SUMMARY: Your seven years of marriage have become strained. However, there have been so many unusual things happening with your husband. You thought he was acting weird, but his actions say otherwise. You think he is sick, maybe a little messed up in the head. It's all up to you to find out.
PAIRING: choi seungcehol x f!reader
GENRE: drama, angst, comedy
WARNINGS: mature content, strong language, mental health themes, DID (dissociative identity disorder), split personality, marriage conflict, one-sided love, arranged marriage, avoidant attachment, emotional impermanence, anxious attachment, implied anxiety and panic attacks, miscommunication between couples, mention of divorce, no smut for this chapter, migraine subtly mentioned, constant overthinking.
WC: 8,814
ADD TAGS❦: established relationship, CEO! seungcheol, target audience: me, wife!reader, sun x moon dynamic, cheol is a little mean, she fell first he fell harder type of shii aye, attorney!jeonghan, secretary!mingyu, dr. jeon as moral and emotional support, therapist! joshua, i write tragedy not sins, this is actually sad but we are coping, kkuma cameo!
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a/n: ayeee, thee day has finally come! i like to suffer myself just a little bit. enjoy reading (or not).
Prologue
When life gives you lemons…
You want to squeeze them right in front of your husband's eyes, but of course, you can't do that. So instead, you squeeze them into his water bottle tumbler, knowing that he hates lemon.
But today, you don't have any lemons in stock. You were given a box of tangerines instead, probably from one of the relatives, you guessed. Not that you know half of them. Perhaps it was given by the other side of your husband's family. Being married to the son of the family that owns and operates Diamonds Group—the conglomerate company—was not for the weak. You nearly had to pay half the price for being his wife.
It's not that he had been treating you badly, or that his family treated you like an outsider. If anything, half of these years living with him felt like living with a roommate. Maybe even business partners who shared the same space and lived under the same roof.
It was all dull and gloomy.
Just like that, you had wasted seven years of marriage with a man who acted as cold as stone toward you.
"I want a divorce."
You said it out of nowhere as Jeonghan hummed, skimming through his documents while leaning back in his chair at the office.
"I'm serious this time," you said with a sigh, crossing your arms as you stood in front of his desk. "I know I've been saying the same thing for the past few years, and thank you for being my unpaid therapist—but I'm really filing for divorce this time."
Jeonghan stopped skimming through the documents, his fingers hovering over the paper as he looked at you through the rim of his glasses.
"Okay..." he slowly exhaled, placing the papers down as he clasped his hands together on his desk. "So, how do you want to get divorced? By agreement or... trial? Unless Seungcheol disagrees, or you want to file a lawsuit. You'll have to go through mediation if you want that."
He stood up now, palms resting on the desk as he looked at you.
"But I doubt he'd disagree. Just go by agreement—talk with him and—"
"I wanna file a lawsuit."
Jeonghan immediately laughed at that, shoving his hands into his slacks pockets like it was the funniest joke he'd ever heard.
"Don't joke around. If you wanna win against him, you're going to lose—"
"And I want you to be my representative lawyer."
Almost instantly, his laughter died down. His lips sealed shut as he stared at you.
There was a brief moment of silence.
And judging by the look on your face, you weren't joking either.
"Are you kidding me?" Jeonghan looked as though he'd just been personally insulted. "That's like ASKING for the death penalty! Are you trying to put my career at risk?"
He was pacing around like a madman while you simply watched him tear his hair out, fiddling with your hands.
"That's why I reached out to you. You're one of the best attorneys in this building."
He stopped in his tracks, looking at you sharply like he was about to scold a child, making you flinch under his intense gaze.
"_____, I'm the legal director. One of his closest partners. Do you want me to get fired?" he groaned, pacing again. "Remember Attorney Kim who sought a divorce from his wife? Yeah, that divorce didn't end well. His career basically went downhill afterward. Even his own firm isn't doing well now, from what I heard."
"You mean Mrs. Choi Mina, the CEO of the department store?" your brows lifted in curiosity. You knew her; she was one of Seungcheol's relatives—the one you saw at the memorial ceremony.
Jeonghan snapped his fingers. "Yes. Exactly. He should've seen that coming. He had everything and still chose to leave in the end."
You nearly scoffed at that. “What would you know about marriage? Maybe the relationship was bad, probably why he's leaving.”
He ignored you and continued. “My whole point is, why would you go to such trouble for this? Oh my god, thinking about it makes me want to—”
“It was a loveless marriage,” you stated. “I want to sue him because of that, and also for making me waste a whole seven years of my life on this.”
The man stopped in his tracks, his crash-out temporarily postponed as he looked at you. For a moment, he just stared.
“You know that's not a proper reason to sue him.”
“Then what about suing him for breaking a promise?” you said casually with a shrug. “You know, is that reasonable enough? Marriage vows and contracts were made.”
“I mean...” He sighed, rubbing his temple. “It does count as breaching a promise between spouses. Listen, why not just talk to him, discuss whatever it is, make a mutual agreement—and you're free.”
“...It's not that easy.”
“Just try. Be on the same wavelength as him,” he punctuated with a knock on his desk. “And if you're lucky, he'll agree to a mutual agreement, you'll be on the same page, and that's the end of it.”
You made a face, letting out a disbelieving scoff.
“Same page? We're not even sleeping in the same bedroom, Jeonghan! And that's the problem.”
Now it was your turn to pace around like a madwoman.
“Oh my god, it seems like you don't understand me. I wanted to sue him because of that. I spent years trying to be a good wife to him, and I even quit my job as a news anchor because of him!”
You finally let out an exasperated breath as Jeonghan just stared at you. It looked like he was staring because he thought you were being weird now.
But you were far from finished.
“I didn't just quit, I also dedicated my whole life trying to please him, but he never ever looked my way!” you said, flailing your arms. “Then when I told him I wanted to create my own beauty brand, he did support it—but only by giving me the capital and never supporting me verbally. I guess his way of showing his so-called love is throwing money at me.”
You scoffed at that.
“And not just that, he never eats dinner. When I tried to cook his favourite dish, he came back the next day. Does that man even eat?” You felt ridiculous for even caring in the first place.
Jeonghan just let you ramble as you continued.
“What kind of workaholic insanity is that? In fact, I never see him at home. It's like he's sleeping in his office.”
After a while, he spoke slowly. “So...you want to sue him for emotional damage and neglect?”
You thought for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Maybe that's what I'm thinking.”
Then suddenly, your eyes widened as you snapped your fingers. “Oh! We can use a third party interference claim. I want to charge him with that too.”
The man rolled his eyes, dragging a hand down his face. “You need actual evidence for that. Accusing someone without proof is not it.”
“Then find one.”
The way you said it so simply nearly drove Jeonghan insane.
“I'm not doing that. And who's we?”
“You're a former Supreme Prosecutor. You can fabricate anything, right?”
“Oh my god, are you trying to get me fired by my boss???”
He looked genuinely bewildered now.
Your afternoon was wasted on trauma-dumping in Jeonghan's office. You were supposed to be at your father's house, but this whole burdening issue needed to come to an end.
The moment you were about to head downstairs, you ran into Seungcheol—your husband, as stated on paper.
The elevator opened, revealing him with his secretary, Mingyu, beside him. His secretary stepped out, allowing Seungcheol to enter the elevator alone with you.
“Are you not going to come in?”
That deep voice almost made the hair on your arms stand up. Even the staff around him probably felt the same.
His secretary only smiled and gestured politely. “It's alright, sir. You go ahead first. I'll take the next one.”
With that, the elevator doors closed as Seungcheol pressed the button. The silence was torturous. Dreadful enough to leave you suffocating in the same space as him.
God, even his cologne invaded your nostrils, almost making you gag at how overwhelming it was. Not just you either—the entire building knew it.
You once heard one of the front desk staff exaggerate that they always knew when he arrived because his signature scent lingered like a nightmare. You could practically imagine employees scrambling into panic the moment they realized their boss was on the way.
“Why are you here all of a sudden?”
His voice made you jump like a deer caught in headlights. You hadn't done anything wrong, so why did you feel like you had committed a crime?
Swallowing the lump in your throat, you answered softly.
“I was meeting with Jeonghan.”
“Is it about the staff member who broke one of your prototypes and tried to leak the plans to a third party?”
He didn't even look at you.
Great.
“You can ask Chan to handle that lawsuit.”
You wanted to hit him. Your fist even lifted slightly, tempted to smack the back of his head. Of course, he didn't notice your childish behaviour.
“No. It's not about that.”
You cleared your throat, trying to follow Jeonghan's advice.
“S-so... will you be back home today?”
You mentally cursed yourself for stuttering.
Why were you nervous? You're the one who wanted a divorce after all.
He glanced down at his wristwatch, a quiet sigh escaping his lips.
“No. I'll probably be late. As usual, don't wait for me.”
The way he said it so casually, like it was a line he'd repeated over and over again, never failed to make your heart sink.
And somehow, it still did.
Even though you were supposed to be numb to it by now.
“It's important,” you insisted.
“I don't know how important it is. If you want to discuss it, we can do it another time.”
He still wasn't looking at you.
“But it is urgent,” you pressed. “When am I finally supposed to see you?”
“You could've told Mingyu about it, and I could fit you into my schedule.”
The words sounded so formal. So business-like.
You hated it.
You wanted an immediate answer, not to ask for an appointment with your own husband.
“I want a divorce.”
There.
You finally said it.
Seungcheol faltered ever so slightly.
Then, almost deliberately, he turned to look at you.
The elevator doors opened. You stepped out, turning back to face him.
“Let's discuss it more at home.”
That word—home—felt both foreign and familiar.
You couldn't even call that place a home anymore if there was no warmth left in it.
Then the elevator doors closed again.
For the first time, Seungcheol didn't know how to feel. So consumed by work, he had failed to notice that something like this would come much sooner than he expected.
Seungcheol doesn't know how many hours of his life he had dedicated to work in a single day. The work that he swore himself to the day he turned eighteen.
And that same work had also caused his marriage to fail.
Another day had passed yet again. For some reason, the world around him had slowly faded. The sounds in the background had become so distant that he didn't hear the voice calling out to him.
“Director Choi?”
The voice echoed, catching his attention as he blinked. Momentarily, he stared at the boardroom table as everyone waited for his response.
“Right,” he exhaled, straightening in his seat. “Could you repeat that?”
One of the staff members continued, repeating the report regarding last year's balance sheet. Seungcheol's body was physically there, he was anything but focused on what was happening around him.
Just as he blinked, his eyes widened.
The boardroom was gone.
His gaze adjusted to the ceiling of his penthouse instead, then to the papers spread out in front of him.
The divorce agreement.
His eyes landed on you. You looked back at him, still listing out the details of the property division.
“Did you even hear what I'm saying?”
He didn't press any further. Instead, he slid the paper toward himself and signed it without hesitation. “I am. Just list out what you need, and I'll compensate for it.”
He finished signing before sliding the papers back to you with ease. There wasn't a hint of a smile or any emotion behind his expression.
Like he had already adapted to whatever this was. You took a moment to stare at him, disliking how easy all of this seemed for him. Taking the papers from him with deliberate movements.
His eyes darted up to you as he finally stood. You watched the broadness of his shoulders as he walked away.
Just as he stopped in his tracks, he turned back. “You can take the villa in Jeju Island. It was a wedding gift after all.”
You almost bristled at that and immediately stood up. “I don't need that. I have my own property too.”
Your husband actually looked at you this time, hands buried in his slacks pockets.
“I told you to just take it. Don't be so stubborn about it. I don't have a reason to go there anyway. You can use it for your tangerine picking or whatever, since you've been replacing lemons in my bottle.”
Then he walked upstairs, leaving you frustrated.
Even in the middle of the divorce process, he still treated you like the immature one.
When Seungcheol finally entered his room, he sat on the edge of the bed and closed his eyes for a moment.
A sudden buzzing sensation spread through his head. His brows furrowed, exhaling slowly before glancing at the calendar beside him.
A reminder.
Your anniversary this weekend. The reminder itself felt like it was mocking him. You two were about to separate anyway. Why was he still dwelling on things like this?
The last time he celebrated it, it had been another expensive dinner with gifts and flowers. The same routine every year, until the sixth anniversary.
As the years passed, your smile only seemed to grow more distant whenever he gave them to you. Perhaps you were tired of the same meaningless gifts. Still, he thought it was better than doing nothing. Forgetting would've been worse.
The point was, he had a feeling something was wrong. His body felt exhausted more than usual. At first, he assumed it was because he had been working too much.
But this wasn't a normal headache.
Sometimes he would zone out, and when he opened his eyes again, he would be somewhere else entirely.
He could swear he had been sitting in one place, yet somehow he would find himself in a completely different location.
It was probably stress. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.
Even Mingyu had pointed out how distracted he had become during meetings and conversations. His secretary advised him to take a break, but Seungcheol insisted on finishing his deadlines instead. He was fully aware that he pushed himself harder than anyone else.
“What are you doing standing there?”
The voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Blinking, he turned toward you, momentarily dumbfounded.
You stared back at him with equal confusion. “You've been standing there for more than five minutes. Hello?”
You waved a hand in front of his face.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced down at the coffee mug in his hand and took a sip.
“Then why are you standing so close to me?”
Letting out a huff, you grabbed a tangerine from the fruit basket behind him while maintaining eye contact.
“Oh, you know. Picking up my tangerine instead of squeezing lemons into someone's drink.”
He simply let you be, watching as you headed upstairs, probably to your room.
His eyes drifted toward the clock hanging on the wall.
Four o'clock in the afternoon.
His expression faltered. Then he checked the date. Today was your anniversary.
That couldn't be right.
As far as he remembered, he had only been discussing the property division with you this morning.
He checked again. Then again. Opening his laptop to verify the date.
Today was the seventeenth of May.
And if his memory served him correctly, that divorce discussion had happened on Friday.
A sudden wave of dizziness hit him. He exhaled quietly, not realizing sweat had begun forming on his forehead.
Maybe Mingyu was right. Maybe he was simply exhausted from overworking himself. He convinced himself it was just an occasional migraine, yet the pattern kept repeating.
His concentration would disappear and hours would vanish. Sometimes entire chunks of time felt blurred. He thought it might finally be time to get a proper medical checkup.
Your sleep was suddenly disturbed by scratching noises coming from your bedroom door. Reluctantly, you woke up, half-asleep as you dragged your feet across the floor. Opening the door, you were greeted by Kkuma, the fluffy furball barking up at you before she immediately turned around and walked away, as if telling you to follow her.
“Kkuma... it's not even breakfast time. Why are you bothering me in the middle of the night?” you groaned sleepily, following behind her with lazy steps.
It was raining heavily outside.
The dim lights illuminated the dark penthouse as you turned on the kitchen light.
Just as you were about to enter, you shrieked—a human figure stood there with his back facing you. The lightning flashed outside, accompanied by an ominous soundtrack playing in your head.
It's just Seungcheol.
After calming yourself down, you cautiously peeked beside your husband, waving a hand in front of his face, trying to test the waters first.
Was he sleepwalking?
Your thoughts were interrupted by Kkuma's relentless barking beside you.
You looked down at the creature and sighed. “Stop that.”
You frowned at the dog before looking back at him. Only then did you notice that his eyes had been closed the entire time.
Your gaze lingered on the scattered tangerines across the counter. A little skeptical about why the kitchen was such a mess.
Brushing the thought aside, you gently shook him.
“Seungcheol?”
After a while, his eyes slowly opened.
You were taken aback by how quickly he adjusted. Without saying a word, he simply turned around and walked upstairs as if nothing had happened.
The only sounds left behind were the heavy rain pouring outside and Kkuma's soft barking and whimpering as she pawed at your legs.
You didn't ask him about that night the next day. Instead, you carefully observed him while he got ready for work. When he noticed your suspicious gaze from behind the rim of your mug, he called you out while buttoning his cuffs.
“What are you staring at for? Did you put something in my briefcase again?”
Blinking, you lowered your mug.
“No...”
There was a brief pause. He didn't even look like he remembered sleepwalking.
“...That got me thinking. Did something unusual happen last night?”
Seungcheol looked at you as though you were the one acting strange. “I'm not sure what you're implying. What else do you think happened besides a relentless shareholder meeting calling for me?”
You take that back. He's infuriating as usual, always trying to stir up problems when all you wanted was a proper answer.
“Never mind. I hope you accidentally step on a tangerine and slip.”
Seungcheol paused midway through turning around, looking back at you with a raised brow.
“Say that again.”
You immediately turned away, picking up Kkuma as you walked back toward the kitchen.
“Oh dear, it's time for your treat, isn't it, baby?” You cooed at her dramatically, sending one last petty glare in his direction.
—
“I'm glad that you sought help from us, however...” he sighed, clasping his hands together on his desk as he looked at you. “...I don't think you've come to the right person or department for this issue.”
“You're a doctor too, soooo—”
At this point, it was almost ridiculous how often you saw Dr. Jeon compared to your own husband.
Wonwoo had been one of your friends back in university. It was funny how your friendship with him had lasted longer than your marriage.
“I told you last time.” He looked one step away from crashing out.
You could vividly remember Jeonghan reacting the same way the other day.
“If you want a counselling session, go to Joshua. And for the record? This is my only lunch break. Did you have to come at the worst possible time?”
You stared at his lonely meal consisting of a cream cheese bagel and a box of apple juice.
“But... it's only a cream cheese bagel and ham.”
“It's depressing, I know.”
“Anyway, as I was saying—how do I acquire medical records for emotional damage?”
You brushed his complaint away with a dismissive wave.
After a long pause, an exaggerated sigh escaped Wonwoo as he stared at you, brows furrowed.
“I'm an OB-GYN, not a psychiatrist, _____. That alone proves you never cared about my field of expertise, and honestly, it's very insulting.”
“...So, how?”
The audacity of you to ask again. Wonwoo let out a loooong exhale before tossing the empty juice box into the nearby bin.
“I assume you need it for a reason?”
He spun slightly in his chair and began typing on his computer. “What is it? To prove an absence from work? For HR or—”
“It's for a divorce settlement.”
You finally cut him off, and your friend abruptly froze.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard as his eyes darted toward you skeptically.
“Divorce? You're getting... a divorce?”
He repeated it as if he needed to hear it twice.
You nodded. The confirmation alone was enough to make him fall silent.
Leaning back in his chair, he seemed unsure how to respond.
“Sorry to hear that. But just so we're clear, if you're planning to use that in court, it might take a while for a psychiatrist to provide a formal assessment. Unless you're in critical condition.”
“I am in critical condition, though.”
His eyes narrowed, then he sighed again.
“My point is, if you're planning to use that against your husband, I don't think it'll work. After being diagnosed by a psychiatrist and attending therapy sessions, you still need to go through the proper process to prove you've received legitimate medical attention.”
His tone had become much more serious now. And he wasn't even finished.
“My real question is, why do you want to sue Choi Seungcheol? He can give you money—probably double my salary. I bet this advice came from a lawyer.”
Your eyes immediately brightened.
“Oh? How did you know that?”
“Obviously. It's not uncommon for doctors to know things like this.”
He continued typing without taking his eyes off the monitor.
“Whoever is handling your divorce case must be completely out of his mind if he's agreed to represent you.”
“It's Jeonghan.”
That finally made him stop.
Looking at you, he blinked.
“You're joking.”
Judging by your face, you clearly weren't.
A dry chuckle escaped him as he dragged a hand down his face.
“I am not getting involved in this. If your soon-to-be ex-husband finds out, he'll have my head too.”
“You don't even work for him.”
You made a face at the way he was talking.
“Easy for you to say.”
The keyboard clicks were the only sound filling the room.
“He's part of a conglomerate family. You're from a wealthy family. And me? I'm just some ordinary guy. One wrong step and I'll be seeing the chairman of this hospital, who's probably connected to the Chois anyway.”
You rolled your eyes at his dramatic narrative.
“Come on. My family isn't that wealthy. We're comfortable.”
Wonwoo actually looked at you this time.
After all these years of being your friend, he knew one thing for certain: Being friends with you was like walking on thin ice. He wasn't sure whether you were genuinely being modest or simply humble-bragging.
“Oh, really? Then give me fifty dollars.”
Frowning at him, you leaned forward. “This is serious, Wonwoo. Me and Seungcheol are getting a divorce, and it's been seven years—not seven months.”
You let out a breath.
“Anyone would be upset knowing they spent years of their life loving someone who never really cared about them... only to end up with nothing.”
Not that you never thought it would become this messy.
People always said that just because you started a relationship in your twenties didn't mean it would remain the same in your thirties. Nevertheless, your situation with Seungcheol was different.
It all started with an arranged marriage between both families. You even broke up with your ex-boyfriend because of it. At some point, as the early stages of your marriage began, you figured that eventually, you would come to love him.
He wasn't exactly a bad husband.
In life, to find a good man, there are at least three criteria that should be met in order to have a happy marriage.
One: generosity.
Cheapness runs in one's blood, and children tend to inherit what they see from their parents. They grow up watching how their parents earn money by waking up early in the morning and coming home late at night. They also learn from how their parents spend that money.
If a man complains about a twenty-cent charge on his credit card despite earning four hundred thousand a month, or if another man only has fifty dollars to his name yet willingly spends his last forty on your meal, the difference isn't about how much money they have.
It's generosity that changes everything. And Seungcheol was never stingy with you.
He gave you practically everything.
When you told him you wanted to open your own beauty clinic after resigning from your job, he didn't make a grand speech about supporting you. He didn't loudly encourage you or shower you with praise.
He simply gave you the capital and trusted you to do whatever you wanted with it.
Sometimes it felt absurd, as though he believed money could solve everything. Yet he never used it to control you either, even when it would've been easier for him to spoil you rotten and keep you dependent on him. Nevertheless, generosity was still one of the most important qualities a man could have.
Two: how they handle stress and challenges.
If a man struggles with anger management, he'll explode the moment his car breaks down, a tire goes flat, or something simply doesn't go his way. That anger eventually reaches the people around him. Whereas some men face life's challenges calmly and immediately focus on finding a solution.
A real man wouldn't vent his frustrations onto you or make you feel responsible for his distress. He would continue treating you with the same patience and gentleness.
And despite Seungcheol's reputation as a cold and distant man, he rarely expressed irritation. Let alone anger.
Okay, maybe you were exaggerating a little.
But he was nowhere near an angry person. You annoyed him all the time, yet he never responded with the kind of annoyance a man would show toward someone desperately trying to get his attention.
It was more like he simply accepted that you were... childish.
Not playful. Just childish.
You doubted he even saw you as a woman trying to win his affection. More like a cat scratching places it wasn't supposed to.
Three: a man who knows how to take care of you.
At first, you thought this was simply your standard. A woman should never have to teach a man how to be patient, or how to care for her.
Seungcheol wasn't expressive with words, but he was observant.He could immediately tell when something was wrong with you. Like that time you got sick while he was buried in work.
He ended up adopting a ragdoll kitten—Soya. That was her name. All because he heard ragdolls were affectionate and would make good companions for both you and Kkuma.
And honestly?
It took less than a second for you to forgive him for things like that. It's not like he never did anything right. Even when his presence wasn't there, he always—always—made sure you were taken care of. Whether it came from love or obligation, you simply assumed he was fulfilling his responsibilities as a spouse.
Ugh.
It was almost frustrating. Because you couldn't even pinpoint what was actually missing.
Aside from the fact that your love never seemed to reach him. Sure, he wasn't the type to openly express himself.
A lot of men were like that. Yet you didn't want to generalize him just because he happened to fall into that category.
“Have you considered marriage counselling?”
You blinked before shaking your head.
“Why would we do that? Even if we did, he barely makes time for anything, and I don't think it would've worked anyway.”
Wonwoo let out a small sigh, his eyes still fixed on the monitor as he typed away.
“That's not even a question. I'm suggesting that you should attend one.”
“And why would that be?”
“Because it sounds like you still want to save your marriage.”
This time, he looked up at you. Really looked at you.
For a moment, you hesitated. Not because his words struck particularly deep. But because they forced you to question whether you had made the right decision. Besides, you no longer wanted to dwell on a one-sided love.
You were tired of doing this to yourself.
Before you could respond, your phone rang inside your handbag. You quickly rummaged through it and answered the call.
“Oh, yes, Secretary Kim.”
You pressed the phone to your ear. Then your expression changed.
“Seungcheol fainted? Uh—I'll be right there.”
Wonwoo looked up at your sudden reaction, confusion written all over his face.
“I need to go first. We'll talk again, Wonwoo.”
You hurriedly grabbed your things and rushed out of the room.
Wonwoo watched you leave. He didn't know everything about your marriage.
And it wasn't his place to assume.
However, your reaction certainly didn't look like someone eager to end a seven-year relationship. Whatever was happening between you and your husband, he could tell it wasn't as simple as a marriage that had merely run its course.
—
Every pattern in your life repeats until you learn the lesson. The moment you choose differently, the loop ends and growth begins.
Bad habits die hard. In the middle of a divorce settlement, most people wouldn't care much about how their spouse was doing.
But you? The moment Mingyu told you that your husband had fainted, you came running without a second thought.
What could possibly go wrong this time?
From what you knew, Seungcheol had always been healthy—or at least physically healthy from what you'd seen over the years. You were well aware that he was a workaholic, even before reaching the peak of his career.
You stared at his figure lying on the office sofa. Mingyu stood nearby alongside Jeonghan, looking one step away from passing out, judging by how hard he was biting his nails.
When the doctor finally finished examining him, he stood up and turned toward the three of you. His gaze landed on you, presumably assuming you were family.
“He's alright. His pulse is perfectly normal.”
The relief in Mingyu's sigh was almost immediate.
“It appears to be exhaustion caused by prolonged stress. May I ask if he's been taking any medication recently? Perhaps for migraines?”
You hesitated. Then the memory of him sleepwalking flashed through your mind.
Instead of answering, you looked toward Mingyu as if searching for confirmation that something similar had happened before. The man blinked before letting out an audible, “Ah.”
“I saw some medication on his desk, so I assumed he'd been taking it.” He glanced toward Seungcheol before continuing. “Mr. Choi mentioned that he's been experiencing headaches more frequently than usual.”
The doctor nodded, and the discussion continued for a few more minutes. Eventually, after the doctor left, your gaze returned to Seungcheol's unconscious figure. You crouched beside him, studying his sleeping features.
“How did this happen?”
You looked up at Jeonghan and Mingyu.
Jeonghan let out a sigh, dragging a hand down his face. “He nearly collapsed in the doorway when the meeting started. Good thing I caught him before he completely hit the floor.”
“Had to cancel the meeting too,” Mingyu added. “If the shareholders had been here today, it would've caused a huge commotion.”
You listened quietly, nodding as your attention drifted back to your husband. For a moment, you deliberately pressed your ear against his chest.
Mingyu immediately made a noise while Jeonghan jabbed an elbow into his stomach.
“His heart is beating normally, alright.” You pulled away and stood up.
“Of course he is. The doctor literally just said that.”Jeonghan interjected. “I mean—the rich are very strict about their blood pressure. Seungcheol's always careful with his sodium intake—”
You and Mingyu stared at him.
He let out an awkward chuckle in between. “What I'm saying is,” Jeonghan corrected himself with a gesture, “he's a healthy man. He's just drowning in stress. It's obvious things haven't exactly been organized lately.”
Mingyu nodded in agreement.
“Mr. Yoon's right. Director Choi has been rather quiet lately. Maybe crankier than usual? I'm not entirely sure, but he's been working until midnight almost every day. Even the employees don't stay overtime that long.”
You let out a quiet sigh. It was hard not to think about everything currently weighing on him. The company, the workload—and now the divorce. The thought alone gnawed at you.
What if this had been the final straw? What if your divorce was part of the reason?
Turning toward Jeonghan, you spoke carefully. “...Do you think it was because of that?”
“Because of what?”
Jeonghan looked genuinely confused.
“You know. The divorce.”
“A divorce?!”
Mingyu nearly jumped out of his skin. His eyes darted between you and Jeonghan.
“Ma'am, what do you mean by that? And hyung—why am I only hearing about this now?”
Jeonghan shushed him immediately and turned back to you.
“I'm not sure it's because of that. Don't worry that pretty little head of yours. I highly doubt he'd break down over something like this.”
You frowned. The glare you sent him was enough.
He immediately sighed and held up both hands. “Right. Sorry. That was insensitive.”
A pause.
“But that doesn't change the fact that I don't think he fainted because of the divorce. I think he was already at his breaking point.”
“So no one's going to tell me what's actually happening right now?”
Both of you ignored Mingyu again.
“Has anything odd happened lately?” you asked. “Other than the headaches.”
Jeonghan shook his head. “Not really. But what I can tell you is that he needs a break this time.”
Mingyu's eyes widened. “A break? Then I'll need to clear his schedule and move the planning meetings—”
Jeonghan immediately cut him off.
“What's done is done. Starting today, he's taking at least a week off. Tell him that.”
Just as you were about to continue questioning them, Jeonghan grabbed your shoulder and pulled you slightly aside.
“By the way,” he lowered his voice, “I found these in his desk drawer.”
You blinked and looked down at the small container resting in his palm.
Sleeping pills.
“Hey now—are you guys keeping secrets from me?” Mingyu complained while trying to peek. “I'm hurt.”
You quickly took the bottle before he could get a better look.
“Thank you for letting me know, Mr. Yoon.”
You gave him a small nod which Jeonghan mirrored it.
The brief exchange said enough. After all, he'd been working with Seungcheol long enough to notice when something wasn't right.
Something has definitely been going on lately.
Seungcheol did take a day off from work today. You told him the divorce settlement could wait until he fully recovered. You made sure he went through a proper medical checkup. Your personal doctor even came to the house.
Turns out, he was perfectly fine.
No issues with his blood pressure. His liver and gut health were normal, though the doctor did advise him to refrain from consuming alcohol for the time being.
For someone who claimed to want a divorce as soon as possible, you seemed awfully eager to take care of him.
Your movements halted in the middle of chopping carrots as you let out a sigh.
What did you actually want at this point? Was it guilt? Or were you still unsure whether divorce was truly the answer to your happiness?
One thing was certain—you were putting him first again.
You knew you had no obligation to do any of this. With everything hanging in the air and a divorce looming over both of your heads, you could've simply hired a private chef, or a housekeeper.
Yet you insisted on taking care of him personally.
It was definitely muscle memory. A habit that you thought you had already broken. Somehow, you found yourself back in the same position again.
Maybe you needed to stop trying to figure everything out on your own. Sometimes the answer arrived when you least expected it. Unfortunately, patience was never one of your strengths.
Seungcheol has always been an enigma to you.
But even the most mysterious person eventually cracks when someone keeps poking at the wrong places.
Which you did, constantly and apparently, annoying him was therapeutic for you.
Frowning, you stepped back from the steaming pot and turned off the stove.
It was almost eleven in the morning. Your husband still hadn't woken up. You had made sure he didn't take another sleeping pill.
While sorting through the unopened mail earlier, you noticed an envelope addressed specifically to him.
A medical document.
You hadn't meant to snoop. But once you saw it was from Diamond Medical Centre, curiosity got the better of you. According to the records, he'd been registered as a patient there nearly four years ago.
Panic disorder.
Anxiety attacks.
Insomnia.
The words stayed with you long after reading them.
His name was written right there. It also noted that he'd stopped attending his sessions shortly after. You ended up calling Jeonghan and asking him to look into it further.
Slowly pushing the bedroom door open, you peeked inside.
Seungcheol was still asleep.
You stepped in carefully, making sure not to wake him. It had been a while since you'd entered his room. Not since the two of you decided to sleep separately.
Looking at him now, you'd never seen him sleep this peacefully before. Almost as though he'd been desperately craving rest.
Was that why he took sleeping pills? You already knew he was sleep deprived. You'd always assumed it was because of work.
Now you wondered if sleeping itself had become difficult for him.
When did it start? Four years ago? Or even before your marriage?
You'd wait for Jeonghan to find out.
Carefully, you crouched beside the bed and stared at his sleeping face. It felt unfair that you would soon leave and never get to see this face every day again. Then again—what a waste of a pretty face.
If people thought you stayed in the marriage because your husband looked like he belonged on a magazine cover—
Well.
They wouldn't be entirely wrong. Unfortunately, a pretty face alone wasn't enough to keep a woman married.
Though Seungcheol was rich.
Anyway.
One thing you absolutely couldn't stand was snoring. And too bad, your husband was one of those people.
Oddly enough, he wasn't doing it today. You wondered if he was even breathing.
So, just like the other day, you leaned closer. This time placing your ear against his chest to check his heartbeat.
Before you realized it, his eyes fluttered open—directly staring at you. Unfortunately, your body reacted faster than your brain. You pressed your lips against his, remaining there for a second longer than necessary.
Seungcheol stayed completely still.
Judging by his reaction, he didn't seem affected by it in the slightest. Nor did he appear particularly horrified.
You slowly pulled away, trying to gather whatever dignity remained.
"What do you think you're doing?" His deep voice echoed through the room with those soulless eyes fixed directly on you.
You blinked, still way too close. "Uh...sleeping kiss?"
One of his eyebrows rose immediately.
"You looked like you weren't breathing in your sleep, so I thought a true love's kiss might wake you up."
Wow.
Nice save. But at what cost?
At this point, you might as well have read him a bedtime story.
Now fully awake, Seungcheol pushed himself up slightly and stared at you as if trying to determine whether he was still dreaming.
"I cooked earlier," you blurted out. "You should eat. It's almost lunchtime."
Immediately, you stood up and escaped the room before your embarrassment could kill you on the spot.
Honestly, you were digging your own grave. Who kissed their spouse in the middle of a divorce?
Suddenly, your phone buzzed. By the time you reached your room, you'd already accepted the call.
"Oh, hey. Did you find anything?"
"Yeah. Had to ask Wonwoo about it." Jeonghan chuckled softly. "He complained the whole time and accused me of interrogating him."
You waited quietly.
"Anyway, from what I found, Seungcheol was receiving treatment back then. But he eventually stopped showing up and kept skipping appointments."
You remained silent, letting him continue.
"I knew about the insomnia and panic attacks. I just didn't realize he'd been clinically diagnosed."
"You knew that?"
"I'm sorry, _____.” His voice softened. "I didn't know the full details. Aside from that, I think I know what might've caused it. For now, that's all I have. The doctor who treated him moved overseas years ago."
"It's okay," you assured him quietly. "You've already helped a lot. Let me know if you find anything else."
After the call ended, you sat at the edge of your bed.
Thinking.
Seungcheol rarely talked about his family. Not because they had bad blood.
At least not from what you'd seen.
After his father's death, however, everyone seemed to drift apart. You always respected the boundaries he never verbally established, yet the invisible line was always there. No matter how much you reached out, he never seemed ready—or willing to let anyone in. Not even his wife.
He was difficult. Very complicated. Infuriating.
And yet here you were, worrying about problems that technically had nothing to do with you anymore.
When you should've been packing your belongings and preparing for the divorce.
Was this really how someone behaved when they desperately wanted to end a seven-year marriage? You didn't understand yourself either.
There was only one person left you could ask. So you reached for the business card resting on your bedside table. Staring at the familiar name printed on it.
Then you dialed the number. Later, the line connected after a few rings.
"Hello?" A familiar voice answered.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
That night has come, and yet you can’t seem to sleep properly, always rolling around your bed, restless.
For the first time, you never feel so bothered by it. The thought of leaving him once and for all, you wondered if he will get sick even more after divorce.
You wouldn’t think you'll be able to live with that while he was in the dark, keeping himself from the world.
Yeah. You definitely feel that remorse of guilt, even though Jeonghan keeps assuring you that Seungcheol is not that type of person who would dwell like a damsel in distress. You could’ve described it properly but you had no sense of wisdom to correct it now.
How could you possibly leave him like that? He was once a person you could never live without, he’s all you have now.
Or maybe you still care for him deep inside.
Sitting up, you sigh as you reach out your phone. The time is currently 3:04 A.M. which you were supposed to be sleeping by now.
When you think about not sleeping, you think of him. Did he manage to sleep today? How long had he been depending on that pill?
This is awful.
You seriously need to get a grip. Getting off from the bed, you went towards his bedroom, peeking slightly to see if he was sleeping.
Your heart rate rose instantly, opened the door clearly this time just to see the empty bed there. It doesn’t look like he was taking a shower either, you were frantically walking down the stairs, searching for his presence around, the balcony, living area and kitchen.
Does that mean he went back to his office to work again even at this time? There’s no way he would do that. He always works at home too with his devices in his study room.
You tried to call him this time. Not less than three seconds, you heard the phone buzzing on the glass table beside you.
Slowly, you turned around, eyes landed on the phone.
A brief quiet silence filled the air. The paranoia started to kick in, you tried to be calm about it but with zero response and his whereabouts in this penthouse seems to be dreading you out.
Where could he possibly be right now?
You choose another way to find him this time, as you stepped out the building, the cold air hit you but your thoughts were filled with his wellbeing.
You didn’t say any of his cars were being used, it’s not like he’s the type to go outside to just merely get some fresh air.
You tried to think where else he would go late at this hour, your car slowed as you examined the whole surrounding. As you stopped by a nearby park, you saw a figure sitting up at the bench alone.
From the looks of it, the back of the head seemed to be like him alright. You shut the door, hurriedly went over the lightpole, where the light illuminated the only dark space there.
“Cheol!” you called him out, that nickname you haven’t used in a while.
His head turned at you, almost dumfounded as he stood up slowly.
You let out a heaving breath, it was cold and hot was bothering you. Glancing at his form, he was still in comfortable clothes which were probably thinner even if it was just a cardigan. You realized he was walking here barefoot, feet red and covered with blisters.
You frowned, face was already dead, worried as hold his arms then down his hands, trying to warm him up and feeling how cold his hands had been.
“Where have you been?” your voice trembled a little, “I searched for you all over—” You stopped yourself just enough when you noticed his face has been looking at you the entire time, like he doesn’t appear to be aware of what's really happening.
You slowly breathe, one hand holding his other cheek, “I’m sorry, just tell me where did you go? If you’re having a hard time, just let me know, okay?” your voice softens, “don’t go wandering around without your phone…”
He didn’t reply immediately, his eyes that were always sharp and stoic are now more soft and gentle this time. His hand covered yours, the first time after a while you were this close to him.
“I was waiting for you.” He simply said, looking at you.
Your heart momentarily stutters at that, searching if he was deceiving you.
“We were supposed to meet at the park today,” he continued, “You told me today that we were supposed to go to the aquarium.”
There’s a quiet silence filled the cold night.
“...Cheol, that was six years ago.” you muttered softly, looking at him with sad eyes.
And yet, he doesn’t look like he was playing around. He genuinely meant every word of it. The more he keeps looking at you like that, it hurts your heart because why did he look at you like he was still there, as if there's a spark of hope of him wanting you back.
On your way back home, the car ride was quiet. You didn’t press any further after that. Carefully tending to his injured feet, you cleaned and bandaged them properly. Given how quiet he was being, you didn’t question him as you looked up before organizing the first aid kit again.
He had been staring at you the whole time.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” you asked gently, setting the aid kit aside before standing up.
“Are you mad at me?”
That was what he asked instead.
Your movements halted for a moment as you slowly turned back to him, only to be met with those familiar soft eyes.
His gaze was almost docile.
Was this really the same stoic Seungcheol that everyone used to be intimidated by?
You placed the kit aside and sat back down beside him. “No... I’m not mad at you. What makes you think that?”
Seungcheol just looked at you. Really looked at you.
“It’s just... you looked like you were crying because of me. Did I do something that upset you?”
Your breath hitched at that, trying to swallow down the lump burning in your throat. Exhaling slowly, you reached for his hand, testing the waters first before actually holding it.
“No... I was just...” you hesitated, uncertain of what to say in this situation because he genuinely looked just as confused as you were. “...let’s get some rest, okay? You’ve had a long day.”
When you were about to stand up, he didn’t let go of your hand.
You glanced down at him. “I’ll be in my room if you need me,” you assured him softly.
“Why?” He frowned slightly. “I thought we were sleeping in the same room.”
He looked genuinely hurt by that. And by the looks of it, almost like a puppy that had been left out in the rain.
Now it was your turn to be confused. The entire situation felt like it was playing tricks on you.
Because why?
Why did he look at you like he still cared about you? Like he needed you the moment your hand slipped from his. Like the thought of you leaving was something he couldn’t understand.
“I hope you had a wonderful weekend, Seungcheol,” the voice echoed through the quiet, almost peaceful room. “Could you share with me how you've been feeling these days?”
“I did. And I’ve been feeling happier because I get to spend my whole day with my wife. She always smiles a lot when she’s with me.”
“That’s good to hear.” The man offered a small smile. “Now, can you tell me if anything unusual has happened?”
Seungcheol hummed, nodding slightly. “I had a dream. A really bad dream, doctor.”
The man leaned forward, listening intently.
“Is that so? Could you describe what kind of dream you were having?”
“There was a man. He looked like me, and in that dream...” he continued, almost as if he were retelling a story, “...he was different from me. Always alone, and as if people were afraid of him. I don’t like that person who looks like me in that dream.”
“Why is that, Seungcheol?”
“Because...” he hesitated. “Whenever I see him in my dream, my wife always cries because of me.”
A brief silence settled between them before Seungcheol continued.
“But doctor, my name is not Seungcheol,” he stated. “My wife always calls me Cheol. I don’t know why you keep referring to me by that name.”
“This might be confusing for you, but Seungcheol and Cheol are the same person.”
“What?”
Joshua let out a slow breath.
“In psychiatry, what you're experiencing is called Dissociative Identity Disorder,” he explained. “It’s commonly known as multiple personality disorder. The symptoms you're experiencing right now fit the criteria.”
Seungcheol simply stared at him. But the one sitting in front of him now was Cheol.
Not Seungcheol.
“You see, Seungcheol and Cheol are the same person,” Joshua continued. “And the person sitting in front of me is still Seungcheol, even when you tell me that you're ‘Cheol’ today.”
“But... that’s impossible. That’s not me...” he insisted.
Joshua opened his tablet and showed him a profile. Choi Seungcheol, part of the Diamonds Group—CEO of a financial institution.
Seungcheol looked unconvinced as he slowly examined the information displayed on the screen. It felt like he was looking at a complete stranger.
“Remember this,” Joshua continued gently. “Seungcheol and Cheol are one person.”
He paused in between.
“And we're here to find out what caused this trigger in the first place.”
TBC.
a/n: ayeee, how are we feeling for this prologue? let me know how it goes, feedback, comment, reblogs are appreciated.
imagine seungcheol, shirtless. laying on his stomach while doing his own thing, and you behind him doodling on his muscled back around his tattoo. While talking about whatever comes through yall's mind. I NEED SOMEONE TO WRITE THIS OMG
surprise..? very very spontaneous decision many apologies in advance if its absolute dogshit 🤣🫶
pairing: csc x fem!reader
wc: 2k ish...
not nsfw, lowercase intended, college au, angsty-ish, sort of one sided BUT seungcheol is lowkey an ass bc he gives so many mixed signals (unless i was an idiot for thinking there were mixed signals 😔)
author’s note: maaay or may not be inspired by something i went through.. haha.. unfortunately the guy irl was nowhere near as hot cheol 💔 he was actually pretty damn lame but oh well this happened a whiiiiile ago so yea events in this story are like 90% real for me except the person (obv) and the timeline was tweaked a little BUT yes pls be kind i wrote this on a whim bc i was like HEY this sounds good let me try it. so i did. it’s lowkey boring IM SORRY PLEASE ENJOY ONCE AGAIN BIGGEST APOLOGIES IF ITS TOO MESSY AND HAS ERRORS
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you don’t even know when you started finding him attractive. and unfortunately, you can’t even continue to gaslight yourself that he isn’t anymore.
choi seungcheol. he’s in the same year as you, takes the same course but all completely different classes. you remember him from high school and were pleasantly taken by surprise when you ended up in the same college. neither of you were ever really besties in that sense, just casual friends. but even that sounded like a stretch. your friend groups sometimes clashed at different gatherings and parties, and you had been in the same class as him once or twice a couple years back. so up until now, there was no need or excuse for you to get to know him better.
recently, you both had gotten picked together to be the head organisers of some sports event for your college. he was an exceptional basketball player but also unfairly good at every other sport he tried. you on the other hand, sort of dabbled in a few sports. jack of all trades and master of none, or whatever the saying was. and so over the course of getting reacquainted for this event, many texts and calls were exchanged. the two of you had paperwork to print, documents to finish and people to manage. barely any help was offered from your teachers, leaving you and seungcheol to wrangle this all together by yourselves. the attraction you felt towards him sort of died down in the meantime, seeing him as nothing more than a friend for now.
today, a random thursday night, seungcheol had suggested hopping on a facetime call to further discuss your plans. both of you worked well together. you both were very ‘go with the flow’ people. at some point past eleven at night, your conversation drifted from concerns about the event to anything but.
you learned he was a total softie. an avid conan gray and olivia rodrigo listener, obsessed with all these romantic movies and dramas, and very passionately recommending some of his favourites to you. very different from what you knew of him before. he used to just seem really ‘devil-may-care’ all the time. he was only ever loud with his usual group of guys, laughing and joking about every day. you listened to him ramble on about his interests, and he did the same for you.
that lasted till one o’clock in the morning.
═════════════════════════
finally, it was d-day. the event-planning process was coming to an end. you felt a little disappointed because, would you guys just go back to how you were before you got your assigned roles? you told yourself not to dwell on it now, as you had to get ready.
at the ass-crack of dawn, literally like four a.m, students were already hustling and bustling in the main courtyard of the college, all prepping themselves for their own teams. you and seungcheol also shared the same team. because of that, you two were getting ready in the same room along with about thirty other students in your team.
you and him were sporting red, your team’s colour, and you had to do some makeup and face-paint as well. your friend helped you out with yours, and now you were standing in front of seungcheol, doing his face-paint.
he towered over you a little, enough so you had to angle his head downwards so you could draw on it properly. you held his face still with one hand and tried your very best to draw whatever pattern you had on your face onto his. each time you made a mistake, the both of you laughed.
“my bad. keep still,” you said while stifling a laugh, earning you a funny whine of complaint from seungcheol.
your faces were literally inches away, you don’t know how you were doing it. he stayed very still like he was a puppy that was told to sit. once you decided that you couldn’t draw the stupidly intricate symbol on any better, you said it was time to fix his hair. after running about the other rooms looking for hair gel and hairspray, you finally managed to get your hands on some. turning to him, you said, “bend down a little. you’re too tall.”
“i know right,” he answered too smugly for your liking, so you mocked him. he gave you a genuine, fond smile at your little antic as you messed up his hair. the two of you ended up in a fit of laughter over your lack of hairstyling skills.
now that made your heart do a little something…
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hours later with the sun blazing down into the stadium, the event was ending. about two months of preparation, all worth it when you saw the proud faces of your teachers—and seungcheol’s wide gummy smile as he made his way over to you.
before you knew it, you both were leaning into a hug. his arms wrapped around your shoulders as yours went around his waist. you felt bittersweet knowing it was done. as you pulled away, both of you had the most relieved smiles plastered across your faces as if you were silently saying good job to one another. your heart rate spiked as you replayed how perfectly your head fit into the space between his neck and shoulder. what brought you out of your mini daze was him asking his friend to help take a picture of you guys, your bodies immediately angling together to face the camera.
seungcheol’s arm rested on your shoulders, your head tilted in towards his. you didn’t know whether he’d reciprocate it but once you felt his head fall into place against yours, you relaxed.
it didn’t feel like just friends. you have guy friends, you have guy friends way closer to you than seungcheol. pictures with them never felt like this.
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throughout the next few months, more events happened around campus, and each time, seungcheol and you never failed to take a picture together. his arm went around your shoulders like always, and yours round his waist. he always returned the little head tilt on yours. it became your thing now.
at the end of every long day, the same texts appeared in our chat.
💬you: can you send our pics?
💬sc: yeah for suree
💬you: they don’t suck this time! HAHA
💬you: thank youu
💬sc: YEAA no problemm
one time, you swear you saw the flash of a teasing smile seungcheol’s friend gave him after snapping a picture of the both of you, one of those knowing looks friends give each other when someone they like is near.
despite that one incident, seungcheol’s arm never went lower. never went around your waist once. you started to care less about it.
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another month or so goes by after all the sports-related things have ended, your school orchestrated an assembly to hand out awards to students who’ve done something big, and because you and seungcheol were pretty much the sole reasons for the success of your school’s sports festivities this year, the both of you were receiving awards for all the work you’ve done.
once you got your award though, you left the hall, not wanting to sit through the principal’s boring speech and all those other students waiting to get their rewards. while you were outside, seungcheol came out soon after with his friends. the group of you were going to go eat lunch, but way more guys ended up coming. you were the only girl left after the others went home.
this… was going to be awkward. you were only close to one other guy there and when all of you started walking, he was nowhere near you.
someone who was near you, though? in fact, very near you? seungcheol.
seungcheol’s pace matched yours as the both of you walked behind the rest of the guys. there was so much awkwardness in the air between the two of you. you really had no idea why you couldn’t just start a conversation with him like normal.
every time you fell back even for a second, seungcheol would subtly look back. but you noticed everything. you wanted to put meaning to everything he did. the whole way to the restaurant, he stayed by you. even once, he went up front to the guys when they were yelling about some incident that happened, he turned back and walked back next to you and only then did he continue walking forward.
what was all this?
your brain was psycho-analysing everything he was doing. and you believed you had good reason to. no one asked him to walk with you. hell, he could’ve sped up multiple times instead of walk in awkward silence with you.
it had to have meant something.
═════════════════════════
it was now the night of prom. you were in a gorgeous navy, backless dress. it had a slit, high up your left leg. you looked like the epitome of elegance. for most of the night, you didn’t think about seungcheol.
until you saw him.
coincidentally, his suit was also navy. he had on a black button up underneath, the top few buttons undone to keep his somewhat ‘reckless’ persona. the blazer stretched across his broad shoulders and fuck. he looked divine. it was ridiculous. fancy watch glimmering on his left wrist and a gold cross necklace hanging down his neck.
he was with his friends. his dimple showing each time they cracked up about something. if you tried hard enough, you were sure you could’ve imagined his laugh even if he was about ten tables away from you. amidst you daydreaming and definitely-not-creepily-staring at him, you noticed a couple girls at the table he was at. he was sat next to one of them, close. like… suspiciously close. but you weren’t about to ruin your night because of your own assumption, even if you did feel the slight bubble of jealousy in your chest.
he could sit next to whoever the hell he wanted. not like we remained super close after all our events finished. you had no right to feel jealous. seungcheol hadn't done anything to leave you with the idea of anything going on between you guys.
other than the weirdly intimate pictures you took at every event you organised together, other than his playful teasing of your antics, other than choosing to walk with you in a group of all his friends.
yeah. nothing for him to think so.
time passes and you eventually made your way out to the lobby of the place. there was a photobooth for the students and a long queue of them waiting. you spotted him with one of his friends and started walking towards him.
“let’s take a picture,” you suggested, smiling like normal. ignoring all your thoughts, all the speculations you’ve heard from other students.
“yeah sure. you want one in the photobooth or just on my phone?” he asked, hands in his pockets.
oh. he wants to take a photobooth strip with you?
“up to you. we can do it in the photobooth if you want,” you answered casually.
“nah, nah. let’s just use my phone,” he dismissed it so quickly, as if he didn’t bring it up first.
you agreed, hiding your what the fuck? face easily. he came and stood next to you, the colours of your outfits were matching perfectly.
and for the first time, you felt his arm around your waist. his big, warm hand resting on your hip. you had a little bit of hope in your heart as it jumped. for about one minute.
as his friend started the countdown for the picture, he was occupied, looking around like someone was about to jump him.
“what’s up with you?” you asked, laughing, trying to make a joke.
seungcheol told you that you guys had to do this quickly, to which you were obviously confused. what was he so terrified of? who was he so terrified of that he appeared to be fighting inner demons or something.
his other hand reached into the pocket of his trousers, slowly sliding out a photobooth strip. it was him and a girl. the same girl he was sat questionably close to at his table.
ah. there it was. there’s the disappointment you were bracing yourself for.
you smoothly continued, just like a friend would, “is she your date?”
seungcheol shook his head. “nope. we’re just talking.”
at what point of time between sending you all those mixed signals did he start talking to this girl—who you have never seen him with—to be all casual about her. saying that to you, like that.
when his friend finished taking your picture, the rest of your chest sank deeper.
maybe next time you’ll wait for a guy to parade around with a huge road sign about his feelings.
Hii!.....i LOVED your latest fic .....if you are taking requests can you pls do like VERY very jealous jeonghan....like smut....I miss him soo much
omg i was highkey thinking of writing one of these
wouldnt have smut tho 🥲🥲🥲 be ready 💕💕
also sorry for the delay on the cheol fic, i lost all my progress on it so i got unmotivated to re-write again… doing my best to start writing again 😭😭😭
Summary: Spiraling relationship brought you two—the second lead of the story—trying to overcome the heartbreak.
Have you ever heard the story of two perfect people? A perfect man with perfect hair, a perfect body, and a perfect way of carrying himself—calm, composed, and effortlessly cool. This man, of course, is dating a perfect woman with a perfect face, a perfect attitude, and just the perfect dose of kindness that made everyone say, "Ah, no wonder they’re together."
The kind of couple that made people sigh and mumble, "They’re meant to be," or, "It’s written in the stars."
That was exactly how people described Wonwoo and Jooyeon.
Wonwoo—everyone’s favorite honor student, top of the class, the quiet genius, and the admired captain of the campus soccer team—had finally confessed to Jooyeon, the girl with the dazzling smile and the kind of gentle charm that turned even the cafeteria line into a fairytale backdrop. She was perfect: admired by professors, adored by classmates, and untouchable—until suddenly, she wasn’t.
They were perfect, together. Almost annoyingly so.
When rumors started flying about the two of them dating, it felt like a minor campus apocalypse. Hearts cracked open all over—some dramatically, some in secret. The arts students wrote poetry about doomed love. The engineers, who claimed they didn’t care, were caught staring blankly at unfinished problem sets. It was the kind of heartbreak usually reserved for the day your favorite idol announces their wedding—except this was worse. Because Wonwoo and Jooyeon were real, tangible. They sat two rows ahead in lectures, they borrowed pens, they existed in the same airspace.
That’s how powerful they were. Campus royalty without ever needing crowns. Living proof that fate could be painfully unfair.
And the best part?
They didn’t care. Not even a little bit.
While students wiped tears off midterm notes and ranted in anonymous group chats, Wonwoo and Jooyeon strolled hand in hand through the chaos, oblivious. Unbothered. Untouched by the collective heartbreak they’d caused. Like everyone else was just background noise—necessary, but not worth noticing.
Now that was real power.
"You liked him first, didn’t you?"
Mingyu—vice captain, star striker, and the only person bold enough to say it out loud—stood beside you, his eyes locked on the pair of perfection across the field. Wonwoo and Jooyeon sat on the bench, leaning close, laughing quietly over a shared sandwich like they were the only two people in the universe. It was sweet. Or nauseating. Or maybe both.
You turned to Mingyu, a tight frown tugging at your lips.
“How do you know that?" you asked, suddenly wary. That little secret had been buried so deep between dusty team rosters and forgotten water bottles, you’d nearly convinced yourself it never happened.
Mingyu—whose reputation for guarding secrets was about as sturdy as wet tissue—didn’t even flinch.
"Jooyeon told me," he mumbled, eyes still locked on the golden couple across the field, like he was watching a live drama he’d never auditioned for but somehow had a supporting role in anyway.
Your brows knitted together. "Jooyeon told you? You two talk?"
It wasn’t jealousy that tugged at your chest; it was the sour taste of confusion. Since when did your best friend chat up soccer boys? Especially ones like Mingyu—loud, impossible to ignore, and definitely not her usual type of confidant. Actually, scratch that. Since when did Jooyeon do anything exactly how you imagined anymore?
She was dating Wonwoo now. Your Wonwoo—well, the Wonwoo you had once quietly, hopefully, almost had. And the worst part was the quiet question now scratching at the back of your mind: Did you ever really know her?
A flicker of doubt you didn’t want to feel whispered louder than your own thoughts: Should this friendship even continue?
Mingyu finally turned to look at you. His eyes weren’t teasing for once—just tired. Almost too honest.
"She talked about you. Got your man. And you still can’t bring yourself to hate her, can you?"
You exhaled, a shaky sigh that almost covered the small, dry laugh that caught in Mingyu’s throat. He knew. He was right, and that was the worst part.
You liked Wonwoo first. You liked him so carefully—piece by piece, a shy laugh here, a passing brush of shoulders there. But Jooyeon had reached out faster. And despite everything—despite the ache that sometimes flared up when you saw them share a scarf in winter or sneak a drink from the same bottle—you still couldn’t bring yourself to hate her. She was Jooyeon. Sweet. Gentle. Thoughtful in ways that made it hard to hold grudges.
"That’s what that guy is to me too," Mingyu said suddenly, voice lower, words heavier.
You blinked, thrown off. “Wait... you mean you—”
He nodded, tapping two fingers together like connecting puzzle pieces, then pointing them at the couple.
"We were close. Really close. I think... maybe I got them close too. Funny, huh?"
Not funny at all.
More like cruel. A twisted cosmic joke, played on both of you without a warning or a punchline.
"Welcome to the adult world, I guess?" you said, mustering a hand gesture that looked bold enough to pass for confidence, even though your voice cracked just enough to betray you.
Mingyu snorted, his laugh a quiet, almost disbelieving sound. "You’re funny, Y/n. Didn’t know you were funny."
You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t fight the small smile that tugged at your lips. He was an idiot, but maybe in this moment, he was your idiot.
Your eyes flicked to your watch—five minutes of break left. Sighing, you pushed yourself up from the bench and turned to stand in front of Kim Mingyu—star striker, vice captain, and the only guy on this field who could make a heartbreak conversation sound like a sitcom script.
"Well, Mingyu..." you began, voice teasing, theatrically dramatic, hoping it would cover up the dull sting you still felt somewhere behind your ribs.
But when your eyes met his, there was no secret spark. No skipped heartbeat. No accidental daydream about what if.
Just Kim Mingyu. The messy striker. The man-child who forgot his cleats and blamed the team manager—aka you—every time he lost his water bottle.
"Being funny doesn’t get you a man," you said with a wry, lopsided grin, turning back toward the field where the rest of the team was half-heartedly kicking balls around.
Then, loud enough for every sulking player to hear: "Five minutes left, guys! Let’s not waste it complaining about your love lives, yeah?"
And with that, you left Mingyu laughing behind you—your heartbreak still tucked safely where no one could see it, except maybe him, Kim Mingyu, the boy whose heartbreak matched yours.
*
Mingyu was seething. The kind of anger that sat hot in his chest and prickled down his spine like static under his skin. He’d caught the whispers earlier that day—someone had roughed up Hansol. Choi Hansol: the youngest on the team, the quiet one who bowed lower than everyone else, ran harder than everyone else, and never once complained.
Hansol had shown up late to practice, eyes downcast, a fresh bruise blooming across his left cheekbone like an ugly signature left behind by a coward. The moment he stepped onto the field, the air shifted. Conversations sputtered and died. Laughter dissolved mid-breath. His hyungs just watched—some with guilt, some with fear, none brave enough to speak first.
Mingyu clenched his jaw so tight his teeth ached. Everyone knew. Everyone saw. Including Wonwoo, who caught Mingyu’s glare from across the pitch. Mingyu jerked his chin—wait.
Wonwoo held his gaze for a heartbeat, then gave a stiff nod, stepping forward to blow the whistle and herd the team into warm-ups.
But Mingyu wasn’t warming up. He was burning.
He’d heard the so-called reason behind the bruise. Hansol had aced the tryouts—first-year rookie, playing with the calm confidence of someone born for the national stage. But a few seniors in his department didn’t like that. They spat rumors—called him a teacher’s pet, claimed he must’ve bribed someone, that he’d stolen a spot they didn’t have the guts to fight for themselves.
It didn’t matter that none of it was true.
Jealousy never needed proof. Just a soft target.
Mingyu’s fists curled at his sides, nails biting his palm as he took a step forward—ready to tear through anyone stupid enough to lay a finger on Hansol again—when your voice slipped through the tense quiet like a drop of cool water on hot iron.
"What happened to your face?"
Mingyu froze mid-step, catching his breath—not from the run, but from the way your tone sliced clean through the heavy silence. Not angry. Not scolding. Just... raw concern. So gentle it stung.
Hansol startled at your question, but you didn’t give him a chance to hide. You dropped the bottle you’d been carrying, letting it roll forgotten into the grass as you stepped closer to him. Carefully, like he might break if you moved too fast, you lifted a hand—small, delicate compared to the ugly bruise marring his cheek. Your thumb brushed feather-light near the swelling, your brows knitting together.
"Did you get into a fight? Who did this?" you asked, voice low but steady, shielding him from the curious stares gathering behind you.
Hansol didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. His gaze flickered to the ground. Shoulders slightly hunched. Silence clung to him like sweat.
You glanced back at Mingyu, confused, worried, and still unaware—still innocent in all this.
And Mingyu? He was no longer boiling. He was ready.
After practice ended, the sun dipped low over the field, painting the sky in streaks of gold and bruised lilac. The rest of the team was already trickling off toward the showers, their laughter echoing faintly, cleats scraping against pavement.
Hansol lingered, sitting alone on the edge of the field with his knees pulled up, arms resting over them, eyes fixed somewhere distant. The bruise on his cheek had darkened under the fading sunlight, a quiet reminder of the things unsaid.
Mingyu tossed a towel over his shoulder and walked up to him with a casual nod.
"Wanna get a drink?"
Hansol blinked, as if surprised someone was still there. He nodded after a beat, not saying much, just rising with that same quiet energy, brushing dirt from his joggers.
They didn’t talk on the walk to the vending machines behind the gym building. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was patient. Mingyu slid a can of cold peach soda across the metal bench toward Hansol, then popped open his own bottle.
He didn’t press. Mingyu wasn’t the type to pry. Not when someone was already carrying something heavy. He just sat beside the younger, sipping quietly, watching the way Hansol rolled the can between his palms like it was something fragile.
After a few minutes, Hansol finally spoke.
"It was just some seniors from my major."
His voice was calm, but Mingyu heard the exhaustion buried beneath it.
"They said I made the team too easily. That I must’ve known someone, or that Coach just wanted a rookie for the headlines." Hansol paused, eyes low. "One of them was someone I used to look up to."
Mingyu’s grip on his bottle tightened. He turned his body slightly toward Hansol, face serious.
"Is this the first time?"
Hansol shook his head slowly. "Second. The first time was just pushing. This time… they made it count, I guess."
Mingyu exhaled sharply, the kind of breath people let out when they’re trying not to explode. His voice dropped, firm and low.
"You should’ve told someone. Told me."
Hansol gave a faint, apologetic shrug. "I didn’t want to cause trouble. Or seem weak."
"You’re not weak," Mingyu said immediately, not letting that sit. "You’re one of the best rookies we’ve had in years. That’s why they’re coming after you. They’re threatened. That’s not your fault."
Hansol didn’t reply, but the corner of his mouth twitched—half gratitude, half relief.
Mingyu leaned back on his palms, eyes scanning the horizon.
"I don’t care how quiet you are, Hansol. You’re part of this team. Anyone who messes with you, messes with me."
Hansol glanced at him, and for the first time all day, his shoulders eased just a little.
"You’re kind of intense, hyung."
Mingyu laughed under his breath. "Yeah, well. Get used to it."
They sat there a bit longer in the dimming light, the silence between them no longer heavy, but healing.
The next practice session started like any other—humid, loud, and laced with the smell of grass and sweat. But the usual routine screeched to a halt when everyone’s attention turned to the sideline.
There they were. Three students—three fully grown college boys—on their knees, hands raised to the sky like they were repenting for their sins in a K-drama courtroom. It was a sight so surreal that even the most focused players stopped mid-warm-up.
Mingyu had just jogged onto the field after changing into his jersey, towel slung around his neck, when he froze mid-step. His brows furrowed, mouth parting slightly in disbelief.
“What the hell—” he mumbled, blinking hard as if that might change the scene.
Because right in front of the three kneeling boys was you. Standing with your arms firmly planted on your hips, your expression somewhere between disappointed mother and vengeful war general. You weren’t yelling, you weren’t even raising your voice, but the sheer authority in your posture could’ve summoned lightning. It was terrifyingly impressive.
It also reminded Mingyu of that one time he shattered his mother’s favorite vase and she made him kneel in front of her altar for three hours with soy sauce packets on his shoulders.
“What's going on?” Mingyu asked Jun, who was stretching nearby but clearly more interested in the live drama.
“Oh, turns out those guys were the ones who bullied Hansol,” Jun said, trying not to sound too gleeful. “And get this—they’re her juniors from Dojang.”
Mingyu blinked. “Dojang?”
“Y’know. Her martial arts elective thing?” Seokmin waved a hand. “Apparently, she’s some kind of assistant there. Has like, real authority. Scary, right?”
Mingyu’s mouth fell open a little wider. “So she’s… punishing them? Right here? On our field?”
“Yup. Campus-wide humiliation. Full exposure. Public repentance. She didn’t even ask Coach.”
As if on cue, Coach walked by, gave the scene a short glance, and muttered, “About time someone taught those brats a lesson,” before continuing on.
Mingyu watched as you spoke to the kneeling trio, voice calm but your words sharp enough to cut through steel. One of them visibly flinched. Another looked like he was trying not to cry.
You turned slightly, caught Mingyu watching, and raised an eyebrow as if to say, What? This is the bare minimum.
Mingyu chuckled under his breath, utterly impressed. “She’s terrifying,” he murmured.
“Hot, though,” Jun added thoughtfully.
“Very,” Mingyu agreed.
Behind them, Hansol jogged onto the field, bruise healing, eyes wide in disbelief as he spotted the trio groveling on the grass.
“Uh… what happened?” he asked.
“You got a guardian angel, kid,” Mingyu said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “And she does martial arts.”
*
"You don't have to do that. It could affect the team’s reputation. I hope you won’t do something like that again."
Wonwoo’s voice was calm but firm, carrying a weight that made it echo sharper than intended. Mingyu paused mid-step, hand resting on the locker room door, when he caught the conversation happening just around the corner—behind one of the pillars. Quietly, he leaned back, staying out of sight.
You were standing there, posture straight, eyes locked with Wonwoo’s. You didn’t look guilty. You didn’t even look surprised. Just… unreadable.
Mingyu frowned. He knew exactly what this was about—your dramatic punishment of Hansol’s bullies on the field yesterday. Most people had secretly loved it. But of course, Captain Jeon Perfect had something to say.
It took Mingyu back to six months ago.
That was when Soonyoung, the team’s original manager and chaotic soul of the locker room, suddenly decided to enlist early. The team was left scrambling. Wonwoo, ever the composed captain, immediately started looking for a replacement. It didn’t take long for a name to surface—Ji Y/n. A management major who had impressed nearly everyone during last year’s basketball league with her sharp organization skills and no-nonsense attitude.
Mingyu remembered the day you walked onto the field for the first time. Confident but not cocky. Observant. Calm. The kind of calm that didn’t need to shout to be heard. You’d greeted the team with a small smile and a clipboard. Within the first week, you knew everyone’s stats, schedules, and even preferred energy drink flavors.
You weren’t just efficient—you were unshakable.
Mingyu stayed hidden behind the pillar, fingers tightening around the edge of the locker room doorway. His jaw clenched. He wasn't supposed to be eavesdropping—but this felt personal.
Something about the way Wonwoo said it—calm, calculated, like you were an overstepping student causing problems instead of someone protecting one of their own—made something twist inside Mingyu’s chest.
You didn’t deserve that. Not after everything you’d done for the team.
He took a half-step forward, ready to interrupt. To say something. To defend you, even if it meant clashing with his own captain.
But then you spoke. And what you said stopped him cold.
“So that’s it?” you said, arms still folded, voice sharp and low like the calm before a storm. “You don’t have to do that, huh?”
Wonwoo blinked, caught slightly off-guard.
You took a step closer—not threatening, but deliberate. “It’s funny. I actually thought it was your job to protect your team. To set the tone. To make sure people who wear that jersey feel safe wearing it.”
Wonwoo didn’t say anything. He just stood there, still and stoic, like he always did. Like silence was his shield.
You shook your head slowly, a humorless smile tugging the corner of your mouth. “I learned that from you. Back when I thought you were someone who stood up for people. But I guess people change.”
It landed with a weight that echoed louder than any shouting ever could.
Behind the pillar, Mingyu blinked.
He’d expected you to look guilty. To apologize. To fold under Wonwoo’s quiet pressure like most did. But instead, you pushed back—with facts, with clarity, and with something that sounded a lot like disappointment.
And Mingyu felt it too. The disappointment. Not just in Wonwoo—but in how things were shifting. How the captain he once admired was starting to feel... distant. Less human.
He looked down, then back toward you. You weren’t unshakable after all. You were just brave. Braver than most. And somehow, that made Mingyu’s chest feel even tighter.
*
Seungkwan clenched his teeth, arms trembling under his weight as the push-up count passed a number he couldn’t even register anymore. One hundred something-something—who even knew? All he could focus on was the sound of your voice echoing in his head like a curse.
“They bullied someone, Dad. Can you believe that?”
Your tone had been casual, almost chipper, as if you were reporting someone for stealing your lunch instead of setting off a full-blown punishment session. Unfortunately, the “Dad” in question was none other than Coach Ji—your father, Dojang’s notorious Taekwondo instructor and a man who believed character was built with sweat, tears, and shoulder pain.
Seokmin wheezed through a trembling breath, his voice cracking as he panted, “Please… spare us…”
“One hundred seventy-six!” your father shouted with military precision, making all three boys groan. Even Seokmin’s puppy eyes weren’t enough to melt that man’s spine of steel.
Regret painted itself clearly on their sweat-soaked faces, and for a moment—just a moment—your father paused.
“If I ever hear you used the Taekwondo I taught you here for nonsense like bullying,” he said, voice cold and low, “I’ll do worse than this. I’ll drag you to hell and back with my own hands.”
You folded your arms and gave a proud nod toward your juniors—Seungkwan, Seokmin, and poor misunderstood Chan. Justice had been served.
Chan, breathless and on the verge of a cramp, muttered between reps, “This is so unfair… it was just a misunderstanding—”
Your glare snapped to him like a laser beam. Sharp. Icy. Devastating.
Chan shrank like a kicked puppy, immediately silencing his protests. If looks could kill, yours would’ve buried him six feet under the gym mat. And he knew it.
Seungkwan, still stuck in a push-up, whispered under his breath, “Remind me never to get on her bad side again…”
After the chaos had settled and the boys were sprawled like starfish across the training mats, groaning and swearing they’d never bully a soul again, you walked over to your father, grabbing your bag slung by the door.
“Staying for dinner?” he asked, wiping sweat from his brow with the edge of his towel. His tone was casual, but you could hear the hope tucked in between the syllables. “Or… maybe even the night?”
You paused at the threshold, fingers tightening slightly around the strap. For a second, the thought tempted you—home-cooked food, your old bed, the quiet comfort of familiarity—but then you shook your head gently.
“I’ll sleep in the dorm tonight,” you said with a soft smile. “Got early practice tomorrow.”
Your father nodded, his expression unreadable for a beat. Then he gave you a small, approving pat on the shoulder. “You did good today.”
You gave him a teasing grin. “I learned from the best, remember?”
“Damn right you did,” he muttered, already turning back toward the whining trio on the mats. “And tell Wonwoo he still owes me for breaking that punching bag last semester.”
Your steps faltered—just slightly.
You didn’t respond. Just gave him a soft, practiced smile over your shoulder. “Goodnight, Dad.”
As you stepped out into the night air, your chest felt just a little heavier than before—but your stride didn’t slow.
You could almost hear Wonwoo in your memory, sitting cross-legged at Gojo matches, calling your name with that calm voice that still made your pulse skip.
“I enjoyed the match. You were amazing.”
But now he sat beside someone else.
And you had training in the morning.
*
You didn’t know when the rumor began—whether it slipped from one careless mouth or was born from silent stares—but by morning, it had grown teeth. You felt it the moment you stepped out of your dorm. The atmosphere changed. Eyes lingered longer. Conversations halted mid-sentence whenever you passed by, only to pick up again with an extra edge of hushed curiosity.
They weren’t just whispering your name.
They were branding it.
“She's her roommate. Can you imagine that? Her own roommate.”
“Exactly. Who does that to a friend?”
“No wonder Jooyeon’s been staying in a single room. She probably can’t bear the sight of her anymore.”
Their voices floated behind your back like shadows. And you—staring at the sidewalk as if it could swallow you whole—just kept walking.
You didn’t even understand what they thought you had done. You and Jooyeon had been friends since your first year. Laughed over late-night ramen, shared beds during thunderstorms, cried over grades, boys, and homesickness. You lived under the same roof. You trusted her.
But now, Jooyeon had Wonwoo. And you… had whispers. And maybe a group of soccer boys with the emotional maturity of overgrown toddlers.
When you finally reached the field, the sounds of morning practice were a strange kind of comfort. Cleats against turf, goalposts rattling, laughter too loud to be real. Your body moved on autopilot—crossing the track, clipboard in hand, pretending nothing was wrong.
Then came Jeonghan.
“Celebrity, aren’t you?” he called out from the grass, his tone half-amused, half-insincere. He was warming up with slow, deliberate stretches, whistling through his teeth with that infuriating smirk he always wore when he knew he’d struck a nerve.
You looked at him, deadpan. The sun was just rising above the field, casting long shadows across the green, but your patience was already running on fumes.
Without breaking stride, you turned to the bench where the rest of the team huddled like guilty children.
“If any of you start acting like him,” you said, pointing to Jeonghan, “you’ll be getting your own drinks starting from today.”
That did the trick.
Heads snapped up. A chorus of obedient nods followed. Someone even stood up straighter, as if fearing the wrath of your clipboard more than their own coach.
You exhaled slowly, turning away.
The team was moving. The world hadn’t ended. But something had shifted. You just didn’t know yet what it would cost.
“What’s wrong with you and Jooyeon? Finally broke the friendship?”
Mingyu’s voice landed behind you in a low, casual whisper that still managed to startle you.
You pressed a hand to your chest, instinctively clutching at the pounding beneath your ribs.
“Knock before you speak!” you shot back, your words laced with annoyance—but your voice didn’t hide the jolt he gave you.
Mingyu chuckled, completely unbothered. “There’s no door here.”
You turned to look at him, eyebrows scrunched, arms crossing without a second thought. There was something different in his tone today—too nosy, too curious. He was just Mingyu, the striker, the vice captain, the guy who always forgot where his water bottle was and laughed too loudly during warm-ups. You didn’t remember ever talking about personal life with him. Not deeply, anyway. Not like this.
“What’s your deal?” you asked, staring at him as if he were a puzzle you hadn’t realized was missing a few pieces. “Since when do you care about me and Jooyeon?”
He tilted his head, lips tugging into that crooked half-smile he wore when he didn’t want to answer directly. “I don’t,” he said easily. “But the two of you used to move like one person. Even Jihoon noticed. That’s saying something.”
You rolled your eyes, sighing. The last thing you needed was to explain yourself to someone who wasn't even supposed to care.
“If it’s about Jooyeon moving out, she chose to,” you said, voice steady but laced with something unspoken. “She likes to sleep in the cold, and I need to be wrapped like a human dumpling. She felt bad for turning the room into a freezer, so she offered to move. That’s all.”
You expected silence, or maybe a nod. But instead, Mingyu chuckled, shaking his head as if amused by something only he understood.
“So kind and beautiful. Unfair, right?”
His words poked something inside you—a little too familiar, a little too careless.
You scoffed, looking away from his eyes that seemed a bit too observant today.
“Not to me,” you muttered under your breath, letting the words fall out before you could dress them up.
And just like that, the coach’s whistle pierced the moment, snapping the tension like a rubber band.
Practice was starting.
But the air hadn’t cleared.
Not yet.
*
Mingyu sat on the park bench, the late noon sun filtering through the trees as he munched half-heartedly on a piece of bread he brought along. Jooyeon had texted him earlier, asking if they could talk. He didn’t want to meet at a café where eyes and ears multiplied, or the cafeteria that buzzed with idle gossip. Too many people already had too many things to say about her and Wonwoo. So he replied, “Let’s meet in the park near the field. Make sure Wonwoo knows too.”
Jooyeon arrived on time, tucking her hair behind her ear as she sat across from him, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. Her presence was quieter than usual, almost careful.
“I heard you moved out of your room,” Mingyu said, biting into the crust of his bread like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. He didn’t want to just sit and listen. Multitasking helped him stay unreadable.
Jooyeon gave a small nod. “Yeah... How did you know?”
“Y/n told me,” he answered casually, watching her for a reaction. “Actually... Everyone's been talking about it.”
Jooyeon let out a long sigh and leaned back. “I don’t get why people always jump to conclusions. I feel bad for Y/n... she doesn’t deserve to be talked about like that.”
Mingyu smirked. He had something to say, something bitter and sharp, but he swallowed it like dry bread.
“I wanted to apologize,” Jooyeon said, her voice softening. She shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable. “I know we’ve been getting closer these past few months. I really enjoyed our time together. But... me and Wonwoo... it just happened. We clicked. And—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Mingyu cut her off, shaking his head. “I get it. He’s a better man, right?”
The question hit harder than he meant it to. Jooyeon blinked, stunned, her lips parting—ready to answer, but no words came. So she just sat there, silent, and that said enough.
Mingyu stood up, brushing crumbs off his hands like he was dusting the whole conversation away. He’d heard what he needed to hear. And apparently, so had she.
But before he could walk away completely, his steps paused.
He glanced back over his shoulder, voice light but laced with something deeper. “Have you talked to your friend, Y/n? I’m not the only one who feels cheated here.”
He chuckled as if it was a joke, but the weight of his words lingered in the air. Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked off, sighing under his breath.
What am I even doing?
Mingyu was on his way home when a familiar silhouette caught his eye—someone sitting at a corner table by the café window, bathed in the warm glow of yellow light. A small smile crept onto his face before he even realized it. Without much thought, his feet turned, almost on instinct, and led him inside the cozy café.
He ordered an Americano and a slice of dessert, something sweet to reward himself after his workout. Once his drink was ready, he walked over to your table, plopping down into the seat across from you with casual confidence.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, grinning.
You looked up from your laptop, your brows immediately furrowing. “Why are you here?”
Mingyu shrugged and motioned to the cup in his hand. “Drinking coffee?”
But your frown only deepened. “You’ve got a physical test tomorrow morning. You’re supposed to be resting, not wandering around cafés.”
He chuckled, clearly amused by your concern. “I just got back from the gym. Can’t I breathe a little? I’ve earned this moment.”
Your attention shifted back to your laptop, though your tone softened slightly. “Still. You need all the energy you can get.”
Mingyu leaned forward slightly, trying to sneak a glance at your screen. He squinted but couldn’t make out what you were working on. “Study or work?”
“Work,” you replied. “My father’s planning to open new membership slots for his Taekwondo dojang.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Right—yes! I heard you used to be an athlete. Were those three boys actually your juniors?”
You nodded, a hint of guilt flashing across your face. “Yeah. And they got punished by my father because of me. I feel bad... Should I bring them coffee and drop by? They’re probably still practicing until nine.”
Mingyu raised his brows, impressed. “The dojang?”
“Yep. I’ll order something for them now,” you said as you stood and made your way toward the counter.
Mingyu watched you from his seat, his eyes following the way you talked to the café staff, polite and purposeful. Then he glanced at his own watch, mentally calculating. If he left by nine, he’d be home by nine-thirty. In bed by ten. Still doable.
The moment you returned to the table with a small tray of drinks, he looked up. “Can I come with you?”
You shot him a look. “No.”
His face fell. “Why not?”
“You have a test tomorrow,” you reminded him flatly.
“I’ll head straight home after,” he said, pouting now like a boy trying to convince his mom. “C’mon, lemme tag along.”
You exhaled slowly, weighing the options in your head.
*
By the time you arrived at the dojang, the evening chill had settled into your sleeves. The familiar scent of padded floors and sweat greeted you as you stepped in, a small paper bag of drinks crinkling in your hand. Mingyu followed closely behind, and the moment he saw Seungkwan and Chan sparring in the center, he plopped down onto the wooden bench like a big dog being told to sit and stay—back straight, eyes wide, tail invisible but clearly wagging in spirit.
Your father, standing near the entrance to the office, turned when he heard footsteps. His gaze immediately found Mingyu. You could already sense the silent judgment forming.
“Golden retriever?” he asked with a raised brow, folding his arms across his chest.
You rolled your eyes, not even pretending to hide your sigh. “He’s a team member. He wanted to come.”
“Wonwoo?”
“No, not Wonwoo,” you said, voice flat, your eyes flicking to Mingyu who was now bobbing his head to the rhythm of sparring footsteps, completely immersed. “Just him.”
Your father hummed, skeptical but not unkind. “He looks like the type who'd forget to tie his belt before a match.”
“He’s not that bad.”
“He’s that tall.”
You chuckled under your breath. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Your father looked at you, then at Mingyu again, watching as he reached out to fist-bump Chan after a clean takedown. “He’s loud.”
You handed him the drinks with a shake of your head. “You’re impossible.”
“He likes you?”
You froze mid-step. “What?”
“He looks at you like you’re the last bowl of rice in the house.”
You whipped your head toward Mingyu. He had just looked up, catching your stare, and waved enthusiastically, mouthing, “They’re so cool!”
You muttered, “He’s just friendly.”
Your father said nothing, only grunted as he took a sip of coffee.
You weren’t sure who you were trying to convince more—your father or yourself.
Mingyu, still sitting on the bench like an obedient retriever, finally seemed to notice that the man by your side—who looked a little too stern and a little too observant—hadn’t taken his eyes off him. So, with the reflex of someone raised well and maybe scared well too, Mingyu stood up and gave a small bow.
“Hello, sir. I’m Kim Mingyu. I’m—uh, on the same team as Y/n. Vice captain.” His voice was lower than usual, respectful but slightly nervous.
Your father raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by titles. “Kim Mingyu? I’ve heard your name. You’re the tall one who talks too much.”
Mingyu blinked, a little stunned but smiled anyway, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess that’s me, sir.”
Your father didn’t smile back. He just nodded slowly, eyes scanning Mingyu like he was inspecting a weapon. “You come here often?”
“No, sir. First time. I just wanted to see the place Y/n grew up in,” Mingyu said honestly.
That made your father pause. His gaze shifted to you, then back to Mingyu. “You close?”
You coughed before Mingyu could answer. “He’s just curious.”
But Mingyu, being Mingyu, smiled wide and said, “I’m trying to be.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. Your father stared at him for a long, long second, then walked off muttering, “Tall. Talks too much. No belts allowed next time.”
Mingyu turned to you, whispering, “That went well, right?”
“No.”
He grinned, teeth and all. “I think he likes me.”
You rolled your eyes. “You think everyone likes you.”
“I mean—look at me.”
“Exactly. That’s the problem.”
Mingyu laughed as he sat back down. Across the room, your father watched again, this time sipping his coffee slower, the judgment in his eyes replaced with something more unreadable.
Like curiosity.
The morning sun was already glaring above the field by the time the physical test ended. Your shirt clung to your back from sweat and the heat, but you stayed a little longer to speak with the coach about the upcoming league schedule. Your mind was still replaying details from that meeting as you slung your bag over your shoulder, ready to head out.
Then, a shadow approached from the side.
“I saw you and Mingyu last night…” Wonwoo’s voice came low, casual, but there was something loaded behind it.
You turned, your steps slowing. “Oh, really? Where?”
He shrugged, towel in hand as he dried his damp hair. “Near the bus station. Were you two visiting the dojang?”
You nodded, eyebrows pinching slightly. “Yeah. Why?”
“I didn’t know you two were close,” he said, voice trailing like it was bait.
You gave a slight, deliberate shrug. “I’m close with everyone.”
That should’ve ended the conversation. But Wonwoo bit his lip and leaned in just a little closer, lowering his voice into a whisper only you could hear. “Can we talk for a moment? Like… sitting-down kind of talk?”
“Is this about the team?”
He exhaled, voice heavier now. “No. It’s about us.”
You blinked. “What about us?”
“Okay… Listen.” He glanced down, then up at you again, the words clearly dragging themselves out. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a jerk. I know. But… it happened, and I don’t regret it. Still—I think I owe you an apology.”
“About what?”
Wonwoo fidgeted under your stare, his fingers gripping the edge of his towel like it could save him. “I flirted with you. And then I dated your friend instead.”
Your mouth parted slightly, more out of disbelief than surprise. Before you could form a reply—
“YA! JEON WONWOO! Where do you put my kneecaps?!” Mingyu’s voice boomed across the field, his towering frame jogging over with dramatic exasperation.
You let out a breath and rolled your eyes, the moment snapped clean in half. Wonwoo turned, yelling back something about the bench.
You turned your heel, footsteps heavy with impatience. “I’m going. There’s no need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re not completely ignorant,” you said coolly, and left without waiting for his response.
Meanwhile, Mingyu caught up with Wonwoo, smiling just a bit too smugly as he waved the kneecaps in the air. “Oh, these? Yeah. They’ve been here the whole time,” he said, his tone far too pleased.
Wonwoo snatched them back with a grumble, eyes narrowed in slight annoyance, but Mingyu’s grin only widened—like he’d won something.
Sitting nearby, Hansol watched the entire scene unfold with a confused blink. “What is wrong with them?” he muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to the universe.
*
Where are you? Mingyu wondered, eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face. The physical test results were out, and the lineup for the upcoming league had just been announced. As expected, his name was there—along with Wonwoo, Jun, Hansol, and a few other standout players. Cheers erupted, shoulders were patted, and someone had already ordered meat for a spontaneous barbecue.
But you were nowhere to be seen.
As the team gathered around to celebrate, Mingyu leaned toward the coach who was sitting across from him, sipping on soda.
“Coach, where’s Y/n?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual, though his brows were furrowed.
The coach blinked as if the question jogged a memory. He clapped his hands once. “Ah! Right—she said to say hi. She won’t be joining us. Told me she’s got a fever.”
A flicker of concern crossed Mingyu’s face. He pulled out his phone and quickly shot you a text.
Mingyu: “Hey, coach said you're sick. You okay?”
No reply.
He waited. Ten minutes passed. Still nothing. Mingyu excused himself from the barbecue and stepped outside, the night air hitting his skin like a splash of cold water. He dialed your number.
It rang. And rang. No answer.
Well, to be fair, you never picked up his calls. But this time felt different. This wasn’t one of those playful prank calls he liked to make to mess with you.
So he tried another number.
“Hello, Jooyeon? Are you in the dorm?”
There was a pause. Then Jooyeon’s voice came through, slightly muffled.
“I heard Y/n’s sick. Can you check on her? I’ve been trying to reach her but she’s not responding.”
“Thanks, Jooyeon. Really.”
Mingyu hung up and stared at the screen, chewing on his bottom lip. He stood outside the restaurant, arms crossed tightly over his chest as the noise of laughter and sizzling meat floated from behind him.
Not even an hour later, Wonwoo returned from a call, his expression dimmed.
“Jooyeon just called me,” he said, raising his phone. “They had to take Y/n to the hospital. Her fever got worse.”
And just like that, the air around Mingyu turned heavy. He didn’t wait to hear the rest—his body was already moving toward the exit.
*
The sterile white light pressed against your eyelids before you even opened them. You didn’t know what time it was. Or what day.
All you knew was the weight.
Your limbs felt too heavy, your body sunk into the bed like you were anchored down. You blinked, the ceiling above you blurry through tears you didn’t remember crying. Somewhere, a monitor beeped steadily. Too steadily.
And then the pain came.
A dull throb first—then sharp, slicing through the haze in your leg. You tried to move. A mistake. Your breath hitched, jaw clenched as the ache flared up your thigh and into your hip like your bones had been rearranged by fire. Your hands gripped the sheets as if clinging to something real would somehow steady the world.
“She's awake—Y/n, can you hear me?”
A nurse hovered over you, voice gentle, rehearsed.
You didn’t answer. Your throat burned. Even your voice hurt.
The door creaked open and your father’s voice followed. He didn’t cry—he never did. But his eyes, red and swollen, told you enough.
“The car hit the side of her bike—she was thrown into the curb.”
“She had surgery already—femoral fracture. Pins in place. Long recovery.”
“Rehabilitation for at least six months. Maybe longer.”
“She won’t be competing again.”
You heard everything. Every word slashed through your heart in perfect clarity. You were eighteen. You were the undefeated team ace. You were a name people whispered with admiration.
You were.
Now, you hated hospitals.
“Y/n? You’re awake. Are you okay, princess?”
Your father’s voice was the first thing you heard, muffled and warm, like it had been waiting at your bedside. You opened your eyes slowly, your vision swimming as the fluorescent lights above stung your retinas. Your body felt like it had just run a marathon in your sleep—head pounding, skin clammy with sweat, breath shallow.
“Dorm called,” he said, brushing a damp strand of hair off your forehead. “They said they brought you to the hospital. Your fever was dangerously high. Why didn’t you call me?”
You groaned, trying to roll your head away from his voice. “My head hurts.” The pain was real—sharp and throbbing—but at least it bought you a pause in the scolding.
Your father exhaled slowly, somewhere between relief and frustration. “Your friends are outside. Want me to let them in?”
You turned your face to him, eyes half-lidded. “Can you just let me go instead? I hate it here.”
He chuckled, the sound short and familiar. “I know, princess. But your condition has to be better first.”
Not long after, the door creaked open and Jooyeon stepped in, followed closely by Wonwoo and Mingyu. Their eyes immediately darted to you—pale, bundled in blankets, lips dry, but awake.
“You brought me here, huh?” you murmured, locking eyes with Jooyeon.
She huffed, dropping her bag onto the chair beside your bed. “I had to. You were hallucinating from a 40-degree fever and started seeing me as a bribed referee.”
Mingyu snorted from the back of the room, covering his mouth with his hand. Wonwoo just blinked, stunned for a moment before a quiet laugh escaped him.
“You should’ve at least let us know you were sick,” Wonwoo said, already slipping into lecture mode.
“I told your coach,” you grumbled.
“He needs you to count our pushups, he's that forgetful,” he replied with a raised brow.
Jooyeon stepped closer, placing a bottle of warm water by your side. “He’s right. Let us know next time. You’re living by yourself now, remember? You can’t keep doing this.”
You looked at both of them—frustrated, concerned, but still gentle. It made something in your chest ache a little. They were too kind to hate, even if all you wanted was to crawl back under the sheets and disappear from the beeping machines and antiseptic air.
Mingyu stayed near the back, quiet, but his eyes never left you. There was a tension in his shoulders—like he’d run here. Like he’d been afraid.
You met his gaze briefly, and for a second, it was enough to calm your pounding heart.
But to your surprise, Mingyu visited again the next afternoon, alone. He walked in quietly, a familiar cake box in hand—your favorite one from the café you always used to order from.
“You didn’t have to,” you said, blinking at him as he placed it down on the table next to your bed.
“I know,” he said, his tone easy. “But I wanted to.”
He checked your temperature with the back of his hand against your forehead. Then his eyes flicked to the medicine cups on your tray. “Did you take it?”
You groaned, leaning back against the pillow. “Yes, mom.”
Mingyu raised an eyebrow, not convinced, but he let it slide. Instead, he glanced at the nurse’s station outside. “Wanna go for a walk?”
Before you could respond, he was already speaking to the nurse, asking for permission and a wheelchair. You didn’t argue. Somehow, you knew he would’ve found another way to drag you out of bed if you did.
“I heard from Jooyeon you hate hospitals,” Mingyu said once the two of you were out in the hospital park, wheels softly rolling over the stone path, the air light and clean after last night’s rain.
“She felt bad, huh?” you mumbled, arms crossed over your hospital gown.
Mingyu hummed, eyes ahead. “Yeah. You tried to kick her out and called her a bribed referee.”
You clicked your tongue, already imagining how ridiculous that must’ve looked. “I was hallucinating.”
“You accused your heater of being a snitch.”
You side-eyed him and Mingyu bit back a laugh.
Then his voice dropped a little. “I didn’t know… about the injury. That you were competing before. That you had to stop.”
You fell silent for a few steps, wind brushing softly through the trees.
“I can’t imagine myself in that position,” Mingyu added.
You huffed, amused. “Then don’t you dare get injured, Kim Mingyu. I won’t feel sorry for you.”
He smiled at the threat. “Hey, I was sympathizing…”
You waved it off lazily. “It wasn’t a big deal. I’ve accepted it, mostly. I just… still hate hospitals. Not just because of what happened—but because of what they felt like. The lights. The smell. Being stuck. It makes you feel like time’s moving without you.”
Mingyu glanced at you. “It’s not just the memory, huh?”
You shrugged, eyes unfocused. “It’s never just the memory.”
There was a brief pause before he said, “Well… I sympathized with every aspect.”
You turned to him slowly, raising a brow.
“You don’t even know all the aspects,” you said.
“I don’t have to,” he replied. “I know you didn’t want to be here, and I know it wasn’t fair.”
You laughed, just a small breath through your nose. “Alright.”
He grinned. “That’s all I get? Just ‘alright’?”
You smiled, tilting your head. “You want a thank you speech?”
“No,” he said. “Just maybe… a bite of that cake later?”
You laughed again, softer this time. “Fine. But only if you’re the one cutting it. I still feel like I ran a marathon in my sleep.”
“I’ll take it,” he said. And for a moment, the hospital didn’t feel so bad.
*
The day after you were discharged, you made a quiet visit to the field before heading home. You hadn’t planned on staying long—just enough to feel the grass under your shoes, to see the familiar outline of the training posts and the scuffed-up sidelines. But the moment you stepped in, something felt… off.
It was too quiet.
The usual buzz—the chaotic shouting, laughter, and footfalls—was missing. The air hung thick, like a storm had passed and nobody knew what to do with the silence it left behind.
Then you saw him—Jeonghan, sitting alone on the bench outside the field. His elbows rested on his knees, hands clasped tightly, head slightly bowed like someone stuck in thought too deep to climb out of. Even his usually neat hair was tousled by the wind.
You walked over, your steps light but steady. “What’s wrong?”
He glanced up at you, eyes dimmed and tired, the corners of his mouth weighed down with something more than stress. “I don’t know… everyone’s been talking about changing the team captain.” His voice was low, reluctant. “They asked me.”
You paused, blinking at him. “Wait—what?”
Jeonghan let out a humorless chuckle, dragging a hand down his face. “I don’t want it. Not like this. I don’t want to cause problems with Wonwoo.”
You sat beside him slowly, the bench creaking under your weight. “Why so suddenly?”
He exhaled, shoulders rising and falling as if the weight of the team sat there now. “It’s not sudden. We’ve been feeling it for weeks, just no one wanted to say it out loud. Wonwoo’s been distracted. He misses drills, doesn’t show up early anymore. His mind’s always somewhere else—usually with his girlfriend.”
You tilted your head, unsure whether to feel defensive or understanding. “So they’re blaming his relationship?”
Jeonghan shook his head, jaw tensing. “It’s not that simple. It’s not just about dating. It’s about how… different he’s been. Detached. Like the rest of us are still fighting for something and he’s just going through the motions. And yesterday... it just snapped.”
He picked at a thread on his sleeve, eyes narrowed in memory. “He blew up during practice. Minghao made a comment about timing, and Wonwoo just—snapped. Said things he shouldn’t have. He stormed off halfway through the set. Everyone went quiet after that.”
The wind picked up, carrying with it the distant sound of someone’s whistle. The field felt strange—like it was holding its breath, waiting for someone to take the lead and exhale first.
“Did you talk to him?” you asked quietly.
Jeonghan shook his head. “I didn’t want to add fuel to whatever’s already burning. He looked… wrecked. Like he’s fighting something and losing.”
You nodded slowly, your eyes scanning the field that had once felt like your second home. Now, it feels foreign. Uneasy.
The cracks were showing. And they were deeper than you thought.
You sat with the weight of his words for a moment, letting silence settle before gently nudging, “Have you talked to Mingyu about it? He’s the vice captain, after all.”
Jeonghan let out a sigh that sounded more like surrender than relief. His fingers curled tightly around the hem of his jersey as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“You didn’t want to hear this,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, “but Wonwoo fought with Mingyu too… two days ago.”
Your eyes widened. “Fought?”
He nodded slowly. “Not physically. But loud enough for the entire locker room to hear. They thought the room was empty, but Jihoon was still inside grabbing his stuff. He told me later... said it was bad.”
Your stomach twisted at the thought. Wonwoo and Mingyu never fought. Not even during the worst match losses or strategy disagreements. They always balanced each other—one with quiet observation, the other with bold direction. Together, they had kept the team together when everything else wobbled.
Was it about Jooyeon?
Everyone had noticed how close Mingyu was with her—how they always sat side by side after practice, how she used to bring him vitamin drinks and tease him about stretching more. It was unspoken, but understood: Jooyeon and Mingyu were something, even if neither of them ever put a label on it.
Until the day she showed up to the field—not for Mingyu, but for Wonwoo.
And just like that, the air shifted. Mingyu didn’t say anything, not out loud. But you saw it. In the way he stopped joking as much. In the way he watched from a distance instead of walking over to Jooyeon like he used to. You saw it in how he looked at Wonwoo, quiet and unreadable.
You, who weren't even close to Wonwoo anymore, had been just as stunned. It was Jooyeon and Wonwoo. Your best friend. And the guy who, not long ago, had been—what? Flirting with you? Calling late at night? Lingering after walks just a bit too long?
Now they were together. Officially, maybe not. But the way she looked at him, the way he started saving a spot next to him on the bench—it said enough.
So yes, you understood Mingyu’s resentment. You really did.
But fighting? Letting it bleed into practice, into leadership, into everything the team had built together?
Was it worth it?
You knew things wouldn’t fix themselves. So before you left that day, you pulled aside Coach Kim—stern, silver-haired, respected by everyone because he’d once been exactly where they were now: young, proud, and convinced the world owed him a clean pass and a winning shot.
You explained in quiet words—how the tension was gutting the locker room, how the younger boys looked up to Mingyu and Wonwoo like gods and now didn’t know which side to stand on. You hated dragging the dirty laundry to authority, but something had to give before the whole team tore at the seams.
Coach Kim listened, only nodding once. “I’ll handle it,” he said, tone flat but final.
So the next day, instead of warm-ups, he made everyone sit in a sloppy half-circle on the grass. Even the goalposts seemed to listen. Hansol sat cross-legged beside Minghao, plucking at blades of grass. Wonwoo sat three people away from Mingyu, eyes locked on the dirt by his feet. You stood by the equipment bench, arms folded, pulse tapping out a nervous beat.
Coach Kim stood in the center like a general before battle.
“Look at you,” he started, voice cutting the early morning hush. “A bunch of talented kids ready to break records—and each other’s necks. You think you’re special? You think pride wins trophies?”
No one dared breathe too loudly. Even Jeonghan, usually quick with a sly grin, kept his gaze pinned to the ground.
Coach’s voice dropped, quieter, but sharper than any whistle. “I’ve seen teams like you. They break apart the moment they forget they bleed the same. You don’t have to like each other every day. You don’t have to hug it out. But on this grass, you run for each other. Or you don’t run at all. Clear?”
A quiet chorus of “Yes, Coach” rose up—weak, but there.
Coach Kim’s eyes flicked to Mingyu, then Wonwoo. “You two want to kill each other, do it off my field. Here, you’re brothers. Figure it out. Or quit now and save us all the embarrassment.”
With that, he barked for stretches and drills to start—no warm-up jog, no easy laps. Just punishment sprints and grueling sets until someone puked. He wanted exhaustion to humble them back into one unit.
It almost worked.
By the end, half the boys lay sprawled on the grass, gasping and chugging lukewarm water. Sweat pooled under jerseys, cleats dug into the dirt like roots anchoring them to the only thing still holding them together: the game itself.
But exhaustion does funny things to simmering grudges.
As the rest dragged themselves toward the showers, Mingyu and Wonwoo stayed back—pretending to pick up stray cones and water bottles.
You knew better. You lingered by the bench, stomach tight.
Their voices started low.
Then sharper.
Then venomous.
Mingyu’s hand shot out, pushing Wonwoo’s shoulder hard enough to stagger him back a step.
“Stop acting like you’re the only one who lost something!” Mingyu spat.
Wonwoo shoved him back, eyes wild. “And what did you lose, huh? Tell me, Mingyu. What did she promise you? What did you think we were?”
You stepped forward, voice caught in your throat.
Too late.
Mingyu lunged—fist first. Wonwoo caught him at the collar, dragging him down with a sickening thud onto the grass. Fists found ribs. A knee dug into someone’s side. The quiet afternoon erupted with the sound of fists, grunts, curses biting through the air.
By the time Hansol and Jeonghan sprinted back to pull them apart, a thin line of blood trickled from Mingyu’s split lip. Wonwoo’s cheek was already bruising, dark and angry under the sun.
Coach Kim, standing by the fence, didn’t shout. He just stared at them—like he was watching his prized team dissolve under the weight of secrets they refused to say out loud.
And you—fists clenched at your sides, heart hammering in your chest—couldn’t help but wonder if anyone here truly deserved to be the villain.
You didn’t think—you just moved.
Your feet hit the grass before your mind caught up. Jeonghan’s grip slipped from Mingyu’s arm. Hansol’s hold around Wonwoo’s waist loosened just enough for the fight to twist dangerously out of control again. And you—small, breathless, desperate—wedged yourself right between them, palms pressing against Mingyu’s chest.
“Stop—! Both of you—!”
Your voice didn’t even sound like yours. Too thin, too raw to cut through fists and curses. They didn’t hear you. Or they didn’t care.
Wonwoo’s elbow swung back in a blind shove—too rough, too thoughtless. It caught you square in the shoulder. The world tilted. Grass smeared green and sky spun white as your knees buckled.
You hit the ground with a thud that startled everyone more than the punches had.
Mingyu froze first, his chest heaving under your palm one second, his knuckles half-curled the next. His eyes snapped to you, wide and breathless—like he’d just come up for air after drowning in rage. Wonwoo’s hand hovered midair, trembling, too late to catch you.
Hansol was the first to move, dropping to his knees beside you. “Y/n—hey, you okay? Easy—easy…” His hands were gentle under your elbows as he guided you up, his eyes flicking to the two men who suddenly looked like boys caught fighting behind the school gym.
Around you, the field went deathly quiet—broken only by the ragged sound of Mingyu’s breathing, the stuttered apology half-formed on Wonwoo’s lips.
You didn’t wait for either of them to speak. Your voice cut cleaner than the coach’s whistle had all morning.
“You two. Disappointing.”
Just that. Nothing more.
It landed heavier than any shove or punch they’d thrown.
Before anyone could reach for you—Jeonghan’s hand half-extended, Hansol’s worried whisper at your side—you shrugged them off. You walked stiffly to the bench, ignoring the ache blooming in your shoulder and the throb at your knee.
You grabbed your bag.
Didn’t look at anyone.
Didn’t remind them about the final huddle. Didn’t tell them tomorrow’s warm-up drills. Didn’t care.
The team—your team—watched as you stepped off the grass, your shoes sinking into the muddy edge by the gate. One step after another, you left behind the soundless apologies, the too-late regrets, and the two boys who thought their pain was bigger than everyone else’s.
You didn’t even turn around when you heard Mingyu’s broken, breathless voice behind you—
“Y/n—wait—”
But you didn’t wait.
Not this time.
*
Mingyu walked toward the station after practice, each step heavy with exhaustion and a bitterness that clung to his skin like sweat. The fight. The shouting. The shame. He couldn’t even look the coach in the eyes when he mumbled his apology before leaving—if that could even be called an apology.
Hansol had offered to walk with him, a quiet shadow by his side to make the weight a little lighter. But Mingyu waved him off. He needed the silence. He needed the night air to cool the rage still simmering beneath his skin and the regret burning deeper than any bruise.
He hadn’t even realized where his feet were taking him until he spotted you.
There you were—sitting on the curb in front of a convenience store across the street, your bag beside you and a small bottle of disinfectant in your hand. Under the harsh white light of the store sign, you looked so small yet impossibly stubborn, hissing under your breath as you dabbed clumsily at the raw scrape on your knee.
His chest tightened. He hadn’t even thought about you getting hurt. God, how hadn’t he seen it?
Mingyu crossed the street slowly, as if afraid you’d vanish if he moved too fast. He crouched down beside you without a word, eyes fixed on the angry red wound you were trying—and failing—to clean properly.
“Let me do it,” he said quietly, his voice rough but careful, as if any sudden sound might crack the fragile calm between you.
You didn’t even look at him. “No. I’m still angry at you.”
But Mingyu didn’t care. Or maybe he cared too much to stop. He gently pulled the swab from your trembling fingers and poured fresh antiseptic over it, ignoring the way your eyes narrowed in protest.
“Hold still,” he murmured.
His fingers brushed your skin, large and warm, steady in a way that only made the sting sharper—because it reminded you of what he was supposed to be. Reliable. Your vice captain. Your friend.
You winced as the cold bite of alcohol kissed the cut. Mingyu paused, murmuring an apology so soft it almost got lost in the hum of passing cars.
“You didn’t even think, did you?” you whispered, your voice cracking as frustration bled through. “Fighting in front of everyone… hurting each other like that… and for what, Mingyu?”
He didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on your knee, brows furrowed in guilt, in shame, in something deeper he couldn’t name if he tried.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last, the words slipping out like a confession he’d been too proud to say out loud until now. “I didn’t think. I just… I just lost it.”
When he pressed the clean bandage over your scraped skin, his fingertips trembled—like he was afraid you’d push him away for good this time.
You didn’t. But you didn’t forgive him either. Not yet.
“You should be sorry,” you said softly, anger giving way to quiet disappointment that somehow cut deeper than any shout ever could. “You’re supposed to protect them. Not tear them apart.”
Mingyu closed his eyes, breathing in your words like punishment—like the only thing that could keep him grounded tonight.
When he opened them again, you were looking at him too—wounded and tired and still, somehow, here.
He wanted to say more. But for once, Kim Mingyu had no words left.
So he just knelt there on the pavement under the flickering store sign, his hands stained with antiseptic and regret, wishing he could clean this mess as easily as your scraped knee.
“What were you even fighting for? The team? Your reputation?”
Mingyu sat back on his heels, the used swab discarded by your bag. He shook his head, refusing to meet your eyes.
“A girl?” you pressed, your tone sharper than you meant it to be.
At that, he stilled. His shoulders stiffened under his sweat-damp jersey. He didn’t say it outright—but the way he nodded, barely there, was answer enough.
You let out a shaky sigh, exhaustion dragging at your voice. “You two are hopeless. If this is about Jooyeon—why? She’s Wonwoo’s girlfriend. Why are you making a mess over something that’s already decided?”
“I didn’t make a mess,” Mingyu shot back, his tone flaring just a little. “He… he offended me.”
You scoffed, half incredulous, half resigned. “You’re grown men. Friends, even. What, so he says something harsh and you swing at him like a teenager? Seriously, Mingyu—”
“He said I don’t deserve you.”
Your words cut off. The hum of the streetlight, the distant laughter from inside the store—everything seemed to drop away for a heartbeat.
“What?” you whispered.
Mingyu swallowed hard, his jaw working as if the confession tasted bitter on his tongue. He finally looked at you, really looked—eyes raw in a way you hadn’t seen since your first year managing the team.
“He said… he said I’d ruin you. That you waste too much time cleaning up after me. That you’d be better off if I wasn’t around.” His voice cracked. “And maybe he’s right. But he doesn’t get to say that. Not about me. Not about you.”
You stared at him, the sting on your knee forgotten. They fought over Jooyeon—yes. But they fought over you, too? Over what you deserved, who you cared for, how much you’d given them both without ever asking for anything back?
“Mingyu…” you breathed, your anger leaking out of you like air from a punctured tire.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, exhausted and so painfully honest now that the fight had stripped him bare. “I messed up. I know. But don’t… don’t think I didn’t care what it did to you. I swear I didn’t think—”
You shook your head slowly, cutting him off with a quiet, heavy voice. “You both didn’t think. And now look at you—bruised, reckless, fighting each other instead of fighting for each other.”
You watched him—your striker, your headache, your friend—and it hurt more than the scrape on your knee ever could.
“You’re so stupid, Kim Mingyu,” you said softly, your eyes stinging with frustrated tears you refused to let fall. “So stupid for letting it come to this.”
He nodded, the smallest, saddest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I know.”
Mingyu and you walked side by side to the station. Neither of you spoke—a silence stretched so thin it almost hurt more than words would have.
The neon lights of the convenience store faded behind you, replaced by the quiet hum of the bus stop. You both sat on the cold bench, a polite gap between your shoulders. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the pavement like it might offer him forgiveness.
You sat upright, your bag clutched to your chest, stealing glances at him every few seconds. But when your bus finally rattled up to the curb, you stood without a word, giving him a silent nod—a farewell that felt heavier than a thousand arguments.
Just as you stepped toward the door, his hand wrapped gently around your wrist. Warm, calloused, trembling just a little.
“You know I like you, right?”
His voice was quiet—too raw to be casual, too steady to be taken lightly.
You froze, your free hand tightening around the strap of your bag. It was the one thing you’d spent countless nights trying not to name. The thing that lingered in the way he always waited for you after practice, the way he listened to your rants, the way he made you laugh even when you swore you wouldn’t.
You didn’t want to answer. Didn’t want to confirm it, or deny it, or give it any more room to take root in your chest. Not now.
But Mingyu wasn’t done. He let out a soft, humorless huff—a breath that might’ve been a laugh if he weren’t so painfully sincere.
“And you’re the only one who gets to decide if I ruin you or not,” he said, eyes lifting to catch yours in the dim glow of the bus headlights. “Not Wonwoo. Not anyone.”
For a moment, you hated him for saying it. For making you feel it. For being so honest when all you wanted was a clean escape from tonight.
You pulled your wrist free—gently, not angrily—and stepped back.
“I know,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. Then you turned and boarded the bus, never looking back, but feeling every heartbeat that stayed with him on that empty bench.
*
You didn’t talk about that night. Not once. But everything shifted in small, undeniable ways—like tiny cracks in glass, catching the light at certain angles.
After Mingyu’s quiet confession at the bus station, you started treating him… differently. Not that anyone else would notice—at least not at first. But Mingyu noticed. Oh, he noticed every time.
It started two days later, when you walked past the bench before practice and casually dropped a wrapped sandwich on the seat beside him. He blinked at it, then at you—half-expecting you to bark at him for not eating properly again. But instead, you just muttered, “Eat it. You look like you’re living off instant noodles again.”
He unwrapped it so fast he almost forgot to thank you, his grin wide and boyish, crumbs sticking to the corner of his mouth.
Then it was the way you didn’t scold him when he half-assed his warm-ups—a thing you used to yell at him about in front of everyone. You’d just raise a brow, arms crossed, and when he’d catch your eye, you’d sigh and look away. He’d quietly finish the stretches anyway, grinning to himself because he knew you were still watching.
And maybe the biggest thing—your water bottles. Before, you’d hand them out carelessly, sometimes tossing him one that was lukewarm if he was late. But now, somehow, every practice, Mingyu found the coolest bottle waiting at his feet, condensation dripping down the sides, like you’d kept it tucked away just for him.
He tested this once—sneaking a peek into the cooler when he thought you weren’t looking. Sure enough, at the very bottom, buried in ice, was a bottle labeled “Gyu.” He almost laughed out loud, but he didn’t want to ruin it—this quiet language you both spoke without words.
And sometimes, when you thought no one was paying attention, you’d catch him looking at you. Not with the teasing glint he used to have, but with something softer—something grateful, almost gentle.
It made you wonder how long you could keep pretending it meant nothing. How long before these small kindnesses, these silent exchanges, forced both of you to admit you didn’t want it to stop.
And even though you never said it out loud, Mingyu knew exactly what these tiny mercies meant. They meant: I heard you that night. I didn’t run away.
And for now, that was enough.
You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t asked yourself—over and over—if this was right. If you deserved this.
Because once upon a time, when you liked Wonwoo—your quiet, steady, male-lead-type Wonwoo—you learned the hard way what it meant to lose to Jooyeon. How quick the world was to remind you, She’s prettier. She’s softer. She’s everyone’s sweetheart. And how quick you were to believe it: Maybe I’m just the side character. The plot twist no one remembers by the last chapter.
You tried so hard to drown out those whispers, to pretend they didn’t sting when people compared you—when they asked, half-jokingly, “Why can’t you be more like Jooyeon?”
You swallowed it all. Smiled. Kept showing up to practice, kept cheering for a team that didn’t know your heart was cracking from your last heartbreak. Wonwoo moved on; so did everyone else. You told yourself you did, too.
And then there was Mingyu. Ridiculously tall. Ridiculously charming. Too bright, too easy—someone you used to call an alien behind his back, just to convince yourself you’d never fall for a boy who could ruin you with a grin.
But then that night at the bus station happened. And suddenly, the world tilted a little. Mingyu—who could have anyone—said he wanted you. Said you got to decide if he was worth the mess.
It was reckless, probably. But it gave you something you hadn’t had in a long time: confidence. A little voice that said, You’re still you. You’re not Jooyeon. You don’t have to be. You get to be the main character in your own damn story.
So you started letting yourself hope again. Hope every time Mingyu winked at you during practice instead of calling you manager-nim like the others. Hope when he matched your steps to the bus station, laughing about nothing. Hope when he dropped by the dojang—sitting cross-legged at the edge of the mat, cheering when you landed a clean kick on Seungkwan—like you were worth watching.
Sometimes the old insecurities crept back in. They always would. But each time Mingyu caught your eye across the field, something in you dared to believe it: You weren’t a footnote. Not this time. You were your own plot twist. And maybe—just maybe—he was, too.
You hadn’t meant to hang out with Jooyeon that day. It just happened—she spotted you near the campus café, waved you over with that blinding smile, and before you knew it, you were sitting across from her, stirring the melting ice in your drink while she caught you up on things you didn’t really ask about.
It felt harmless, at first. She talked about her part-time job, the new café she liked, a cute puppy video Wonwoo sent her last night. You laughed at the right parts. You nodded when she asked for your opinion on which hair color she should try next.
And then she said it. So casually, like she was commenting on the weather.
"I heard about Wonwoo and Mingyu fighting. I felt bad, you know? Because it’s kinda my fault too, I think. I mean, I still talk with Mingyu. I already told Wonwoo I can’t just cut ties with him—he’s like, a good friend? And I broke his heart. So it’s clear Mingyu might still be hoping for me."
She sipped her iced Americano, oblivious to how her words cracked something open inside your chest.
Still hoping for me. You nearly choked on your own breath.
This wasn’t what Mingyu told you. This wasn’t what his quiet confession under the bus stop lights had felt like. This wasn’t how it felt when he touched your scraped knee with trembling hands, or when he laughed so easily beside you, or when he watched you spar like you were something rare and worth waiting for.
You were so still that Jooyeon barely noticed you’d gone silent. She kept talking, her voice a distant hum while your mind replayed Mingyu’s words—“You know I like you, right?”—and wondered if you’d been stupid to believe them.
You clenched your hands around your cup, fighting the heat rising to your eyes. It shouldn’t hurt. Not when you knew better than anyone that Mingyu could have anyone he wanted, even Jooyeon, always Jooyeon.
But it did. It hurt so badly you couldn’t breathe.
You forced yourself to swallow down the bitterness, to curve your lips into a polite smile when she asked if you wanted to order cake. You told her no. You lied and said you were on a diet.
But the truth was:
You couldn’t taste anything over the ache in your chest. And for the first time since Mingyu’s confession, you wondered— Maybe you really were just the second lead in someone else’s love story.
*
Mingyu had asked you out for your first real date—a simple plan, nothing fancy: a movie neither of you paid full attention to because you kept whispering jokes in the dark, then a trip to the game arcade tucked behind the cinema.
You tried—God, you really tried—to be present. And for the most part, you were. Because you were naturally fun. Because Mingyu made everything feel easy, like life itself slowed down to match his grin and his loud laughter that turned heads, unapologetically.
But there was an aftertaste.
A bitterness clinging behind your smile.
Jooyeon’s careless words wouldn’t stop echoing: Mingyu might still be hoping for me.
Every time you caught Mingyu watching you—like he did just now, sweat dampening the fringe on his forehead, pride radiating off him as the basketball machine’s score beeped victory—you wondered if she was right.
If you were just… convenient.
"You seemed distracted. You don't like the game?" he asked, jogging back to you, voice half-teasing, half-concerned. He tossed the last basketball back into the rack with a dull thud, then flicked your forehead so lightly you barely felt it.
You swallowed, trying to steady your voice.
"I’m sorry... I—I just..."
Words tangled in your throat.
He didn’t even let you finish, that annoyingly soft-hearted fool.
"You’re cold? I told you to wear my hoodie! Really, Y/n..."
He chuckled as if your heart wasn’t a chaotic mess. Before you could protest, he tugged his jacket off and draped it around your shoulders, fussing with the zipper until you were half-trapped in the scent of him—fresh soap, fabric softener, and a hint of sweat from all the running around.
You should’ve felt safe. You should’ve leaned in.
Instead, your heart clenched tighter.
Geez. He was too kind. Too gentle. Too everything you secretly wanted—
And that made this so much harder. Because what if it wasn’t real?
What if you were just the side character stepping in until the story circled back to Jooyeon?
What if your heart, for once, was the only thing uninvited in his perfect warmth?
"You wanna play the claw machine next?" Mingyu asked, bright-eyed, oblivious to the storm brewing behind your forced smile. He nudged your shoulder, like a big kid, so damn easy to love.
You lied through your teeth, nodding.
"Yeah. Let’s win that giant bear."
But your laughter tasted like fear.
And Mingyu—sweet, thoughtless Mingyu—didn’t notice yet that you were starting to drift behind him, one careful step at a time.
*
After the arcade, Mingyu suggested a walk by the Han River—because that’s what you did with someone you liked, right? You shared an ice cream, fingers brushing as you passed the cone back and forth, sticky sweetness coating your lips while the city lights flickered on the rippling water.
At some point, he took your hand—no fuss, no big gesture, just slipped his warm palm into yours like it was the easiest thing in the world. He licked his ice cream, swung your joined hands a little, humming a melody you couldn’t name.
You should have felt lucky. You should have felt special.
Instead, your chest felt tight, like your ribs were trying to trap your own heart before it betrayed you again.
When you reached a quiet stretch of the riverbank, he stopped, turned so his fringe danced in the breeze, and asked, so simply—
"Are you happy?"
The question hit harder than any truth you’d been avoiding all day.
Your throat closed up. Your eyes stung.
And before you could stop yourself, warm tears slipped down your cheeks—silent at first, then all at once, too many, too fast.
"Y/n—hey, hey, what’s wrong?"
His ice cream nearly dropped from his other hand as he scrambled, alarmed. He tugged you toward a nearby bench, made you sit down. He crouched in front of you, elbows propped on his knees, hands firm on yours to keep you grounded as you hunched over your sobs.
"Look at me, princess. Look at me—what’s wrong? Did I mess up? You didn’t like what we did today?"
His voice cracked around the edges, fear slipping through the cracks of his usual playful tone.
You shook your head, choked on another sob, and forced the words out—broken, muffled by your sleeve.
"It’s not you— it’s me. I don’t know what I am to you. I don’t know if I’m enough. Jooyeon said—"
You cut yourself off, wiping your face angrily, frustrated that you even brought her up.
Mingyu’s expression darkened just a shade. He squeezed your knee, voice low but unwavering.
"Hey. No. Forget Jooyeon for a second—look at me. Look at me, Y/n."
You sniffed, eyes red and bleary, meeting his steady gaze.
"You’re crying because you think I’m playing with you? That you’re just... a filler until I get bored?"
He almost laughed, but it wasn’t funny—he sounded hurt.
"Do you think I’d do this with just anyone? Do you think I’d hold your hand like this? Watch movies with you, chase stuffed toys for you, walk here for hours just to hear your voice? Y/n—"
He cupped your face, thumbs catching fresh tears, his breath warm on your forehead.
"I told you that night, didn’t I? You’re the only one who gets to decide if I ruin you or not. Because I won’t. Not unless you keep pushing me away when I’m right here—"
He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes closing, exhaling like he’d been holding it all in, too.
"I like you. It’s not complicated for me. So don’t make it complicated for yourself, okay?"
You hiccuped through a fragile laugh, voice still watery.
"I’m sorry... I just— I’m so scared."
He pulled back, gave you that boyish grin that always destroyed your walls, and wiped your tears with his sleeve.
"It’s okay. I’ll wait until you’re not scared anymore. But don’t cry on our first date, Y/n—my heart can’t take it."
And then, as if it were the simplest thing in the world, he kissed your forehead, held your hands tighter, and stayed with you until your tears dried in the night air, proof that maybe—just maybe—you were the main character this time.
*
You both stood under the soft glow of the dorm building’s front lights, hands still loosely twined together as if neither of you wanted to be the first to let go. Mingyu shifted his weight, exhaled a long, shaky breath, then gently tugged you closer so you faced him fully.
He opened his mouth—probably ready to charm you with some dramatic line— but you beat him to it, tilting your head, a sly smile tugging at your lips.
"Why’d you call me princess earlier?"
Mingyu froze. His eyes went wide for a heartbeat before he pressed his lips together, fighting the grin that inevitably slipped out anyway.
"You noticed, huh?" he mumbled, a hint of a boyish laugh rumbling in his chest. He dropped his head a little, embarrassed but too proud to hide it fully.
"Because… your father calls you that. I heard him once, when you were half-asleep and he was nagging you to drink your medicine. You looked so annoyed but so soft at the same time—"
His hand lifted, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
"I liked it. It makes you feel like… mine to protect."
The word mine did something to your heartbeat you chose to ignore for now. Instead, you stared at him—this giant man-child with bruised knuckles and a gentle smile—wondering if maybe you’d spent too long running from what was right in front of you.
The quiet settled like a warm blanket until Mingyu cleared his throat, shoving the moment forward before your overthinking mind could ruin it.
*"So…" he said, tone suddenly lighter, teasing, but the nervous flicker in his eyes betrayed him, "are we official now?"
You arched a brow, lips quirking.
"Do I get to decide that?"
He scoffed, dramatic as ever, throwing his free hand over his chest like a sworn knight.
"Who am I to decide, princess? I’m just a mere servant to your royal highness’s whims."
The laugh burst from your throat before you could stop it, genuine and bright, and Mingyu’s shoulders dropped like he’d been holding his breath all night just to hear it.
On impulse—heart hammering but certain—you rose on your tiptoes and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek. He stilled completely, even stopped breathing for a second, and when you pulled back you caught the flush climbing from his neck to his ears.
"See you tomorrow, Kim Mingyu."
You slipped your hand from his—feeling his fingers cling for just a second longer than necessary—and turned toward the door, the grin refusing to leave your face.
Behind you, Mingyu’s dazed laugh floated through the night air, half-murmured to himself.
"Ah, she kissed me first… I’m so done for.”
The next day, practice was quieter than usual. The kind of quiet that felt intentional—like everyone was waiting for something to happen. The team moved slower, drills dragged longer, and even the sound of sneakers brushing against turf seemed oddly cautious.
Mingyu tried to act normal. He joked with Jun, helped Minghao set up cones, and pretended not to notice the faint sting on his knuckles when he gripped the ball. But every few minutes, his mind drifted—to last night, to your laugh, to the way your fingers had fit between his like they belonged there.
He was tying his shoelaces when a shadow loomed over him.
“Hey,” Hansol’s voice broke through the still air, low and steady. Mingyu looked up, squinting against the sunlight. Hansol had that face—half blank, half dead serious—the kind that didn’t give much away but made you instinctively straighten your back.
“Yeah?” Mingyu asked, tugging the lace tighter.
Hansol tilted his head slightly, his tone unreadable. “I just wanna make sure I saw it right last night.”
Mingyu frowned, pretending to think. “Saw what?”
Hansol exhaled, eyes narrowing just a bit. “You and Y/n… holding hands.”
The words hung there between them, heavier than they should’ve been. A few of the guys nearby pretended not to listen, but everyone’s posture gave them away—shoulders angled, heads tilted slightly, ears definitely tuned in.
Mingyu leaned back on his hands, smirk tugging at his lips like armor. “You saw that, huh?”
Hansol didn’t blink. “So it’s true.”
“Why?” Mingyu asked, voice calm but eyes sharp. “You keeping tabs on me now?”
Hansol’s brows drew together, not out of anger but confusion. “No. Just… surprised. You fought with Wonwoo about her, remember?”
The air between them shifted. Mingyu’s smile faltered for half a second, just long enough for Hansol to notice.
“I remember,” Mingyu said finally, his voice quieter now. “Doesn’t mean I regret it.”
Hansol studied him. “You sure this isn’t because of Jooyeon? Or Wonwoo?”
Mingyu’s jaw tightened, his usual easygoing tone turning edged. “You think I’d use her like that?”
“I think you’re still figuring it out,” Hansol said evenly.
That stung more than Mingyu expected. Because maybe there was truth in it. Maybe he was still figuring it out—how to separate the mess of his feelings, how to stop seeing ghosts of the past every time he looked at you.
But then, his mind replayed your laugh from last night, the way you said his name, the warmth of your hand in his. And he knew—it wasn’t confusion. It wasn’t guilt. It was real.
He stood up, brushing grass off his knees, towering over Hansol but not in a threatening way. “I know what I’m doing,” he said, steady now. “And if I don’t… I’ll take the blame when I find out.”
Hansol looked at him for a long moment before finally nodding once. “Just don’t hurt her.”
Mingyu let out a quiet laugh, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He kicked lightly at the grass before turning back to Hansol, teasing glint back in his voice.
“Why do you care that much, huh?” he said, crossing his arms. “You like Y/n or something?”
Hansol blinked, caught off guard for a second. Then he scoffed. “Don’t be stupid.”
Mingyu grinned wider, leaning in just enough to annoy him. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Hansol rolled his eyes, grabbing the nearest ball and tossing it at Mingyu’s chest. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Hey, just saying—” Mingyu caught the ball easily, spinning it on his finger with that same smug ease he used on the field. “You sound a little protective for someone who’s ‘just a teammate.’”
Hansol’s gaze hardened, but his voice stayed calm. “I am protective. She’s part of the team, and she doesn’t deserve to get caught in whatever emotional hurricane you’re brewing right now.”
Mingyu tilted his head, his grin faltering for a heartbeat. “You think I’m gonna hurt her.”
“I think you don’t know what you’re doing yet,” Hansol said simply. “And she’s been through enough.”
That hit harder than Mingyu wanted to admit. The teasing fell from his tone completely. For a long moment, neither of them spoke—just the sound of whistles and running footsteps in the background.
Then Mingyu let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You don’t have to worry about that, Hansol.”
Hansol studied him, skeptical. “Yeah? Then prove it.”
Mingyu’s mouth curved into a small, lopsided smile again—one that didn’t quite mask the guilt sitting behind it. “I will.”
Hansol nodded once, sharp and short, before turning away to join the rest of the team for drills.
As Mingyu watched him go, the teasing energy drained completely, leaving behind only the weight of his own thoughts. Maybe Hansol wasn’t wrong. Maybe he was still figuring it out. But when his eyes found you across the field, handing out water bottles and smiling at Seungkwan’s joke, he couldn’t help the way his chest tightened. Until his eyes met Wonwoo.
“You. Broke. Her.”
The locker room door slammed shut, echoing off the tiled walls that day. The rest of the team had already left, but Mingyu stayed behind—hands clenched, jaw tight, chest still burning from everything that had been said during practice.
Wonwoo was by the lockers, tossing his gloves into his bag, acting like nothing happened. That calmness only made it worse.
“So that’s it?” Mingyu’s voice came sharp. “You’re just gonna walk out like you didn’t blow up at everyone again?”
Wonwoo’s hand froze on the zipper of his bag, his knuckles white. “You don’t get to lecture me, Mingyu. Not you.”
“You broke her.”
The words hung there like a strike of thunder after lightning — loud, burning, impossible to take back.
Wonwoo’s jaw locked, but his throat bobbed as if he was swallowing something sharp. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know enough,” Mingyu snapped. “I saw her cry once. I saw how small she looked every time your name came up. And you—” he jabbed a finger toward Wonwoo’s chest, “—you just walked around like nothing happened.”
Wonwoo finally moved, shoving Mingyu’s hand away. “You think it was easy for me? You think I didn’t care?”
“Did you?” Mingyu’s voice cracked. “Because from where I stood, it looked like you cared more about saving face than saving her.”
Wonwoo’s breath hitched, the tension in his body trembling to break. “You have no idea what I had to choose between.”
“Then maybe you should’ve chosen her!” Mingyu’s voice broke the air, raw and desperate. “Because she would’ve done the same for you.”
That stopped Wonwoo cold. His lips parted, but no words came out. The silence stretched between them—one heavy with years of friendship, guilt, and something they both refused to name.
When Wonwoo finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “And now you think you’re her savior? You think being there for her a few nights means you understand her?”
Mingyu’s expression softened, just slightly. “No,” he said. “But at least I’m trying.”
That quiet answer was worse than shouting. Wonwoo’s eyes flickered, a storm hidden behind restraint. He wanted to say something cruel, something to make Mingyu back down—but all he managed was, “You don’t love her.”
“I do.” Mingyu’s voice was firm. “And I’m not scared to say it.”
"Hey, princess. I'll walk you to the bus station."
Mingyu’s voice came from behind just as you were scribbling the last few notes on the whiteboard, the field long emptied except for the hum of the night insects and the faint smell of damp grass.
You didn’t turn around. “I think I’ll take longer tonight. I haven’t finished the report for last trimester.”
Mingyu tilted his head, hands tucked into his pockets, his hair still slightly damp from practice. “Want to finish it in a café nearby? I’ll keep you company.”
The café you picked was quiet, tucked into a narrow corner near campus — the kind of place that smelled like roasted beans and soft jazz. You sat beside him by the window, laptop open, your nose nearly touching the screen as your fingers flew across the keyboard.
Mingyu watched lines of data fill the spreadsheet. His eyes widened in mock disbelief. “Team analysis, individual progress, finances, upcoming projects—” he gasped dramatically, earning a few looks from nearby tables. “They pay you well for this?”
You bit back a laugh, eyes still on the screen. “Very,” you said dryly.
He let out a short, breathy laugh. “Good. Because this is insane. You’ve got everyone’s data here. Jeonghan doesn’t even count his goals properly, but you do!”
Then Mingyu leaned closer, eyes wide as if he’d just uncovered a secret file. “You even listed attitude progress? What is this, the army?”
You laughed softly, rubbing your temple. “Someone has to keep the chaos in check. You guys play like you’re in an action movie, not a soccer match.”
He grinned, resting his chin on his hand, watching you type. “And you—what are you? The director? The editor? Or the hero who makes sure the movie actually makes sense?”
You rolled your eyes but your lips twitched, fighting a smile. “Just someone who likes things done properly.”
Mingyu hummed in agreement, leaning back on his chair. The café light caught his skin, making him look effortlessly warm, and it was almost unfair how he made sitting still look like a performance.
“Still,” he said, voice softer now, “you do too much. I don’t think anyone really knows how much effort you put in behind all this.”
His words caught you off guard. You turned to look at him, his expression earnest—no teasing this time. “You see everything, huh?”
“I try to,” he said, meeting your gaze. “Especially when it’s you.”
You blinked, heart tugging at the edges. “Mingyu…”
“Don’t worry,” he interrupted with a boyish grin, trying to lighten the weight in the air. “I won’t tell Jeonghan you’re the secret behind his stats. Let him think he’s naturally that good.”
You chuckled, shaking your head, “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he said, his voice dipping just slightly, “you still let me stay.”
The café was starting to quiet down. The air grew heavier as the late hour seeped in, the hum of conversation replaced by the occasional clink of mugs and the low rhythm of jazz that played near closing time. You were typing your last few lines when Mingyu spoke again—so suddenly, it startled you.
“Do you still like him?”
You froze. The cursor blinked on the screen, waiting, but your fingers didn’t move.
Mingyu leaned back in his chair, the wooden legs creaking under his weight. He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Wonwoo.”
You swallowed hard. “Why are you asking that?”
He shrugged, but the movement was stiff—forced. “Just wondering. You get this… look sometimes. Like you’re somewhere else when we talk about him.”
“Mingyu—”
He cut you off with a soft laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “I mean, I’d get it if you did. He’s—” he paused, searching for words, then scoffed under his breath, “—he’s the kind of guy who makes everyone feel like they’re the only one that matters when he looks at them.”
You could hear the edge in his tone, the cracks he tried to hide behind humor. “But then he leaves,” he continued quietly, eyes fixed on the untouched cup of coffee between you. “And you’re the one left wondering if you just imagined it all.”
“Mingyu…”
He finally looked at you. “So tell me. If he asked you back—if Wonwoo showed up tomorrow and said he made a mistake—would you go back to him?”
The question sliced the air clean. It wasn’t jealousy—it was fear, raw and unguarded.
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.
Mingyu let out a quiet breath, leaning forward this time, elbows resting on his knees. “I’m not asking because I want to compete. I just…” His voice cracked a little, honest in a way that made your chest ache. “I need to know if I’m trying to build something real—or if I’m just trying to fill the space he left.”
The words hit harder than you expected.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustration clear in every movement. “Because, Y/n, I can’t keep doing this if I’m just—if I’m just someone you let stand close enough to make you forget.”
Silence pressed between you. The café light flickered once, and you realized how late it had gotten.
You looked at him, at the boy who always laughed too loud, who smiled through everything—and tonight, his eyes looked tired. Vulnerable.
“Mingyu,” you said softly. “I’m not trying to replace anyone.”
He held your gaze for a second longer, then smiled faintly, though it trembled at the corners. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. “But sometimes I think I’m the only one trying not to.”
The night air was cool as you both stepped out of the café, the door chiming softly behind you. The streets were mostly empty now, only a few cars passing by and the faint sound of cicadas echoing between buildings. You walked side by side in silence—close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed, but far enough that the space between you felt like something delicate, breakable.
Mingyu’s hands were in his pockets, his steps slower than usual. You could still feel the heaviness from earlier—the question he had asked, the silence that followed, the ache that neither of you could quite name.
“Hey,” you said softly, breaking the quiet. “You know… I don’t think love is about replacing anyone.”
He glanced at you, eyes tired but still searching.
You kept walking, watching your own shadow stretch under the streetlights. “It’s not about who came first or who hurt who. It’s about choosing someone even when you’re scared. Even when you don’t know how it’ll end.” You looked at him then, really looked at him—the boy who had stayed, who had tried. “You’re choosing, Mingyu. That’s not nothing.”
He stopped walking for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “Yeah, but sometimes I feel like I’m just fighting a story that’s already written,” he murmured. “Like… no matter what I do, I’m still the guy who came second.”
You stepped closer, your hand brushing against his until your fingers found his. “Then maybe we rewrite it,” you said quietly. “Maybe we make a new story. Where you’re not second. Where I’m not forgotten.”
Mingyu looked down at your hands, then back up at you, eyes glimmering faintly under the orange glow of the streetlight. “You really think we can do that?”
You smiled—small, trembling, but sure. “I think we both deserve to try.”
Something in his chest loosened then, like he’d been holding his breath for too long. He exhaled, slow and shaky, and squeezed your hand.
“Then let’s try,” he said, voice low, steady. “Let’s stop thinking we’re just side characters in someone else’s story.”
You nodded, a warmth spreading in your chest. “Because we’re not.”
The wind changed first—soft, cool, the kind that teased at your hair and made the air smell faintly of rain. The streetlights shimmered on the wet pavement, and for a moment, it felt like the city belonged only to the two of you.
Then came the first drop.
Then another.
You both looked up at the same time, the dark clouds rolling in fast.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Mingyu groaned, tightening his grip on your hand as the drizzle turned into a sudden downpour. You shrieked, half laughing, half gasping as he tugged you forward. “Come on! Run!”
The two of you sprinted down the empty street, shoes splashing against puddles, laughter cutting through the sound of the rain. Your hair was already soaked by the time you found a small awning to duck under—an old bookstore with a faded sign and its lights off. The metal shutter was pulled down halfway, and the scent of wet paper and dust lingered faintly in the air.
You leaned against the wall, breathless, drops of rain rolling down your face. Mingyu stood across from you, chest rising and falling, his hair plastered to his forehead. For a moment, neither of you said a word.
Then he smiled. That boyish, lopsided smile that always seemed to disarm you.
“You look like a drenched cat,” he said softly, eyes glinting.
You huffed a laugh, brushing water off your cheeks. “And you look like a wet dog.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and took a slow step closer. The rain kept falling, steady and rhythmic against the awning. The city felt far away—muted, hazy, almost unreal.
“Hey, princess,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, softer. “Remember what you said? That we could rewrite our story?”
You nodded, your heart already racing faster than the rain.
“Well…” he said, tilting his head, a teasing glimmer behind the tenderness in his eyes, “can I start now?”
You didn’t answer—not with words.
Instead, you rose on your toes, hands finding the edge of his soaked jacket, and pulled him closer. His breath hitched just before your lips met—slow, hesitant at first, like a question. Then deeper, more certain, like an answer you both had been searching for too long.
The rain fell harder, drumming against the pavement. The world blurred, leaving only the warmth between you—the soft press of his mouth, the faint taste of rain, the sound of his quiet laugh when you pulled away, flushed and smiling.
And under the flickering streetlight, in front of a closed bookstore on a rainy night, two people who once thought they were side characters finally found the courage to believe they were the main ones all along.
summary: when your rival slash enemy suddenly shows up after a long hiatus, you find yourself seething with the same anger you've once buried deep.
tags: figure skater!au, enemies/rivals to lovers, jeonghan is a menace, reader is easily ragebaited, lots of tension, angst because i cannot live without a drama, inaccurate depictions of figure skating please just bear with me, just two people wanting to ruin e/o fr fr, more tags will be added soon hehe i don't wanna spoil
a/n: recently watched a lot of ice skating videos and i badly need an ice skater!jeonghan so i wrote it 😔 comments, likes and reblogs are much appreciated!!! it means so much to me as a new writer 🥺
PART 01 | NEXT CHAPTER
You have been to this arena more times than you have been at home.
The icy, cold air clinging onto your skin felt refreshing as compared to the humidity outside. The scorching heat made you sweat like crazy, you are not a fan of summer when the season comes. Ever since you were a kid, you always ditched activities that involved being exposed to the sun. The mere feeling of the sweat trickling down your forehead made you so irritated you could actually cry.
Your father had noticed you were a lot happier at the sight of white, frosty stage. The way your big, doe eyes gleamed at your sister showing off her incredible skating skills, freely rotating inside the rink with a few spins and jumps, at the people around her age playing with their friends in a circle. You were seven years old then, scared of balancing your feet together. You couldn't even stand on the ice without falling, even with the help of your sister, Jihyo.
When you turned fourteen, your parents surprised you with your first ever skates.
“So you can stop watching your sister from the side and start playing with her too,” your mother smiled, your father laughing softly next to her as he nodded in agreement and you had looked at them with so much love, jumping into their arms with a giddy heart. You promised to them you will become a great ice skater just like your sister.
And you did.
You grew up to become a competitive, fierce figure skater in the arena, trained by your sister who's now a national team coach after years of representing the country as Ice Princess. Her impressive talents and astounding achievements had shaped her into an untouchable figure in the industry, bringing home remarkable awards and honors, her mere presence so important that the skating Federation had agreed to her request to become a trainer instead of a player.
And now here you are, continuing the legacy of your sister albeit with a different style and energy, the one you have so carefully curated with endless training and hard work for years. Every blood, sweat and tears poured into your now growing career.
You took a deep breath.
The arena is filled with the familiar, chilled air and a long expectant silence. Rows of seats occupied, hundreds of people focused their gazes on the center of the empty crystal rink. This is your stage, this is where you shine the most.
Lights slowly dimmed to a moonlight blue, signaling the start of the show. Letting out a shuddering breath, you slowly emerged from the darkness and headed towards the center of the ice, head bowed and an arm curved above your head like a frozen wing. The first note of the cello pierced into the air, and you started your first move with soft elegance.
The music built up, so did your speed. You pushed off with multiple strokes, covering half of the rink with effortless glides that made it look like you were hovering above the ice rather than carving the sharp blades into the surface.
You let your mind drift off to its own world as your body controlled the pace. The surrounding became a blur of lights and hues of midnight colors before you executed your first act, your arms pulled tight to your chest as you jumped. Then one, two, three revolutions. Your foot landed with a soft graze on ice, your free leg extended behind in a perfect line— quadruple toe loop, orchestrated with grace. The audience gave a loud clapping. Your heart bursted in excitement.
The music slowed, and this is where you showed off your most crucial sequence. You immediately moved into a series of turns, brackets and twizzles, letting your body speak the emotions in the music as you danced flawlessly. Every moment is deliberate, every glance towards the judges filled with intensity. As the song reached its final peak, you centered yourself with the final spin, transitioning from a camel spin into a low, powerful sit spin, before ending with a perfect layback.
The music stopped abruptly. You snapped out of the spin into a final pose, chest heaving, the cold air burning sweet in your lungs. For a heartbeat, there is total silence. Then, the roar of the crowd hit you. Your eyes opened with a wide smile that screamed “I finally made it”, the loud applause from the audience almost brought you to tears of joy.
You skated your way back to the Kiss and Cry, your eyes immediately found your sister who’s now hugging you tight, her hands rubbing your back gently to soothe you as tears already painted on your cheeks— unable to contain your emotions the moment you saw her. She murmured soft praises, letting you know that you've done amazingly. Your chest swelled with pride, and you knew at that moment that you already won even before the screen flashed your final scores.
The lights from the cameras were blinding as ever, and you stepped into the backstage with the biggest smile once the ceremony ended. You carefully brushed your thumb across the gold medal in awe, admiring how shiny it looked in your palm.
It's your first ever gold.
You had come so far, yet you still couldn't believe that it is now yours.
As you walked through the hallway, you spotted a familiar tall figure leaning against the wall. You were still clutching a bouquet of lilies when you finally saw his face.
Draped in a designer overcoat that looked far too expensive for a skating rink, you immediately recognized him.
Yoon Jeonghan.
He wasn't even in the lineup this year— a "lingering injury," the press release had said— but here he was, watching you with that familiar, hooded gaze.
"There she is," he said, his voice smooth and terrifyingly calm. He didn't move, but the atmosphere in the hallway shifted instantly. "The golden child of the evening."
You clenched your fist.
He straightened up and walked towards you, his footsteps slow on the cold tiles. When he reached you, he didn't go for a handshake or a formal nod. Instead, he reached out, his fingers grazing the gold medal resting against your chest. He tilted it toward the light, the reflection of his face caught his eyes.
You tensed, eyes narrowed with a low burning of irritation inside your chest.
"It looks good on you," he murmured, though his expression didn't look like he meant it. He looked up then, and there it was— that stupid, smug smile that made your blood boiled. "Almost as good as it would have looked on me."
"Jeonghan," you said, your voice tight. "I didn't think you’d bother showing up to an event you weren't even fit to skate in."
He let out a soft, melodic laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "And missed this? You were beautiful out there, princess. Truly. That quad toe loop.. almost steady. A little shaky on the landing, but the judges always were suckers for your artistry when the technique falters."
Go to fucking hell, you could have said. But any words that perfectly captured your pure hatred towards him won't do any good. Jeonghan loved getting a heated reaction out of you.
You noticed he stepped closer, leaning in until you could smell his citrusy cologne, a sharp contrast to the metallic scent of the ice. You almost pushed him away.
"Congratulations," he whispered, low, his smile widening just enough to show a hint of teeth. "Enjoy the view from the top. Cherish it until I come back next season."
He patted your shoulder twice— a condescending gesture that felt like a challenge— and turned to walk away, leaving you standing in the cold hallway with your heart hammering against the gold medal he’d just mocked.
“Asshole,” You lowly hissed under your breath, sharp nails digging into your palm, so hard you almost drew out blood. With an exasperated sigh, you stomped towards your car as quickly as possible and got inside. The gold medal sat on the passenger's side now felt more like a bitter reminder than a sweet victory.
You went home with a burning desire.
And that is to prove to everyone that you will remain your place at the top.
—
“Again! Start from the beginning!” Jihyo shouted from the boards, her tone ruthless and sharp as she monitored your movements closely. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you were skipping two steps before your jump.”
Your sigh came out louder than intended, your feet dragging you back to the center of the ice as you repeated the sequence. Long strokes, followed by a clean triple axel, then a double toe loop. Your blades landed with a soft graze against the ice.
Success.
“Perfect!” Jihyo smiled now, arms crossed over her chest as she continued supervising your flow, making sure there wasn’t even a hint of a mistake you could possibly make. Sometimes you thought she enjoyed being your coach more than being your sister—though you knew that was just her fulfilling her duties and responsibilities as a national team trainer.
Still, you wished you had sister privileges, for her to be a little more lenient on you.
“You are killing me,” you told her as you tried to catch your breath during your break.
Jihyo only laughed and ruffled your hair. “Why are you tired so fast? This isn’t you.”
You grumbled softly and took a seat on the nearest bench, snatching a water bottle. Your sister might’ve overestimated your stamina once again. “The program literally ended yesterday.”
“You were the one who asked me to look into your quads,” Jihyo shot back with a playful shrug, not a trace of guilt on her face for bullying her own sister.
“I didn’t say we had to do it today!” you whined.
Jihyo paid no attention, though a fond smile tugged at her lips. She was aggressively typing something on her phone when she spoke again.
“Unfortunately, your sister is only free today. I’m heading to Busan tomorrow for junior team training, so I won’t see you for two weeks. Maybe.”
“Why is that so long?” you pouted.
Jihyo flicked your forehead. “You’ll be fine. Besides, you’re going to enjoy your free time, no?”
You thought about it for a moment. Technically, that was what you’d be doing— to compensate for the rough months of back-to-back training. Still, a certain irritating voice lingered in the back of your mind.
Cherish it until I come back next season.
You shut your eyes and let out a loud groan.
Jihyo shot you a puzzled look, one eyebrow raised— clearly demanding answers.
“Nothing. Just got reminded of something.” You hoped she’d drop the subject. You didn’t have the energy to talk about him yet. But you knew better than to think you could escape your sister with a vague excuse.
“Spill,” she warned, “before I ban you from entering my apartment.”
You whined in defeat. “Fine. It’s him.”
“Jeonghan?” She snorted, shaking her head as if the news didn’t surprise her at all. She sent a quick reply to whoever was texting her before gathering her belongings. “You two have been at each other’s throats since Junior Prix. You’re not even competing against him.”
You rolled your eyes. “That doesn’t stop him from being a total douchebag.”
“Or maybe he just likes having your attention,” Jihyo said far too quickly, you almost gagged. “Anyway, practice ends early today. I’ve got an urgent meeting with the choreographers. I’ll drop by later before I leave for Busan, ‘kay?”
You hummed in response and waved goodbye.
Left alone, you looked back at the rink, pondering for a moment before deciding to resume practice. This time, you took long strides across the icy surface, covering half the rink with short spins in between. There was no music to guide you, no choreography set in mind— just a way to let your body relax, your head breathe, and your thoughts settle before they caused more damage than they already had.
You always took comments about your skating seriously— even when they came from someone you wanted to strangle the most.
It was unfair that Yoon Jeonghan also happened to be one of the most reputable professional figure skaters.
Before his injury, everyone knew what he was capable of. Winning gold after gold at Nationals for three consecutive years was beyond impressive. He’d set the bar impossibly high for both the men’s and women’s singles categories. No one had achieved a perfect Grand Slam before him.
The media loved the Ice Prince to bits.
You remembered when his fame skyrocketed— sponsorships, brand deals, and international recognition turning him into the Federation’s favorite, much like your sister during her prime.
What hurt the most though was when the comparisons started.
After Jihyo retired from competitive skating, the public quickly shifted their attention to the next successor. As her sister, your name was already plastered across headlines and media outlets— the next Ice Princess, announced almost immediately after Jihyo’s departure.
The pressure took its toll.
Especially when you could only secure bronze and silver medals. You cried after every program, alone in your room— always so close, yet never quite there. No matter how much you trained, luck never seemed to be on your side.
Online articles were brutal. Medals only mattered if they were gold. They didn’t care how you earned them, how difficult it was just to secure a spot for Nationals. They only cared about results.
It wasn’t shocking that they favored Jeonghan in the end.
He had everything they wanted.
The country’s pride.
The same person who ruined what was supposed to be your most memorable day.
“I’m going to break his fucking knees the next time he’s back on the ice,” you muttered angrily as you skated to a stop.
The clock told you you’d been in the arena for three hours. Your stomach growled on cue. With a tired sigh, you headed for the exit, washed up quickly, and went to grab a very late lunch.
—
Fate could be really funny sometimes.
Just as you were about to pay for your ramen at the counter, a familiar cologne hit you like muscle memory— unwelcome and impossible to ignore. Your eyes shut instantly, silently praying to God it wasn’t someone you didn’t want to see.
“What a healthy choice of food you’ve got there.”
Fuck.
“Shut up.” You brushed past him with an eye roll and stepped up to the counter. Jeonghan’s chuckle followed close behind.
Moments later, he placed his own ramen on the table. You spared it a brief glance and immediately furrowed your brows when you realized it was the exact same one you’d bought.
The audacity.
You shot him a glare after the cashier handed you your change. “So very healthy of you.”
You made your way to the far corner of the convenience store to start preparing your ramen, not giving him the chance to speak— but of course, he followed. Eventually, the two of you ended up seated at the same long table facing the street.
“Don’t get too excited. I know you’ve always wanted to eat with me,” Jeonghan said shamelessly.
You had to stop yourself from stabbing him with your chopsticks. Not only was he insufferable, he was also painfully narcissistic.
You slurped your noodles louder than necessary.
“Just finish your damn ramen and don’t talk.”
“Relax,” he cackled, clearly amused as he stirred his noodles. “You’re so easy to rile up.”
“You’re so annoying.”
Jeonghan flashed you a wicked grin, then stole a mini sausage from your bowl and popped it into his mouth. “Hm. Not bad.”
You sighed. “You couldn’t get them yourself?”
“Out of my budget,” he replied before slurping a generous mouthful of noodles.
You snorted and went back to eating. “Maybe if you hadn’t spent all your money on designer clothes, you wouldn’t be eating convenience store ramen with stolen sausages.”
“I’ll get rich again once I’m back on the ice,” he muttered through a mouthful, chopsticks pointed at you accusingly. “And those designer clothes are gifts, by the way. I never spent a single cent on them.”
“Jeez, sorry for getting my facts wrong,” you said dryly. “I never bothered reading articles written by your obsessive fans.”
“I think it’s about time you do. They’re amazing.”
“No, thank you.” You plastered on a forced smile. “I don’t have time to know more about you than what’s necessary.”
“And what’s necessary?”
You didn’t look at him as you took a slow sip of your strawberry tea. “Knowing when you’ll stop bothering me.”
He finished his ramen with a satisfied hum, the smile never leaving his face as he tipped back his can of beer. His eyes stayed on you— unwavering, deliberate— until you became painfully aware of the way you sat, the way you breathed.
He let the silence stretch. You hated it.
Then, “Someone has to keep an eye on the next Ice Princess,” he said lightly. “After all, we’re both starving for recognition, aren’t we?”
Your jaw clenched.
The way he said it— casual, knowing— made it worse. Because you couldn’t deny what he was implying. You stayed seated even when he rose, his shadow falling just short of your feet.
“As long as our names are still breathing on the same stage,” Jeonghan continued, voice lower now, “I’ll make sure it’s mine they’re paying attention to.” He paused. “That’s how you become the Federation’s favorite.”
He stepped closer— not enough to touch, but close enough that you could smell that damn citrus cologne again.
You finally looked up at him, eyes narrowed in pure bitterness. “Get over yourself.”
His smile widened, eyes glinting. “I already did.” He straightened, grabbing his empty cup, voice intentionally softened as a way to get under your last nerves. “Try to keep up.”
And just like that, he walked away— leaving the space beside you colder than before, and your chest tight with the realization that he was messing with you again.
You dumped your ramen bowl a little too aggressively before you stepped out of the store, cold evening air immediately hit your face. You let out an angry huff and walked away with an important plan on how to beat him. Off and on ice.
content : college!au, sister’s best friend!seungcheol, senior!seungcheol, mentions of other svt members, freshman!reader, forbidden love crush, one-sided pining, pet / nickname usage (princess), lowercase intended, reader still has lingering feelings, small age gap (~3/4 years)
wc : teaser : 792 whole : ???
a/n : tysm for the support on sister’s bsf! lowk getting writer’s block so this is taking longer than expected to finish 😭 ill just post this as the teaser i suppose, just keep in mind that some things MIGHT change bc im being hella indecisive 💔
well, avoidance was not in your favor but were you really surprised? the first month you decided to avoid him failed even though you tried your hardest. even after jiwoo left the whole damn country since she got accepted to the international program she applied to last semester meaning, you and her dont even go to school together anymore! and yet he’s still everywhere. he comes to school the same days you— mondays, tuesdays, thursdays and his schedule is the same every. single. day. once you get out of your car, he’s magically there walking towards you with his first “hi princess!” of the day, he still walks you to class like how he did on the first day, then he occasionally picks you up from your last period until your gap, then goes home for the day unless it’s a tuesday. at the very least, you were able to make friends that helped you sometimes out of seeing or meeting seungcheol: mingyu and dayoung.
the three of you guys all majored in the same thing and became friends after being put together for a project, a cliché! who woulda known. anyways, the first time you guys met, dayoung asked me something that you never thought you would be able to hear in your lifetime
“hi nice to meet you guys! i’m y/n” you smiled while introducing yourself to the two others
“hello i’m dayoung!” the girl answered with the boy right after, “and i’m mingyu, hope we get along!”
we worked on our small project that was assigned, just as a way to get to know everyone while putting together something we learned from our somewhat introduction to the course.
you guys ended up talking most of the time, learning that you three had a lot in common. you exchanged phone numbers with them and realized class was about to end so we started to pack up. dayoung then tapped your shoulder and awkwardly asked, “this might be a wild question but are you and seungcheol like a thing?”
that’s how your friendship started in a nutshell. you laughed at the idea hysterically to the point it made tears form in your eyes (you didn’t really know if it was because it was that funny or you were just coping that you guys weren’t a thing) you would have never thought that someone could think that you and seungcheol were something. apparently seungcheol’s reputation was still the same here as it was in high school, everyone knew him, and he was still woah! a flirt. well who wouldn’t be if you looked like that. you told them how he was just your sister’s best friend and left it at that, no way would you tell them about your crush on him— well at least not yet. the two knew him since they were a year older than you, meaning they’ve seen him around campus last year. since you already took the prerequisite courses last year in high school, you were able to skip them this year leading to you guys ended up in the same class.
break was nearing and so was your 19th birthday— oct 22. you didn’t really know if you were going to do anything during break. hell, you just wanted to stay in your shared apartment with jiwoo and rot in bed all week. you would have the apartment all to yourself without anyone nagging you to get up and eat, or be productive. on the other hand, your friends were thinking of going out and celebrating by doing an outing like going to a restaurant, club or something since you would finally be legal. your parents were also thinking of coming over but you insisted on them not, but you never know if they would go against that.
your plan of just staying at home all week has actually once actually gone to plan! you lay in bed watching random valorant or minecraft gameplay as you have nothing better to do at 11:50 pm on a tuesday. well, your birthday was in 10 minutes but you were too engrossed in your video to really pay attention to that. still, after 5 minutes you got bored and started to doomscroll on tiktok
* * october 22
imessage notification
seungcheol !
happy 19th birthday princess 🥳
sent 12:00 am
read
what the fuck. before you can even process it was the next day seungcheol sent you a happy birthday text right on the DOT? not even your friends, or family even sent you a message yet!
genre : flashback to high school days, light angst, fluff if you squint
content : college!au, reminiscing high school days, sister’s best friend!seungcheol, senior!seungcheol, mentions of other svt members, freshman!reader, forbidden love crush, one-sided pining, pet / nickname usage (princess), lowercase intended, reader still has lingering feelings, small age gap (~3/4 years)
wc : 1925
a/n : my first fic im uploading on here heh. pls give me any feedback and i’ll MAYBE write a pt 2 if it comes to mind! this was gonna be a mingyu au but i switched last minute 🫣🫣
“wah, i forgot how it was like going to school with you” jiwoo remarked as we reached campus
“i can’t believe we’re still going to the same school” you quickly respond back, looking out the window as you pass the cars in the almost full parking lot. a somewhat ominous feeling filled the car as jiwoo drove over the concrete, with the occasional speed bumps creating noise that echoed throughout the building.
first day of college. reminding you so much of the first day of highschool, going to school with jiwoo and seeing her with her friends that were invited to most of your parties like family birthdays, halloween, even christmas ever since you were ten.
you both get out of the car, grabbing your materials from the back and closing the trunk. thump! beep! as jiwoo locks the car, footsteps started approaching towards the car and contained a very familiar voice
“hey jiwoo! oh! and you too princess” your nickname. the nickname only your family and some others call you and it came from seungcheol. you almost forgot about him for a quick second but his voice was laced with a cheery tone, his face was scrunched up like how you remembered him to look every time he gave you that closed smile, hand up ready to receive a high-five like you were still the same 14 year old girl.
despite those parties, you havent seen jiwoo’s any friends in a while. you saw them post each other on their instas, but you haven’t actually seen them in-person ever since they graduated. they all probably just gotten more busy, including jeonghan and wonwoo, jiwoo’s other friends.
‘he still looks good’ is all that could come to mind, his hair was now shorter than before, black and somewhat spiky. you still returned his high-five like you did 4 years ago, way back when you thought you wouldn’t take the same footsteps as almost everyone jiwoo told you about.
- - -
jeonghani_yoon
awh, i miss these days 🥹
don’t fall for the seniors, princess
me
don’t worry jeonghan i won’t be a coups victim 😆
my first year in high school. barely a few minutes of posting my story and jeonghan already commented.
your response came from inside jokes— seungcheol had sort of a reputation of being a pretty ‘famous’ guy, more of a flirt. lots of people would have crushes on him from the stories jiwoo told me. people you knew and never thought would know seungcheol in the first place would end up liking him. on the other hand, some would think them two were dating, might even consider him her work husband since they were so close. but in the end of the day they were always just close friends with seungcheol being flirty with everyone as always. maybe it was the younger brother in him that wanted to seem cool
since you was always with jiwoo—after realizing how much of a mess your friend group was in—, he was also usually always there.sure you would see jeonghan and wonwoo time to time with jiwoo or seungcheol but you saw him everywhere even if jiwoo wasn’t there; he was everywhere you looked. you exchanged greetings with little waves, and high-fives, you would even be alone with him during brunch and lunch time to time, or he would stay in your classes that he had the same teacher as during his free periods to just hang out. you two didn’t talk about much, just similar interests and whatnot
he’d always tease you about how terrible skills at games you liked, dissing you saying things like “princess, how have you still not beaten the ender dragon after playing the game for 10 years?” or, “might need to start aim training to get out of low elo after 500 hours of play time, princess!” although it’s just his norm, as the year went by you started to get fluttering feelings everytime he would just do the same little gestures he’s been doing for as long as you’ve ever known him for.
seungcheol was just being seungcheol so what could you do about it? the way he would use your nickname like it was something more, buying you things like treats when he would go off campus for lunch— the little things. well yeah, maybe you were just male deprived. maybe so deprived it was even confusing developing feelings for him instead of processing it as nothing more than showing you brotherly intentions. yet, it felt like your heart insisted you falling for the guy that you were sure you wouldn’t have. your sister’s best friend. the friend that is known for acting the same with basically everyone he knows, and you’re just his best friend’s little sister. the only reason he probably did those things in the first place
he liked jiwoo when they first met in 7th grade. as the year progressed she said he was over it and yet they were still as close as ever. you never saw the spark leave his eyes, though. the way he looked at her, cared for her, it wasn’t anything ordinary. he still definitely liked her in some way more than a friend— it was undoubtable. your small, one-sided crush didn’t matter, especially when he was always there for her. even if they had falling outs, they would still find a way to get back to how they used to be.
- - -
of course you never told anyone about your crush on seungcheol. it was absurd and you thought it would wash away as time flew by, just the same as other crushes in your life came and went. who would you even tell? your sister? hell no why would i tell her i liked her best friend? your friends? they all thought jiwoo and him were dating. this crush was the somethings you had to keep to yourself not only because there was no one to tell it to, but because it was embarrassing. the whole thing just felt like a joke, a ‘why would you even like him in the first place’ type thing. you’re still in denial, and it felt right, it felt better at the fact that the crush was just so wrong it was just ridiculous.
“hey i like the new look here, cheol” jiwoo giggled snapping you out of your thoughts, while ruffling and picking at his hair
“thanks, i wanted to try something different for this school year i guess” he smiled and pushed up his glasses that who knows are prescription or not
you ended up just trailing behind the two, picking on your nails until you decided to look at your schedule. you look around trying to get a grasp at where your classes would be despite attending orientation a few days back noticing that your first class started at 9 and it was currently 8:52.
“i’ll get going now guys” you said, beginning to part ways from the duo and start walking towards the 400 building.
“i’ll go with you princess, my class is around that area too” you stop your tracks, feeling frozen in place as seungcheol says bye to jiwoo and stands next to you, waiting for you to start walking again.
“okay! see you two later!” jiwoo waves as she begins to start walking again further into the campus.
seungcheol grabbed your tote containing your laptop and some other things you thought you would need from your shoulder. he started to walk and you followed him as you made your way towards the building not knowing whether to feel awkward or somewhat comfortable as it felt right in the middle. the walk was quiet until he asks, “how have you’ve been princess?”
“as okay as i can be” you answer back, feeling your heart thump the same way it did before. you can’t be serious right now y/n.
he opened the building’s door for you as you mumbled a quick “thanks,” as you look around the map of the building trying to find your room number. the two of you walk towards that area, stopping in front of the class with one minute to spare.
“this is my class,” you tell the guy next to you as he takes your tote bag off his shoulder
“did you want me to bring you to your next class princess?” he asks while putting the bag back onto you and smoothing out the top of your shirt on your shoulders.
“i think i’ll be okay, thank you cheol” you give him a little smile as he nods and gives you an ‘okay,’ waving bye as you walk into your classroom and he walks into the hallway turning the corner to what you presume is the way to his class
you sit down in a spot that feels comfortable as you replay what happened. your thoughts get interrupted as the professor walked into the class and started his introduction allowing you to forget about what you were just thinking and focus on what was happening now.
12:55 your last class until your open period ended. your first day felt nothing but ordinary besides maybe your interactions with seungcheol. some classes started with short, little ice breakers were shared in some classes while another started lessons right away. you walk around campus for a bit, still trying to figure out where everything was. you then hear your stomach growl, you put your hand over it mumbling “perfect time to get lunch” as you made your way over to the food court where long behold,
you see him again. him smiling, his cheeks looking plump as he talks away with people you doubt ever saw before (besides your sister), but yet you could only see him.
memories flooding back into your mind, your heart feeling the same way it did before. you feel like your back in your 14 year old self, seeing seungcheol everywhere you went. you feel that nothing changed. well, your physical body changed, your style changed, it felt like everything changed before today, but now you just feel the same you did 4 years ago. it’s to the point where you feel like you miss seeing him around. yet, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re still jiwoo’s little sister and the feelings you thought were gone were long behold— still here. there’s nothing you could do to get rid of your feelings for choi seungcheol, even after not seeing him in-person ever since he graduated. it’s like he has it’s own part in your heart that makes it beat so much once you see him, once you remember he exists, once you realize he’s right in front of you.
that feeling feels like its eating and taking over your body and you don’t know what you can do to get rid of it, so you do what you’ve learned to do and turn away from him, go somewhere else. your was hunger is all of a sudden gone by the time you saw him anyways.
“what the fuck is wrong with me” you whisper to yourself as you turn around and start walking far from the food court. and instead towards your next and last class of the day even though it wasn’t going to start for another hour
maybe you can just avoid him. but that would make you a werido, and it would also be impossible since there he was with jiwoo just like how it was before.
tangentwithtanner
areudirty
dailybridgerton
stormborns
