pairing: seungmin x reader
genre: (kinda) classmates to lovers, fluff
summary: a routine shift at the luxury boutique you work at takes an unexpected turn when a familiar face walks in.
there are two kinds of people in the world: those who reach out and take what they want and those who learn early on how to earn everything inch by inch. you belonged to the latter. college had never allowed you the luxury of choice: between lectures, you worked part-time at a high-end clothing store tucked between marble storefronts and cafes that charged too much for coffee. there, most days were a test of patience. wealthy customers spoke to you as if you were a part of the decor: useful but replaceable and invisible once their purchase was complete. still, aside from the fake smiles and the held back curses, the job was quieter mercies. there were moments when you were left alone to reorganise the stockroom, surrounded by silk and satin, slipping your hands through the fabric of dresses you could never afford. moments when customers pressed folded bills into your palm, thanking you for your kindness or for finding exactly what they hadn’t known how to ask for. those moments made the rest bearable.
you had just greeted one of the most annoying customers you’d ever dealt with when the chime of the door cut through the afternoon hum.
“good morning.” the voice was calm, low, almost hesitant.
you turned, already preparing your practiced smile, then paused.
you recognised him immediately. kim seungmin had a way of being unforgettable, even when he said nothing at all. you had known him since high school. always impeccably dressed, distant and sophisticated. he was the kind of guy everyone admired from afar and no one truly knew, handsome in a way that felt unfair.
the only times you had talked to him had turned into a mental reminder to never do it again, his coldness wounding you like a knife being pulled out of your chest.
then, you had seen him in college corridors, confidently walking as if the hallway were a runway. you laughed with your friends every time he walked by, masking the lingering ache of a crush that refused to die.
“morning,sir,” you murmured, bowing your head to focus on a row of leather clutches.
that wasn’t the first time you’d seen him in there, he was an habitual customer, always picking up the most expensive clothes - the exact same ones you would see him wear at college days later.
you prayed he would browse in silence like he always did, but his footsteps trailed yours.
“i need a dress,” he said “to gift.”
his hands were buried deep in his overcoat pockets, his expression unreadable as usual.
you nodded, slipping again into your role and gestured toward the fitting room area. “this way, please.”
he trailed behind you, a shadow of expensive cologne and heavy silence. as you hovered through the racks you could feel the weight of his gaze on the back of your neck, heavy and observant, and every time you caught his reflection in the mirrors that lined the walls he was looking everywhere but at the clothes.
“what kind of style are you looking for?” you asked, your finger dancing nervously over delicate lace.
“something…elegant,” he replied vaguely.
you began pulling options, laying them across a wide glass table and reciting their descriptions as if they were a script you knew by heart. seungmin was surprisingly attentive, his brow furrowing as he countered your suggestions.
you pulled a classic black slip dress, the silk so heavy it felt like water. “this is a staple, timeless and very elegant.”
he stepped closer, his scent filled your senses. he reached out, his long fingers brushed the fabric near where your hand rested.
“too simple,” he said, voice flat. “i don’t think simple would suit her.” he added, his voice lowered as if he was saying this to himself.
your heart gave a little thud, of course there was a she. you hummed, nodding as you hung the dress back where it was.
“i see. something with more character, then?” you pulled a red gown with a thigh-high slit.
he instantly shook his head.
you sighed, cursing yourself mentally for even trying. what even was he looking for? what was the occasion? and most importantly, who was he buying the dress for?
curiosity was eating you alive, not that knowing who the girl was would’ve changed anything, but the doubt hovered in your mind as you tried to find a different option to show him.
“you must have an idea of her measurement, sir?” you asked, trying to remain professional while your irritation simmered uncontrolled. “or perhaps her personality? it would help if i knew who i’m dressing.”
seungmin looked at you, his dark eyes directly pointing at yours with an intensity that made you want to hide. there was something extremely intimidating about him, you couldn’t tell exactly what it was but your legs felt like jelly every time he looked at you.
“or the occasion.” you quickly added, given his hesitation in answering your specific questions.
“a gala,” he said. “university.”
that narrowed things considerably.
“floor length, then. or at least tea-length. is she comfortable standing out?”
he considered that for a moment. “she doesn’t try to,” he said. “but it happens anyway.”
for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like to be that effortless, to be seen without asking. you pulled a deep emerald gown with an open back.
“this one has a clean silhouette. it photographs beautifully under warm lighting.”
he barely glanced at it. “no.”
you slid it back into place with a small sigh and moved on, selecting a light pink satin dress with delicate draping on the waist. “what about this? soft, it moves when you walk.”
he stepped close enough for you to feel his heat, he pinched the fabric between his fingers, rubbing it once.
“she’d hate this,” he stated. “it wrinkles if you sit down too long.”
that surprised a soft laugh out of you before you could stop it. you couldn’t disagree, though. you wouldn’t have chosen it either.
it struck you then how closely he must have watched her, how deeply he must have paid attention to small discomforts. you pulled a midnight blue gown with a high neckline and beading along the cuffs.
“this is more reserved. very…academic.”
he studied it longer, then spoke flatly again. “it looks like something someone wears when they’re trying to disappear.”
you rolled your eyes as another sigh escaped your lips.
“you’re very discerning for someone who doesn’t care.” words slipped out without you noticing, you hoped he didn’t hear you but his gaze was already burning your skin.
“i care.” his tone was firm and deliberate, as if he was trying to convince you.
you exhaled slowly and reached for something bolder: a wine-red dress with structured shoulder and a dramatic slit. “this?”
his jaw tightened almost immediately. “too aggressive.”
“it’s a slit, not a weapon.” you bit back another laugh, irritation tangling in your chest. your patience was almost gone, you held your words back for the sake of the shop, you couldn’t let such a client slip away.
“alright, then. no satin, no silk that wrinkles, no loud colors, nothing aggressive, nothing that blends..” you repeated as to remind yourself to not make the same mistake twice, he tilted his head.
you wished, absurdly, that someone would catalogue you like that. that someone would notice what overwhelmed you or what you liked without saying it out loud. you wondered how that would feel, especially from someone who didn’t seem to care about anything at all.
you turned towards him. “help me, then. how tall is she?”
“about your height, i think.” he said, his eyes now fully on you.
“what is she like?” you asked, already turned towards the hung dresses, looking for one that could suit her.
silence lingered for a moment, as if you’d asked the wrong question.
“she’s stubborn,” he said at last.
“in that case…perhaps something unique.”
your hands stilled for a second, then you turned as if a lightbulb had just appeared on top of your head.
“there’s one more option!” you smiled, more to yourself for the pride of finally remembering the placement of every specific piece correctly. “but it’s not in this room.”
you rushed to a nearby room and he followed quickly. silence stretched between you both, the lighting dimmed and the noise of the store faded into a distant hum. elevated slightly on a pedestal was a long, shiny golden dress. the one you had spent multiple lunch breaks staring at, the kind of dress that looks straight out of a fairytale.
even seungmin stopped breathing. the dress shimmered faintly as if lit from within, soft fabric shined as if it was ready to turn whoever wore it into a literal star, the embroidery catching light in tiny deliberate flashes.
you stepped closer without even thinking and your fingers brushed the sleeve gently. for a second you even forgot seungmin was still there, you stared at the way the light caught the thread, imagining the weight of it, or how it would’ve swirled around someone’s ankle. that dress had always been your favourite, it couldn’t compare to any other piece in the store, its beauty was unmatched. you realised too late how long you’d been staring when seungmin’s voice broke the silence, bringing you back to reality. “this one.” he said simply.
you startled, pulling your hand back a if it burned. “sir, this is an archive piece. it’s one of a kind. the price alone-“
“doesn’t matter.” he interrupted you, his hands still in the pockets of his coat as if he was buying a simple drink.
“it will fit.” he said, voice steady and certain.
you looked at him then, really looked, and saw something unfamiliar beneath his usual composure - a faint smile appeared on his lips and you thought you were hallucinating for a second.
“yes,” you said nodding. “it will.”
you couldn’t believe you were finally selling that one piece. the one every shop assistant had always tried to sell and no one ever dared to buy. words escaped your mouth uncontrollably, flooding the room as you ranted about how expensive it was. instead of someone meant to sell the piece you looked more like someone who was trying to gatekeep it. and you probably were at some point.
“really, sir. this piece is not just expensive, it’s archival. if its damaged or altered there is no replacement. i would strongly recommend thinking-“
“i know.” his interruption was gentle, unhurried.
you followed him to the counter, the inevitability of the moment pressing down on you with each step. he didn’t rush you. that, somehow, made it worse.
“we do have replicas,” you said, fingers tightening around the edge of the marble. “custom ones. same cut, same silhouette. most clients prefer something they don’t have to be afraid of.”
he looked at you then, not coldly, but with attention.
“i’m not looking for something similar.”
the register chimed as you pulled up the inventory. the number bloomed on the screen, obscene in its clarity. you swallowed.
“this could pay for a semester. maybe more.”
he didn’t respond. of course he didn’t. to him, money had never been something you measured in hours or exhaustion. it was just…there.
you exhaled, defeated. “all right.”
your hands moved on instinct - tissue paper, folds crisp and reverent, ribbon drawn tight. you had wrapped hundreds of purchases before, but never like that. never with the dull ache sitting low in your chest, never with the sense that you were sealing away something you didn’t want to let go of.
maybe your crush had never faded at all. maybe it had simply learned how to stay quiet. you had liked him for years in the quiet, humiliating way, through observation and through accepting that some people were just meant to be admired and not approached. and there he was, beautiful as ever, standing across from you, spending an amount of money you couldn’t even process for another girl.
the lid closed with a soft finality. he paid without ceremony.
“there,” you said, sliding the package across the counter toward him. “your purchase.”
he nodded absently, tucking his wallet away as he turned toward the exit. it took you a second to realise the box was still on the counter, untouched.
“sir,” you called, the word automatic despite everything. “i’ll have someone carry-“
you blinked. “i’m sorry?”
he turned back slowly, posture composed, face carefully arranged into something unreadable. then he reached out, not to you, but to the box, rotating it with quiet precision so that it faced you instead.
your heartbeat thundered.
“you looked at it,” he said, voice lower now. “like you were afraid to want it.”
your fingers curled into your palms.
“and i realised,” he continued, finally meeting your eyes, “that it was never meant to leave this store with anyone else.”
warmth crept up your neck, your chest tight and unsteady.
“seungmin,” you whispered. “i can’t accept this. it’s too much.”
he exhaled, something like frustration flickering across his features, controlled, as if it surprised him too.
“you’re thinking too hard,” he said. then, more carefully, “you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to.”
that made you frown, was even there another girl?
“the gala,” he said. “we could go together, you could wear it there.” his tone was calm but you didn’t answer.
“or if you don’t want to go we can have dinner together. somewhere quieter, since you don’t like crowds.” he explained. you gasped silently, how did he know?
“at uni,” he said, “you usually sit near the aisle. you avoid the centre rows… and you don’t like being asked questions.” his eyes flicked to you once, then away. “i noticed.”
“you always arrive early,” he went on, as if reading from memory. “and leave before anyone can speak to you. i tried once,” a small laugh escaped him. “but you were already packing. i assumed you didn’t want to be interrupted.”
your pulse thrummed painfully, you had never thought he was such an observer. yet, he seemed to have captured you perfectly, probably in a way no one ever had.
“i approached you,” he added. “you didn’t realise. then you were already gone.”
silence stretched. you had never noticed. never, not a single time. you thought you had him all figured out but you were completely wrong.
“i don’t chase people, and you never gave the impression you wanted to be caught.” a faint smile appeared on his lips, just for a few seconds.
“so,” he resumed, voice returning to its earlier neutrality, “the gala.”
then, as if revising the offer for your comfort, “or dinner.”
“we can leave early,” he said. “we can sit somewhere quiet.”
he stepped back, composure sealing itself shut again.
“be ready by eight,” he said. “if you decide to go.”
his hand rested on the door. he hesitated, then added “if you don’t, you know how to reach me.”
the bell rang softly as he left.
you stood unmoving, the box warm beneath your palms, his words replaying with unsettling clarity.
he hadn’t admired you loudly.
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