weird, itâs Jeonghan, you scolded yourself internally. Heâs literally done this a thousand timesâpulled your hood up, adjusted your shirt, stolen food off your plate. Thatâs just⊠him. Thatâs the default setting for your best friend of ten years.
You felt a familiar heat rise in your face, hoping the cold wind would explain it away. You quickly looked toward the nearest stall, trying to break the intensity of his gaze.
"Do you know how much I hate you right now?" you mumbled, your voice muffled by the scarf as you rubbed your freezing hands together.
Jeonghan laughed, a clear, ringing sound that cut through the low hum of the market noise. "You love me, you liar,â he challenged, âAnd you love this," gesturing to the sparkling canopy of lights above you.
"The lights are great. You? Iâm still debating," you said, reaching out to flatten a stubborn piece of hair sticking out from under his hat.
He immediately leaned into your touch, closing his eyes dramatically. He opened his eyes, now inches from yours, and his tone dropped to a mock-serious whisper. "Seriously, though, are you warm? If you start shivering, Iâm putting you inside my coat, and I don't want the hassle."
"Relax, Iâm wearing three layers.â You replied, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. "Speaking of hassle,â You quickly broke eye contact, trying to forget that moment where his thumb brushed your cheek. âYouâre the one whoâs going to have a bad time if we don't get to those churros. I'm hitting empty."
"The belly calls." Jeonghan dropped the serious act and gave you a playful shove, immediately looping his arm around your shoulders in a casual, familiar sprawl. He pointed a long finger toward a distant, brightly lit booth with a line snaking out of it. "There they are. The legendary Chocolate Cream Churros."
"Okay, now you're talking," you conceded, gladly letting him pull you along.
After a short wait, Jeonghan handed you a bag of warm, cinnamon-sugar churros and a small cup of thick, white dipping cream.
The heat from the cup hits your palms instantly, and your stomach practically sings heavenly delight.
âOh my god,â you whispered, staring at the sight of whipped cream like it was a religious experience. âThis looks illegal.â
âTake it slow,â he murmured, leaning in so close you could feel his breath, âYou always underestimate how much filling there is.â
âI do not,â you said, already taking a bite with defiant confidence.
He took a slow, confident bite of his own, then immediately started laughing.
Your head snapped up. âWhat?â
He gestured vaguely toward his own mouth.
"Donât point, tell me where it is," you grumbled, trying to wipe your upper lip with the back of your hand, which only succeeded in smearing the white cream further across your cheek.
âOkay, no, stop,â he said, catching your wrist before you could smear it further. âYouâre making it worse.â Jeonghan laughed harder, a clear, ringing sound. He set his churro bag down on a nearby ledge.
"Hold still," he instructed.
This is fine. This is normal, you chanted internally. He always cleans up your messes.
He reached out, his hand bare this time, and his thumb gently wiped the corner of your mouth. The contact was brief, but his skin was warm against the coldness of yours.
His thumb lingered for just a second, his eyes on the cream heâd collected. He pulled his hand back, still looking directly at you, then slowly, casually brought his thumb up to his own mouth and licked the excess cream away.
Your breath hitched. Wait. He didn't just...The entire motion was shockingly intimate, turning the simple act of cleaning your face into something that felt entirely too personal.
"Waste not, want not," he announced, his voice totally steady, though the look in his eyes was entirely too pleased with the flustered mess he'd just created.
You could feel your face burn, a blush spreading beneath your scarf hot enough to melt the remaining snow. You snatched a churro from the bag and pointed it at him.
"You're gross," you finally managed, the words coming out as a shaky whisper.
Jeonghan just smiled, a sweet, triumphant grin that crinkled the corner of his eyes. He leaned in, just close enough for you to smell the cinnamon on his breath.
"I know," he replied, his voice dropping to a low, confident drawl. "But I'm pretty enough that you'll forget it by the time we hit the rink."
âYouâre impossibleâ. You retorted, giving him a hard, familiar nudge with your elbow.
â
After tying your skates and doing your best to ignore the sight of Jeonghan gliding effortlessly toward the centerâthe nerve of this so-called beginnerâyou pushed off the boards.
The slickness hit you immediately. Your ankle wobbled, your arms flailed, and you instantly grabbed the railing, your fingers gripping the wood as if it were the only thing keeping you from being swallowed by the ice.
Jeonghan circled back, a picture of infuriating grace, his hands tucked nonchalantly into his pockets.
âAre you coming, or are you just going to admire the ice?â He called out, his voice bright and teasing.
"Iâm just making sure I don't break every bone in my body," you muttered, managing one terrified, half-inch step.
He shook his head, pushing off the boards to glide over to you. His skates made that soft, satisfying shhh sound as he moved. He stopped right beside you, his height making him tower over your hunched form.
"Just trust me, okay? You're too stiff. Bend your knees."
The casual reassurance felt like a challenge, but you knew him well enough to know he was just excited. He reached out and gently took your hand, lacing your fingers with his own. His palm, still slightly warm from the churro cup, was a secure anchor against your cold, shaky skin.
You took a deep, shaky breath, forcing your feet to move with his momentum.
He didn't stop, but began to glide backward, pulling you along. You started taking tentative steps, your legs moving in a wobbly, rhythmic stride that made you feel like a newborn giraffe. You held onto his hand desperately, laughing breathlessly every time you nearly lost your balance. Jeonghan just smiled, effortlessly towing you around the quiet rink.
"I hate you," you gasped, adrenaline making your cheeks flush.
"This is fun!" he countered, his own face lit up with pure, unadulterated enjoyment. " Look, you're doing great!"
A few smooth laps went by, your movements slowly becoming less jerky, more certain. You were keeping up, mostly because Jeonghan was the perfect counterbalance. You started to relax, lifting your chin enough to look at him.
His eyes found yours, and the playful teasing was gone, replaced by a focused, intent warmth that made your stomach flip.
You were halfway through a joke about his "beginner's luck" when, at that exact moment, your skate caught a small ridge of ice left by the ice resurfacer.
You didn't have time to process it; the ice shot out from under you, and you let out a gasp as you went tumbling forward, dragging Jeonghanâs hand with you.
He didn't let go. Instead, with a sharp intake of breath and a powerful, quick twist, he shifted his weight, keeping his feet firmly beneath him while using his free arm to pull you toward him.
You didn't fall on the ice; you fell into him.
You ended up pressed against the thick wool of his coat, your faces nearly touching. His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath your ear as he took in a startled breath. His arms were locked around your waist, holding you upright and steady.
For a moment, all the air left your lungs, replaced by the scent of his winter cologne and the sharp cold of the rink. Then, the shock broke, and you burst into helpless laughter.
"You said you wouldn't let me fall!" you wheezed, clutching his coat.
Jeonghanâs laugh followed, a loud, clear sound that echoed off the empty stands. He didnât release you; he simply held you steady while shaking with amusement.
âI didnât! I caught you!â he corrected, his voice full of laughter. He loosened his grip slightly, allowing you to tilt your head up, his eyes now crinkled with mirth.
You grinned up at him, shaking your head. âYou are the worst skating teacher ever!â
He kept you suspended in his hold, just enjoying the moment. His smile slowly softened, becoming less about the joke and more about the closeness. The shift was almost imperceptible, but the easy laughter faded as his eyes held yours.
His hands, still firmly around your waist, tightened ever so slightly, and the easygoing friend vanished, replaced by the intense look youâd seen back at the churro stand.
âThough I have to admit,â he added, his voice dropping to that low, confident drawl that always made your heart stutter, âThis does put us in a very⊠convenient position, doesnât it?â
The laughter instantly died in your throat. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the steady, rhythmic thump-thump of his heartbeat beneath your ear. Your mind was screaming: Abort! Abort! This level of intensity was territory reserved for strangers, not your platonic, long-term best friend. The weight of your decade-long "friendship" label pressed down on the moment.
You forced a nervous, slightly strained laugh, pushing back just enough to create a sliver of space, but his arms remained a solid, unmoving barrier around you.
"Alright, Mr." you deflected, trying to inject your voice with the lighthearted teasing you usually shared. "Are you going to keep holding me, or are we actually going to skate? I need to redeem myself from that embarrassment."
He didn't move. His smile slowly softened, his unwavering gaze held nothing but fondness. He didn't move his hands from your waist; in fact, you felt his grip adjust, subtly pulling you even closer so your skates nudged his.
âI can hold you for as long as you need,â he murmured, his voice incredibly low and steady. He didn't look desperate or demanding; he just looked honest.
He held you still, the only movement the gentle swaying of your two bodies balancing on the thin blades. The silence stretched, filled only by the distant whir of the ventilation and the tinny music.
He slowly lifted one hand from your waist and used his thumb to carefully push your hood back, revealing your face fully. His fingers then settled in your hair at the base of your skull, a tender, possessive gesture. He didn't ask a question about your feelings; he just stated a fact.
âHave I ever told you how pretty you are?â he whispered, his eyes searching every inch of your face, his voice barely audible.
The question hit you with the force of an actual confession. He had told youâonce, maybe twice, when you were dressing up for a mutual friend's party, or right after you got a haircut.
It was always casual, a quick, friendly observation. But this... this was different. This was sincere, vulnerable, and loaded with the weight of everything unsaid.
You felt your cheeks heat up, a blush starting at your collarbone and rising your neck. You could only nod your head slowly, a minute movement. Yes, you have. But never like this.
He smiled, a slow, knowing gesture, his eyes never leaving yours. "Well, I haven't said it enough." He paused, letting the silence stretch, his thumb gently stroking the skin behind your ear.
"This is the part where you say we're just friends," he murmured, his voice low, almost sad, acknowledging the barrier without forcing it.
You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. He wasn't demanding anything; he was simply laying out the truth and waiting for you to tell him to stop. That vulnerability was what finally broke your resistance.
"I can't," you whispered, the word tight in your throat. You didn't need to elaborate. He knew what you meantâyou couldn't say the words that would push him away.
A profound relief washed over his face, sharp and immediate. He looked down at your lips, then back to your eyes, his expression utterly serious.
He didn't move fast. Very slowly, deliberately, he closed the final distance between you, meeting your lips with a soft, careful pressure. It was tentative at first, a moment of testing the new territory.
Then, his hand tightened in your hair, and his mouth moved against yours with a certainty that erased every doubt. His grip around your waist pulled you securely against him, cementing the moment.
When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead gently against yours. He was smiling, but it was a quiet, private expression of pure satisfaction.
"I've wanted to do that for a ridiculous amount of time," he confessed, his voice slightly rough and incredibly honest.
You let out a soft, giddy laugh that felt like sunshine breaking through the clouds. It was the most honest, least clumsy thing that had happened to you all night.
âMe too,â you admitted, your cheeks aching from the intensity of the blush and the pure happiness bubbling up inside you.
Hii!! How are you? I was wondering if you have any open suggestions for writing or anything like that. I really like your way of narrating and developing stories! (I'm sorry if my English isn't very good)
hey there! thank you so much for this sweet compliment â„ïž
i never really thought about the way I narrate my stories before(context: i write about 3 essays in a week for college) but, if i had to give advice, i would say take your time developing characters and the world surrounding them.
think of your writing as if it were going to be passed on to a movie director who has no clue what to do except how to handle cameras. so what do you do?
you give them through explanation on what the characters are feeling and whatâs happening around them but also take into account that your readers need to know what to feel, hear, taste, and smell around them too. though i would say try not to overdo it because too much description can be overwhelming to your readers. also, i highly recommend looking into using microtension when youâre developing your plot to create a sense of curiosity for your audience!
hope this was helpful! good luck, youâve got this!
mutual pining simply never misses. the yearning. the stupidity. the desperation while also thinking themselves alone with it. the rattling relief at the revelation. the way it works in so many scenariosâ friends to lovers? a banger every time. casual hook-ups/friends with benefits while they both want more? show-stopping, spectacular, incredible. enemies who are so deep in denial it just makes them madder at each other? utterly unmatched every single time. slow burn, fast burn, burning while already fucking. mutual pining really just is that girl like truly who does it like her
kaledo-art
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
titsay
dededos
germansingergirl