MERAKI (v., Greek). "to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself in your work."
Summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.
➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader
➳ rating: 18+
➳ genre: e2l, grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader; fluff, smut
➳ warnings: bickering, bantering, jk is a bit rude at the beginning, flirting, tension, oc is bold and courageous, mention of someone being stoned, mention of insomnia, jk's lip rings <3, heights, not exactly e2l but more like "i find you pretty annoying" to lovers lmao, deep talks and sweet moments, one bed trope, guest appearance, jk takes pictures of pretty things, stars and sky talk <3, explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, implied pain kink? lol, fingering, manhandling, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, 69, spitting, one or two spanks, bit of choking, soft and hard sex, unprotected sex (oc has an iud), soft dom!jk but also glimpses of sub!jk, ofc biiiig dick!jk, doggy/riding/missionary, praises, more flirting, jk's godly body, masturbation, cum swallowing (he comes in her mouth); the lovely ending <3
➳ word count: 26.6k <3
➳ a/n: you guys built this fic!! 🥺 hopefully this is what we expected it to be. it's also yet another love letter to one of the gentlest men i know; happy birthday, jeon jungkook, you're the standard and i will never fall out of love with you 💕 i hope y'all enjoy it!! come and talk to me when you're done mwah <3
TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs
1:04AM, Her
There’s a word for how you do what you do.
A term you hold dearly in the crevices of your bright heart. Ever since you first learned its meaning two decades ago, you’ve made it your primary goal to breathe through life with it as your philosophy.
Passion, it is. A word certainly common in conversation and daily life — you’re not the only person to live by it. Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to wallow in it.
Because there’s a fire behind your hard-working chest, lit up, pride residing next to it. It’s where you feel the most vivid light when you do what you love, blooming and blossoming. There are synonyms of it you know, and each of them are pretty as a growing garden.
You gatekeep them for now; haven’t yet found a person to share your knowledge with. Which is okay; in the meantime, you’ll keep looking. You do think everybody needs something like this in their lives.
Something that forces your body upright, sprinkling fairy dust and glimmer into your eyes. Something you can resort to in order to escape the trials of life.
For you, as odd it may seem to people, it’s your job.
You usually work late like today, surrounded by sounds and disquiet. But you enjoy it. You like stepping into the night afterwards, and you like the dark blanket above, the starlight sprinkled across the comforting blackness.
And you like it when it drizzles sometimes. The giggles of couples or groups of friends as they wade through the rain. The absolute quiet and relieving serenity.
You live for this. You enjoy people. You enjoy sensing life around you.
Tonight isn’t different. Even when you find yourself hastening by the end, wrapping up the event with a dozen chores to tackle; even when the host rushes to you, asking for help. Your shoes click-clack across the floor as you move left and right, up and down.
But by God, you never doubt these days’ worth.
1:04AM, Him
Sometimes, people don’t want to be photographed.
Jungkook learned that early on when he agreed to be a photographer at events. He’s encouraged and urged to ask people to pose; that’s his job. Waiting for them to force a smile before they can resume eating, debone their fish or work on their lobsters, beef, veggies.
They long to return to whatever they were doing, or to their conversations, mostly insignificant ones; Jungkook knows because he, involuntarily, hears too many of them.
It’s only when they’re dancing or drinking that they open up. That’s when they’re okay with listening to him, obedient, almost as if he’s authority, staring into the lens with flushed cheeks and wide grins.
Though it’s irritating when every other person walks up to him afterwards, inquiring when they’d be receiving the photos, or, even ruder, if at all.
Today, there are a few more comfortable people around. Not as harsh, not as grim as he feels. You’re here, too, somewhere; of course you are — you got him here in the first place. Somehow, your paths often cross. You were ready for a picture immediately, drawn in by the host, smiling.
He perceived your presence just for a second, though. Doesn’t need or want any more than that. You’re too loud, too energetic anyway; he’s rather among himself, not in any photo, indulging in the job.
He loves clicking through his camera roll; it’s the people that tire him out. Working his way through the pictures he took once home gives him joy, though. Makes his fatigue feel worth it.
But God, you’re not the only one, right? So many people here are the same amount of enthusiastic, party people to the core.
Which is why he’s happy when the night finally concludes, and he, far after midnight, stuffs his equipment back into his bag and slips into his at least somewhat chic blazer.
1:12AM, Her
You groan as your hand dives into your bag, fishing out the key that you already removed from your keychain an hour ago. Back when the man facing you approached you; he’s the last face you see when you step out of the somewhat stuffy hall.
Or so you think.
You don’t know that the night is far from over when you linger at the entrance, handing him a key that he encloses in his grip with a grateful nod and a goodbye-wave. The final interaction when you excuse yourself, breathing in the night.
It’s a hunch cooler than when you left home today; yet, the breeze feels pleasant caressing your skin. The end of August is still warm, still fairly far from fall; you regard summer nights as the best part of the season.
Sighing, you come to a halt in the middle of the pavement, studying the alley. You ponder until you remember a bus not too far from here; you need to turn left, right? Should be there. You have never been around here before, so you’re not entirely sure.
But you’ll just go with your first instinct for now. Keep walking until you detect any kind of a promising sign. You hold onto your roomy bag as you pass the rare people still around.
Some of them are faces you recognise from the party; some are strangers. One couple you spoke to just earlier even lifts a thumbs up for you, praising you for the exceptional organisation. They make you feel at ease until the road quietens.
And the place stays serene and silent until you hear the clearing of somebody’s throat. It’s not near; yet not far. Your eyes scan the area, not for long when they recognise a figure sitting on the opposite side of the narrow street.
It’s a man, clutching a heavy object with careful hands. A camera, you know it immediately. He’s hunting through the pictures he took, face slightly lit by the screen. Jutting lower lip, slowly blinking eyes.
Simple attire — dark jeans, a white shirt, and a blazer on top that hides the wide shoulders.
Constantly and undeniably handsome, albeit always grim due to the lack of a smile.
You squint to confirm it’s him you’re seeing; but when he smacks his lips in the dark of the night, nibbling at the shiny lip rings, you know you’re right. This is a habit you’ve never seen on anybody this persistently as on Jeon Jungkook.
And the one and only Jeon Jungkook must be feeling your eyes on him, because only a second later, he lifts his gaze. Instinctively, you wave a little, but Jungkook isn’t on board with your hospitality. He rolls his eyes; you don’t take it to heart, though. You’re used to this.
As he starts stuffing the camera back into his bag, you waddle over, crossing the street. Upon reaching him, you ask, “Got some good pictures tonight?”
“I’d guess so.”
His voice is as nonchalant as always, his shoulders relaxed, uncaring. To your vampire-novel-reading middle school self, he would’ve been the coolest and most mysterious riddle, waiting to be cracked. But you know how he feels about you, and that makes the situation just a little less intriguing.
Yet, you never stopped approaching him, because aside from conversations like these, you know he’s just human, too. He smiles at events whenever he gets the chance, content with the moments he captures; he likes what he does.
Photography has always been his thing; or that’s what you gathered, at least. You see the same sparkle in his eyes that you feel in yours when you work; the same joy when he fumbles with his camera, always checking, presumably changing the settings, testing it out.
You lean in a little, wondering, “Can I see?”
“Uhm…” He hesitates, lifting the strap of the camera bag higher up his shoulder. “Do you have to?”
“If I may. I brought you here, remember?”
Of course. It’s always you; you’re the one to organise this, and you’ve seen his pieces and albums before. He might not hang around you too much, always the first to tell you he has somewhere else to be, but you know he’s good. You trust him in this regard.
“You say that every time,” he argues, a tattooed hand settling on his bag, clearly reluctant.
So you click your tongue, waving your suggestion off. You try to sound as lively as ever, but your voice is more earnest as you say, “Okay, it’s fine. Don’t show me the pictures, but come on. Be a bit nice at least.
“Alright. What else? Do you need something?”
You sigh in defeat. “No. I was just going home.”
“You should go home. It’s pretty late.”
“Aren’t you going, too?”
“I am,” he responds, his voice going up at the end. “I just wanted a bit of peace before leaving.”
“Peace,” you repeat, as if trying out the word. “You can’t get it at home?”
Jungkook doesn’t answer this time. Instead, he only shifts his stare from you to the empty road ahead, exhaling a dramatically long breath before he gets into motion. You immediately react, by his side until he asks, “Are you following me?”
“Huh? Did you forget that I was literally heading this way?” He’s distracted, looking for the street signs, and you laugh at his own confusion. “Do you even know where you’re going?”
“I guess so.”
Okay, at least he’s honest, not giving himself airs. You want to see what his inner compass suggests, but then somewhat shun the thought of walking further into unknown terrain.
So you question, “You taking the bus?”
“Nope. Subway.”
“Ah. That should be this way, then,” you nod towards the direction you’re approaching, “I know the bus is, because that’s where I need to go.”
“…Are you sure?”
“Yep.”
That’s it. He doesn’t respond much; only lets out the millionth sigh, following you with something you might nearly call trust. He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other kind of interaction, so you let him sink into his thoughts.
But a beat of silence later, you still ask politely, “How did you like the party?”
“Uhhh, it was okay.” For the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “The people were weird, don’t you think? But I got some good shots in.”
“Hmm… okay. I didn’t notice anything weird about the people.” You shrug your shoulders. “Talking about shots… did you drink a little?”
He whines your name as the question is a tale as old as time, complaining, “Every single time? Why is this so important to you…” He waits, shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Seems you did, though.”
“A little,” you say, bringing your forefinger and thumb together, indicating a tiny space. “But I’m all sober and well.” Another brief pause. “Are you okay, too?”
He licks his lower lip, dimples appearing that don’t ever need a smile to emerge. Then, he throws back, “Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Dunno. You always look so bored at parties. And you always go home alone.”
You don’t know if the following laugh is sarcastic or not, but you soon discover the very answer when he lifts a finger and counts, “First off, how would you know?” Another finger added to the mix. “Secondly, I’m not bored. I’m just focused. And I don’t know anybody there.”
His hand drops again, working on his bag’s strap again. Pushing it over his shoulder. He adds, “It’s a bit different for me than for you because they’re literally your clients and you know them at least a little.”
“I mean… you know me.”
“Yeah, but you’re…” He regards you from head to toe, not the softest of expressions, and you pout. You don’t ever take him seriously, but he can be hurtful sometimes. “I just don’t think we’d be good conversation partners.”
“Weird,” you challenge, “because you’re conversing with me right now, no problem. It’s also not my fault you always argue with me at every event.”
“I don’t. You approach me.”
“You do.” You lean your face closer to his, not making it very far when his palm pushes your cheek, and you, away from him. “Ugh. Okay. Seriously, though — why do you always leave alone?”
He exhales in defeat. Seems that Jeon Jungkook is too tired to take your idiocy tonight. You understand, but you’re just trying to figure out how to convince him that you’re normal, too. That he just dislikes you because you’re different from him, and nothing else.
“Hey…” he utters, out of energy.
“I mean it,” you still declare, “there are so many sweet and nice girls around. They ask about you sometimes, you know? I’ve also met many men on such pa—”
“That’s great,” he interrupts, a palm stopping you from spilling more info, “but… I don’t think I’m interested.”
“Oh.” The syllable is short, cut, harmless. That is, until it clicks in your brain, and your eyes widen, lips parting as you turn to him in shock, stating, “Oh, wait. Do you… play for the other team?”
Jungkook blinks at you. Then lowers his gaze, turning it a couple shades darker, staring at you from under his eyelids. He looks annoyed when he spits, “No, I’m not gay. And even if I was, it’d be none of your business.”
Shit.
Okay, you were sure about your assumption, but now that it turned out wrong, this sounds pretty shitty. And annoying. And awkward.
“Sorry,” you apologise, and he gives you a taunting head tilt. “Okay… different topic then? Tell me, what do you think of this dress?” You lift the hem a little, smiling; you were convinced the moment you first saw it. “Do you think I look pretty today?”
For a second, he joins; his initial gaze is still cynical, but his voice is appealing, a whisper when he leans in and asks, “Why? Do you want to be the one I go home with?”
Ah… why do the words, the way he speaks them, tickle you just right? You’re flabbergasted, seeing your reaction on the bare skin of your arms, but all he does is back away again and once again, shake his head.
You want to retort something snarky back, but you don’t get to it when he inquires a moment later again, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”
Right… you need to go home. You forgot.
“Uh… yeah.” You look around, finally detecting a sign, picturing a bus and a number. “There’s the bus, so the subway should be…” You stop; hum; then see two women waiting at the bus stop. “Should we ask someone?”
“Sure.”
With a nod, you separate from him, walking towards the bus station bench they’re sitting on, hands folded, conversing quietly. They’re surprised when they see a figure advance, but relax when they catch your smile.
You ask the questions floating in your brain, trying to explain where you live, what you need. They attempt an answer, gesture around, and barely a minute later, you’re thanking them and leaving again.
Jungkook stands there in anticipation, waiting for you to deliver good news — yet confused when you return with slumped shoulders instead of an enthusiastic, “We were right! Come!”
Okay, there aren’t too many reasons for Jungkook to dislike you; you want to say this much. But when you see him understand that this is going nowhere, you do get his frustration.
Especially as you kiss your lips, staring at him like a lost bunny, and explain, “So… the subway isn’t here.” Big eyes meet yours. “I’m not sure where it is, and they,” your thumb points to the girls behind you, “couldn’t help because they’re tourists.”
“Ah. Great,” he says, delivering a falsely cheerful smile. Hands thrown into the air. “So we’re stranded and should definitely not be here. What about the bus? Where does it go?”
“Uhm…” You scratch your head. “Not where I need to go. It’s a different one. But!” Immediately, your voice rises, trying to approach this with hope. It’s not the end of the world, after all! “Don’t worry! We’ll get home either way.”
“Just a lot later than necessary.”
“But nothing’s lost yet. Don’t you trust me?”
And — much as you thought — Jungkook only ogles back in silence, blinking once again before he walks away with a curse on his lips.
1:25AM, Her
You catch up to him fast.
“It’s not that big of a deal, I promise!” you vow, but you reckon it only makes matters worse.
Because he breathes air through his nose, like a bull, arguing, “I’m tired, though. This is wasting so much of my time. You always do.”
You stop in your tracks. He doesn’t. You sulk, “That was mean.”
“And you’re idiotic.”
“Well… shit.”
This time you tilt your head, grinding your teeth; less out of anger, more out of embarrassment. You don’t respond much else, and he doesn’t throw another insult. Instead, he opens the bag again with the velcro’s ripping sound, heaving out his SLR.
You peek over his shoulder, confused about the timing to indulge in a passion, and ask, “What are you doing with that?”
“Looking through them,” he mutters, thumb working on the switching button, “maybe I took a picture when I came here. A sign where to find the subway.”
His reasoning elicits a sudden laugh out of you, probably unfounded to him, but very amusing to you. He throws a bewildered and somewhat warning look, and you immediately silence; still holding yourself back when he turns away again.
You wait, listen to the quiet of the night. He doesn’t seem to find any success, and the more time passes, the funnier you find his mind. Eventually, you step next to him and give up, telling him, “Hey. Don't be so tetchy. I'm not that bad.”
Jungkook side-eyes you, tapping the screen of the heavy Sony A9 Alpha. Inhaling the pleasant late summer air, he defends, “I'm never tetchy! But you got us lost.”
“So? You’re being dramatic. There's still Google Maps.”
That’s it. This look of his.
Jungkook must’ve gotten stuck in a decade you’ve long left, because he stares at you dumbfounded, camera still firmly in his hands. He tongues his cheek, blinks.
And then, you mock, “Guess I’m not the only idiot here, right?”
His next breath is deep, and he soon averts your eyes again. You dig, “What? If anything, then low battery might be your only excuse, you know?”
He doesn’t look at you, and you break into a grin again. Shake your head. Then fish out your phone at last, ready to type in the goal, or at least, to search the nearest subway and bus that fit your demands.
Hmmm, okay. If you need to go where you think you need to go, then the subway will really be in immediate distance to the bus. So you’ll be heading in the same direction anyway.
You open your mouth to ask for his address, prepared to type it in — but as you look at him again, you detect a deeply focused Jungkook, pursing his lips at his camera and regarding it with glitter in his eyes. You see it even from here, the sparkle.
Maybe he’s waiting for you to deliver a conclusion, because you catch him moving through older pictures in the meantime. From here, you only see glimpses. Of forests and roads, and then of waterfalls. Even some of him and his friends.
He doesn’t notice it, but his eyebrows are much more relaxed now, expression not quite as steely anymore; and his lips even twitch for a tiny second, tempted to smile. As if he forgot where he’s currently standing.
You let your arms sink, both hands holding your phone, and just gaze for a while. Then move your eyes to the side. To the sky. Remember places you’ve seen and loved in this town. Still hear his harsh tone echoing in your ears.
In hindsight, you really don’t think you've ever personally hurt or offended him. He might’ve been annoyed by something else. Perhaps he was dealing with something that he never dared to speak about; or perhaps, his perception of optimism is warped, because he clearly doesn’t wade through life with it.
You’d like to see his real self, though. The real self, because your gut feeling whispers to you that this isn’t him. Maybe there’s a kind and kindred soul hidden somewhere; maybe his smile proves far more intriguing to you than these mysterious moods of his. Once it appears, that is.
But…
He’ll probably say no. Your idea isn’t dumb, you’re certain, but he very likely will not go with it. But you want to try. Want to show him that you’re not as bad, that he can trust you; want to know what burdens him; or why he talks to you like this.
You might be the only one to wish for more time with somebody who wants to avoid you like the plague.
Yet…
You don’t want this to end just yet.
So you drop a suggestion that surprise even you—
“…You know what? Let’s try something fun tonight.”
“Excuse me?”
He voices it with his attention only half on you, not quite taking you seriously; so you swallow to dampen your throat and speak firmer, suggesting, “You need to trust me on this, though.”
This time, he does look at you. Works on stuffing his camera back into his bag, opening his mouth to retort something, but you stop him with a shushing finger that he doesn’t look too happy about.
“Hold on, okay?” you exclaim. “Listen. Are you busy tomorrow?”
“Uh… not until the afternoon.”
“So you can sleep in.”
“I guess.”
You clap once, loudly and dramatically, watching the man in front of you flinch. You can’t say if he’s irritated, shocked or terrified of you. But he looks hilarious like this, blinking, scowling as his fingers clutch his bag tighter.
“What is it?” he asks as if you’ve lost your mind.
“Look. Let’s not leave yet. Fuck Google Maps,” you suggest, and his eyes grow wider by the second, baffled, as if you’re caging him. “Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again. Isn’t this tempting?”
In your head, it is. Not for yourself, but for him. In your mind, he thinks of you as a constant nuisance that stands in his way, hopping around like an overhyped puppy.
Or not. Maybe he has a dog at home; maybe he regards you as worse than cute puppies.
Whatever.
You look at him expectantly, like your persisting stare could help him land a decision. Instead, however, he grimaces, his voice higher when he asks, “What even are you sa—”
No, you won’t give up yet; even if the recurring interruptions make him tear his hair out. You click your tongue and then argue, “Come on! Give it a try.”
Hesitation. Or rather, a question wondering if you’re crazy. Clear rejection. Are you losing?
“We’d be together, so nothing to fear,” you try further, “and how much time is there till sunrise?” You glance at your watch. “It’s barely half past one. The sun comes up in less than five hours. And like, I know it sounds like a lot, but if you give me some time, I’ll give you reasons to smile.”
He keeps looking at you in this questioning, are-you-fully-mad-manner, but you’re absolutely serious and you need him to know. You bat your eyelashes a little, offering your best laugh, and add, “Like this? If you really want to hate me after that, then okay. If not, then… maybe we could go get coffee someday.”
You’ve spoken enough. He raises a hand, quieting you down, and then finally says it.
“You must be crazy.”
“I am,” you confirm.
“You think I’d do this, huh?”
“…Maaaybe?”
“No.”
Jungkook’s answer is stone cold and direct, and it shuts you up with a near-wince. There’s a faint line between his thick eyebrows, lips pressed together; he looks dangerous and very, very mean.
So you don’t say much for another minute, following when he walks away. You side-eye him, notice him type his destination into his phone. Surrendering, you trudge the path he chooses, soon detecting signs leading to the subway.
He can’t say anything to your presence by his side. Even if his answer remains a steadfast, boring no, you’ll have to go in this direction anyway.
More than halfway through, you venture into a conversation again, “Have you ever tried anything like this before?”
“What? The nonsense you suggested?” he asks, and you nod, catching up with his long legs, slightly slower with your heels. “No. I don’t think I need to.”
“You’re so… don’t you ever try anything new?”
“I mean, is this your definition of something new?” He gestures at your surroundings haphazardly. “Going through town in the middle of the night instead of getting some decent sleep?”
You shrug your shoulders, defending, “It’s not like I do it every day. And nothing one can do every day anyway. That's why I want you to try it.” Your voice is soft, friendly. “But you don’t have to.”
He doesn’t answer; only comes to a halt when a bus stop nears, peeking up to the sign with the number before he asks, “That yours?” You hum in confirmation. “Okay. Will you get home well? It’s late.”
“Yeah, of course,” you pout, kicking off a tiny stone with your shoe, “done it a few times.”
He stalls. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does. You notice it in his slow movements, the brief pause, the way he looks to the subway he needs to approach and then back to you. You smile when his eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and then he tilts his head, sighs.
“Alright. Then… good night.”
And that’s it.
You tell him to sleep well in return, earning a tiny nod, and then he’s leaving you stranded, walking away. Your eyes stay on him until he’s out of sight, down the escalator to the subway and far, far away from the fun idea you conjured.
You mimic his sigh. Take the two or three steps to the bench under the bus stop; and then you wait.
At this time, public transport operates irregularly, so you’re not surprised when you’re still there minutes later. For a while, you remain alone — that is, until a stranger tumbles to you, swaying before he takes a seat on the other edge of the bench.
You don’t look at him; don’t want his attention on you. But to your discomfort, he garbles just a second later, “This the bus to…”
He gets a hiccup, pointing to the bus sign, and then mumbles the name of the station he needs to reach. You don’t understand, however, so you prod, “What?”
Slower now yet similarly slurred, he repeats his question, but this time, you understand and nod your head yes. He overshares, “It’s just that I’m drunk, so I need to be sure. Sorry for interrupting.”
Suddenly, you feel kind of sorry for him. Your shoulders relax; you observe him letting his arms dangle between his legs, sniffling, incredibly exhausted, it seems. What did the fella experience tonight?
You respond, “It’s okay. It’s really late. Get home well.”
“Thanks. You’re very nice.”
The same finger previously signalling to the sign now points at you; but he doesn’t touch you. In fact, his digits are still a good distance away, already falling when you feel a hand on your elbow out of the blue; you nearly react on intuition, getting into position to break somebody’s nose.
But when your eyes meet the other man’s, you recognise him as the same figure standing tall that abandoned you a couple minutes ago. His hand is still grasping the camera bag strap, and he looks calm, confident when he speaks—
“All good? Sorry, I left for too long, right? Let’s go.”
Your voice changes, a chuckle hidden in it when you blurt, “What?”
“You wanted to take a walk.”
And just like that, the snicker dies again. Is he being serious? It seems so; it’s the whole package, even. The nod towards an entirely different direction and the sudden fingers around your wrist, pulling you away.
“Uhm…” you start, feet moving automatically. You turn to the guy drowning in inebriation, leaving a last, “Good luck!” as you wave, smile. Then, to Jungkook, “I thought you went away. Did you want to do this after all?”
You’re cocking an eyebrow, but much at the back of Jungkook’s head, so he doesn’t see. But it seems he hears the tease in your voice, because half-annoyed, half-argumentative, he explains, “No. Just wanted to be a gentleman. I was going to leave the moment you got on the bus.”
Ah. So he was waiting, hiding somewhere? But you don’t mention it; it’d probably just rile him up more.
Yet, you challenge, “You’re lying. You were concerned and you thought my idea was fun after all.”
“Whatever you say,” he says, waving the white flag, probably just to shut you up, “don’t know if I can do this until sunrise, but I can walk with you for a bit. Get you closer to home. And I swear!”
Now he turns, shooting a stare at you over his shoulders, lightning bolts in the middle of his pupils, “If you’re lying and there’s literally nothing special on our way, I’m actually never talking to you again.”
Nothing easier than that.
“Deal!”
“Cool,” he so nonchalantly remarks, finally letting go of your arm, “which way are you heading then?”
“North-east.”
“Good. Works for me.”
The sun is nowhere near up yet; of course not. It’s 1:37AM. Around four and a half hours.
You’re hopeful. In your head, you imagine an uplifted demeanour in no time; try to guess what his smile might look like. A genuine one. Maybe sweet? Maybe cocky? You’ll find out. You will.
So you straighten your stance, clear your throat, sigh a content breath, and step into the night with the courage the stars lend you.
2:13AM, Her
The first almost forty minutes of your night pass leisurely.
Jungkook’s initial sighs cease soon as you advance into the town, walking down a busy main street. You guess the bustling area, the sounds of the traffic and the lights of the flashing cars relieve him somehow. Give him an excuse to not talk to you.
But as the occupied road ends and you reach and pass a crowded square, you’re back in calm and serene alleys. Some people are still wandering around, passing closed shops, much like you.
You attempt conversation every now and then, and Jungkook, having eventually realised that he needs to cooperate with you — he agreed to your idea after all — isn’t as mad anymore.
At some point, he breathes in the late summer breeze, and your head swerves into his direction immediately — maybe the magic of the night has finally reached his core, too. Perhaps he’s appreciating the journey you set out to embark on.
You, for one, cherish the quiet; you know at least this much. The alley must be part of the older corner of the town because the lampposts seem Victorian. They’re fancy, bent at the top, the light a comforting golden.
You do admire the beauty in the dead of night, you do — but the weirdly bruising feeling on your skin becomes uncomfortably apparent the more you walk. Your heels and the Achilles tendons ache, the ball of your feet sensitive to each step.
For a while, you hide the stupid pain successfully, not wanting the night to end; and you do love the heels. Feel just the way those old romcom’s protagonists probably felt, strutting through town with a man whose life they’d change.
But as an involuntary groan slips out of you, Jungkook’s view changes from the old buildings to your struggling self. His eyes settle on your contorted expression before they move further down to your sudden limp.
He asks, “You good?”
“Yeah, yeah! Just been walking for a while, is all.”
“Hmm,” he hums, regarding your heels with a suspicious look. “Do they hurt?”
“Nah. I’m used to them.”
“…Oookay.”
He drags the word, as if in disbelief; and you can’t lie your way through the minutes when the ache worsens, the suddenly paved path too much of a chore. You nearly trip when your heel gets caught between the stones.
Jungkook immediately reacts when you hiss; you’re nowhere near actually falling, but his arms still reflexively jolt, the camera bag swaying and hitting your hand when he catches your shoulders.
“Okay, seriously,” he spits, eyes wide, “that’s enough. You can’t walk in these.”
“I can!”
“Not!” He takes a look around, inspecting the place; it’s quiet here, not too many cars driving by at all. So he points to the edge of the pedestrian zone, instructing, “Sit down there. Let’s see.”
See what?
You blink, but oblige. His pointing finger is dominant, and his eyes urging; you flatten your dress, taking a seat at the edge. The road isn’t high, so it’s a little uncomfortable; but you’re pleasantly surprised when he appears in front of you, crouching.
Very, very baffled when he requests, “Can you take them off?”
“Sure,” you say, unbuckling the straps around your ankles before removing the shoes. You sigh; you must admit, it does feel great. “I’m honestly okay, though.”
Jungkook doesn’t respond, ignores your statement; instead, asks, “May I?”
You don’t understand what he means until his hands come to a float right over your toes; he wants to check for bruises, doesn’t he? You nod curtly; something about this warms your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this side of him before.
Not that you ever had the chance to.
He doesn’t really hate you, does he?
Carefully, his fingers reach for your ankle. The touch is warm and pleasant; doesn’t hurt until he moves his thumbs to your heel. Your feet are overworked; you notice. But rather than the annoying pain, you can’t help but focus on your view.
The big, round nose, hiding the plump, parted lips. His eyes look hooded from here, strands of his hair covering them. Intrusive thoughts plead for your fingers to card through the dark mane; it looks soft, pretty.
And the gentleness he handles your skin with fills you with fondness; you like being cared for.
Even when he shakes his head; pulling you out of your daydream. You take a breath, and then inquire, “You don’t have a problem with touching feet?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s just feet. Besides,” he stops for a second, detecting something at the back of your foot, shaking his head, “Mom used to work as a nurse. Tough job. I massaged hers sometimes.”
Ah… a loving son, a family person. You smile.
“And I thought you have a foot kink,” you tease.
“Shut up.”
“Found anything?”
“Yeah actually. Do you know how wounded your skin is here? Were you wearing new shoes?”
You gulp with a thin-lipped smile, wondering if he’ll kill you now if you tell him. You look to some random spot on your right before you admit, “Yes.”
“God, you…” He clicks his tongue. Puts your foot on the ground cautiously, reaching for his bag. He rummages through it until he pulls out a bandage, holding it in front of you. “You’re lucky.”
You chuckle, relieved and flattered. “I guess I am.”
He puffs out a laugh, but stops it right away, calling your name under his breath before he says, “God, you’re crazy. Be careful. And admit it when you’re hurt. Why didn’t you?”
Well… you didn’t want the night to end—
“I…”
You hesitate.
He works on your other foot just the same, a tender thumb running over your ankle, probably used to the soothing touch. It distracts you. And when he stops and you don’t answer, he puts his arm on his angled leg, staring up at you in anticipation.
“Yes?” he prods.
“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d care.” Nonchalantly yet pouting, you nibble at your lower lip. “And if I’d told you they’re hurting, you might’ve suggested ending the night.”
He cocks an eyebrow as if agreeing to the most self-explanatory statement ever, nodding as he confirms, “Damn right I would’ve. We should end the night right now if you can’t walk. Not in these, at least.”
Your chest is hot, your stomach twisting a little. Jungkook really does bother; if not due to a connection he shares with you, then simply because he cares for people. Never, you have never experienced him like this before.
With a tilt of your head and a batting of your eyelashes, you suggest, “And if I was barefoot?”
Which he reacts to with a roll of his eyes. “The night isn’t that warm. Don’t do this to yourself. The ground’s dirty, too.”
You take a look at the dark grey pavement upon his argument, much as if the night could allow you to detect any of the dirt he speaks of. Once more, you hum, pretending to contemplate what to do; and when you pick up your heels, suggesting to follow your idea either way, the back of his hand gives your knee the lightest of hits.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Watch.”
He does. Watches you place your spacious, black bag on your lap, opening the zip. Observes as your hand dips in, pulling out one pair of sneakers and replacing them with your treacherous heels. He keeps ogling when you put them on, mouth widening bit by bit.
He doesn’t speak until you’re done, socks picked out of the shoes, pulled over your feet, laces tied. You keep smiling, content with the moment, only dropping the grin when you see his puzzled expression.
“What?” you question.
“You had them with you and… Why didn’t you say so sooner?”
Your answer comes without hesitation; whatever timidity he elicited a moment ago slowly fades again. You clear your throat, back to who you are, and dauntlessly admit, “It was sweet. How you took care of me, I mean. I didn’t think you ever would.”
“But you could’ve at least worn them sooner and avoided the hurt?!”
“Well, it didn’t hurt then…”
“You’re…”
Jungkook uprights himself, towering above you. You put a flat palm onto the pavement, wanting to heave yourself up, but soon see a hand in front of your face. He’s offering it; and you’re quick to take it.
Warm and soft; gentle.
As he pulls you up, you land closer to his body than calculated; his face isn’t too far from yours… much nearer than it has ever been. He leans back; looks to the side; blinks. Clears his throat. Lets go off your hand way too late.
The breath you held escapes in a sudden blow. You swallow.
And when you’ve processed the strange moment, you feel the change in your stance. You’re standing taller now; your feet feel heavenly in your Nikes. Dusting off the front of your dress and your ass, you wait for him to say something.
But he keeps standing there on the road, in the middle of a parking space, hands on his hips. He’s judging you; you understand. Your mindset isn’t for everybody. You might seem crazy, alright.
Yet, he doesn’t scold you again. The up and down of his irked voice doesn’t appear this time when he speaks again; instead, his chin nods towards your legs, and he questions, “So you just carry around shoes with you?”
“I need to,” you say, matter-of-factly, “I can’t ride the motorcycle in heels. And!” Jungkook’s mouth opens, but you’re quick to explain. “Before you ask. No, I didn’t hide my bike anywhere. It needs some fixing, so my co-worker took it because he knows someone who’ll do it. And because he owes me a favour.”
“Right… how unfortunate.” He pauses; runs his tatted digits through the hair you longed to touch minutes ago. They look so silky, it makes you sick. His eyes settle on you, intrigued before he adds, “So, you have a bike, huh?”
“Yeah… why?”
“No reason. I do, too.”
“Mmmh,” you voice, nodding to the road ahead to suggest moving. He follows, trudging next to you again. “You didn’t use it today?”
“No…” He pats the camera bag. “Didn’t want to harm my equipment.”
You hum approvingly, fingers entangling in front of your body. You inch closer to his arm, nudging his shoulder with yours before you flash a sugary smile and say, “Thank you. For caring even a little, you know? Even if you’re always like that, it’s nice to see you like this for once.”
“I’m usually like this,” is what he, however, merely answers, accompanied by air quotes.
But you know you’ve gotten through to him at least a little. Melted bits of the frozen parts of his heart that feel so vexed by you on other nights. In truth, you think, there’s nothing but a delicate organ pumping behind his ribcage.
He’s not a robot; Jeon Jungkook is undeniably humane. If anything, then more than most people you have ever met.
And it shows when he looks away, barely able to hide his smile. You see it even from here — that the gesture does something to his eyes. Nearly squints them shut, makes them smaller, more joyful.
You inhale, proud of yourself. Watch as he toys with his lip rings before he asks eventually, “What do you mean owing you a favour, by the way?”
He sounds almost offended. You think he’ll ask about that favour, reprimand you for giving away your bike tonight of all nights. Tell you off for dragging him here, doing something big enough to entrust an entire motorcycle to somebody.
But instead, he continues with a question you never foresaw, “Are you in a quarrel with them? Am I not your arch-enemy?”
You burst into laughter immediately, covering your mouth as the other palm touches his arm. There’s a bulging bicep under his blazer, but you’ll focus on that later.
Right now, you’re fairly occupied by the satisfied eyes; he doesn’t really expect an answer. He wanted to make you laugh… Why does that set something loose in your brain?
“Oh… are you jealous? What if I told you it’s somebody else who occupies my mind at night and not you?” you wonder, wiggling your eyebrows.
“Don’t do this to me. I’ll find your co-worker and fight them for your enemyship. Word of honour.”
“It’s enmity. And stop flirting with me,” you tell him, moving towards him again, shoulder hitting shoulder. “Or is it something else with arch-enemies?”
This time, he doesn’t veil his grin. It’s bright, pretty, reminiscent of the light shed on you underneath the lampposts. And his pupils; whenever you see them clearly enough, you recognise the sky in them. Borrowed stars inside.
You shake your head a second later, winding down from your fit of laughter, and tell him, “You’re not my arch-enemy. Arch-enemies don’t exist, and you know you aren’t one. You just…” You stall, your voice quieter now. “You just regard me as one.”
He throws you an indecipherable look. Hints of joking, shreds of seriousness, you think. His gaze drifts back to the path again, regarding a passing group of three friends briefly. His hands slide into the pockets of his jacket, and he sniffles once before he utters—
“No, I don't.”
Ah. Ah.
Why do your eyebrows relax the way they do? And your shoulders; already in ease, yet they seem to fall in relief. You peer at him wordlessly; he doesn’t demand an answer, fully aware you’re looking at him.
And you don’t ask what you’ve been to him ever since he saw you at the first party probably a year ago; what irked him, what delighted him. If he thought about you at all.
Instead, you look at the neon words in the next street, asking, “Are you hungry?”
2:19AM, Him
You’re irritating to the core.
You always have been. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit you amused him a little. No matter how much you’ve been wasting his time, you allowed a smile in this ill-lit night. Nobody else at the party did — so in some sense, you’ve already won, and somehow, he’s even grateful.
Grateful that you’re optimistic about the world at least. Glad that you suggested fetching food. Endeared by the way you thanked him for his care. Surprised that you ride a motorcycle! Relieved that you have good humour.
Even though his own humour and smile dissipate after you enter one of the few open stores still providing late night snacks. The girl behind the counter looks tired, but straightens a little when the two of you flash a polite smile.
She greets with a sweet, “Hi!” but Jungkook sees the lethargy in her drooping eyes immediately. Poor girl.
But you’re as enthusiastic as ever; maybe a little more now, maybe observing the same as him. You put your hands on the counter like a child — the image is somewhat cute. But what comes out of your mouth is not.
“Uhm… Could I have a portion of cheese tteokbokki, please? And then… A half and half corndog for my husband.”
Your… what now?
Excuse me?
Jungkook throws an immediate and scorching look your way, utterly surprised. When you meet his eyes, his thick eyebrows are closer than anybody’s ever seen. He huffs your suggestion away, and then corrects, “I’m not her husband. And I’ll take the chicken wrap.”
You chuckle, leaning into him, shielding your mouth with a hand as you warn, “They’re not usually very good at this store. Trust me.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
Right. He does. After the disaster of finding the damn bus and the deception caused by your shoes, he won’t trust you very easily anymore. His opinion clearly differs from yours, so he’ll bank on his gut feeling.
Satisfied when you shrug, as if to indicate, “If you say so,” he walks over to the window seats with you in tow, looking out to the peaceful streets. Once seated, he turns towards you, peering until you notice and ask far too purely, “What?”
“Not even your boyfriend, no… Jumped straight to making me your husband, huh?”
The lift of your shoulders brushes his concerns aside; your eyes are incredibly innocent and even somehow playful when you say, “I thought it’d be fun.”
“Was it really?”
“Well, your reaction was funny, at least.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes in disbelief. You’re courageous, he must admit. Social anxiety must fear you — is that how you live life? Unabashed, spirited, not a sheer care for anything that won’t actually hurt you.
He doesn’t know if you’re insane or if he’s jealous.
But he still reiterates, “You’re crazy. And it was embarrassing.”
“I mean,” you say, moving on your chair, folding your fingers on top of the counter but still looking at him, “it was embarrassing because you made it. It’s honestly whatever.” You blow a raspberry, and then take a swing again, “Why is it awkward anyway? We’ll never be here together again.”
He whispers a hushed, “Thankfully,” and you tap the counter with a click of your tongue. He gets it; you live differently. That’s fine. As long as you don’t pull him into your mischief, it’s fine.
Right?
He’s right, isn’t he? He knows that in his personal opinion he is; yet, he can’t help but feel that sting, suddenly deeming himself as boring. You’re never bored, are you?
Anyway…
“Even if you do something like this again,” he tells you, “at least tell me.”
“I mean, that would kinda prevent your genuine reactions from happening, but… if it makes you happy.” You grin at him, and he scoffs; wants to say something before the girl calls for you. “Food is ready.”
A couple seconds later, the two of you have settled back into place; at the sight of the snack, Jungkook salivates. He didn’t realise how hungry he actually was. The buzz and fuzz of a party makes one forget such an essential thing fast.
Or maybe, he was just immersed in his work.
The chicken smells good, at least. Or are these your tteokbokki? He can’t quite discern the scent right now; his mind is fogged by his appetite. Silently, he unwraps his food, swallowing before he digs into the wrap.
So far, so good… seems edible. He keeps chewing; swallows some more. But as the taste starts to sink in and he realises the sogginess of the wrap, the lack of proper sauces and the dryness as well as the blandness of the chicken…
He pauses. Where… are the flavours?
Slowing down, he glances at his meal. Inspects it as if he’s holding an entirely new recipe in his hands. A look of realisation creeps upon his face, unaware of your gaze, and he soon hears an amused snicker from the side.
You don’t say much when your eyes align. Only, “And?”
He knows he’s already lost when his expression changes, cringing; when he can’t answer right away, only gaping at you in confusion. Still thinking about where this recipe went wrong.
He answers, “It’s fine…”
But you catch his obvious lie; he sees it in the way you smile so devilishly. Cocking an eyebrow, enjoying another bite of your snack without ever averting your eyes. Then, you put the tiny wooden fork back into the dish, propping your cheek on your fist.
You wait; he doesn’t know what for. For him to eat again? Maybe; because you soon ask, “Do you want something else?”
“Nah.” His answer is instant this time. “I can do this. I’m an omnivore.”
“Ah, yeah. An omnivore friend right here.” You laugh, curious when he takes another bite. And then, “Jungkook, it’s okay to admit…”
But he won’t listen. Only makes a disapproving sound, stuffing his mouth with another horrendous bite. Shit; he can’t confess that you were right. That you were actually right this time.
Suddenly, he’s craving a cup of ramyeon.
But he should keep eating. Wash it down with his drink, empty the soda. And he’s almost halfway through when he notices a movement from your direction, like you’re playing with your food.
Only, he realises that you are not; rather separating the tteokbokki in two halves before shoving the porcelain dish towards him. He shakes his head, but you persist, “Take it, man.”
It does look good…
But… are you going to use the satisfaction his defeat may give you? Probably. But fuck… Fuck it.
Reluctantly, he lets the wrap fall onto the small plate, gulping down the remainder of what he just bit off, and then, accepts your generosity with a nod. And… whether it’s because of the disappointment the wrap brought or the late hunger…
Jungkook thinks he’s levitating above clouds, floating towards the sun.
It’s good. Very damn good.
And when you ask again this time, “Should we get another?” his nod comes promptly, chest risen in satisfaction as he states, “That’d be great.”
“Alright. Be right back.”
“Nah,” he says, lifting an arm as if to protect you. Mid-action, you halt, sliding back up onto your seat. “Stay here. I’ll get it… All good.”
So he does; enjoys the look of surprise when his other hand even carries dessert, four pieces of matcha mochi ice cream. He says, “This is for you.”
You gasp. He can’t deny that it’s sweet — the elation, the big eyes, the palms coming together in delight. How you look between the food and him, suddenly wiggling your feet.
“You seem to like it,” he notes, and you nod feverishly, telling him that, “Yes! Been craving it since we came in. Thank you!”
“Oh. You should’ve told me earlier! We could’ve gotten it. No worries.”
“It’s okay. I wanted to see if my dessert stomach still allowed anything. Didn’t disappoint me today.”
Jungkook gets to his own tteokbokki, halving it in the middle the way you did, pushing it towards you. It’s weird to think about it like this, but — considering how long the two of you have known each other, you might almost look like… friends.
And you don’t feel quite like an enemy either. You’re even… kind of nice. Friendly; harmless.
“I’m glad,” Jungkook responds, only looking towards the entrance when another group of three friends, two girls, a guy, enter. Then back to you, “Sorry. You were right. This,” he points to the poor, sad wrap, “was shit.”
“See? My first instinct almost never lies. And I know this store from other places… the wraps are never good.”
“Sure, but… your first instinct isn’t always right, though, is it? You did get us lost, so it was wrong at least once.”
“Hm… was it, though?”
Jungkook regards you in confusion as you put another piece on your tongue, working on the chewy thing as he asks, “What do you mean? We had no clue where we w—”
“Yeah, I mean. I agree. But… I don’t think it was that wrong. Because—”
You lick your lips clean off the tteokbokki sauce, smacking them. You look child-like, but pretty when you indulge in your element, uncaring about everything, just living. Maybe it’s not that bad that you’re bold.
And maybe, just maybe, he can power through this night easily after all; especially if you keep saying things that soothe his chest, things like—
“Because my first instinct brought me to you.”
2:49AM, Him
The temperatures are falling as the night proceeds, and the second portion of the mochi ice cream adds to the pleasant chill.
Jungkook wonders how you’re doing; your dress is skimpier than his jeans, and your arms bare. But your stance and your speech are still inconspicuous, skin free of goosebumps, your walk elegant, leisurely.
Judging from your occasional hums and your ceaseless optimism, you’re enjoying this journey. It almost makes him feel bad; guilty about how adamantly he refused all this just an hour ago.
It hasn’t been too bad. Sure, you’re bold and intrepid, and yeah, in some ways he is, too — but his courage stems from other motivations. From adrenaline-loaded activities or joyful, temporary pains. Like his tattoos; his motorcycle; the summer he bungee-jumped for the first time.
You’re a different kind of daring; you challenge your limits in crowds and consider life a respectful joke. You don’t ever hurt anyone, he doesn’t think — you just go and see how far you can push yourself.
Perhaps in some sense, the two of you complement each other while simultaneously seeming to be cut from the same wood. Perhaps you’re different, but then again, not so much.
You’re quiet; you weren’t until you left the snack bar. As for now, however, you seem distracted, swallowing heaps of your dessert as you scan the surroundings you’ve led the two into. You’re somewhat unfazed by it, yet peering as though you’ve been here before.
Which, in retrospect, makes sense. You’ve been wanting to show him places you enjoy after all.
When the silence extends, Jungkook, along with the chirping of the nightlife, breaks it with a, “You know what?”
Your head swerves to his side, the wooden fork in your mouth. The pure gaze you give him throws him off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat sweet. But as he regains himself, he says, “I didn’t think we’d get to a housing scheme here. The main street is super close, but the vibe is so different.”
“I know. It’s a little scary at night when you’re alone. Gives very Desperate Housewives, doesn’t it? Secrets veiled behind shut curtains.” You draw closer, imitating a spooky gesture. “But I liked coming here when I was younger.”
Bingo. He thought so.
“Ah… why?”
“My friend lived here,” you explain with a tilt towards a random direction; he doubts the friend lived in just the house you gestured to, “she’s long moved out of course, but we’d play on these streets back then. Most of the neighbours knew me, too!”
Jungkook tsks, hauling his own bite out of the cup, and you add, “No, seriously! We could just knock at anybody’s door here, and they’d let me in.”
“Not if they moved out, too. A lot of time has passed.”
You bob your head. “Time has passed indeed. It does so pretty fast.”
“Doesn’t it?”
You seem to get into overdrive, gearing up; he didn’t think this topic would rev you up like this, but it appears you have a somewhat firm and fond opinion about the passing of time. Jungkook recognises the sentiment before you speak — the light of the lampposts reflects in your eyes like glitter.
Only, he doesn’t foresee what you say next, your tone teasing through the joy you display—
“Yeah! Like. Do you remember when I told you to not get the wrap and you still di—”
“Shut up.”
The roll of his eyes isn’t anything new; but the faint feeling that accompanies it, something akin to amusement, certainly is.
“Okay, but. Seriously,” you start again, sly smirk falling, voice neutralising the mock, “it felt different here. Because like, you know, where I live, it gets crowded. I’m not too far from the city centre, so… this place always felt really peaceful to me. Jieun and I played together a lot.”
Jungkook frowns.
“Jieun?”
“Hm? Oh. The friend I spoke about? She’s pretty cool.”
“Ah… Right, right.”
“Mhmm,” you hum, the end of your small fork tapping the bottom of the nearly finished cup, “you know another way to know that time passes really fast?” You pause for effect, then add, “It’s been ages since we saw each other for the first time.”
“Right. At a party, too, right? When was that anyway?”
“Hmm… Like.” You ponder, blinking, looking up to the sky. “Like two years ago?”
Jungkook’s eyes widen; if you’d asked him, he would’ve estimated a year tops. If he digs in his memory thoroughly enough, he could probably even remember what you wore that day; what you looked like.
It doesn’t feel like two years. You’re right — time truly does pass like the wind.
“Wow,” he exclaims, “it’s been this long since you started pestering me?”
“Shut up,” it’s your turn to blurt, your body swaying towards him until you push him to the side of the vacant road. “I didn’t even come near you most of the time.”
“I know, I know. You were fun to look at, though. Seemed to enjoy yourself every single time.”
Shit, why did he say that? Shouldn’t he hold onto the image he fostered; the one that’s permanently irked by you, throwing snarky remarks throughout the night?
And…
Didn’t this just break the banter, the frenemyship — frenmity? — the two of you have going on? Was it too nice? It’ll probably surprise you. Then again, is he a damn child? Why would he worry about such things? Question his own kindness?
Why would he hold onto his ego and deny you his humane side when you’ve been nothing but lovely to him all night?
The young adult rivalry is over, Jeon Jungkook. Look at her and fucking admit that you’re the arrogant one.
But funnily enough, you don’t seem to notice anyway.
“Hmmm, I do love my job,” you answer, “I have a lot of fun organising stuff. Doing something good for other people, right? See them enjoy it. I mean, of course there are days when things don’t go as planned, but.”
You lift a shoulder, indulging in the final remnants of your chewy mochi and the melted matcha ice cream inside.
“I know. It happens to me, too.”
“Really? How?”
Jungkook waves towards the sky, lists, “Heavy rain, lots of traffic, too spontaneous, issues with the camera… etcetera. Anything can happen.”
“Yeah — I get it. But yeah, I do love doing this. I meet a lot of nice people, too. And I guess that makes me feel very… blessed? It puts things into perspective.”
“How so?”
“Like, it makes you see that most people aren’t bad.”
Huh. Odd. Not that he’d ever deem the entire globe vile, putting a standardised label that he can impossibly prove. But as far as he has seen… too many people aren’t good either.
“Really?” he asks. “That’s a lucky thing to experience.”
You look genuinely surprised, turning towards him when you ask, “You don’t?”
“Uhm — rarely. I do enjoy photography. Always have.” His mind zooms into a glinting memory from the past, and his shoulders and voice rise when he recalls, “Y’know… My dad got me one of those yellow disposable Kodak cameras when I was a kid. I loved it so much.”
You nod; if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say you look… delighted. Actually interested.
“And events and weddings,” he continues, “they’re beautiful to capture. It’s probably the lights and the pretty people. And just… the memories?”
This time, he looks away, straight to the road; if he hadn’t, he’d know that your gaze is definitely fond now. No doubt about it. You listen in closely.
It’s the first time he’s talking to you like this, or to anyone — or for this long, for that matter. Most of your conversations were fleeting, fiery, a petulant back and forth that — he now realises — could’ve been something else, something better, too.
“But then it just sucks when so many of them can’t appreciate it properly,” he explains, raising his hands to emphasise, tone galled. “I mean, I look at my camera and I see a tool to create art. It’s… nothing I take for granted. Just think about it.”
The ball of fire in his chest grows; he feels it warm up, gassed-up. “A thing that can hold onto moments in absolute high definition, so that you can still remember them years later? The 18th century couldn’t have imagined. They needed to commit everything to memory just like that.”
“Wow, Jungkook… You really do love this, too.”
His arms fall to the side. He inhales the fresh flurry of air. Rethinks his passion for his job and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”
“…But?”
He knows what’s missing.
“I love the art, but I hate the clients. The event hosts. Not you, but the one even above you.”
Jungkook reckons this was a confession that long sat on his tongue unmentioned. Of course he thought about it; is always reminded when he attends these functions, standing at the back, at the front, left and right, unnoticed and taken for granted.
But now that it’s out and that he’s finally verbalised it to somebody… it definitely liberates something in his head.
You see his issue with these gatherings; he knows you do because he’s figured out this much. You’re filled with enough empathy, sympathy, every grand word ending on the same syllable to acknowledge his disappointment.
But you’re filled with humour and absurdity, too, evident in the answer you provide to diffuse the tension.
“So, that’s why you’re always in a foul mood.”
“Shu—”
“Shut up, yeah, yeah.” You giggle, but then halt for a moment, toying with the rim of your paper cup, “But you know, I think art is worth something even if just one person appreciates it. If it helps in any way… I’m always impressed. And I always appreciate it when I call you and you come despite finding me so annoying.”
One corner of your lips lifts, the smile humble and light; sends a pang of guilt through him. Have you always been so nice?
“Also, I do see the pictures almost every single time,” you add, “and you’re so good at this. At the job itself and the editing afterwards. Honestly.”
“…You think?”
Damn.
Jungkook would probably not bask in this hobby, continue his job if he wasn’t proficient in what he does. He’s known about his prowess ever since he was young.
But praises do offer a sense of magical warmth, don’t they? He doesn’t think any creative mind ever sickens of such unexpected support. And the way you say it… makes him want to never lay down his camera.
“Of course, yes,” you confirm, “not to shoot up your ego, but… you once sent a set of pictures where I found one of me. Don’t know if you even noticed? I was wearing that lilac dress and curls, I still remember — and—”
Stuck on the mention of your clothing, he immediately attaches a detail to the memory, “Sleeveless dress. Long silver earrings, right?”
“Oh… right…”
Right.
He won’t mention that he looked at that picture for just a second longer than at the others that night. Noticed for the first time how pretty you were. Not too deep of a thought, a twelve second stare, but… you wore this vibrant smile on that picture, and in some way, he did hope you’d see it, too.
It seems you did. He feels satisfied, proud even.
“Right,” you repeat, your defences somehow down, “uhm. I printed the picture. Still have it somewhere.”
Jungkook has already often wondered what people do with the pictures; put them in albums? Frame them and pin them over their couch? Right now, he also wonders — do you look at it a lot?
And this again begs the question — when you do, does your decision to book a vendor like him fill you with pride? Like your choice was right?
“That’s so nice,” he says.
“All that to say,” you inhale, “that I think you’re really fucking skilled.”
Woah. You weren’t quite certain if your consolation would bring him any solace, but you’ve done far more than that. You’ve shown him that you see what he does — and isn’t this what every artist craves? To be seen?
The tension buzzes between him and you like electricity; he doesn’t know if it’s just him lighting up or if you’re feeling a kindred link, too. But it’s somewhat intense in this moment of walking under the stars, surrounded by quietude and absolute pose.
So much so that he’s soon submerged by an odd urge to make the intensity wane, “Hey, does this feel to you like… a cliché chick flick kinda dialogue?”
You know…
The moment when two find an empty street in the middle of the night, realising that a conversation with each other isn’t the end of the world after all?
That type of thing?
But he doesn’t say any of it.
“Yeah? Maybe. But it’s also true,” you argue, “I’m an honest person and I don’t think I’d say anything I didn’t mean.”
“Ah, yeah?” Jungkook voices, taking the emptied out ice cream cup and throwing it into the bin on the side of the road, along with his own.
“Mhm, one hundred percent,” he hears you say, followed by a light, quiet smacking noise.
He doesn’t see what you’re doing until he arrives back where you stand; watches you lick the sticky rest off the pad of your thumb, smiling when you stare up at him again. It’s a mundane gesture; he’s done it ever since he was a kid.
But somehow, he can’t stop looking.
Might be the way your lips curve when you do it, or how your eyes smile when your mouth does. The authenticity you portray is rare; perhaps he just confused it with madness until now.
Seconds pass, and with that, your smile does, too. As it fades and drops, replaced by a curious expression and big eyes, you soon mutter, “What?”
There’s no response to that, really. He doesn’t know either.
He doesn’t understand how you turned out to be so right. How it’s such an ultimate truth that a serene night brings out a dreamy alter ego, hitherto undetected. Jungkook has never felt like much of a romantic, but right now, he thinks he’s on a different plane of reality.
This doesn’t feel like Earth; and the town doesn’t feel like the one he struts through during the day.
So maybe it’s not that wayward or groundless for him to lean in. To bend a bit more. Further and further until you laugh nervously; he knows you’re preparing to crack another joke, but you remain silent as he approaches.
Gauges your reaction. Will you run? You aren’t.
Instead, you gulp; let your pupils fall to his piercings, just when his own gaze moves to your lips. His right hand, tattooed, led by its own will, reaches for your cheek until he’s cupping it; and suddenly, his mouth parts — what’s happening? — and then—
And then, a vehicle roars from afar.
Both of you hear the motorcycle before you even see the blinding white light; he grips your arm, probably too harshly, dodging the street with you and jumping onto the pedestrian walk.
One must be crazy to still drive through the city at this hour. Right?
You pant, mixed with insane chuckles of relief, “Shit. We almost died.”
“We didn’t,” he refutes, “we had plenty of time.”
“Oh no,” you stretch the last word, eyes squinting. An accusing forefinger points at him before you deduce, “We almost died because you like me. Of all things!”
“I do not. You just looked kinda cute.”
Jungkook might’ve attempted an indifferent answer, but instead, he steered into an excuse that you do not accept at all. Your smirk is telling and satisfied, and if he wasn’t trying to prove a point, your Cheshire Cat grin would’ve made him laugh, too.
“But you did almost kiss me,” you persist.
Ugh, you’re bold. Laughing like it means nothing; no embarrassment, no shy restraint in you. Which is probably not too bad; somehow even charming. Explains the rosy dust on his cheeks at least. He feels it in the heat, can’t believe he almost kissed you just now.
Why does he feel like a hormonal adolescent? It’s not like he’s never kissed anybody.
You’re still enclosed by pure delight, nudging his arm repeatedly, annoyingly. And when he doesn’t answer, choosing reticence instead, you nearly shriek, as if he confirmed all you just said.
His instinctive hand slaps up to your mouth, covering it, shushing you. You’re still smiling, working on removing his palm, but before your nonsense can proceed, a sudden light flickers in the corner of Jungkook’s eye.
Immediately, he seeks out the source, soon finding a room in the house left to him lighting up. You woke somebody, it seems. A silhouette becomes clearer, its edges more refined with every second, and just before the owner of the place can shove the curtains aside, you grip Jungkook’s hand.
Within a moment, he finds himself tugged away by you, running, nearly stumbling over his own feet. You blurt, “Better get away before they kill us.”
As you leave the tranquil settlement behind, Jungkook still hears a voice from an open window, cursing the younger generation as they do; and then, out of the damn blue, a fucking dog barks.
When you turn over your shoulder, mouth dropping open, Jungkook knows you’re thinking the same as him — this happens outside of cinematic universes, too?
It takes a minute until you’ve reached another road again; one of the kind he’s more familiar with. The city type. The two of you come to a halt near some pole, and you let his hand go, leaning against it.
For a moment, you work on catching your breath, Jungkook’s hands settling on his thighs. And then, when your eyes meet, you burst into a fit of laughter, followed by a playful wiggle of his eyebrows to which you respond, “Don’t act innocent. This is your fault.”
“What? You were lau—”
“Because of you! Oh, I know you want me so bad.”
You’re jesting, of course. Swaying your head, poking his chest, a brat straight out of some TV show. But what you can do, he’s been perfecting for years.
So he answers in kind, “And if I did?”
Only for you to utter something that not even his brain can compute.
“If you did? Then… I think I’d let you.”
“Ah… Yeah? Why?”
“Because— I think you’re just half as bad.”
His snicker is half amused, half flattered. He purses his lips, nodding, and then declares, “You’re just a quarter as bad. But guess I’ve gotten so tired that I’ve started doing weird shit.”
You click your tongue, puffing out a breath, instantly reacting when he only flicks your chin and then walks away. Your startled expression prevails, a distance between him and you established, but just as he puts his hands in his jeans, he hears you finally follow.
“Hey,” you voice from behind, tapping his arm, “are you really tired?”
“I was kidding, but. Honestly? A little.”
“…Hmm. You know, my friend lives in an apartment nearby. Jieun? Didn’t move too far from her old home. We could stop there.”
Jungkook’s left eyebrow leaps up, surprised by the suggestion; the idea doesn’t sound too bad. But…
“Wasn’t the deal to go around for a whole night, though?”
“Ohhh. Are you starting to like it?”
You’re observant, he’ll give you that.
“I’m just saying,” he adds, “and also, would she just let a stranger in?”
“Oh, she’s very civilised and hospitable. She wouldn’t mind, and she’s known me for ages. She trusts me.” Maybe you detect the hesitation in his eyes and the twitch of the corner of his lips, because you immediately carry on, “We can just stay for an hour and then go.”
“Would she be awake, even?”
“She’s a night owl. I know that.”
“Uhm…”
He ponders. In some way, he’s kind of liking the breeze, the quiet side of this town. But… would Jieun find that weird? Then again, can he say no? You’re ogling at him with these hopeful eyes; maybe you need the rest, after all.
“Okay,” he says; he even thinks you jump a bit in joy, nodding.
“Okay! You’ll like her. We can leave with newfound energy afterwards. Okay, cool.”
That’s all you need to lead the way. You look around a little, making sure you’re approaching the right direction, and when you find your confidence again, you march ahead.
Your walk is energetic, not too idle anymore, your beam as dashing and fervid as ever. Jungkook knows his way around editing programs; he’s added wings to pictures before or removed unwelcome passersby on an otherwise great photo.
He even understands how to surround a body or silhouette with a glow; but he’s never seen it around an actual person outside of all these graphics editors before.
Your body is so clearly encircled by it.
Bedazzling.
Screw the 18th century. Even in these modern times of advancement, Jungkook doesn’t think he needs a camera to commit you to memory.
3:25AM, Her
You avert your eyes from the phone and turn towards Jungkook, reaching him where he’s planted firmly in front of the apartment complex. He’s been waiting, back settled against the wall, and as you near, his eyebrows rise in question.
Your friend didn’t respond until now — but just as you foretold, she’s still awake at this ungodly hour.
“Okay. She’s home, but,” you explain, already ringing the bell to her apartment, “she said she’d be leaving soon. Sounds like she’s in a rush. Typos and all.”
Jungkook waits until the buzzing sound of the opening door ceases and you’ve stepped inside, leading him up the stairs, and then wonders again with big eyes, “And she’ll just let us stay? Alone at her apartment?”
You wave his concerns off with a hand’s gesture, “She trusts me, dude. I’ve done this a couple times.”
“What for?”
Hm… you dive back into the old days. Some new, some old. What were they again? They’re mostly blurred, but some of them are carved in your core memory.
“Oh, just…” you reminisce. “If I wanted to meet guys and wouldn’t want to bring them home back when I was still with my parents? Or when I’d need a night to sober up. They would’ve killed me if I’d come home drunk. And Jieun moved out early.”
“How old is… Jieun anyway?”
Old. Not really, but you like to vex her to the point of a pout. She’s patient, but she’s also an incredibly close friend — you allow yourself to be a brat with her and she allows herself to roll her eyes.
“Early 90s kid?” you guess. “A little older than us.”
‘93, as far as you remember.
“Ah. Damn,” he voices; you don’t know why.
“Okay.” You climb the last steps to the second floor, halting in front of a white door with a copper number six on top of it. Knock thrice. “Here goes.”
She might’ve been getting ready close to the door, working on her shoes or questing for her keys. Because she opens mere three seconds later, with a radiant smile on her face able to melt hearts, and a comfortable attire that’s, however, not comfortable enough to wear at home.
A thin sweatshirt and a bun, loose strands framing her pretty face, and shorts that are definitely meant to be worn outside. She won’t be here for long. And you’re focused on this very fact and her hurry so much that you nearly don’t register how shy Jungkook gets.
His voice is somewhat smaller than before when he looks at her; your eyes shift to him, and he’s blinking before he finally breaks and mutters, “Oh. Hi.”
“Hey!” she retorts; she looks so sweet saying it. You understand his perplexity. “Date?”
“Nah. Just a friend,” you answer, which, yet again — very confusing — makes him hum in question. If he started regarding himself as your date all of a sudden, you swear…
You smile.
“Just a friend,” you repeat.
“Fabulous. So you’re not walking around alone, at least,” Jieun concludes, letting you in. In the living room, a hand on her kitchen island, she points through an open door, “Okay, so, the guest room bed is made. Use blankets on it, if you want to rest.”
Her finger shifts to signal to the entrance you came through, imitates a pulling motion, “Don’t worry about locking the door whenever you leave. Also got some leftover food in the fridge, but there’s also cup ramyeon and some frozen pizza in the freezer. Sorry… I need to go shop—”
But you interrupt, shaking your head, “Oh, no worries, really. We just ate, so we’ll just stay here for a little, work off the food coma and leave. Won’t damage anything.”
“I know you won’t, baby.”
She moves to fetch her purse from the couch, and Jungkook uses the moment to whisper in your ear, “Where is she going anyway?”
You don’t know; you shrug your shoulders, pursing your lower lip, but echo his question a moment later, louder than him, “Where are you going anyway?”
Previously cramming in her purse, checking it for content, she looks at you again, telling you, “Ah… Jongsuk is having a bad night and wants me to come over.” Regarding Jungkook, she adds, “My boyfriend. He’s an insomniac and got stoned tonight, too, and just—”
Jieun blows a raspberry, raising a hand for a whatever gesture, and Jungkook mumbles, “Oof. Sounds…”
“Yeah… I know. In any case. Make yourself comfortable, okay?”
“Yes. Thank you so much.”
“Thanks, Jieun,” you repeat.
She nods once more, waving her tiny hand and flashes one last smile before she’s out the door and has left you in full silence. You shuffle your feet for just a second before you look at him again; he still looks somewhat in a daze.
So you ask, “What’s wrong?”
“Hm? Nothing.”
Nothing, right… that’s what they all say after seeing Lee Jieun for the first time. You try not to think too hard about the teeny tiny sting in your enormous, delicate heart. Only let him know, “Don’t worry too much. What could happen? She does trust me.”
You take a couple steps towards the bedroom she offered you, and you hear him follow. Look at the neatly made bed, a thought occurring; but you don’t entertain it yet. Only add, “Besides, she owes me.”
He chuckles. “That’s how you live your life, huh?”
“It’s alright. We’ll just be here for an hour. She’s known me all her life, so nothing to doubt here. And also, think about it,” the tip of your forefinger taps against your temple, “even if something did happen or went missing, she’d know where to find me and whom to report.”
He waits, ogles at you. Then presses his lips together, nods as if you made all the sense in the world, and lifts a shoulder — agreeing, “If you say so. Then uhm — let’s lay down for a bit?”
“Sure! I’ll just sleep in her room, so you can have your privacy here.”
“Mhm. Okay.”
You stand at the door frame for a moment, feet unmoving.
He’s already turned away. And you regret not walking away when you watch him unabashedly take off the blazer and provide a glimpse to his snatched waist as inked fingers scratch his back briefly, shirt moving up. But then it’s covering his skin again.
Flawless back; pretty golden. A little further up, and you’re sure you would’ve seen strong shoulder blades, too. He’s worn fancy dress shirts at luxurious events before — you know many would kill for his built, because you’ve seen his bicep flex before.
You forget where you are for a second, but when he opts to turn, eyes on you for just a heartbeat, you stir. Blurt out an awkward apology, and then leave. Wish him a good night, barely waiting for one back before you close the door.
You laugh quietly at yourself.
Her room is just next door; you already mentally prepare for a nap. Meanwhile, Jungkook plumps onto the bed, groaning when the comfort hits, and works on getting used to the ceiling, if only briskly.
He only notices how much his head is spinning when he closes his eyes, ready to doze off. Should he set an alarm? He doesn’t want to still be here by the time Jieun returns. Maybe he should tell you, too.
But his body won’t move.
Yet, in the time he’s failed to make up his mind, he suddenly hears a knock at the door again. Must be you — must be telepathy.
He tells you to enter, and you do with a shy demeanour; only thirty seconds must have passed, right? A minute, tops. He looks at you in wonder, and you explain, “She uh— locked her room. No clue where the keys are. Guess that’s why she specifically pointed out the guest room.”
You nibble your lip, getting no answer back. He looks just as much out of ideas as you, and you still refuse to bring back the thought from before; yet, you ask, “What do we do now?”
“Well…” He looks around, though there is not much to take in. “I can sleep on the couch?”
“…The couch is too small.”
“Okay. Then I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He’s already working on getting up, no hesitation, scratching through his now messy hair, feet moving on the fluffy carpet. “I’ll take one of those pillows, though. Carpet should be good eno— what are you doing?”
You’ve charged towards the bed, climbed past him until you’re sitting behind him, facing his back and his craning neck. You say, “I’m not giving you that pillow.”
“Why?”
“You can’t sleep on the floor.”
“…Why not?”
You throw an unbelieving look, as if it’s obvious. Your flat hand gestures towards the carpet vaguely, and you argue, “It’s uncomfortable.”
“Listen, I should. This or the couch, nothing else left.” It’s crazy to you how he doesn’t even consider the bed instead of giving it up for you. “It’s just an hour. Don’t worry about it.” He stretches a hand towards you, curling his fingers in a grabby motion. “Come on. Gimme that.”
You’re astonished — beyond pleased about the fact that he cares like this. That he’s so… mindful and humble. You give up; he won’t falter and you know.
“Okay… then take this blanket, too.”
He grabs the second one that Jieun provided, head bowing a little as he says, “Thank you.”
The proceeding minutes you spend preparing for bed, slightly discomforted by your dress, pass in half-awkward, half-comfortable silence. He lays down on his unusual spot, and you cuddle into the blanket on your light, soft side.
As the rustling of blankets and sheets subsides, it gives way to the sound of the ticking clock; you focus on it, count the clicks like sheep.
But sleep doesn’t quite fall upon you yet, and you guess Jungkook feels similar when he calls your name and asks, “What does she owe you?”
Your head moves towards his voice, even though he can’t see you. “Huh?”
“Jieun. What does she owe you? And your coworker.”
“Oh. Uh. Honestly, just kindness.”
You can already see it — doe eyes rolling at another one of your cryptic answers. You know people don’t fathom your thoughts very well, and some feel annoyed by your dreamy outlook of the world. You don’t mind, but you wonder what he’s thinking.
But all he responds with is, “What?”
“Well, just. They’ve known me for ages. I’ve been there for Jieun for so long, and Jongin has always been so incredibly nice to me. Picked me up when I was dead drunk once and brought me home. Got me medicine and everything. And I’ve lent him some comfort over the years, too.”
It hasn’t been too long, so you remember. You’ve been good friends with him ever since you started your job; a steady part of your team. He and you have got each other’s back.
“These two are friends,” you say, “and I think kindness is the most we can give our loved ones.”
Jungkook hesitates. Have you bored him to sleep? Or is he pondering your words, thinking of you as weird? Maybe not—
Because he actually converses, asking, “You think? Doesn’t that mean we’re just kind to them then, so they can be kind to you in return?”
“I mean… yes and no. Owing might be the wrong word. I’m not nice to others to get something back. I’m like this because I want to be and because the world can be shitty and it’s important to be nice, and in return, I want people to be nice to me, too. It’s not an eye to eye kind of thing, it’s just about. Spreading affection in relationships. It’s what they’re here for.”
“…Hm. Is this why you’re never rude to me? Even when I deserve it,” he asks, registering a hum. “You know… you think really… uniquely.”
This is a nice way to phrase it at least. People like you; you’re good with them. But sometimes, they can be mean, too. Not that you mind. It’s natural — people occur in all types and shapes.
“But is it unique, though? Isn’t it a given?” you question.
“Yeah, probably, I just— never thought of it this deeply.”
“Mmmh. So is me thinking uniquely a compliment? I can’t say.”
He laughs, and you join immediately, exclaiming an, “I’m serious!” in the middle of it all. Jungkook’s snicker is authentic, so you enjoy hearing it; but you like his answer even better.
“Maybe. I just… I feel like a lot of people try to be different these days. Or play a role to be perceived a certain way? But I think you’re genuine — you actually mean the things you say without any hidden intention to make people forcefully like you, right?”
An intention? Oddly phrased. You think, though… that what he said was nice.
Still, you confirm, “I don’t try to be anyone for people to like me.”
“I didn’t say otherwise! This is actually just what I meant. Besides, people like you anyway because you’re you.” As if he’s reading your mind. “That’s what I was saying.”
You hum, blinking at the ceiling and the little modern light hanging there, the beam off. The darkness pleasant. You conjure another question and ask, “So you think me being me is a good thing?”
You always considered it was. You like being you. But Jungkook didn’t like whatever makes up your personality — has this changed? Apparently.
“Of course,” he surprisingly answers, “it’s always a good thing. And just because I disagree with some of your characteristics, it doesn’t mean everybody will.” Oh. Well. But wait— “Or maybe, I’m just a moaner.”
Well.
“That you are,” you verify.
“Damn.”
“But, but— you’re kind, too, you know? Not everyone says the things you just said.”
“Maybe.”
“So…” you stall, rethinking his prior words. “Do you still disagree with all those characteristics of mine?”
Another joyous sound tumbles out of him, much in the form of a breather than a laugh; hushed, but you still hear it clearly. Perhaps you’re being a little awkward; but in all honesty, you hope he’s just finding it amusing, somewhat cute.
“I mean — you’re too blunt. But brave, like, I could never. The thing you did at the shop? Never. But this isn’t bad. And you aren’t bad.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His voice is a whisper. Reminds you of a feeling akin to temptation; your mind automatically imagines the susurrating sound near your ear, exhaling the very syllable he just did. Frankly, you’re absolutely tortured by the knowledge of him being this close.
That you could probably touch his face if you rolled over to the edge of the bed, letting your arm dangle, seeking his skin. That he’s in the same room, talking to you this gently, saying things that a girl doesn’t hear too often these days anymore.
There it is. The intrusive thought from before… prevailing.
And you’re tortured by it. But mostly, by the image of him standing in front of you between the houses just a little time ago, staring at you, pupils flitting back and forth between your eyes and your lips. How he neared you. How he almost kissed you.
You might’ve joked about it then, but deep down, and especially now, you’re intrigued by the idea. Of the fantasy of a what if — what if he’d actually kissed you?
Taking a deep breath, you look to the side, staring at the door and call, “Hey, Jungkook.”
“Hm?”
“Is it uncomfortable down there?”
“Uh… a little.”
You shuffle at your spot, turning to the side. “Just thinking. What good does it do if we don’t rest well? What are we here for?”
“…What are you talking about?”
Pause. Quietude. You close your eyes, then open them again.
You’re never shy; so you don’t deem it an advantage for yourself to turn timid now either. You tell him, “Come up. I know you want to. I know I want you to.”
He doesn’t say anything; you bite your tongue. Maybe it was a mistake. But then his voice chimes again, wondering, “Are you sure?”
Your answer is immediate.
“Of course. Yes, I’m sure.”
“Okay… okay.”
As he starts to move, you gulp. You make place on the bed, moving to your previous side, pushing the blanket aside in case he wants to slip under it, too. The motions of his silhouette seem uncertain as he makes his way up to you, as if he’s uncomfortable with it.
“I… Was I wrong…? Do you not want to?” you make sure.
“What?” you hear him say; see his head shake. “Ah, that’s not it. Just want to make sure you’re really okay with it. I’m not the type of guy to…”
“I know. It’s fine. I don’t think you are.”
“Okay.” The mattress bulges where he lays down before it evens out again. He emits a couple groaning sounds, probably glad to give his back something proper. You turn to him just when he says, “Honestly… that’s a little better, yeah.”
“Thought so. Are you tired?”
“Definitely.”
“But you’re not sleeping.”
“Because you’re talking.”
Wrong. There was enough silence for him to nod off before. He was the one who started the conversation at all; you were ready to turn and toss and rest eventually.
When you don’t respond, his head turns on his pillow, too; in the darkness that you got used to, you see his eyes twinkle. Both of you know that you’re looking at each other. And he’s kind of close — closer than you thought.
And… if you’re not wrong, he just inched nearer only a nanomoment ago. He repeats in a whisper, once more accusing, “You’re talking, that’s why.”
“That’s really why, huh?”
“Mhm.”
“The only reason there really is?”
“What else could there be?”
You smile, brazen, letting out the courage you’ve gathered, “Well, I know what else it is for me.”
“Yeah?”
Daring a step further, you graze his shirt featherlightly; you don’t know whether he notices. Not until he moves his hand, fingers ghosting near yours.
Waiting until you reveal with sheer, sudden heart palpitations, “I… I want you to kiss me. You do, too, don’t you?”
He inhales, but doesn’t exhale. What does it mean? You don’t know.
You don’t know what it is until you hear the smile in his words, gentle yet tantalising when he says, “…I do.”
“Good. Good. Then kiss me.”
And the rest proceeds without hesitation and without another plea.
His body moves as if on its own accord; he seems possessed, or controlled by a puppeteer. Warm lips lock with yours before you can draw another breath.
They feel soft, full, like tiny pillows, a contrast to the metal of his piercings. And they move gently, so carefully, like he’s still scared of crossing a line despite your permission. But when you lean into him, hoping for more proximity, he blossoms a little. Initiates more.
Oh, he, too, has been waiting for this, hasn't he?
A hand, nearly as warm as his kiss, slithers up to your face, holding you closer to him. The bangs that so often cover his forehead are tickling yours now, his head tilting to give his cute nose more space.
And with that, he deepens the kiss, too. Dares a step further, separating your lips with his, trying things out. He gauges your reaction as the tip of his tongue sneaks its way into the mix, and the moment you do the same, he dives in properly.
Kisses you just a little harder, tasting you, sighing into the movements as if all the weight of the world has dropped off his shoulders. As if he’s relieved, calmed down, resting for the first time tonight.
Yet, at the same time, he’s firing himself up — moving over your body slowly, holding onto your mouth to his best abilities, as if you’d disperse if he let go for too long. As if you’d change your mind.
He cages you in to keep you underneath, not touching your face anymore but shoving his fingers into your already tousled hair. If you were still in your right mind, you’d recognise how insane this situation is. Your younger self would’ve never predicted such a moment to ever become part of your life.
But it is… it is so clearly being played into your hard drive; somehow, you already know it’ll remain stuck in your memory: the way he’s kissing you, so thirsty, so insatiable. How he’s sighing, relaxed, yet sporting an audible heartbeat against your chest.
He uses moments of switching sides to breathe but continues right away; the keenness drives you crazy. You touch his shoulders and then wrap your arms around him firmly, making him hasten closer until he’s nearly falling onto you.
What in the heavenly make out sessions is this…
It’s nasty, yet sweet. Followed by quick breaths; it takes merely a minute until you feel his lower body grinding into you, his jeans tight around his crotch all of a sudden. And the second you realise he’s hardening beneath them, your body reacts.
Reacts so effectively.
Your lower tummy tickles, dampness pooling below as he pushes into you again, harder this time. You moan, enticed by your goosebumps and the heavy bulge. Solid enough for you to crave him within a moment’s notice.
And it only worsens threefold when he whispers, “Fuck… Somebody really knows how to kiss, huh?”
“You’re talking. What was this—” He so rudely interrupts with another peck, and you laugh into it. “Yeah, this…”
Your last word dissipates like candle smoke; you don’t even know why you bother to speak. Your voice is barely perceptible when his teeth remove the short sleeve of your dress, kissing your shoulder and then down to your cleavage.
It’s easy to remove your dress; it’s light, summer-y — but he doesn’t bare you just yet. Plays around at the mounds of your tits until he pushes the neck of the dress down a bit, asking, “May I take it off?”
Oh, if you could count the times you’ve imagined his veiny hands removing this damn dress just in the last fifteen minutes…
“Of course,” you permit, “do I look like I’d reject you?”
“Mmmh.” The hum is proud, satisfied, vocalised amidst another kiss to your clavicles. “Just making sure.”
Soft, warm hands trail up your leg, leaving a path of another set of goosebumps. You want him to stay right there on your thigh, knead the flesh, press into it, showcase the lust he feels in the beguiling pain.
But instead, he pushes up your dress, fingers ghosting over your ass — and when he doesn’t find your panties but only bare skin, he stops kissing you. Looks at you. Makes out the string of your thong a second later — in the dark, you discern the way his lips round in captivation.
He’s loving this.
He tugs at the string and lets it snap back into place; you gasp even though it doesn’t hurt, but it drives you mad when he states, “Wow. Very intriguing.”
Leaving it at this for just now, he kisses you again, tongues mingling once more before he releases a sharp, nearly aggressive hiss and mumbles, “Holy fuck. I can’t stop.”
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you guarantee.
“Good. Good, good, good.”
The dress surrounds your waist now, stopping below your breasts, and Jungkook journeys down to drag his lips around the spots he hasn’t touched yet. As if he’s trying to familiarise himself with all of you, working towards the goal of memorising you entirely.
His teeth scrape at your pelvis just lightly, seemingly contemplating whether he wants to destroy these panties or not — but then decides against it. You wouldn’t mind; you’re not showing anybody anything of you tonight but him.
And you’re already such a mess; breathing so irregularly, letting out his name and quiet sighs. He should know he could do basically anything. That you’re ready for him.
But instead, he only curses again, sucking at your skin harshly, nails digging into your hips. And then, from below, you hear him say, “Want you to suck my dick so bad.” He moves up, fingertips on your cheek, rubbing himself against your underwear, and questions, “Will you suck my dick, baby?”
Oh, he didn’t just…
Oh, the way the pet name screws with your head is irreversible. You feel sick at the mention, breathing out hard, about to get up at the speed of light to swallow him fully; to the hilt.
But you won’t give him the satisfaction yet; you’ve gotten used to the darkness, and seeing the hazy insanity in his eyes spurs you on to play with him a bit more. So you lift your body, giving him hope, but then say, “I have a better idea.”
“Ah? Where are you going?”
“Wait.”
He quietens. Falls to the side and onto his back as he watches whatever you’re trying to do unfold. You look back at him for just a blink of an eye, but you immediately perceive the hand cupping his clothed dick, moving a bit, up and down.
“Okay. Should work on this first,” you say, straddling him backwards.
You hike up your dress more, baring your back to him, and you instantly hear the breath he releases. Feel the palm touching your spine, grazing it; you imagine huge eyes ogling at you like he’s reached nirvana. You so hope he’s looking at you like this.
“My God…” he only mutters, however, proving your point when he opts to get up. But you turn as much as you can, a flat hand pushing him down again, to which he complains, “What?”
“I told you to wait, silly. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You sure? You’re being pretty mean right now.”
“I’m not being mean. You’re just not patient,” you laugh. “Give me a second and I’ll wreck your world, ‘kay?”
“Ah?”
“Mhm.”
“That I wanna se— oh. Oh.”
Exactly.
Once you’re done pulling off the dress, you shift back, enough for your pussy to align with his gorgeous face. Jungkook instinctively grabs your ass to pull you lower, and you chuckle at the restless gesture.
But you need to focus; and as best and tidily as you can, you unbutton his jeans, zipping them open until you detect his shorts. He raises his hips to help you, and you bite your lower lip, crazed by the sight that awaits you once the jeans are halfway down.
The bulge is big indeed. The imprint is insane; the light from outside allows glimpses, and you salivate, bowing your head to kiss him above his underwear, feeling him stir. And he imitates, blowing against your wetness, his finger — middle one? — curling around the string digging between your ass cheeks.
When he frees your pussy, you feel it. It hits the air in the room coldly, a contrast to his hot breath. A second more and you might drip into his tantalising mouth, just how you’re drooling over the cock you finally set free.
It springs out, veiny under your touch. Hard. Thick and long. Everything good, a fucking ideal package. You scold him, “You’ve been hiding this from me?”
“Huh? I wasn’t hiding.”
“Now I realise just how mean you are, man,” you say, shaking your head, spitting onto the slit before wiping it off again with the tip of your tongue. He swears again. “Could’ve had this make me hoarse so long ago.”
“Fuck,” he replicates, “stop talking, or I’ll fuck this mouth of yours. You want to be hoarse so bad, then try me.”
“Is this a threat? You really think I won’t let you? Stay right there, little—” You look again. “Big man. You can do whatever you want, but wait a second, alright?”
“Nah. You’re not the only one teasing. You brat,” Jungkook whispers sharply, delivering a smack to your ass; you gasp. “I just…”
You don’t know what he just — you only know that he’s attaching his mouth to your cunt right away, thong pushed aside, diving in with a tongue so eager. You squint your eyes shut, lips parting, calling his name as he holds you there roughly.
He soon wraps his arms around your hips, like a belt, lips intense as he kisses you even wetter. The sounds he eludes are dirty, sinful; and the feeling of his piercings doesn’t add to your sanity.
You decide to not let this distract you; he’s competitive, you realised, but you are, too. So you lean in, lips wrapping around the tip. Your right hand enfolds his cock, pumping him, tracing every firm vein that protrudes. He’s so pretty all around.
“Shit,” you whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear; only continue to work your tongue around the head, setting the nerves alight as he’s doing for you.
You kiss down the shaft, licking and humming to create a sort of vibration. And then, you take him in as much as you can. Despite being large, barely fitting, soon hitting your throat, you try. Hollow your cheeks, bop your head, gifting him your attention.
But it’s hard. So hard because—
God, he’s lapping you up so good.
So hungry. Out to kill you as he releases the prior belt, bringing two fingers to your pussy and thrusting them into you slowly. Mouth and digits; both at once. Thumb against the clenching hole between your ass.
He’s distracted every now and then, much like you, but he still maintains a steady pace. Cruel… so cruel. Those damn fingers propelling into you, harder sometimes before they slow down again. Curling to hit you just right, massaging the rough, walnutty spot.
Oh, Jungkook knows… knows exactly what to do.
They don’t make men like him anymore.
Your ass clenches when his skills exceed your expectations and he rubs your insides particularly well, mouth just right above your clit as the tongue circles around it. It’s nearly overwhelming; you could cry with this mouthful of dick impaling your throat.
He feels so good on you. So good in you. You want all of you filled, not just your mouth. So you soon let go with a plop, a string of saliva so lewdly connecting your mouth and his member, and you wipe your mouth.
Tell him, “This should be enough.”
And he agrees immediately, smacking his lips, as if licking up the remnants of his food, “Fuck yes. Enough.”
You want to get into the next position, put in some work, but what you don’t expect is that Jungkook is already planning a step ahead. Tapping your ass with his big manly palm, pushing you off of him until you’re crawling on all fours.
Submitted to him. And you don’t mind a bit — just for now, just for him, you’ll give into this because you’ve been craving it. It’s okay; you vow to yourself that in a while, you’ll wreck his shit just as much.
On your elbows and knees, you hear him shifting, the mattress dipping, his knees nearing you and closing your legs in. The palm covering the right side of your ass causes it to jiggle, and when you push your butt towards his pelvis, he praises, “The way you know what to do without me needing to tell you. How convenient.”
“Well,” you breathe out, “it’s not my first rodeo. But do make it the best… okay?”
“No pressure at all, huh? I’ll try my best.”
You want to react, bring a laugh straight out of your throat, but Jungkook is faster. The reaction comes alright, but not as you wanted it to. But rather in a high-pitched moan, arms quivering when he fists his cock, guiding it to your leaking cunt, and rubs the tip between your pussy folds.
You reckon he’s testing out how eager you already are; you contemplate on telling him. On pleading, on saying something that might drive him to action. You don’t mention a single word, though; only let your ass speak once more, steering towards him until he gets the message.
He must have.
Because he clicks his tongue as if to admonish you for your shortage of patience, though only briefly before he surrenders to the itch you cause. Scratching without hesitation now, he finally helps you lose your damn panties and then dips himself into you slowly.
Of course; with a length like his, there’s no way you’d be able to survive a quick push. Jungkook knows to be cautious, penetrating you sweetly; an oxymoron in a moment like this. Your fingers digging into the sheets reveal as much; there’s not much going on yet, but you’re already holding onto the soundness of your mind so desperately.
“Shit, what the fuck,” you murmur, your turn to let out profanities; you’re sure this isn’t your last. “You scared of something, Jeon? I’m… I have an IUD.”
“Scared? No. You’re not an idiot, right?” he whispers. “You would’ve told me if you couldn’t do it like this. Much rather…” He breathes heavily between his words. “I’m taking you in, y’know? Enjoying — fuck — how wet and warm you are… Gonna wreck you raw, though, no p-problem.”
No, your foul words were certainly not the last for tonight; his dick is just halfway through when he stops and another tumbles out of you. He drags the thickness back, then inside again.
Your walls are occupied to their last inch, and you know you could take all of him if you just gave yourself some time — but somehow, his care turns you on even more.
Goddamn, he’s good. All of him — his dick, his voice, his mouth, his touch. He’s so— nnghh…
You have never witnessed his fingers do much more than take the pictures you love. Whenever he operates the button with his forefinger, flexing the inked crown above his knuckle, you already know the man has a talent unmatched.
But right now… right now you have an entirely different perception of these same digits.
Like, when he leans in a bit, still deep inside you, undoing your bra in a smooth motion. Or when he caresses your back, along your spine, contradicting the touch with a harsher, harder jab now.
And shit, when he pulls your ass cheeks apart, digging in further, fucking through your seeping hole until he’s covered in slick, too. It must look so good to him; incredibly memorable.
Your whimpers are quiet and gentle, matching the way he fucks you, only rising in volume when he decides to push another inch in. You behave; you whine softly; that is until all of a sudden, he pulls back most of his cock and shoots back in, colliding with your ass with a slapping sound.
Yelping, you hold the sheets until your fingers hurt, and he bolts forwards, a hand slamming your mouth shut and muffling your mewls. Way too close to your ear, he says, “Sh sh sh… my God. Jieun has neighbours, babe — don’t spoil her reputation.”
He proceeds to kiss the skin under your ear, taking your arms captive until they’re pinned to your back. Fingers intertwine messily, holding your limbs in place, and as he frees your mouth again, you laugh — it’s all you can do to not feel too weirded out by the mention of Jieun’s name right now.
You tell him, “Use my panties then.”
“Your panties, huh? Do you want me to?” You nod, but he’s not obliging enough to give into your wishes. Teasing you to no end. “Nah. I’ll just…”
Jungkook doesn’t finish the sentence; what he does is much more alluring, nearly forcing tears of lust to your waterline. He grabs the back of your neck, urging you to look at him, and just as you register his face close to yours, he kisses you again.
Your body immediately blossoms. You breathe as much as the kiss allows, yielding to his tongue. Let him push you down and into the mattress, imprisoning you under him. And he kisses you… kisses you… kisses you more…
Basks in your dimmed moans as he hits from behind again, hard. Sheathes himself inside you thoroughly and with impact; he’s enjoying the fact that you want to yell, but need to restrain yourself at this time of the night.
Because he’s right. You don’t want Lee Jieun to earn looks in the morning because of you.
As if provoking you, he blatantly asks, “You good?”
“Yes— yes!”
“Mhm…”
He’s out of breath; can barely emit another word. But he doesn’t waste any moment at all; kisses your neck, bites your earlobe. Pushes his hands under your body to get ahold of your tits. Fucks you into space, lifting one of your hands to your face, entangling his fingers with yours.
You shift up and down the mattress, just a little; the position, with him on you, doesn’t allow too many extreme movements, and you’re more than fine with it. There’s something about him going unhinged on you like this.
But… it does awaken the need to retaliate, too.
So you use the opportunity when he decides to pause, running out of energy, gasping for breath. He leaves you empty and yearning, pulling back and sitting up, and judging from the touch on your tummy, you assume he wants to flip you on your spot.
Instead, however, you turn on your own accord, both palms that he held captive minutes ago shoving at him. He produces a strange sound as he falls backwards, landing on the mattress and onto the pillow with big eyes that almost don’t fit his Greek God-esque physique.
Goodness, the damp dark hair. The abs. The pecs. The nipples…
You might dribble onto his sweaty, shiny skin. And you don’t veil your innermost thoughts this time, straddling him as you say, “My turn. Need to ride you so bad.”
He visibly relaxes; leads his fingers to your hips, thumb drawing patterns on them. His tongue darts out to play with the lip rings, and he eyes you up and down. He’s taking you in for the first time properly, just as you are him.
Just as your eyes drifted over his muscular body, he now makes stops along the journey — your pussy on the length of his cock. The tits and the perked nipples. The ruined hair, sticking to your collarbones.
You wonder how he likes what he sees.
Probably enough if he can respond with something like, “I won’t stop you.”
Good to know.
So you take a comfortable seat on top of him, still keeping him down, lining up your sex with his. When you welcome him in again this time, you do so fully. No slow torture, no waiting. You claim your throne until your ass hits his hardened balls.
He says, not quite expecting an answer, so you don’t give one, “You’ll kill me today, right?”
And then you start. Put in all the effort you can gather. He feels heavenly inside you, the perfectly curved length moving just the way it needs to. His groans and calls of your names sound promising, telling; you suppose you’re doing a good enough job if his eyes roll back like this.
The hands on your hips push into your flesh more, and when you remove one and bring it to your mouth, sucking his forefinger with your eyes set on him, he loses his shit. Starts pumping up from below, meeting your up-and-down ministrations.
“Shi— what— do you think,” he attempts, stagnant breathing, “you’re doing…”
But he’s grunting in ardour, so you don’t stop; don’t let him take over fully just yet. No — you roll your hips, bend your back, catch a patch of his hair and then angle your body to crash your lips onto his.
The kiss weakens his defences. For a moment, you do feel his nails bruising your skin, but another second later, his touch is as soft as a feather. He’s so ultimately at your mercy that he lets you trace his abs and kiss his pecs.
Lets you get into a crouch, your palms settling below his chest for support. And then… then you navigate north and south, repeatedly, fucking him into you with vigour. He throws his head back, but then looks at you again, blinking fast before his eyes squint shut once more.
“The fuck are you—” he tries, but you start circling his cock again, moving in eight-curves, seeking support in his biceps.
“What?” you voice. “Not good?”
“You fucking— kidding me?” His lower lip trembles when he parts his mouth. You see it even with the lights dimmed. “This is such… a good fucking pussy. I was an idiot to push you aside.”
You’re too dazed to really pout, but you do hear the undertone; ask to clarify, “You’re just saying that f-for… getting my pussy, huh?”
“What— no. Fuck no. Look at me.” His hand reaches out, fingers poking into your cheeks, and he pulls you down to him, makes you meet his eyes. You slow down. “I wouldn’t just do this for any pussy— I… not with you. I don’t just. I don’t just go home with anybody. ‘Kay?”
His words bloom in your chest like a bouquet of flowers. In such a vulgar moment, you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but you can’t help but acknowledge the warmth spreading throughout your body. Burning up your already aflame muscles.
You want to know more; so you query sneakily, “What does this mean?”
“What it means?” he echoes, words blurry, as if drunk. “That you’re beautiful. And… honestly, kind of cool. So annoying but so fucking funny and— hot—”
“I am? Look at this,” you say, still moving but tired; touching his face, his cheeks, his sweet nose, “look at you…”
“No.” He grits his teeth. You don’t know what comes over him, but he’s inhaling way too deeply, lightly aggressive again as he retorts, “Look at fucking you.”
And with that, he gets what he desired earlier; flips you over, climbing over you. With your shield lowered, you didn’t expect this, and now you’re right where you began. And for some reason, the sharp jaw, the furrowed eyebrows, the starved look hits you even harder than before.
The many inches he sports fell out as he took over, but as he plunges into you again with embarrassing ease, something feels different. How he looks at you. How he touches you, pushing your hair back, kissing your lips with such softness.
And how he holds you when you finally see the stars you waited for, his face in your neck, his thumb on your cheek, his palm on your jaw. Kissing your shoulder, delighted as you seek an anchor in his back, tightening around him impossibly as he fucks you through your high and your broken moans.
“Jungkook—” you repeat over and over, and in return, he mutters constant, “I know, I know.”
Again and again and again until his sounds become more uncurbed. Only syllables, rumbling, his chest vibrating against yours until he lifts himself up and retracts his cock.
His pupils shake as he jerks himself off, and you know what he’s seeking, quickly getting to your knees, helping out. You replace his hand with yours, sticking out your tongue before you engulf his dick rapidly.
In surprise, he lets out, “Oh, fff—”
Shit, how he sounds. And how wicked he feels in your mouth, tasting like you, tasting like him. Wet and slippery, his balls hard when you cup them. And then— a mere moment later, he’s shooting ropes of white down your throat.
You’ll never get used to the feeling. You didn’t with your exes, didn’t with any other guy you’ve been with. It’s sudden, your gag reflex kicking, but you don’t want to stop until he has.
Sticky and hot, you let him; look up to him. His jaw glimmers due to the sheen of sweat, and he holds your hand to keep himself upright. Nearly growls when he’s done, and then calms down bit by bit. Pulls out of you. Plumps back onto his ass.
Catches his breath; and once the two of you have relieved your burning lungs, you with your legs under your butt, you look at each other again. A sudden laugh. He lets his head drop onto his shoulder, and then shakes it before getting back on his knees, nearing your joyous form.
The last kiss of the night is endlessly more chaste. No tongue, no making out. Just a couple pecks, a hand around the nape of your neck, noses grazing. Once, twice. And then, he’s smiling again.
You tell him, “Can’t believe this actually happened.”
“Crazy… right?”
“Crazy, yeah. We…” You gulp. “We can leave it right here, though. Guess we were both riled up.”
He nods, humming, looking to the side. “We could. But we don’t have to. It felt too good to forget, you know?”
You gleam and glow; if you could, you’d curl your fingers into fists, screeching like an excited high schooler in her room, acknowledged by a crush. But you only press your lips together, corners twitching up, cheeks hot.
Then, you say, “You know what… I might just agree.”
“Good.” Another one of his stares to the side, through the door of the room. “You think we should very quickly and very harmlessly use Jieun’s shower? She probably wouldn’t mind.”
“I don’t think she would. But she’d certainly know what happened.”
“Least of our concerns,” he argues, getting up stark naked. He pats your thigh and then tugs at your arm, adding, “We’ll be tidy. And then we can rest a bit and leave. Am too fired up anyway.”
You know things might change again once you’ve slipped into your clothes and walked out into the night air. Perhaps the passion was reserved for this very room, actually a result of unbridled lust and tension.
But you think it’s okay. It’s okay as you giggle in the shower, flirting and bantering.
Because even if you part from Jeon Jungkook and all this as just a saccharine memory, you’re ready to seize just a little more of this stolen moment before reality sets back in.
5:12AM, Him
Whether it’s the numbers glowing on his digital watch or the fact that the two of you didn’t rest as much as you’d anticipated after all, he doesn’t know.
The residual heat of the past hour has warmed his body and relaxed his muscles; your touches still haunt him, crawling over his skin and sitting on his knees, tempting them to buckle. And your voice, your sounds… like a ghost in his mind.
And you urging him to climb the nearby hill with you, surprisingly steep, doesn’t help. He doesn’t know why you’d choose such a place at such an hour. The occasional forest around you is dark, chirping, and the road is empty.
Perhaps you feel secure in the presence of another; in this sense, it’s even flattering that you trust him this much.
But he’ll admit that his still wobbly condition and this stop of the night are slowly bringing him to his limits. The blazer, at least, is already hanging over his arm, giving him more space to breathe.
You’re piloting the way, careful, navigating with the help of the light beaming from the occasional street lamps. Jungkook sighs in a half-complaint when the road doesn’t end, nobody around far and wide.
You’re similarly out of breath when you turn to look over your shoulder, barely for a moment before you continue to escort him further up. Then, you encourage, “Come on! We just rested. How are you already tired?”
“Woman. We’ve been walking for a pretty long time.”
“Uhmmm,” you exclaim, swaying when you pull your hair over your left shoulder, “tell me something. What’s your sleep schedule usually like?”
Well, shit.
Jungkook can already tell what you’re referring to, but the counterargument already sits ready in his brain, just in case. Yet, he hesitates. Studies his surroundings to make sure he knows the way back, stalling on purpose, and when you ask, “And?”
He answers, “Uh. Late. I slept at 7AM just last week.”
“What?!” Your voice is high-pitched, in disbelief, and whatever point you wanted to make is stuck in your throat upon the revelation he divulged. “Holy shit, Jungkook.”
“Yeah, but like,” he immediately works on justifying, making use of the comeback he’d already thought out, “I don’t walk around town, you know? I spend these nights eating or singing or—”
“Woah. You sing?”
“Yes, but. I will not sing to you now.”
He catches up with you in one long step, regarding your countenance. Even in the dim light and the pitch dark, he recognises the roll of your eyes, as if to say, “I wasn’t even going to ask.”
But instead of vocalising that very overt thought, your answer comes as smoothly as silk, “It’s fine. You sang to me plenty tonight.”
Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, disguising his surprise as in the hike reasoned exhaustion. His mind needs a moment to fix itself, but when the balance is restored again, he wisecracks, “You’re one to talk. May I remind you of what you sounded like earlier?”
“You can. But I do remember myself, thank you.”
Damn it. You’re a step ahead all the time. He can’t even outsmart you the way he wants to.
“Way to diss me. You’re hardcore,” he complains, “and here I thought you were kind and sweet and all of that.”
Jungkook nearly retracts his statement, because you throw such a perplexed and disbelieving stare back that he shrinks, reprimanded, “Can’t I be both? A woman can certainly be both, man.”
“Of course,” he agrees, hands up as if he’s being arrested, “of course. You’re both, for sure.”
He anticipates more scolding and scowls, but it seems you’re satisfied with the response he gives. You grant him a pleased, lopsided smirk that resembles his own, and then sigh into the night air, long and deep before your breath morphs into—
A mixture of a gasp and a shriek.
“Wh—” Jungkook blurts, barely registering the movement scurrying from the left side of the forest into the trees right of him. “The fuck.”
And just as fast as your gasp appeared, it diminishes, too, turning into a throaty laugh. Jungkook listens in to the echo of the rustles, still seeing the bushes move; whether because of the animal that just flit past or the breeze, he can’t say.
His eyebrows shoot up when he looks at you, coming down from the quiet chuckle, and he only realises that your elated joy stems from the way he’s standing right now.
He must’ve instinctively dashed forward, an arm in front of your body, shielding it with his. It was just a squirrel, and in all honesty, it is the two of you who are trespassing, disturbing the forest life with your presence at such a time.
Yet, his reaction must’ve been immediate enough to protect you from whatever loomed in the dark, and you seem to like it for some reason. Because as he clears his throat and lets his arm sink, all you comment is a fascinated, content, “Wow.”
“Uh… all good.”
“Yes. All good indeed.”
Your voice is tinged with a combination of gratification and tease, as if you’re one utterance away from adding a little, “My knight in shining armour.”
Instead, you bite your tongue and look around; Jungkook sees what you perceive a mere moment later. The surroundings clear, the forest less dense; on the left side, a vast opening appears, a wide path ending in a… cliff?
And behind that, the town.
If there was a soundtrack to his life, he’d probably hear violins playing right now. Reminiscent of the wind, perhaps accompanied by piano keys that sound like the softly glimmering stars above.
The picture is breathtaking. Not that he hasn’t been at such a spot before — he grew up in a big, mountainous city.
But since he didn’t expect for the hill’s peak to allow such art, he’s a little more overwhelmed than he expected to be.
From behind, he hears you say, “In any case. Let’s rest here?”
“Uh-huh.”
It’s hard to avert his eyes. All night long, he’s only felt like this once; this marks the second time.
Gratefully, he walks up to where you’re making yourself comfortable, flattening your dress and settling your bag on your lap. You pull a thin, short cardigan out of it, slipping into it. It’s certainly cooler up here.
And then, you pat the spot next to you, and he lets himself fall with a sigh; it’s been a long night, and despite the restful-not-restful hour you spent at Jieun’s, it feels as though he’s truly easing up just now.
Jungkook puffs out a breath and takes another look. Properly this time, blinking as if this could help his eyes focus better. Gorgeous. He can see the river from here, flowing through the town in curves, like a snake.
He can’t see the entire city, but most of it; it goes up and down. Skyscrapers and then cosy houses like the ones before again. Mountains far away and the lights of the amusement park somewhere in the east. They’re the brightest of them all.
“Wait,” he says; you oblige, waiting, watching as he heaves the camera out of his bag.
He only registers you from his side vision, but he thinks you’re wearing a smile; confirmed when you breathe to speak again, and his eyes drift to you, immediately decoding the pride in your sparkling pupils.
Why do you look proud? Then again, he guesses he would, too, if he showed you something that he loved and you enjoyed it, too.
Thinking about it, he kind of wants to do it someday.
He pulls at his lower lip, releasing it soon, blinking again as if to release the thought. Instead, he listens as you ask, “You’ve never been here before?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Hidden spot then.”
“It’s beautiful. Look there,” he points to a spot that you carefully follow, even squinting an eye shut; it makes him smile. “That’s the ferris wheel in the amusement park. Can you see? Wait.”
The camera comes to use when he points the lens at the direction he signalled towards, nimble hands working on zooming in. The picture unfocuses before the lights of the amusement park flicker again.
It’s late, he thinks; then again, the summer is coming to an end, the last nights used to keep such attractions open late. September will bring forth grey clouds again, leaving behind the prior season’s heat. Raining down on him, forcing the leather jacket out of his closet.
He likes it that way.
No offence to the summer whatsoever; but he likes the fresh gust dishevelling his soft hair. Likes it when the rain patters against the window glass so softly. He sleeps better that way, too.
Barely sitting for a moment, Jungkook already gets to his feet, nearing the edge until he’s kneeling on the ground. The distance has only faded by a couple feet, not much of a difference. But the feeling of the city nearing still persists somehow, tickling his mind just right.
He doesn’t know how long he squats there against the backdrop of the luminescent sea, but when he comes back to you, you’re still sporting that excited smile, eyebrows high. Your eyes fall to the camera, humming when he says, “Look. There.”
He magnifies the picture, every spot of it good enough to pin against the living room wall. Carefully, he hands you the camera; surprising, because he regards this pricey piece of plastic as sacred. You probably don’t know how big of a deal it is that he lets you handle it.
If you did, you’d never let him live it down.
You scoot closer, your temple now nearly touching his. You stare with an interest he hasn’t witnessed too often before. People do not care much about pictures of scenery; in the age of media, how could they anyway? When every stock picture is already memorised and used to the point of insignificance?
But you — your mouth parts as you switch around, taking in details.
“Good?” he asks.
“Beautiful,” you sincerely mutter, returning the camera to him. You hold it like a kitten; perhaps you do know what the gesture meant. “This is exactly why I wanted us to come here.”
The moment is so serene, like balm, and he nods along with your words, calmly conversing. So it takes a heartbeat to truly untangle your words in his mind and tie them with the meaning your intention conveys.
He assumed you were just showing him random spots of the town, to allow him a glimpse into your mind and to crack your true nature. All this time, he thought you wanted to lead him to bright spaces to lighten up his perception of you.
But what you’re doing instead is turn the spotlight towards him and what he loves.
“You… did it for me?” he asks.
You, casually, as if the thoughtful act doesn’t flood him with serotonin, reply, “Yeah. To capture a couple pretty pictures. You really do love it, so.”
“I do… wow, thanks.” He pauses. Looks down to the buttons on his camera, to his hands; then back to you. “You thought of it all, right? The nice places and the short rest at Jieun’s. Now this.”
“Hmm, tried as much as possible so spontaneously.”
“Thank you. Really.”
You return his gratitude with a polite nod, leaning away until you touch the backrest of the bench. Jungkook indulges in some more that nature offers, toying with the settings, zooming in just to observe sights from a closer point.
He doesn’t notice when you sigh or when you zone off; or when your thoughts shift back to the minutes and hours of the night. He doesn’t notice; and in return, you don’t know that he’s still thinking about the intention that brought him here; that you were attentive enough to truly show that some people appreciate art.
There aren’t only fleeting nights and then forgotten memories. Because this… this right here is a core memory.
Because of you.
Are you thinking the same? Are you proud that his enmity has faded, replaced by a tender smile? Satisfied that your efforts were worth it after all — a goal reached that you set for yourself earlier tonight.
Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again.
But…
He’d love to talk to you again.
However, your mind hasn’t quite drifted in this direction; in truth, he honestly can’t analyse or interpret you at all, because the question you pose next is far from what he’d been thinking about.
“Talking about pretty… uhm. Did you think Jieun was pretty?”
Jungkook blinks. One eyebrow cocks up; the camera drops back onto his lap. He flashes you a squinted look, a confused laugh erupting before he asks back, “What?”
“Ah, don’t lie. She’s very pretty.”
“Sure? She is.”
He’s nearly forgotten what she looked like. But beauty is still perceived and remembered — he guesses he found her good-looking.
“And she’s everyone’s type,” you prod, “what do you think, though? If she didn’t have a boyfriend, could you imagine liking her?”
Jungkook thinks about it. Not because he wants to, but because you seem to have found an odd interest in whatever attracts him; maybe your questions are leading up to something. So he’ll play along.
“Hmm… Maybe,” he answers.
“So she is your type.”
Or maybe, you’re trying to get something out of him that you want to hear specifically. You seem so shy about it all of a sudden; not necessarily an adjective he’d assign to you.
And coming from you of all people, he somehow does not find the topic interesting. It’s weird; he doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t care about Jieun, either.
So he shrugs his shoulders indifferently, lifting his camera up again. He points it at you, eternalising your surprised expression just when you open your mouth to leave out a shocked, “Hey!”
“That’s what you get for asking such strange stuff.”
“It’s not strange! I’m just small-talking.”
“You do not small-talk.”
“It could be a deeper conversation if you just admitted it.”
He chuckles, turning his body towards you, half his leg on the bench, “Admit what?”
“The type thing!”
“Sure. I don’t just have one type, though, you know?”
The dispute brought your bodies a little closer, your face far enough for him to still identify his surroundings, but near enough for him to see your eyes twinkling. The light is dancing in them. And it’s much easier to focus on it when you silence like this.
Just for a second.
Because you breathe in again ten seconds later, lightly slapping the thigh resting on the bench. The touch is cursory, tiny, nothing to overthink about — but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to linger.
In some way, it still does.
You ask, “Okay? What are your types then?”
“Different girls.” This time, only one shoulder shoots up. His eyes match his pensive hum. “Whoever suits me. Pretty girls but also nice girls. Especially nice girls.”
“Alright, be honest,” you begin, mimicking his position until your leg lifts onto the bench, knee nearly touching his. You’re warming up now. Finally spitting the true question soon, “Do you think I’m pretty?”
Cute.
But he’s not giving in this easily.
He smirks; he feels the dimple on one side of his lopsided smile the moment you look at it. You’re distracted enough — so he uses the mental absence to attack you with yet another picture.
For a couple blinks, you’re startled — but as he reacts to his own nonsense with a content chortle, proud of his prank, you sigh. His shoulders rise with his sneering joy, head low as he inspects the picture just taken on his camera.
He zooms into your face, mouth open and eyes wide. You do look so pretty, he thinks — better even since you washed most of your make up off. Yet, he can’t contain himself when he shows you the screen, telling you, “You look alright.”
You laugh, rolling your eyes and your gaze to the view; your giggles start quietly, and then mix with his. Before—
They soon become part of a bad harmony as more voices join your very own night. Somebody is nearing. Jungkook hears the laughter already, but the road is curved and dark; so he can’t see them yet.
You might not have expected this, because you push closer to Jungkook on reflex; just at the same time as him. He didn’t know he had it in him to always stay so alert around you. Ready to throw himself at intruders.
Crazy.
But once the voices grow in volume, the two of you are soon met with a couple walking past. They’re in love, because amidst their titter, there’s another lewd sound. Or maybe, not too bad; playful kisses?
Yes.
The guy — he’s smooching his girl’s cheek, releasing with a, “Mwah” each time. Your initial surprise soon fades and turns into delight; Jungkook sees it in the way your smile returns. And in the furrowed yet amused eyebrows…
When the couple spots the two of you, they gasp; the girl’s hand immediately bolts to her chest, as if she just encountered a wild boar. But she catches herself soon, apologising, “Oh. Sorry. We’re sorry.”
You respond with an, “It’s okay!” Jungkook shakes his head politely to shrink their worries. They’ve walked away as soon as they came, but he still hears the woman’s scolding, effect lessened by the still occurring belly laugh, “I told you to calm yourself—”
As the world quietens again, Jungkook huffs, tilting his head as he deduces, “So late and yet… Not much of a hidden spot after all.”
“It feels like an ancient hill to me. I don’t often meet others here.” You breathe in the wind, then tongue your cheek. “They probably didn’t even notice where they were going. People in love never do.”
“I guess so.”
He guesses so.
It’s been a while since he fell in love.
Your head bobs once more before you lose yourself in the skyline, sucking in more of the crisp air that’ll grace you in the upcoming months. Fall is upon the town. He inbreathes the peace, too.
His hands operate on their own; one last time, he lifts it towards you, peeks through the lens again, adjusting the focus until the object clicks again. You’re not looking at him; he caught your side profile, this time not out of mock or tease.
He means it. And you seem to know.
Because when you look at him this time, you’re not mad or irritated.
Only look at him softly, a smile that truly matches the heights you took him on.
READ BELOW!!
the fic isn't over yet – as always, tumblr has a 1k block limit that makes our lives harder than necessary lmao. read the last scene and the remaining 3k words of meraki here 🥰
summary: A small coffee shop owner is the only thing stopping a crime boss who wants to expand his empire when she refuses to sell her shop to him, no matter what tactics of intimidation he might use. When he has finally had enough, he hires a hitman to finish her off. But Joshua Hong doesn’t work that way. He has principles, even for a hitman.
pairing: hitman!joshua hong x coffee shop owner!reader
word count: 9.5k
warnings: deals with heavyyyy topics, explicit mentions of murder, blood, serious bodily harm, exploitation and blackmailing, both joshua and reader are questionable and immoral characters, warped concept of love and commitment, stalking, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, virgin!reader, corruption kink, fingering, multiple orgasms.
a/n: this was written for Carats Ridge: A Small Town Collab, hosted by @imnotshua , @100vern and @starlightkyeom, so make sure to check out the rest of the works as they are posted! This is my first collab and very fun to be part of. Thank you for the opportunity!
4am - the backdoor of the café is unlocked. You step inside.
4:30am - the kitchen is abuzz with the noise of the mixer, or the stove, or the ding of the oven. He can’t smell the aroma of freshly baked goods from where he watches through the back window. He is a bit too far. But he can see the way you slowly get disheveled, sweat building up in your hairline, face slightly flushed from the heat of the oven, leaving colored blotches on your skin. Cute. You look cute like this.
Your apron gets stained more and more as time goes on, with flour, cocoa powder, even cookie batter and sometimes that melted chocolate you use very carefully so as to not spill it. It’s the really high end stuff, he knows this. He has looked into it. You labor on for a long, long while, accompanied by the sounds of soft music. He watches silently.
7:00am - you finally started bringing the desserts to the front, carefully placing them in the glass display counters. You arrange them all slowly. You’re a little type A like that, he has noticed, always making sure everything is equidistant and neat in rows, not a single crumb scattered anywhere else. You turn on the little golden lights that shine on the display of sweets, and he has to admit, everything looks delectable. Maybe not as much as you. You’re just….. delicious.
It is around this time that Boo Seungkwan clocks in, the little bell outside the shop chiming pleasantly as he greets you loud and cheerful. Seungkwan is quite the character, his observations tell him. Apple-shaped and perked face, high cheekbones, voice a little too loud compared to how soft yours is. But Seungkwan is so kind, and so entertaining, the only other employee in your tiny shop, making you laugh throughout the day. He appreciates that. Your laugh is bright and a little high pitched. It suits you.
7:15am (give or take) - Seungkwan starts getting ready for the day as you set the last of your baked goods out. He heats up the espresso machines, dials the espresso shots in them, refills the hoppers and gets the batch brews started. You go and clean yourself up, hanging up the apron, washing your hands and face, and actually taking care of yourself with the tiny travel sized skincare and makeup products you bring along. You show up early in the morning looking like you rolled straight out of bed. He doesn’t mind. There’s something….. pure about you when you’re like that. Untainted. Especially by someone like him. And it makes sense logically too. No point in getting ready only to slave in the kitchen for hours on end. Now, you make yourself presentable, rolling a little pink stick on your cheek and smudging it to give your face more color. He wishes you were still hot from the blast of the oven, making you flush naturally. You look sensual like that, and it gives Joshua thoughts he would indulge only in the very dark of the night. But this works too. You come back out front as Seungkwan gets ready to open.
8:00 am - you open your modest little coffee shop on the corner of 12th avenue. It’s shocking that you occupy a corner of a busy street just a few blocks from the town’s business sector. It’s almost impossible to set up a business here because of how competitive the location is. He has looked at the blueprints of the surrounding area, since he wants to be thorough at his job. He might be enjoying his time with you, but he’s still a professional. He won’t go through with it if he knows it’s not foolproof. He doesn’t want law enforcement ears perking up, after all.
They won’t. He’s too good. He knows that.
Your acquisition of the place is made even more questionable by the fact that you’re so young. But it is what it is, and the fantastic location means that you have a crazy morning rush. You man the register, Seungkwan makes the coffees, helped by you whenever he needs it. It’s a few hours of lively, non-stop work, and slowly, the baked goods in the display cases get more and more scarce.
You’re a cheerful little thing. You greet customers sweetly, flash them a bright smile and ask them how their day is going. It’s maybe a bit too much for his taste, but maybe that’s why he likes it. You’re just slightly too cheesy, slightly too decadent. You’re something he has never been. And he likes that. He likes things that excite him. You excite him.
He wonders what it would be like to see you up close. Just for a little bit, to feel that sunshine. He has no need for it in his life, but he’s a curious person. And he finds himself imagining being close to you more and more.
11:00am - this is usually around the time you take a breather and go through your available treats. Things cool down a little, and you slip back into the kitchen to start prepping the doughs you were resting, the cookie batter you had chilled in the fridge, the materials already prepped for more baking, because the next rush would come near late afternoon, and you had to be ready. He doesn’t understand why you just won’t make more of it in the morning so you didn’t have to do two batches, but he doesn’t claim to know how to do your job, just like you would never know the complexities of his.
His area of expertise is….. a lot less conventional. Your day is filled with sugar and flour, the scent of cinnamon, the whir of a mixer and coffee beans ground carefully to brew warm cups. His day is spent covered in shadows, a million different clothes and disguises, a well hidden gun and a knife strapped to his leg, stalking prey, and the eventual sight and smell of blood when his job is finally complete.
You’re worlds apart. That’s why he wants a piece of you so bad.
02:00pm - this is usually around the time he shows up at the shop. The place is not overly crowded, maybe only a rare man or woman in a stuffy business suit sitting at a table at the corner with a laptop in front of them, clicking away at the keys. You’re usually in the back, and Seungkwan is lingering behind the counter. He always flashes him a bright smile.
“Hi, Josh.” He chirps. “The usual?”
And Joshua nods, settling on a stool by the counter instead of at one of the tables. He watches Seungkwan pour him coffee. Nothing fancy, black, with sugar. Something that is hot enough and bitter enough to sting his throat. Joshua drinks it in silence, usually on his phone. But his ears are alert as always, and he can hear you puttering around in the back. Sometimes, you’re humming something as you work. And he’s trained enough to catch it, even if he doesn’t recognise most of it. He doesn’t stay long. He’s been here enough times to know how everything is laid out, has watched you enough to map your movements.
Sometimes, you come to the front when he’s there, and you always greet him politely. That very soft and inviting part of you, and it’s hard for Joshua to imagine that someone like you, who giggles and puts stickers on the apples of Seungkwan’s cheeks, is also resisting and fighting back against the biggest, richest, most intimidating crime boss the town of Carat’s Ridge has seen in years. You don’t look like you have it in you, but your resilience is truly astounding.
Something twinges in his stomach when he thinks of the contrast that exists in you.
The three buildings in this business sector are all owned by the same man. Their basements are connected, according to the blueprints Joshua has seen, and this man, Joshua’s employer, a scary and shady business owner, needs this passageway for a lot of questionable trades he conducts. The only problem is you, and your little shop that you refuse to sell. The only hurdle in his way preventing him from having a clear transit route for his illegal trade. And Joshua knows for a fact that this man has no reservations in discarding any inconveniences that come his way. Everyone knows this. The town isn’t very big, so it’s more of an open secret than anything else. No one messes with him, everyone always gives in, except you.
Joshua doesn’t understand it. And as he watches you giggle with Seungkwan and hum over warm cupcakes, the mystery behind you is enough to make his toes curl. He likes it.
This is the closest he has ever gotten to your person. He has been watching for a while now. He has gone through your closet, your drawers, your cupboards. He knows what you write in your journal, the safe you keep in your office for all important documents (it took him less than five minutes to crack it), and how you personally prefer tea when you’re not at the shop. He feels like he knows you already, but the thrill that goes through him when he’s within feet of you, when your eyes meet his and when you smile at him, that thrill is unmatched. Joshua’s fingers itch to touch you, like he’s hungry for it. And maybe he is. You’re like prey, and he wants to get his hands on you already.
5:00pm - you close up. You always shoo Seungkwan off first, telling him it’s fine and you have some work to do. You lock the shop from the inside, flip the sign, and Joshua walks to the back of the building again, to his perch that will give him the best view through the back window into your office. It’s the one place in the shop that's not squeaky clean. The desk is layered in papers, some scattered on the floor as well, and every day, you go through many new letters that Joshua knows his employer is sending to you, offer after offer to buy you out, the pressure mounting with every passing day. At this point, Joshua thinks the man knows you won’t sell to him, and that’s why he hired Joshua to do things the unconventional way. But the letters keep coming, and until Joshua finally wraps up his reconnaissance, tells his employer that he will take care of it, and carefully strangles you in your office, they will keep coming. Enough to keep you on edge, enough to scare you a little bit.
Speaking of, Joshua should probably get back to his boss. He’s getting impatient about Joshua’s dilly dallying, which isn’t his style either, frankly. Joshua doesn’t like toying with his targets. But he has this crazy urge to toy with you, and he doesn’t really want to let go of that just yet. Of course, this back and forth exists in his head only. You are blissfully unaware. But it doesn’t matter. You will know soon enough.
05:55pm - It is nearing the time that you leave for home. But today is the day Joshua thinks he should wrap all of this up. There’s not a whole lot more he can find out by just watching. It’s time to make up his mind and either end your life and go get his payment, or let you go and tell his employer to hire someone else.
Or a secret third option that isn’t even fully formed in his own head. He’s still wondering about what exactly he wants to do with you, but that little thrill in the base of his stomach tells him that he already understands.
It’s way too easy to get past the locked back door, and before he knows it, he is standing in the doorway of your open office. You’re poring over what looks like expense sheets, your lips slowly moving as you do the numbers in your head. You don’t notice him, which isn’t surprising. Joshua has worked in this profession for long enough to know how to essentially mute his presence. He watches for a few silent moments before finally speaking.
“How long can you hold out before the big bad man takes your business from you, princess?”
You scream, jerking so violently that your knee hits the desk hard, buckling immediately afterwards. Joshua watches on, amused, as you struggle between processing the pain and turning your body around to face him. You lean heavily on the desk, injured leg stretched and tense. He can bet that was painful. He winces and gives you a pout.
“Relax, sweetheart. You’d think I just shot you.”
A little hitman humor. Not that you would know.
You blink rapidly at him, chest heaving as you try to catch your bearings. Your eyes flicker. You recognise him. Good. That makes Joshua feel….. good. His stomach does an excited little flip.
“H-how did you get inside?” Your voice is shaky, uncertain, and still a little breathless. Joshua just smiles, that dazzling bright one he knows will catch you off guard. And it does.
“Back door was unlocked.” He lies. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. Joshua pushes off the doorframe and walks in, eyes darting over the mess of paper he is seeing up close for the second or third time. He’s already gone through all your things, unbeknownst to you. You shift, and he can see you wince.
“I’m really sorry. We’re closed.” You say politely.
“I know.”
“And…. you shouldn’t be back here.”
“I know.”
You are wide eyed, just blinking up at him. He wants to reach out and pinch your cheek. He’s so close to you already, and it’s making his stomach stir with something rolling and hot. You’re struggling on what to say next. So Joshua decides to help you out and carry the conversation himself.
“You know, you can just sell.” He hums. “It’s a pretty small coffee shop. In a smallish town. You could move away.”
Your jaw drops, frown still etched on your face. He wants to smooth out the little lines between your brows.
“How do you know about that?”
He hums, as if thinking. “Well, when you don’t sell to crime bosses, they often hire people like me to clean up their path for them.”
Your mouth opens and closes a few times, not unlike a fish. Cute. God, Joshua is thoroughly enjoying himself. It’s so different from his usual M.O. He prefers cleaner jobs. A single headshot with a small gun, silencer on, in and out with no trace. But you’re not easy to resist. He wants to have fun.
He wonders what kind of face you make when you cum.
“I don’t understand.”
Of course you don’t. Poor, sweet you. He wonders about that thing an elderly lady always says to young kids, about how they are so cute that she could just eat them up.
He closes the distance and stands right in front of you, mere inches away, trapping you between himself and the desk. You look up at him.
“I kill you. The shop goes to the bank. He buys it. He uses it to run his illegal business.” Four smooth sentences. Everything laid out for you. It’s not like telling you would make a difference. Tonight is the night he wraps up this job. He’s just not entirely sure how much he wants to drag it out first.
You still watch him with your mouth slightly ajar, processing his blunt words. He gives you a good ten seconds. He sees your throat bob. A hard swallow.
“My grandmother left me this place.” You mumble. He hums. He already knows this. “I can’t just sell it. I can’t let it go.”
He sighs, a little dramatically because he likes seeing the way you react to him. “I just told you the alternative to not selling.”
You blink. “Will you really kill me?”
Joshua wants to coo. He pouts, half mocking and half serious, before nodding. Fear fills your features. Oh, he can’t have that now. He has liked all your other expressions so far. Fear isn’t doing it for him. Time to change that.
He leans down to place one hand on the edge of the desk, right next to your hip. You curve back as he invades your space, your face morphing a little into surprise. That’s better. Could be even better. He will get there.
“So you’re telling me,” he says, “this shop is worth the price of your life?”
He sees you gulp again, can practically hear it. His other hand grips the table too, caging you between him. He can feel the slight tremble of your body. You’re still afraid. Joshua isn’t exactly a fan of that. He tilts his head, brushes his lips right over the pulse point on your neck. Your breath catches. He smirks against your skin.
“Fear is a powerful aphrodisiac.” He whispers.
“W-what are you doing?” You manage to squeak out. Breathy. Shaky. He presses his lips to your neck for the first time. Your pulse is bounding, rapid.
“Trying to have sex with you.”
Your body stiffens even more than it already is. “W-what?”
Joshua tuts and pulls away, frowning down at you. “I am about to kill you. I can either do it now, or I can do it after giving you the most mind numbing orgasm you’ve ever had. Your call, princess.”
You look at him like he has grown two heads. A few seconds tick by. Joshua lets out a painful sigh when you don’t react, frozen still. He reaches behind his back, tugging out the gun he tucked under his belt. Your eyes widen, watching as he places it on your desk. Material proof.
“You’ve got a fighter in you.” He hums. “Resisting so many threatening letters. Not selling to someone who the entire town is scared of. That takes balls, sweetheart. And you have them. You’re feisty. But you’re so….. sweet.”
He runs a single finger down your cheek. He feels you shiver. He smirks, and he knows you can feel the heat in his eyes.
“I’ve always had a curiosity for paradoxical things like you.”
When he lowers his head to your neck again, you don’t go as stiff as you did before. You don’t respond, but you don’t push him away. He nips at the skin, playfully, softly. He will get rough with you, something tells him you will like that, but not yet. He licks a stripe all the way to the bottom of your ear. Your breath stutters again. He focuses on sucking a hickey in that spot. He shouldn’t leave marks, but god, you would look nice all bruised up by him.
You make the slightest sound, a breathy exhale, that Joshua wouldn’t hear if he wasn’t so close already. He places his hand carefully over the curve of your hip, taking a final step closer so that his body brushes against yours. He pulls his lips back, eyeing the sizeable hickey he just sucked into your skin. All smooth, except for his mark. He feels his cock twitch, swell. Somehow, stalking you beforehand has made this experience ten times more thrilling than it would usually be.
“So?” He hums, brushing his nose over your cheek. He watches your eyes, bright as anything. You look uncertain, hesitant. He sighs a little.
“You can say no.” He mumbles. “I’m not a complete monster.”
You shake your head just slightly. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
Again, hesitation. Joshua waits. Neither of them is going anywhere.
“I’m a….. I haven’t done this before.”
He blinks. Once. Twice. He feels a twinge of amusement. “You’re a virgin.”
“Yes.”
God. That’s hot. In his sick, twisted head, that’s hot. There’s no way he’s letting you die without knowing what taking dick feels like. He lays a soft kiss on your cheek, another on your jaw. Then he mumbles against it.
“Do you still want to do this?”
When you nod, he almost moans. Screwing the man sent to kill you… maybe some part of you is as fucked up as him.
He hooks his hands under your thighs so he can lift you up on the edge of the desk. You’re still a little stiff, not as fluid as he would like, but no matter. He knows what buttons to push. That breathy exhale was just a teaser. He wants to hear you scream. And not in the way you will later in the night, just before he puts a bullet in your head.
He brushes his hand over your knee, the one that hit the table when he came in. Your skin is heated, and it feels even warmer as he slides up, under the hem of your dress. You always wear the cutest summer dresses. Joshua did wonder what it would be like to fuck you in them. Today, you’re wearing that periwinkle one that looks gorgeous against your skin. Perfect.
His hand slides up, just as his lips finish their trail and end at your mouth. He hovers, a hairbreadth away, and waits, wanting to see if you will make a move. Your lips part, like you’re expecting it, but when he doesn’t go on, you push forward, closing the gap so you can kiss him properly. Joshua tries to smother his smirk as he kisses you back, really sinking into you.
Your mouth moves well, smooth, purposeful. You’ve definitely done this before. He groans in approval, tilting his head so he can deepen the kiss. Your tongue is hot, slick, fluid. He knows he is rock hard. You’re making him a little dizzy too.
He finds the hem of your panties, toys with them a little. They’re simple, cotton. Nothing fancy. But god, that’s so sexy. He hooks a finger in with them and tugs them off from under your dress, lifting your hips to do it. He can feel the crotch, how damp it is, and he pockets them immediately.
You’re burning hot between your legs, a heat he has been craving. He uses his left hand to tug at your knee, spreading your legs a bit more so he can run the fingers of his right hand over your slit. He prods between your lips, finding your clit easily enough. You jerk, and he has to grip your hip tight to keep you from moving.
He pulls away to look at you. Your lips are swollen, wet with his spit. Your eyelids, now at half mast, peer up at him, blinking rapidly. Your chest heaves with big breaths. The slightest hint of sweat is building up in your hairline.
What a vision.
Joshua keeps his eyes carefully on your face so he can see your expression when he starts rubbing little circles on your clit, feeling it swell under his ministrations. Your jaw goes slack, your eyes barely open and unfocused. You’re staring at his lips. He unconsciously licks over them.
Your first moan is short and muted, broken at the end. You’re gripping the edge of the desk tightly, so tight that your fingertips have paled. Joshua watches closely, every shift in your face, as he keeps rubbing over you. You moan again, a little louder, a little surer.
“There you go.” He whispers.
When he can’t stand it anymore, he kisses you again. You whimper into his mouth, and god, if he was more of a loser, he would’ve come in his pants by now. But instead he kisses you fiercely, keeping his thumb on your clit and pushing two fingers into you with no preamble. He feels you stiffen, but his thumb is still working, and you’re so wet already, the slide in is smooth. He curls his fingers as he keeps going, tongue running languidly against yours. Your body jerks and you whine into his mouth, so he focus on rubbing the pads of his fingers on that spot, thumb still rubbing back and forth over your clit. You’re close, he can tell by the way your breaths pick up, your whimpers get more frequent, your knees nudging into his hips, trying to close but unable to. He almost has you. Almost.
He pulls back from your lips just as he feels that you’re cumming. Because he wants to see your face, how it twists and moves as you writhe in his arms. His grip on your hip tightens, holding you in place as you jerk and tremble. His fingers keep going, not even slowing, wanting to drag this out as much as he possibly can because you look divine.
He only stops when your hand grips his forearm hard, eyes teary as you look up at him, pleading. Oh, he likes this. He wonders if he can make you beg. But it feels cruel to do that for your first and last time having sex.
His cock is so hard it’s almost painful. He’s a patient man, but it’s unraveling fast. He pulls his fingers out, coated with your release, and lifts them to his mouth, popping them in, not breaking eye contact even once. You watch, almost in awe, as he sucks on them, tasting you. You taste good too. God almighty, why does he have to kill you?
He makes quick work of undoing his pants, just enough to pull his cock out. You almost yelp when he plunges two fingers inside you again, stiffening as he rubs over your gummy walls for a few seconds before pulling out, using your wetness to jerk his cock a few times. You’re looking down at it like it’s otherworldly, and Joshua almost snorts in amusement.
“Ready, princess?” He breathes out. You look back up at him, lust coating your eyes, and nod. He can see it on your face. You want this. Your orgasm has lowered your inhibitions significantly. He can’t wait to see you fall apart again.
When he slides in, it almost sends him into orbit.
You’re hot. Wet and pulsating around his shaft as he slowly but surely carves his way inside. He opened you up enough beforehand to make the slide much easier, but it’s still suffocatingly tight. He watches your mouth drop, your eyes roll, and when you lean your head back, he spots the hickey he gave you. His head spins. You’re squeezing around him so good. He lurches forward, nipping at your neck again, unable to help himself.
When he starts moving, it’s slow at first. Half because of you, because you need to adjust, and half because he thinks he will cum embarrassingly quick if he starts fast right out of the gate. So he takes his time, really reveling in the feeling of you wrapped around him. You’re moaning so cutely in his ear, spurring him on, and eventually, he lets himself speed up. He wants to feel more of you, to fuck you properly, because god, a pussy like this deserves it, and he says as much.
“You’ve got the perfect little pussy baby, fuck.” He can hear the crack in his own voice. The table groans under you. You gasp when he hits your sweet spot, and Joshua doubles down on it. He grips your hips hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh, focusing on really ramming into you now. He can hear the squelch, the filthy sound of wet skin slapping against skin, and his depravity only swells more as it hits his ears. You smell like something fruity, mixed with sweat and the smell of sex. His head is spinning, and he wants you to cum again so bad, to squeeze the soul directly out of his cock.
He kisses you with bruising force and you nearly sob into his mouth. He feels your fingers in his hair, tugging harshly in a way that sends tingles through his scalp. He hates it when women grab his hair during sex, messing it up, but it feels so good watching you lose control like this, so he lets you. Your feet have locked behind his lower back, your thighs digging into his sides, using him to ground yourself. You break the kiss to moan again, your free hand behind you, flat against the desk so you can lean back and take deep gulping breaths of air. Your head turns up to the ceiling again. Joshua can’t help but lick at your neck, sinking his teeth into it enough to try and channel some of the ferality that’s driving him crazy right now. His cock is pulsing, throbbing, slick with your juices as it pounds into you. And you let him, squeezing deliciously around his cock.
“Taking me so well.” He can’t help it, praises spill from his lips like they are meant for you. You whimper at his words. He’s drawing closer to the edge, but he’ll be damned if he gets there before you do. So his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing tight circles on it until he feels you lock tight around him, body shuddering as you come. He keeps going, addicted to the way your walls spasm around him, suffocating his cock until he can’t take it anymore. You pretty much squeeze the orgasm out of him, his whole being trembling as he rides it out. He thinks he blacks out for a second there, it hits him so hard.
He lays his head on your shoulder, catching his breath. He can feel you still shaking a little in his hold. Your arms are wrapped loosely around his shoulders, slumping into him as you come down from his high. The smell of your perfume hits him again. Fruity and delicious.
God. God. He’s so fucked.
…………………………….
Ground coffee smells sharper and stronger than whole beans. Something to do with the oils in coffee beans. They are volatile, and when they break, the aroma is immediate and very all-encompassing. It’s a stinging scent, but you enjoy it immensely. Sometimes, if baking doesn’t take up most of your mornings, you like to be the one who grinds the beans. Seungkwan always tuts and tries to take over, saying you have other stuff to do. Sometimes you let him, and sometimes you don’t. The smell is too nice. It relaxes you, so you want to do it yourself.
It’s not relaxing you now. Not at all.
Seungkwan is a little worried about how spacey you have been all morning. He’s loud and intense, but he’s also very perceptive. So it takes him only about an hour before he notices. You’re not surprised. You haven’t exactly been….. acting normal.
For one, you’re way off the mark with your timings. You burn a batch of cupcakes because you take them out of the oven too late. Then you mess up when folding the flour into your cake mixture, and it ends up clumping so badly that it is pretty much unusable. Who the hell messes up flour mixing?
“Maybe you should take the day off?” Seungkwan suggests delicately as he scraps the whole thing into a bin. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but you are mentally not there with him, and that can be dangerous in a kitchen. You know this.
“I’m really fine.” Your voice is thin as wire, and not very convincing. Seungkwan gives you a long look, and you can see his eyes flicker to your neck, where you had tried your best to color correct and conceal the giant marks you were left with.
“Then go to the back. Lay down in your office for a bit.”
That’s a bad idea. You don’t think you can step into that place after what happened there. Especially not when…. his gun is still sitting on your desk, untouched. You don’t understand why he didn’t take it. You were too out of it to even think as he cleaned himself up and left pretty suddenly. But why not take his weapon. Why leave it there?
You don’t know what to think. You’re still fucked up by your absolute reckless decision to have sex with a complete stranger, a stranger with a gun, who claimed he was there to kill you…. And then ended up not killing you.
You’re confused. You don’t want to think about it. You need a distraction.
You shoo Seungkwan out of the kitchen and get back to work, trying your best to forget the night before. But your legs are sore, and any twinge in your muscles reminds you of what caused it. You think of his eyes again, the most beautiful, intense brown you have ever seen, more than coffee beans, more than chocolate, but so empty. So hollow.
You wonder if he will come back. He should, right? You have his gun. Well, you don’t have it, technically. It’s just there. You won’t dare touch it.
When the shop opens, the distraction is effective, way more than baking was. You get lost in the flurry of people and orders. It keeps your hands busy, as well as your mind, and before you know it, it’s lunch hour. You sigh, wondering if you should get started on the next batch as Seungkwan wipes the counter. A thought enters your head, and you hesitate before speaking.
“Seungkwan,” you swallow, “there’s this customer we’ve had for a while now. He comes in around this time, just gets a black coffee, I think.”
Seungkwan’s lips purse in thought. “Josh? Yeah, come to think of it, he isn’t here today. He hasn’t missed a single day in the last few weeks.”
You blink. “Right. Do you know what his full name is?”
That makes him pause, and he gives you a curious look. “Um, no.”
You soldier on. “What about card information?”
“He pays in cash.” Now the look is getting more concerned. “Why are you asking?”
You shake your head, trying to look nonchalant as you fiddle with the register. “I just think it would be nice if we knew our regulars a bit more.”
It’s a bullshit excuse, but Seungkwan doesn’t push. You’re grateful, because you don’t think you want to address the sick feeling in your chest that settled in you last night and hasn’t left. You want to call it prolonged post nut clarity. But that makes the situation feel even more horrific.
That evening, as you wrap up for the day, Seungkwan lingers around the counters, even after he has grabbed his stuff and is ready to head out. You give him a questioning look, and he looks a little hesitant as he clarifies.
“I was hoping I could walk you home.” He says, looking a little nervous. Your heart squeezes, touched by his gesture. So you just nod, telling him to hold on, and you quickly finish up, locking everything before you head down the street, your employee falling into step with you.
Seungkwan talks to you about random things as you walk through the downtown part of Carats Ridge. It’s still lively despite the late hour. You’ve lived here all your life, born and raised, and you really have no intention to go anywhere else. You like traveling, but you can’t see yourself living in a place that isn’t this. You have too many memories here, too many friends. Sure, most of your family left after you graduated high school, but this is home for you, so you plan to stick by for a long time.
Unless of course, the man who wants to buy your shop has you killed. Your jaw clenches at the thought, and your mind drifts to last night again.
You’re glad when you reach home, and thank Seungkwan profusely before he leaves. You watch him disappear down the street before going inside yourself, toeing your shoes off in the entryway and pattering deeper into the house. It’s a modest, one storey building, again, left to you by your grandmother when she passed. You know the life you live is very blessed, and it was a natural progression from your childhood to this.
Your parents both worked in finance, which meant endless money and opportunities, but not time. Never time. So you were left with your grandmother, in the town of Carats Ridge. You had stability because of her, even if your own parents couldn’t offer it. From a young age, you spent the time that you were not in school with your grandmother, inside her little bakery. It was just that back then, a quaint bakery. You grew with her, learned from her, and she made you everything you are today. Polite, but unyielding. You took over when she retired, and converted the bakery into a coffee shop, offering much more than it previously did. You put heart and soul into what you did, but you never forgot your power throughout it. That’s why you never sold to the man who put so many of your neighboring stores out of business, blackmailing and strong-arming them until they caved. But not you. Not yet.
You drop your bag on the couch, trudging to the kitchen to look inside your refrigerator and decide what to have for dinner. Being surrounded by baked goods all day usually means you crave something spicy around this time, so you peruse what you have, wondering what will take you the least amount of time. You’re tired, way more than usual, and you had terrible, fitful sleep the night before. You just want some rest.
The door of the refrigerator shuts gently behind you with a thud, bottle of wine in hand. When you turn around, your eyes catch the kitchen doorway and you scream.
The bottle slips from your hand and shatters on the floor, the red liquid immediately splattering on the marble. You jump in response. The man in your doorway winces, watching color bloom on the white floor. He tuts, straightening a little and walking closer to the mess. He’s dressed more casually than the button down shirt and slacks he usually wears, and was wearing last night. He’s in a simple t-shirt and jeans, and a pair of black rimmed glasses adorn his face. It takes you a few seconds to recognise him because of how different he looks, and your heart is still frantically pounding, trying to calm down after the scare he just gave you.
“You’re shockingly unaware of your surroundings.” He mumbles, walking to the small door right off your kitchen leading to the laundry room. He comes back with a mop, and he immediately bends down, carefully picking up some of the larger pieces of broken glass. Your mouth is dropped open like a fucking fish, and you’re gripping the counter tight because you’re afraid that if you don’t, you will faint. He places the pieces on the counter and then starts mopping, all the while as you watch on. He looks like he’s done this a million times before, like he feels completely at home.
No one says a word. He picks up more pieces, mops the floor dry and sweeps the rest. You finally move once the floor is cleared enough for you to save your bare feet. You put the broken bottle pieces in the trash after wrapping them up. When he steps closer, you can smell his cologne, a familiar scent. Memories of last night assault you. You feel dizzy and panicked. And you don’t know what to do.
“What’s for dinner?” He says once the clean up is finished. You blink at him a few times. He waits patiently.
“Chicken and rice.” You sputter out. He nods.
“I can start the rice.”
Once again, you move rhythmically together in complete silence. He takes the lead, and you’re so shocked and out of your element that you just go along with it. He cleans and soaks the rice before starting on the vegetables. You chop the chicken. Soon, the aroma of food fills the kitchen. The words between you two are no more than simple sentences, like ‘pass me the knife’, or ‘can you taste this?’ or “I’ll plate everything”. Soon enough, both of you carry plates and glasses of water to the living room. He flops down carelessly on the couch, digging in immediately. Normally, you would watch TV while you do this, but you just sit in silence, slowly chewing. Your tongue feels like rubber. You can barely swallow.
“Are you here to kill me?” You finally ask.
You can hear his huff. Amused laughter. He shakes his head.
“I would’ve done it yesterday if I was planning to.” He replies.
Another bout of silence. You think that it’s awkward, but with how he is lazing on the couch, you don’t believe that he feels the same way.
“Why are you here then?” You say next.
He doesn’t reply immediately this time, chewing slowly in silence. You watch him, the straight bridge of his nose, full lips, pretty eyelashes that flutter over his cheeks. No wonder you lost all critical thinking yesterday. He looks like a siren, a master at luring victims in with his endless charm.
“Chicken is good.” He mumbles, putting another mouthful past his lips. He ignores your question. You feel a twinge of irritation, placing your half eaten plate on the coffee table.
“Thanks.” You reply. “Why are you here?”
Silence again. He eats some more, emptying his helping. He gestures to the plate you just set down. “Are you gonna finish that?”
When he reaches towards the coffee table, you shoot forward, gripping his wrist hard. His head snaps to you, his expression both surprised and curious. You swallow at the intense look in his eyes, your grip loosening out of fear. Hesitantly, you take your grip away.
“What do you want from me?” You ask. “Do you want me to sign the business over? Is that it?”
He scoffs, a sound tinged with arrogance as he rolls his eyes. “I don’t give a fuck about what you do with your business.”
You grit your teeth. “Okay. What then?”
You can see his jaw tick. He doesn’t say anything more. Shadows pass over his face, a myriad of them. He’s clearly struggling with something. But you don’t know what.
“If you don’t sell, he’ll have you killed.” He says.
You watch him closely, remembering last night, looking at him now. “But it won’t be you who does it.”
He rolls his eyes, leans back on the couch. “Keep talking and it will be.”
You can feel the corner of your lip twitch. “No, it won’t. You said it yourself. If you wanted to kill me, you would’ve done it yesterday.”
Again, his jaw clicks in annoyance. Surprisingly, you feel amusement curl in you.
“You came here just to see me.” You comment. “Do you like me, Josh?”
He blinks. Stares at you. “You know my name.”
You nod slowly. “Seungkwan told me.”
When he doesn’t speak, you clarify. “Seungkwan is my employee. You know, the guy who serves you coffee everyd-”
“I know.” He cuts you off. You clear your throat.
“Right.” You quip. “Because you stalked me.”
Now, his lips lift in a smirk. “I did. You’re really cute.”
You can feel the back of your neck prick with heat. You look away when his stare becomes too much, your heart beating fast from having his gaze on you. You admonish yourself. This is sick behavior, getting excited at the thought of him watching you.
“It’s Joshua, by the way.” He mumbles. “I prefer Joshua.”
You fight the urge to squirm, feeling a little giddy. Joshua.
“So…… what now?” You try to change the subject.
Joshua huffs and purses his lips a bit. “I already told you.”
You scowl. “I’m not selling.”
He sits up abruptly at your words, startling you. He looks ticked off now, but you don’t feel the same fear you felt before around him. “What the hell is your problem? This stupid business isn’t the cost of you dying.”
“It’s not stupid.” You spit, surprised by his sudden outburst. “I put my heart and soul into this shop. It’s mine. Just because some rich businessman throws a tantrum, I’m not gonna give up and step aside.”
Joshua watches you, eyes flitting between yours. If he wasn’t so close, you wouldn’t notice the way his pupils just subtly dilate.
“You’re so hot.” He mumbles. You blink, shocked.
“What?”
His eyes dart down to your lips, and they stay there. You shift under the intensity of his stare. “This is why I couldn’t kill you. You’re so hardheaded over stupid shit. You take so much interest in it. I can’t help but….”
Your heart is kicking painfully at your ribs. Your cheeks are flaming. He’s so close. If he pushes forward just a little bit, he would kiss you.
“But what?” You urge him.
He blinks, stares at you for a full minute. Then, his lips stretch up in another amused smile, softer this time, like something in his head has clicked. He shakes his head.
“Nothing.”
You’re a bit thrown off when he abruptly stands, beelining to your front door. He tugs his shoes on, reaching into the pocket of his jeans for what looks like car keys.
“Where are you going?” You ask, flabbergasted by his sudden departure.
“Hang tight, princess.” That’s all he says, closing your door behind him with a soft click.
………………………………..
Joshua has killed many, many people.
Many people.
He has killed absolute destitutes, homeless drug dealers who are a thorn in the side of bigger kingpins. He has also killed said kingpins for even larger conglomerates. Whether rich or poor, Joshua doesn’t discriminate. He has his own system, a code, and he sticks with it no matter what.
It is wildly against his code to kill his employer. Yet, here he is.
Joshua stares at the man slumped over on his desk, tracking the slow spread of dark blood over the mahogany surface. The metallic smell of it is already infiltrating the air, a very familiar scent for Joshua. That’s not the new part, the new part is the fact that Joshua came here under the guise of accepting the job of killing you, received his payment, and then shot the man who paid him.
Oh well. Joshua doesn’t exactly pride himself on morals.
It’s comical, in a sense. The fact that Joshua is altering the ethical code he created in his head because of….. you. Some girl he is fixated so deeply on. He doesn’t know if he loves you, or could ever love you. A part of him doesn’t think he is even capable of something like that. But he is infatuated, more than he has ever been with another person, and he counts that as love, whatever version of it he can muster.
And if the look in your eyes was anything to go by, you’re infatuated with him too.
So Joshua leaves his victim just like that, draped over a pool of his own blood. He isn’t worried about being caught. The guy was basically a tyrant. No one would miss him, so no one would come after Joshua for revenge. In fact, he’s pretty sure people would thank him if they knew who did this. He has very intimate knowledge of all the businesses this man usurped, it was a part of his initial research, and now they will all flourish again. He also imagines the invisible burden on your shoulders lifted now that the man threatening your livelihood is finally gone.
Joshua doesn’t think he’s moral in the general sense. He’s moral by his own standards, and his standards are encircling around your presence frighteningly quick.
……………………………..
You don’t see Joshua for days, but many things happen in his absence.
When Seungkwan shows up at the shop the day after your encounter, his hair is wind swept and his cheeks are flushed, like he ran all the way here.
“Turn on the TV.” He gasps out when you raise an eyebrow at him. You’re just putting out the last of today’s treats, but you set the tray down and follow Seungkwan’s instructions, getting the remote for the television mounted above the counter. Seungkwan is pulling his jacket off, trying to catch his breath. He takes the remote from you and flips to the news.
Your mouth drops open.
You can’t believe it. He’s dead. Not dead, killed. In his locked office, with no witnesses and no known suspects. You immediately know who did this, and you grapple with the sudden rush of emotions you feel. You remember the look in Joshua’s eyes, the smile he gave right before he got up and left. You got a strange feeling about him leaving, but you never anticipated that he would do this. Of all things in the world that he, or anyone, could do for you, this is definitely the most extreme, the pinnacle of devotion. This is more than just an action. This is a statement.
Joshua killed for you.
The rest of the day goes by in a haze. The murder of Carats Ridge’s most prolific businessman is huge news, especially among your usual clientele who are almost all office workers in the area. The overall sentiment is a mix of shock, excitement, and suppressed, guilt-ridden relief. Everyone knows that man was cruel and undeserving, and his reign ending has left many, including you, breathing a little bit better. Seungkwan in particular hides no feelings about the situation as he blabbers on to you.
“Serves him right.” He snarks. “Bet he finally pissed some poor bastard off enough to get himself killed. He had it coming. Mingyu can get his gym back. He has been so depressed since it closed.”
Mingyu is one of Seungkwan’s best friends. He owned a gym in the next building over, that he was forced to sell to the victim of last night’s crime a few months ago. You try to tamp down your smile at Seungkwan’s comment. You’re happy. Mingyu is a straightforward, honest guy. He deserves to have his business back.
You don’t know where Joshua is.
Days pass. The news stays a hot topic in everyone’s whispers for a while, but eventually dies, people already losing interest as the police chase their own tails. No one cares, and law enforcement doesn’t particularly care either, since there’s no pressure from anyone to solve the murder. You spend day after day just carrying on, baking, serving, brewing coffee, keeping your business in order. Life goes back to normal. The dust settles.
Still no Joshua.
You wait in the office every night. You walk home slowly. You leave your front door unlocked. He doesn’t come. You have no way of contacting him, and you curse yourself for letting him leave just like that. Deep down, you hope he’s watching you again, like he claimed to watch you for so many weeks before he stepped out of the shadows. You have stopped wondering what the fuck is wrong with you at this point. You don't care. You're taken with Joshua. You want him to come back.
One week after you last saw him, you are roused from sleep in the dead of the night when you feel something on your waist, sliding forward to splay over your stomach. You go rigid for just a small second, but before you can jerk away, before the fear of being woken by someone in your bed truly gets to you, your nose is infiltrated by the scent of a very familiar cologne.
“You came.” Your voice is hoarse with sleep. He hums. You feel his front press to your back.
“This is the first time you haven’t screamed when seeing me.” He retorts. You stare straight forward in the pitch darkness of the room, basking in his touch.
Your lips tug up in a smile. You feel his mouth on your bare shoulder. He sighs into you.
“Didn’t know you slept naked.” He comments.
His hand on your stomach comes up, framing your ribcage just beneath the swell of your breast. Your eyes flutter, but all slumber has escaped from them. Your body is buzzing where he presses his clothed form into you, a contrast that feels good against your skin. Your senses are waking up. You let out a breath when he nips at your neck.
“I don’t.” You reply, letting your implication linger in the air. Joshua pauses for a brief second. Then, he chuckles.
“Dirty girl.” His voice is lazy, almost slurred. He sounds like the one who just got woken up, not you. The deep timbre goes straight between your legs. “Missed me that bad?”
You nod, and he can feel it where the side of his head presses to yours. His lips trail all the way to your earlobe, nipping at it. His fondles with your breast a bit. When you grind your ass back on him, you can feel that he’s hard.
“Why’d you do it?” You ask.
Joshua’s tongue runs over the shell of your ear. You suppress a shiver. “For you.”
He presses his pelvis into your ass, slowly, sensually. Your eyelids flutter. You’re getting wetter by the minute. You reach up, intertwining your fingers with the hand he has over your breast.
“Stay here with me?”
You feel him smile into your hair. He reaches his other hand around you, cupping your jaw to tilt your head so his lips can brush against yours.
“Always.”
Then, he finally kisses you properly. You breathe into him with relief, arching your back so your head can curve backwards more, deepening the kiss. He wastes no time sliding his tongue in, and you return his enthusiasm eagerly. It is charged and meaningful, more than the curious heat that sizzled between you the first time you did this. It’s heavier this time, with the weight of a promise. And that makes it feel ten times better.
Joshua bucks his hips into your ass again. He’s fully hard now, straining against his pants. Your hand scrambles with the material, tugging impatiently at it. He lets out a laugh.
“Eager.” He hums. “Have I turned you into a good little whore?”
A coil tightens in the base of your stomach. You can feel how wet you are. You clench around nothing and whine into his mouth.
“It’s okay.” He placates you. “I’m gonna give it to you, baby. Kept you waiting, didn’t I? Had to get a few things in order, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”
He’s pulling his jeans and boxers down in one motion, and you feel his shaft nestle between your asscheeks. He grinds a few times, and you feel something wet hit your skin. Precum. He’s throbbing hard, and leaking. You need him inside you bad.
Joshua doesn’t waste any time. He doesn’t even properly push his clothes off. He hooks a hand under your knee and lifts your leg, prodding forward until his head is catching on your opening, and he’s sliding inside all the way to the base.
“Fuck.” You gasp, eyes tearing up at the stretch. Not from pain, but with the pure, unfiltered relief of being filled. Joshua is cursing into the back of your shoulder, his other arm that’s under you winding around your body to hold you closely against him. Then, he starts thrusting into you.
It’s messy and sweaty, bodies writhing on the mattress. Joshua maneuvers you into whatever position he wants that will make him hit far enough inside you to feel in the deepest parts of your core. You whine and cry through it as he whispers absolutely filthy things in your ear, describing how tight you are, how your virgin pussy still isn’t used to him, how he needs to spend all night really breaking you in until your walls recognise the shape of his cock. It’s enough to leave you a babbling, blushing mess, but you love it.
Every way he turns you, every time he rams his cock into you, makes you cum over and over again for hours, all of it leaves you feeling more depraved. Now that you’re covered and hidden by the darkness of your bedroom, his body draped over you to shield you from everything else, you let yourself really feel this sick part of you that loves everything Joshua is doing for you, has done for you. Maybe that’s why you don’t mind him, or how fucked up he is. Because you are equal parts fucked up.
He likes his coffee black and bitter. He knows that you like yours the exact same way.
summary: When you and your boyfriend breakup, Taehyung doesn’t waste a second to try get a date with you. In his bed, of course. But all his sugar-talking doesn’t seem to really work… until one blurry party night where you two end up together in a dirty bathroom.
genre/warning: porn with a lil plot. pure smut. / cursing, dirty talk (a lot), a little degradation, fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), penetration, rough sex, unprotected sex, cum eating (dirty as hell), creampie, overstimulation, lowkey yandere wth — i went all in i’m so sorry (im not)
author’s note: probably my nastiest writing ever. so get ur panties ready hoes
word count: +8k words
Taehyung noticed you before even finishing his first drink.
It wasn’t dramatic, no slow motion, no music cutting out, but it still hit him low in the stomach, sharp and inconvenient. You were in the middle of the living room, moving like you belong there, like the crowd bent around you without you trying. Your hair was sticking to your neck from the heat, your smile careless, loose, the kind that said you were not thinking too hard about anything. About him, especially.
Taehyung told himself he was just surprised. He’d heard, obviously. Everyone had. You and your boyfriend were done. A clean break, no details, just enough information to make it real. Still, seeing you there, dancing like nothing had cracked open in your life… it did something ugly to his thoughts. Something eager.
He was watching you for too long. He knew he did, knew it was wrong in about six different ways— same friend group, bad timing, worse intentions. You’ve never given him the time of day. Not really. Polite smiles, quick hellos, conversations that died before they even warmed up— it was never meant to work. He’d flirted before, light, joking, half-serious… and you’d always slid right past it, like you didn’t even notice or care.
Which was almost worse than rejection.
But Taehyung kept finding you anyway. In every room, every corner. His eyes tracked you without permission. You laughed with someone else and he wondered who got to hear that laugh up close now. You swayed to the music and he thought about how your ex must’ve had it easy, must’ve taken things for granted. He hated that thought, hated how personal it felt.
He hated how you wouldn’t look at his way. Hated how he knew that night it would be the same as always, you wouldn’t care about him and his poor attempts of flirting.
That’s why Taehyung hated how all night you didn’t look at him, not even once.
Same old story.
By the time the night blurred at the edges— too loud, too warm, too many bodies pressed together— he was convincing himself of two things: that whatever he was thinking was a terrible idea, and that he was already in too deep to stop thinking about it.
Ten minutes too many he found you again.
When he found you again, you were dancing with a man he didn’t recognize. Tall, broad shoulders, hands moving just a little too close to your ass. The music was loud enough to rattled the windows, bass heavy, filthy, and you moved like you knew exactly what you were doing. Not trying to impress, not trying at all.
That was what made it unbearable for him.
You rolled your shoulders, laugh when the guy leaned in to say something stupid in your ear. Your body followed the beat effortlessly, like it belonged there, like it had been waiting all night to be seen. Taehyung felt something hot and sharp crawl up his spine, watching the man’s hands, watching where they didn’t touch. He wondered if you’d let him do better, wondered if you’d notice the difference.
He knew he could be better, so much better.
Stronger grip, slower movements, he wouldn’t rush it like that idiot was clearly trying to. He wouldn’t crowd you, wouldn’t beg for attention with cheap lines and beer-breath confidence. He’d make you look at him. Make you lose control and make you choose. He would make you want it, crave it, he would build it for you, make you beg for it.
The thought turned dark fast. He imagined your back against the wall instead of the dancefloor. Imagined the way your smile would change if it was meant just for him, smaller, sharper, dangerous. He hated how badly he wanted it. Hated that he had wanted it for a long time, even when you barely spared him a glance.
Especially then.
Taehyung teared his eyes away before getting worse, retreating to the kitchen with the rest of the group, forcing himself into conversation he didn’t want to hear. Forced to get you out of his mind and socialize. He hated it. But he had to.
And some minutes later he thought he’s doing better. Someone gave him a drink, a girl he vaguely recognized. She was cute, loud, she was leaning too close. She laughed at something he didn’t say. She touched his arm. He wasn’t feeling it, and he hated it.
His attention kept snapping back to the living room, to the way you move, the way that man kept trying to keep up with you and failing. Taehyung told himself it shouldn’t matter, he told himself you were freshly broken up, off-limits, bad timing wrapped in a bad idea, bad decision. If you hadn’t chose. him before you were definitely not going to choose now. He had been trying to convinced himself for years about it, after you had been introduced to the group, after you choose to date one of his closest friends, after you choose another man that wasn’t him.
And lately he had been trying, he had been doing better. Trying not to flirt with you, trying to stay away from you, barely seeing you, specially when you were with your boyfriend. The last two months he had decided to just get over it. There was a thousand more girls around he could sleep with, he didn’t need to obsess over someone who didn’t want him and who was dating one of his friends.
But, of course, you had broken up.
And he found you in this party.
And he was losing his mind.
You appeared in the kitchen, like you felt him thinking about you. You slipped into the room with a grin that looked like trouble, eyes bright, hair messy from dancing. You scanned the room once, then lifted your voice just enough to cut through the noise.
“Who wants to take shots with me?”
There was a pause, a collective hesitation.
Taehyung had his answer before he could even think about it. “I do.”
It came out solid, certain.
But it didn’t surprise him. Because he had never doubt for a second of doing anything related to you.
You looked at him then. And something flickered in your expression. Surprise, maybe… or interest. Or maybe you were just drunk enough to make reckless decisions.
“Okay,” you said, like you’ve already decided. “Let’s go.”
The girl at his side opened her mouth, clearly expecting an invitation. She didn’t get one.
Taehyung didn’t even look back as he followed you through the crowd, shoulder to shoulder, close enough that he could smell your perfume and could feel the heat of your body. Warm, sweet, dangerous. The improvised counter— which some friends had paid for the cheap bartender to have any drink they wanted— next to the stairs was sticky and loud and packed, but somehow it felt like the two of you carved out your own space.
You leaned over the counter. “Four shots of tequila.”
“Two,” Taehyung corrected, low and calm.
You glanced at him. “Scared?”
He smirked. “Don’t get crazy. We have all night.”
That earned him a laugh, short and sharp. You liked that kind of exchange, he could tell.
The bartender slid the glasses over. You grabbed yours immediately, clinking it against his.
“To having all night,” you said.
Taehyung held your gaze. “To take our time.”
You took the shot without breaking eye contact. It burned but you didn’t flinch.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, then glanced at him sideways. “So, how’ve you been?.”
“Good,” he answered. Not really interested in making small talk. “I heard about your breakup.”
“Um,” You hummed, already looking past it. “Everyone did.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?” you replied lightly. “It ended. Now I’m here dancing.”
There was something deliberate in the way you dismissed it, like you refused to give it weight. Taehyung respected, he wanted to push anyway. But he didn’t, not yet. He asked for more tequila.
“Now you’re taking shots.”
You tiltled your head, studying him now. “Who was that girl you were with?”
He blinked. “What girl?”
“The one desperately touching your arm like it might save her life.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “No idea.”
“Liar. And rude for not inviting her to take shots with us.” You shook your head. “She looked mad.”
“Honestly,” he said, voice dropping, “I wasn’t paying attention.” Your eyes lingered on him a second longer than necessary “And the guy you were dancing with?” he asked casually. “Your date? He seemed… eager.”
You smiled, slow and unimpressed. “He was fine.” You didn’t confirm if he was your date which he knew it was on purpose to leave him guessing.
You leaned closer, elbows on the counter, invading his space on purpose now. “Why? You’re going to tell Jungkook?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Should I?”
Your lips twitched. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“If I end up fucking him tonight.”
The air between you tightened. The music faded into background noise. Taehyung didn’t like the way you would do anything to get Jungkook’s attention, your ex boyfriend. He leaned in just enough that only you could hear him.
“Why don’t you find someone who can do a better job?”
“You don’t know—”
“He looked pathetic.”
Your eyes narrowed. Your lips moved to his ear, you were playing something he hadn’t see in you before. “And who could a better job?.”
Taehyung was aware you knew what he would answer. You were daring him, provoking him. And he was never one to back down.
“I know I could.”
Your smile sharpened, in a mean, interested way. “Big words,” you said. “From someone I’ve barely noticed.”
“That is your mistake,” he replied.
You laughed again, but this time it was quieter. A little out of it.
You grabbed the second shots and slid it toward him. “Careful,” you murmured. “I’m drinking too much and you’re starting to look like your best friend who dumped me.”
He picked up the glass, ignoring your mean words. “You asked for shots.”
You clinked glasses again. When you purred down, neither of you looked away.
The shots kept coming.
You ordered them like it was muscle memory, like the night wasn’t already tilting slightly off its axis. Taehyung didn’t stop you. If anything, he encouraged it, slid the glasses closer, nudged your elbow with his, leaned in so his voice landed warm against your ear.
“You’re trouble,” he murmured after two more shots, smiling like it was a compliment.
“You say that like it’s new information,” you replied, already lifting the glass.
The tequila burned less this time. Or maybe you were just numb to it. You laughed when it hit, head tipping back slightly, throat exposed for half a second too long.
Taehyung’s eyes track the movement without shame. And he thought how his hand would look around it, how he would squeeze it enough to make you let out a sweet noise for him. His eyes narrowed, he licked his lips, watching yours lower lip wet with alcohol. He wanted to licked you clean, taste your mouth. He could just leaned in and kiss you, devour you. It could be so simple…
“You always look like this when you drink?” he asked.
“Like what?”
“Like someone I want to ruin.”
You snorted, not really feeling it. “You’re embarrassing.”
“I’m honest,” he corrected.
His hand brushed your lower back, not lingering, not innocent either. Just enough to make a point. You didn’t move away, and that alone felt like permission.
Then you tilted your head, eyes sharp despite the alcohol. “You remember I just broke up with one of your best friends, right?”
There it was.
The line in the sand.
Taehyung didn’t even pretend to think about it. He smiled, slow and unapologetic.
“When has that ever stopped me?”
The words settled between you two, heavy and wrong and charged.
He knew exactly what he was in that moment. A bad friend, a worse idea. The kind of man people warn you about after the fact. He should feel guilt clawing at his chest, loyalty screaming louder than want. Instead, all he felt was hunger. It was stupid how badly he wanted you. Embarrassing, really. Like a craving that had been denied for so long it had turned feral. He wanted you quietly, patiently, from a distance, he had watched you choose someone else, watched his friend fumbled you like he didn’t know what he had.
If he were smarter, he’d have known.
Taehyung knew, he knew the moment Jungkook left you out of his claws for a second any man would try to have his hands on you— including him. And the worst thing was, Taehyung knew something so sad. He knew his best friend was probably in bed now, thinking about you, about getting you back, about how bad he was to screw things with you. Taehyung didn’t need to heart it, didn’t need to know. If he did maybe a tiny drop of guilt could have formed in his stomach. But he preferred to play blind. If his friend never told him he missed you, how he screwed up… then Taehyung couldn’t feel guilty about wanting to have you.
And he knew he could do better. He knew Jungkook could brag about you, about how good he was at everything. In sports, in music, in dancing… in touching you. In making you feel good. Taehyung hated that thought, he didn’t like it at all. Because if he knew one thing about you, is that he could make you feel better than anyone. He knew he’d worship you in all the ways his friend never thought to.
The thought made something dark and possessive curled in his stomach.
And you just laughed, not nervous, not impressed. Just amused.
“You’re evil, Taehyung.” You said, shaking your head. “Truly.”
And the way you said his name. God, the world was just being so unfair to him.
“And yet,” he replied softly, “you haven’t left yet.”
You didn’t argue.
More shots came. The party grew louder, messier, bodies packed tight, sweat and bass and spilled alcohol everywhere. Taehyung felt untouchable, dangerous, like the world had narrowed down to the curve of your mouth and the way you kept leaning into him without realizing it.
Eventually, you sighed and push off the bar. “I need the bathroom.”
“I’ll wait.”
He watched you walk away. Every step. The sway of your hips, the confidence in your body, the way heads turned as you pass. His thoughts spiralled fast and ugly. He imagined you alone in the mirror, fixing your lipstick, steadying yourself. He imagined himself going behind you and pushing that little skirt you were wearing to your waist, his fingers touching you in your sweetest places, the places you liked. He imagined the way your lips would part and the noises you would make…
His train of dirty thoughts stopped.
The man who you were dancing early passed by his side, walking to the bathroom you entered. Taehyung watched him hesitate for half a second before opening the door and close it behind him.
Something snapped in him, something deep and violent.
And he was moving before logic caught up.
The bathroom door swung open and the scene was almost painfully normal. You were at the sink, leaning forward slightly, fixing your hair. The man stood too close, saying something in your ear you clearly didn’t care about. But he had his hands on your waist, and Taehyung didn’t like that at all. Who the fuck did he think he was to touch you like that?
Taehyung grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved him back out into the hall without ceremony. “Get out.”
“What the—”
“Bye.”
The door slammed shut in his face, Taehyung locked the door before turning to you.
You whirled around. “What the hell are you doing?”
Your voice echoed off the tiles, sharp and incredulous. You didn’t look scared or furious, but slightly annoyed at him for the scene.
Your eyes flashed. “And if I did? That’s not your problem.”
The words hit him like a slap. He stepped closer. “You can do better.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I already have,” he shrugged. “Or do you want me to bring him back inside so he can give you a lame fuck?.”
You scoffed, pushing past him slightly, chin lifted in challenge. “What the hell is wrong with you?” you asked. “Can you stop pretending you’re something of mine?.”
“Can you stop pretending you don’t want this to happen?.” he snapped, gesturing between you two. “We both know you’re now just full of shit.”
You laughed in his face, sharp. “You don’t know anything about me if you think I wanna fuck you.”
“Please, you didn’t leave my side all night. You had been waiting for me to make a move.”
Taehyung knew he was playing a dangerous game. But he liked his odd. He liked to play with you. And he knew one thing: It had been the first time you had entertained him after all his attempts of trying to get you.
So he had to be right. He wanted to be right.
Your jaw tightened. “If I wanted to fuck you, I would have done it a long time ago.” You got closer to him. Your nose almost inches from touching his face. You looked up to him. You were o close he could feel your breath. “Why do you think I went for Jungkook and not you?.”
Your words landed, heavy and deliberate, and for a second the only sound in the bathroom was the muffled music bleeding through the walls, the buzz of voices outside, the drip of a leaky faucet.
Taehyung didn’t move, didn’t back away. He looked down at you like he was trying to memorize your face.
“Because you like playing safe,” he said finally, voice low and deep, almost calm. Too calm. “Easy choice. Someone you didn’t have to think about too much.”
You scoffed, but you didn’t pull back. “And you think you’re what? Complicated?”
“I think,” he started, leaning in just enough that your lips almost brush when he spoke, “you didn’t want to want me. Because we both know, once I’m done with you, you won’t stop thinking about it.”
That does it.
Something shifted in your expression, annoyance giving way to something sharper, more dangerous. You tilted your head, smirk slow and cruel.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you murmured. “You’re not special. You just have a deep voice and recently got jacked.”
Taehyung huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. His hand came up, bracing against the sink beside you, boxing you in without touching you. The proximity was intentional, claimed.
“Funny,” he said. “For someone who doesn’t want me, you’re not trying very hard to leave.”
You glanced down, then back up at him through your lashes. “Maybe I just like watching you make a pathetic man of yourself.”
He hummed. “Or maybe, maybe you like when I look at you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’ve been waiting all night to get you alone.”
Taehyung can see the way your eyes quickly moved to his mouth against your will. And he knows you hated that he noticed it.
“You’re obsessed,” you muttered, trying to get some control.
“Yeah,” he said easily. “With you.”
The word hung there, unashamed and unapologetic.
You swallowed, jaw tightening again. “You’re a terrible friend.”
“I know,” Taehyung replied, eyes never leaving yours. “And I still want you.”
You tried to step back but your lower back hit the sink. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt without permission, like your body betrayed you before your mouth could keep up. And you tried to blame it on the way you destabilized yourself when you tried to step back. You realized too late Taehyung was already enjoying the motion.
His gaze dropped to your hand and then back to your eyes.
“There,” he murmured. “That.”
You tried to pull your hand back. He didn’t let you, not grabbing, just stepping closer so there was nowhere for it to go. Your legs were squeezing together. His jeans rasping your bare legs. His torso brushing your chest, heat radiating, tension coiled tight between you.
“Say it again,” he said softly.
“Say what?”
“That you don’t want me.”
You opened your mouth.
And this time nothing came out.
Taehyung exhaled, slow and controlled, like he was reached the edge of his restraint. His hand lifted, grabbing your chin in his fingers without delicacy and tilting your face up.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
You did.
And when he kissed you, it was brutal.
It wasn’t soft or careful. Taehyung’s mouth crashed into yours like he was done pretending he had any restraint, like every thought he had swallowed all night finally snapped. It was messy, hungry, teeth knocking just slightly before it settled into something deeper and slow. His mouth tasting every place of yours, trying to memorize every single part of your mouth.
His hands were everywhere over your body at first, brushing them over your face and waist before one gripped your jaw, thumb pressing just enough to make you gasp into his mouth, the sound swallowed instantly. The other slid down your waist, firm, claiming and possessive, fingers digging in like he was afraid you’ll disappear if he let go. He crowded you back against the sink, body heat pinning you there, not gentle about it.
You made a sound, low, surprised, mad. Like you had woken up from the enchanted of the kiss. You bit his lower lip, trying to push him away. Taehyung groaned against your lips like it was exactly what he wanted.
“Fuck,” he muttered, barely pulling back, forehead resting against yours. His breath was hot, uneven. “You feel this and still wanna lie to me?”
Before you could answer, he kissed you again.
Deeper and slower this time. Like he had decided to savor it. His mouth moved with intent, like he knew exactly how to pull a reaction out of you, how to make your hands fist in his shirt, how to make your knees go weak even while you were trying to stay mad.
Your fingers slid up his neck, nails scraping just enough to make him suck in a sharp breath. His grip tightened in response, hand slipping up your back, flattening you to him. There was no space left, no room to think.
The bathroom felt too small, it buzzed from the music outside. The mirror caught the movement, your bodies pressed together, his head tilted down, yours tipped back slightly, lips swollen, breath ruined.
Taehyung pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark, blown out, jaw tight like he was holding himself back from doing something much worse. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow, possessive.
“Okay. Now tell me to stop if you really want me to.”
You wanted to say something sharp, something mean.
Instead, you grabbed him again and kissed him back, harder and needy. And Taehyung let out a sound that was pure satisfaction as he kissed you like he had been waiting his whole life to finally have you, like he had been starving and you were the only thing that could ever fix it.
The fact that now you wanted him too made his heart beat like it was about to jump out of his chest.
Taehyung wanted to take it slow. Show you how good he could be for you, even though you had been so mean to him. But he couldn’t wait. He didn’t want to wait for you to change your mind. And as much as he wanted to have your mouth over his till the end of times, it took everything in him to pushed back enough to look at you in the eyes. His hands roaming all over your body before they settled in your waist.
God, he wanted to ruin you so bad.
You looked so good for him. Your hair messy, your lips swollen and red, your cheeks blush, your eyes dark and lustful. For him, only for him. You were practically begging him to act up, looking like that. You were sinful.
“What are you doing?,” you asked breathily when he pulled apart slightly.
Taehyung looked at you. “I want you to say it.”
“Say what?.”
“Say you want me.”
You titled your head, confused. You had finally accepted him and he was trying to make you say it out loud?. You didn’t know if you should’ve been mad or horny.
“Are you serious?.
“Say it,” he said. His voice deeper, firmer. “Say it and I’ll take care of you.”
You went silent, just for a second before looking at him prettily. “I want you.”
“Say it correctly.”
“I want you, Tae.”
You weren’t ashamed, you didn’t look shy or regretful. It was like it caused you satisfaction to say those words. Maybe because you knew the effect that you had on him.
And the way you said his name, the way your voice went so sweet, almost pouty…. needy. Taehyung was only a man after all. And you had a way to make his head spin in the wrong ways. You gave him a smile that seemed like you were just begging him to ruin you. Taehyung didn’t think of him as a strong willed man. He could see you looking at him like that and it was game over for him.
With a hand on your chin, he leaned in to give you a sweet kiss. He thought of all the ways that he would ruin you that night. The way you finally wanted him like that too. He wanted to burn his taste inside your mouth. He wanted you to be full of him in every way you could be. Just him, nobody else, not your ex boyfriend, not that man you were dancing with him. His, only his. And he knew that once he was done with you… you would come back for him, for more.
God, he was going insane.
His lips moved to your jaw, kissing down to your neck with desire, sucking hard and not caring whether or not it bruised. He imagined for a second how Jungkook would react to it. If tomorrow he showed up to your house, asking you to take him back only to find you covered in Taehyung’s marks. The thought made him rolled his eyes back, pleasure building in his stomach, making him rock hard. He wanted you more than words could let you know. He turned to marking you to show you just how bad he craved you, how much you were now his.
His right hand hovered over your body, slowly making his way between your thighs. You were so sweet for him, slowly opening your legs to give him better access. To invite him to touch you. He kissed your mouth as a reward, you were so obedient. Taehyung liked it, like the way you would do whatever you wanted to have your pleasure, to get off. He liked the way you choose him, only him, to trust him with it.
He wasn’t going to disappoint you.
Taehyung ran his index finger through your folds over the cloth. He moaned into your neck, eyes rolling back at the feeling of your soaked panties. God, you were going to kill him. Have you been wet all night? or did he make you feel like this just now?. He couldn’t wait to put his mouth there between your legs. It was so soaked through that he could feel the outline of your pussy perfectly. He pushed his index finger just barely into your hole, feeling your panties scrunch up into it.
He pulled away to catch his breath, eyes full of lust as he watched your face contort with pleasure from his touch.
“You like that?,” Taehyung whispered in your mouth. His voice deeper, it made you clenched into nothing. “I’m going to touch you, okay?. I’m going to make you feel so good.”
His eyes were dark and blown out. He pulled your panties down just barely, letting them sit below your hip bones while he kissed your chin. He was agonizingly slow as he pulled further and further, not daring to reveal your cunt until you were desperate enough to say it out loud.
“Tae—”
“Yeah,” he nodded at you. “I like how you say my name like that, so pretty.” He kissed your mouth, hard. “You’re so pretty. So pretty for me.”
His fingers found your clit. You melted into the feeling, sighing in relief. Your hips twitched closer to his hand, making sure he won’t leave so soon.
“Yes, please.”
He stopped, making you whined.
Taehyung swallowed the noise, his cock twitching in his pants. He kissed you hard, tongue sliding in your mouth to prove how much he wanted you, messy, dirty. It felt perverted how much he wanted to have your mouth in his all the time. But he had a mission.
“Fuck, fuck.” He gave you a last peck before slowly kneeling. “Say please again.” You groaned and his fingers circled your clit again, this time with more intention. You bit your lip as he watched you trying to contain your pretty sounds. “Say it. Ask nicely, baby. And don’t bite your lips, I wanna hear you.”
You let a breathy moan, opening your legs wider while looking at him. “Please, Tae.”
“So sweet,” he kissed and bit your inner thighs. “So, so sweet for me. God, you’re so hot, baby. Gonna make you feel good. Wanna hear you, okay?. Make me hear you.”
Taehyung was so desperate, he felt feral. He almost was sure he could cry. He had waited for so long, so patiently. You’ve finally broken, you finally wanted him back. You were finly speeding your pretty legs for him to touch you, to make you feel better. His cock was straining against his pants, he could feel his pre cum leaking profusely from his tip, but he ignored it completely to focus on you.
His hands quickly moved your skirt higher, leaving him a good sight of your cunt. He tried not to lose control, sliding your panties to the ground and taking them off before saving them in his pocket. He could moan from the sight. Your glistening pussy, so sweet and waiting for him.
Taehyung rubbed your slit and gathered your arousal on his fingers. You gasped as he glided his fingers across your clit, playing with the swollen bud for a minute, wanting to get you soaking before he stretched you out, before be could taste you. He circled his finger around your entrance, teasingly applying pressure just to watch you squirmed. He felt good, having you like that.
Even if he was on his knees he felt like he had the power. He was going to make sure you would come crying back to him every night asking for his touch, desperate, needy for him and no one else.
He dipped a finger into your hole, stopping once he was knuckle-deep. He fucked his finger into you slowly, and you sighed at the relief. He watched his finger sink into you, humming in pleasure when he saw how it collected your wetness. Taehyung didn’t ask before he was inserting another finger, already feeling your walls clenching at him for dear life. His fingers were so long, so mean, stuffing you so deep and full. He couldn’t wait to have his cock burry inside you. The stretch would feel like heaven, and he knew you were craving to be stuffed by him.
Taehyung increased his pace a little more, curling his fingers up. It took him a minute to find what he was looking for, but he knew he got it when you cried and your leg kicked out helplessly. It didn’t take you too long to put it around his shoulder, Taehyung hold it steady, gripping your fat thigh. You held yourself for dear life to the sink behind you. He kept pressing into that spot, curling his fingers up to hit it every time, relishing in the garbled moans that spill out of your mouth.
You arched your back and yelp at the sensation of him pressing against the spongy part inside of you roughly. He grinned and kept thrusting against that spot, watching your reactions with amused eyes. His head moved down between your thighs, biting and sucking at all the flesh his mouth could find.
And then he wrapped his lips around your clit once he grew tired of marking you.
“Umm, shit!… Tae!”
Taehyung could come from just your taste and your sweet sounds. He was sure of it.
His eyes almost rolled back at how much you were clamping down on him, his wet fingers making dirty noises of how hard he was fucking them inside you, wet sounds filling the buzz in the room. But that wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to taste you correctly.
With a final hard suck on your clit, he took his fingers out of your entrance before eating you out properly. Taehyung thought you were such a dream when you were mewling and panting like that, eager for him. He licked you like you were the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted. At first very slow, dragging his tongue flat and firm to savour you and memorize you with his tongue. And then focusing in on your clit with a rhythmic flick that had your whole body jerking. He knew how to make you jump in pleasure now, and he loved knowing it.
Your hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft dark strands as you moaned shamelessly. He liked you like that, shameless, breakable.
His tongue moved down to your fluttering entrance, and his stomach clenched when he realized how empty you must feel for him. Taehyung couldn’t wait to fuck you, have you stuffed of him. But first, he stuffed his tongue inside you, making sure his nose stayed pressed against your clit. He moaned at your juices dripping on his taste buds and the way you tried to tighten around his tongue. He licked and rubbed at you as much as he could, determined to get his fill of your arousal.
Taehyung could swear he could cum untouched if he hadn’t waited so long for you to finally gave in. He swore he could die between your legs, his mouth on your cunt, sucking and lapping, moaning into your heat like he had found water after being thirsty. He was making the most unholiest, nasty dirty noises like it was a fucking heaven for him. And it was, it was a dream.
Taehyung was going insane.
Everything faded into a lofty state of bliss while he hungrily ate you out without taking a break, consumed with the urge to swallow you whole. He relished in the way you grabbed onto his hair, nails digging into his scalp as he barely pulled back for air all while he devoured you. The way you were squirming and rubbing yourself in his tongue and nose was a sight to behold, one that caused him to chase the friction that he earned when his aching, neglected cock rubbed in his pants, almost humping the air like a dog in heat.
You moaned, pulling him back by the hair. His mouth, nose and chin covered in your juices, he looked crazy drunk of you. He was crazy drunk of you.
“Tae…”
“Want you to cum on my mouth,” he tried to go back but you pulled his hair harder.
“Fuck me already, please.”
Taehyung was sure you were a witch.
His cock jumped in his pants. In less than two seconds he was already standing up, badly cleaning his face with his shirt before stamping his lips into yours and kissing you hard. You moaned at your own taste. His kiss was messy, he wanted to show you how much he wanted you. How dirty and perverted he was for you.
You jolted when you felt his teeth on your jaw and neck, biting down and sucking hard. It made your hips push forward, and he moaned against you. His hard on poking at your thigh angrily, he start rubbing himself on you. Taehyung started to suck at your neck. the pressure was light, but enough to leave a hickey. You played with his fluffy hair, letting out a noise between a sigh and a moan.
Taehyung pushed you harder to the sink, unbuckling his jeans and shoving them down with his underwear to the ground. His cock jumped out. His tip was red and angry, leaking pre cum. Taehyung was big, and veiny. He saw the way your eyes narrowed down, as if you wanted to kneel and put it in your mouth.
Before he could stop you, you were already wrapping your hand around him. Your thumb brushed his tip, collecting the pre cum before passing it around his length. He groaned, closing his eyes and his head dropping to your shoulder while you started pumping his cock so softly. Like you were taking your time to made him suffer.
“You’re so big.” You said so sweetly, like you weren’t doing the nastiest shit ever. As if he didn’t make him have the dirtiest thoughts about you. “Your cock is so pretty, Tae.”
Your fingers could barely wrapped around his cock, your hand was hot and felt so good around him. Shit, Taehyung knew wasn’t going to last much. You felt too good, You were so good for him, touching him like that. So sweet making him lost in pleasure. Your soft hands making him feel so good…
Taehyung opened his eyes suddenly.
No, you weren’t the one that was supposed to have control. He promised he was going to make you feel good.
He took your hand out, softly, to not make you angry. He wrapped it around his cock and moved to give him space between your legs.
“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he whispered into your ear. “I want you to take it, okay?. Gonna take what I give you.” The head of his cock brushed your clit and it made your thighs jolt. “I’m gonna fuck you how I want. Got it?” You nodded. He grabbed your jaw with hardness, his gripped in your thigh around his waist was leaning a mark. “Say it.”
“Yes,” you breathed out.
“Yes, what?” he gathered your arousal on his cock as he waited for your answer, sliding his tip through your folds, your juices coating all his length. And then his tip hit your clit angrily, so good it made you rolled your eyes for a second.
Your head was spinning, and you knew you shouldn’t let it happen, but fuck, you need it too. “yes, I’ll take it, everything.” You whined. “Just fuck me already,” you caved, arching your back invitingly.
“Say please,” he teased.
“Taehyung—”
“Say it.”
“Mmm. Please, please…”
Taehyung gripped your thigh and slammed into you, hips snapping forward with a force that punched the air from your lungs. Your back arched, toes curling as the wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. You felt so good, Taehyung hissed and dropped his forehead to your shoulder, pushing forward and brutally the last bit that wasn’t able to fit. It was rough, almost a little painful. He tried to held your legs open so he could try to press his hips flush against yours. You both groaned at the feeling, needing a minute to adjust.
Taehyung felt like heaven. He tried to think about the music outside, the buzz, the dirty bathroom and all the germs, the terrible dancers… he wanted to think other that wasn’t your cunt choking his cock so needy. No, he couldn’t. You were burning. You were wrapped around him so warm, so delicious. He could feel his thighs tensing, his grip in your skin tightened. You were so good, so perfect, your walls were swallowing him whole.
“Shit, so good. You— you feel so good.” Taehyung stuttered. He pulled out just a couple inches and rammed himself back in. You cried in his ear, feeling so deliciously full, it was almost overwhelming. “Yes, yes. Shit, you sound so sweet, baby. Tell me, tell me how much you like it.”
“S-so good. You feel so good.”
Oh, shit. He was going to make a mess out of you.
Taehyung slammed his hips into yours harder, meaner. His tip touching the spongy spot it made you almost whimpered. His hand pressed hard in your lower tummy, making you squeeze him harder.
“Gonna fuck you so good, you’re gonna keep coming back for more.” You could barely breathe, barely think. His cock was hitting every sensitive spot inside you, your clit throbbing from how hard he was diving into you. “Gonna make you beg for it, just how you made me do it for years.”
He reached down, thumb finding your clit again, rubbing fast circles that made your whole body spasmed under him.
“Wait, w-wait, too much…” You stuttered, jaw dropping open with a gasp as he pounded into you.
He gripped your hair, pulling your head back, your lips meeting in a hot, messy kiss. You were practically drooling with the way his cock was abusing your cunt. He was meaner, he was trying to prove something.
Your head fell back as he continued fucking you angrily. His mouth bit your throat, marking your skin as his.
“I told you, you’ll take what I give you.” He growled, his voice rough, wrecked. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be stretched, filled— fucked properly?” You shook your head, teeth biting down into your bottom lip roughly to suppress your moans. He chuckled dryly, moving his hips a little faster as he fucked you. “You were gonna choose a lame guy to what? Seek attention of your loser ex? You’re so pathetic, baby.” Taehyung felt on cloud nine, he couldn’t stop taking, couldn’t stop fucking you. “But it’s okay now. I’ll take care of it. Gonna make you dumb, huh? Gonna make you so dumb you won’t be thinking about him anymore.”
“Mhm, don’t stop,” you whined, pulling his hair.
“Did he touch you better than this?” He slammed his hips harder into you. “I’ll make you forget about him. This greedy cunt is mine now. Got it? He’ll probably be back begging for you to take him back,” his grip on you were bruising now. His thrusts came fast, filthy, brutal, skin slapping, breath ragged. “But you’ll be dripping and covered in me. Only me, baby. That fucking loser won’t have you, huh? He doesn’t deserve you… tell me you won’t take him back.”
You shook your head, “I won’t.”
“Say my name. Promise me you won’t take him back.”
“I won’t— I won’t take him back,” you whined, too drunk of him. “I promise, I promise, Tae.”
Taehyung was sure you didn’t know what you were saying, what he was making you say. Too drunk on him, too of a whore for his cock hitting the right places.
He rubbed your puffy clit faster. “That’s right. Y-you are gonna be crawling back to me, pretty. And I’ll fuck you like this. I’m the only— I’m the only one that can make you feel this good. Mm, shit— s’good. I should’ve been pumping this pretty cunt with cum every single day…”
Taehyung was already pounding you dizzy. And he felt his lower stomach tightened.
He knew he shouldn’t be so reckless. He should sprayed his cum on your thighs or in his hand. He knew that, but your cunt was sucking him in so tightly and so delicious that the only thing he could think of was his cum rushing deep inside of you. Consequences be damned, he thought. He’ll cum inside of you if he fucking wanted to.
You were his now, you looked so gorgeous only for him. He continued thrusting into you hard, never pulling out more than halfway, letting you take him deep inside your cunt. “oh my god, don’t stop,” you urged, nails digging into his neck and shoulders.
You were close. Taehyung felt your walls squeezing him harder. He moaned in your neck, you were sucking him so hard it was too much. He rubbed your clit desperately, helping you find your release. It didn’t take you too long to do so. Your high hit you like a truck, your nails scrapped his shoulder, your mouth parting to moan loudly. You closed your eyes, walls closing so hard and your juices coating his cock. Your vision went blurry, your breathing uneven.
Taehyung’s cock twitched inside you. His eyes rolled back, his hands gripping your skin as he heard your whimper. That hit his final straw, his forehead hit your shoulder as he felt succumbing to the sweet release. He needed it so bad, and so much more he kept slowly rutting into you, his cock softening in his pants as he allowed himself to keep going. The overstimulation was getting to him, teeth sinking back into his lip as he tried to contain his whiny moans.
He didn’t stop, not even as he came undone, ropes and ropes of hot cum filling up your sloppy cunt and spurting down onto your thighs. He was unrelenting, keeping you within the throes of orgasmic bliss with his cock plunging inside of you over and over again. You tried to push him away, whining overstimulated, but he didn’t let you.
It took you both a couple of minutes to catch your breath and come back to reality. The buzz of the music and noise outside hitting you back to reality. Taehyung felt you trying to push him away again, maybe to clean yourselves and go back outside. Finishing whatever had happened there.
But he didn’t want to. He didn’t want it to the end just yet.
Taehyung pulled apart, giving you a soft kiss before sliding out of you. You let a breathy moan, feeling your cunt expelling his cum and pulsating hard, very sensitive. He didn’t give you time to react before he was kneeling again, opening your legs apart to watch your pussy clenching at the tingling sensation of his cum dripping down.
His mouth was salivating at the sight. And he thought it was perfect. That is perfect. He wanted to see you covered in him. He wanted to give you all he had to offer to you. He wanted you to take it all.
“What are you doing?” You asked him, voice raspy. He looked at you, dark gaze and starry eyes. “Don’t do— Mmhg, Tae!”
His mouth was on you in an instant, tongue lapping up the mess he had uncovered like he didn’t care about anything else. His eyes rolled back at the taste, eating his own cum from your cunt. The first swipe was slow, tasting every bit of the slick coating your folds. He thought it was the perfect taste, the perfect meal. Both of you dripping from your pussy.
The next one was rougher, hungrier, tongue pressing deeper as he groaned into your heat. He wanted nothing more than that.
“Wait, wait. S’too much, too much…” You cried.
You tried to pushed him away, you were too sensitive, he could tell. Your lips were swollen and your puffy clit was so puffy and red. You were so cute, so sensitive, so weak. But Taehyung liked it, you couldn’t do anything than just take it. He gripped at you stronger, making you wrapped your leg around his shoulder and holding you in place as he licked you clean, every part of you dirty heat getting clean with his mean tongue.
Your back arched and he was sure that was the best view. Watching you break apart, legs open, back arched, trembling and moaning for him, in his tongue. Accepting your fate. Not being able to push him away, too week to fight. You just had to take it and enjoy it.
Fuck, he couldn’t wait to have you like that again. Stuffed by him, lying in his bed, in his sofa. Against his walls, in his kitchen counter. Taehyung was sure that wouldn’t be the last time. There was no way he could spent more than a week not tasting you, not feeling your heat in his face. Not being deep inside you. He couldn’t bear the thought of it. He wouldn’t have it that way.
Taehyung got sloppy with it, getting more into it. He didn’t care about how messy he got, lips and chin completely covered of your juices but he loved it. He practically drowned himself between your thighs, gripping them so tightly as if he was afraid you’ll slip away. But you weren’t, you really couldn’t. He was holding you open for him.
He pressed your thighs harder and pulled slightly apart. Your head quickly moved to look at him, exasperated, you looked troubled. Maybe trying to stop him, maybe looking for your next release. You were so pretty. Taehyung looked up at you and his cock twitched in his pants, dying to get hard again for you. You were a mess, tears spilling down your cheeks, your face red and your lips pouty. You were so cute, so overstimulated, so sensitive. Taehyung could come from that sight. He was so drunk of you, chin full of your juices and swollen lips. He thought you were the prettiest like that, ruined.
He dived back, his head back into your cunt, his eyes still glued to yours as he sucked on your clit, hard and mad. And it didn’t take you too much to come undone. He didn’t look away, not even when you sobbed and rubbed into his mouth desperate. He didn’t look away when he drank all your juices, and he didn’t look away when he cleaned you up like a starved man.
“S-stop! Please, please, Taehyung—”
You tried to pull him away from you by his hair, your grip so weak he could just push your hands away and dive back into you. But he didn’t, he wasn’t that mean. Not when you look so pretty fucked up.
God, you were so fucked. So ruined by him. He loved it. He loved it so much. You were a piece of art he had made.
You were still catching your breath, thighs trembling, almost sobbing and tears falling down your cheeks when Taehyung kissed you again, deep and dirty, like he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue. It was sloppy, messy. He thrusted his tongue into your mouth so he could make you taste everything.
He wanted to engraved himself into you forever.
Taehyung pulled apart, and held you softly between his arms, letting you come back to reality. It took a couple of minutes, voices barging outside to hurry up because someone wanted to use the bathroom. He barely cared about it. His hands grabbing your face to watch you, cleaning your dry tears with his thumb and making you look at his eyes with your now dumb gaze.
“You’re okay, baby?” He brushed your cheek sweetly. “I’m gonna clean you up now, okay? Just talk to me.”
“Uhm,” you nodded weakly. “Just need a second.”
Taehyung chuckled, watching you try to act tough. “It’s okay, take all the time you need.”
When you were able to stood by yourself, Taehyung cleaned himself quickly before grabbing some paper to start cleaning your thighs with delicacy, softly.
There was a silence. Taehyung was stretching the time cleaning you. Like he didn’t want to break the bubble you were both in. Because he didn’t. He didn’t want you to leave him. He didn’t want you to let go yet. It felt too soon. I felt wrong. He just wanted to take you back home, put you in his bed so you could rest and then fuck you again and again the next day.
You hummed, trying to get his attention. “Tae,” you called. He watched you from below, gaze softer. Your eyes weren’t so bright now. “We can’t tell Jungkook about this.”
Taehyung stopped breathing for a second. It felt like the little bubble you were both in had exploded. His blood burned all over his body. Why were you even thinking about him now? It pissed him off. You were now just shaking and crying for him and now you were thinking about Jungkook?.
He wanted to fuck you stupid again. Make you beg and cry for making him mad. Make you suffer a little for him…
His phone buzzed in his pants.
Taehyung took it, almost too aggressively, to find a lot of missing calls and messages.
Jungkook: arrived at the party
Jungkook: where are you?
Jungkook: do you know if she’s here?
idk what’s wrong with me and this nasty ass one shots but everytime i smoke is like i can’t write more angst but only porn 😓😓
this was nasty ashellll i’m so sorry. i feel like i have to confess my sins to god or something
𓄲 Desperate to escape the reality of your own life, you reach out to the last kind of guy someone like you would ever get involved with. Part time dealer and part time sexologist, Yoongi knows just what you need to take your mind off things.
dealer!민윤기 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙‹— cw first time doing weed smoking high-sex softdom!yoongi overstimulation (f.rec) fingering oral (f.rec) unprotected sex + creampie reader gets called 'Bambi' not proofread
⧽ word count ⋮ 6k
It would never occur to you to do something like this.
The streets are dark and unfamiliar. Windows are boarded up with planks. Tall apartment complexes loom over you, graffiti sprayed across their brick walls in memoir of their artist. The wind tugs on your coat and you pull it a little tighter around yourself.
You would never venture to this part of town, the one you had been warned about so many times before. "Stay away, Bambi. These places are home to bad people." Maybe you should've listened to the once shallow words of your friends and family — but another part of you craved the rebellion.
Being treated like an invalid by those around you was nothing new. 'Bambi on ice', that's what they would all call you. Someone to be coddled and protected, someone who couldn't fend for herself, someone who didn't know any better. You felt like a child among your peers, having never as much as drank or smoked, jesus half your family still believed you were a virgin.
God you hated it.
This was your silent revenge. To disappear into the night, to take control over a life that had never been yours to begin with. From now on, you would be calling the shots, you would be the one to decide what was best for you and what wasn't. If your parents could see you now, if they knew what you were about to do… Guilt and satisfaction blends inside of you like a lethal cocktail.
Your heels click against the pavement, right foot forward, then left, then right again. One more turn, then you would arrive. Checking the decided drop off location on your phone one last time, you brace yourself.
The street you step onto is vacant, save for the single lit streetlight that casts the alley in an eerie glow. "23rd Avenue, third streetlight at 11pm." That is what you had agreed on. You glance at the numbers on the lock screen, 10:55. There was still time for him to show up.
You had found him on a sketchy website, one you probably shouldn't have been on in the first place. From there you had struggled through a very brief conversation, lasting no more than three back and forth messages where you decided on a place and time. It had felt so easy in the moment. The one thing your parents had tried to protect you from had been one text away all along.
Now as you stand under the glowing light, you find yourself in doubt. This was completely uncharted territory for you. Never before had you even dared to consider the possibility of… Not to mention you knew nothing about this man. What if he had tricked you? Could you really trust the faceless stranger whom you had exchanged such brief conversation with.
One painted nail taps restlessly at your arm as you stand with them folded over your chest. You glance both left and right, scanning the alley up and down in search of anyone who might be your guy. Thankfully you don't have to wait long for only a moment later, the sound of shoes against asphalt can be heard.
Your head whips in the direction of the sound, eyes peering through the darkness as you regard the slowly approaching figure.
He's dressed in all black, a thick hoodie thrown over his chest and the hood pulled up to shield larger parts of his face. He walks leisurely, like this was not at all the most nerve wracking moment of his life — likely because it wasn't. This was his job after all, he did this all the time and you were just another name in his book.
The faint yellow light casts him in a sheen glow when he comes to a halt just a couple of feet away. His hands are dug into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders sagging with exhaustion. "11pm?" He asks, purely out of formality you assume.
Silently, you nod, exhaling the breath you had been holding as you watch him.
From where he stood you could only make out the lower half of his face, the rest still neatly concealed by the hood over his head. The corner of his lip twitches, it was clear he could see you.
"You're early." He casually states, one of his hands moving inside the pocket of his hoodie, the rustling of plastic following.
"Would you rather I be late?" You suddenly retort, only to regret your words as soon as they leave you. Resisting the urge to clasp a hand over your mouth or blurt out a pathetic apology as your expression twists into mortification.
He pauses what he was doing, head lifting just enough for you to catch glimpse of nearly black eyes beneath the shadows of his hood. A chuckle rumbles deep in his chest, like your answer had amused him greatly.
Raising a pale hand from the pocket he'd been digging through just a moment ago, he pulls the hoodie down to reveal himself.
This man looks nothing like you had imagined. To be fair your views had been pretty biased — matted hair, dark under eye bags, an almost sick complexion. But the man before you exceeds all your expectations and more.
His face is smooth, his nearly black hair creeping down his neck in soft locks when he runs his fingers through them. What really catches your attention is the intensity of his piercing gaze, there's something deep and almost alluring in the way he regards you with the ghost of a smirk still on his lips.
"My apologies for remarking on your punctuality", he drawls before reaching into his pocket once more. You look on as he pulls out a small plastic bag, it was packed with something that looked almost like dried leaves. He turns it over in his palm before extending it toward you, "An eighth."
You frown, glancing between him and the bag he held out. "Eighth?" You quietly ask, fingers reaching out to brush against the zipper before you carefully took it.
The man hums, his hand returning to join the other in his pocket as he nods. "3.5 grams, about an eighth of an ounce. That's what you wanted isn't it?"
Oh. Right. A few google searches had told you that it was a standard amount for beginners who were starting out. "Uh, yeah..." You mumble when turning the small bag between your hands. It feels heavy in your palm, despite its very light weight.
"How much do I owe you?"
He only shrugs, "40 bucks."
Holy shit, you think to yourself, already fumbling for your wallet as the frown on your face deepens. "Cash...?" Stupid question, he must think you're an absolute idiot, even worse, the same invalid your family saw you as.
But the man only nods, his expression betraying nothing. He watches as you pluck out the dainty wallet your mother had given you for your birthday, pink and bedazzled to an embarrassing level. Ignoring the tremble to your fingers, you quickly count the bills before handing them to him.
He takes the money, not bothering to do a re-count himself as he shoves them straight into the back pocket of his jeans. After that an awkward silence fills the air between you.
"So..." You quietly begin, still gripping the plastic bag tightly, "Are we done here?"
The man regards you just a moment longer, then he gives a small, almost unnoticeable tilt of his head. "We are." He doesn't say anything else after that and before you can question it, he's turned on his heel and is already walking back down the way he'd come from.
You stand in silence, watching after his retreating silhouette as it disappears in the distance. Gaze dropping to the plastic bag still in your hands, you chew on your bottom lip awkwardly. Now what? Your thumb fiddles with the zipper before your attention shifts back up.
"Wait!"
A few yards away, the man comes to a halt. He turns his head enough to shoot you a look over his shoulder, clearly expecting you to continue.
Swallowing down the lump of nerves in your throat, you fiddle with the bag before sheepishly asking, "How do you smoke it?"
He stands completely still, from this far away it was impossible to tell what he was thinking. Then after another beat he turns back to face you. Listening to the sound of his re-approaching footsteps, you brace for impact. Only, it never comes.
He's come to a stop in front of you, closer now and you can pick up on the lingering scent of cigarettes and something musky. "You don't know how to smoke it?" He hums, voice no more than a low drawl of his tongue.
Avoiding his gaze, you peer down at the cracks in the pavement as you shake your head. You half expect him to laugh, maybe even demand the goods back — instead he steps closer.
His chest is practically brushing your now. Your eyes flit up to meet his, your heart nearly pounding out of your chest as you drink in the smirk he wears so casually.
"Do you want me to teach you?"
At first his question doesn't even register. Teach you? What on earth compelled him to offer something like that so simply... Unless he wanted a favor in return? You wouldn't put it past someone like him. Yet, as you search his face for any hint of deception, you find none.
He doesn't wait for you to respond, "My place ain't far." Nodding off to somewhere over his shoulder, he turns and begins walking once more.
Dumbfounded, you stand with the bag held loosely in one hand, your mouth agape as he walks away from you a second time that night, only this time you don't linger. Your feet move on their own accord, bringing you to a slight jog as you catch up.
"How can I trust you?" You warily ask, eyeing him with barely concealed suspicion.
The man only shrugs, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips. "You can't." He remains silent for a while, letting the sound of your joint footsteps fill the gap before he sends you a thoughtful look, "Can I trust you?"
You purse your lips, thumb brushing over the dried herbs inside the plastic bag. Then you hum out a soft breath that turns into a small cloud of smoke in the chilly night air, "No."
He chuckles, that same deep and raspy laugh, "Fair enough."
His apartment, if you could even call it that, was only a ten minute walk away. The flat consisted of a cramped bathroom, a very small kitchen and a single room where a large bed was pushed up against the corner, dwarfing half the space with its size.
The place was run down, well used by what you assumed to be previous tenants who'd all left a piece of themselves behind. Scratches on the floorboards, a chip in the paint on the walls — it looked just like you had expected the area's accommodations.
Behind you, the sound of a janky lock clicking in place can be heard. A moment later the man steps past you as he walks inside the makeshift bedroom. He takes a seat on the one lonesome chair, situated by the singular window. Then he turns to glance at you, still standing awkwardly in the doorway.
"Take a seat will you?" He hums, reaching behind him to turn on a simple light.
The bed creaks under your weight when you sink down on the mattress. Your heels had been left by the entrance, and your bare feet were staring back at you when you peered at the floor. Despite the warm yellow glow emitted from the lamp, shadows still prowled along the corners of the room, you shudder as you avert your gaze.
On the chair, the man leans forward, one hand extended with his palm up. "The bag", he says.
Your grip on the plastic tightens as your gaze drops toward the bag for a moment, then you hand it back over to him. His pale fingers brush against yours when he takes it form you, dark eyes never straying from yours and you bite back the shiver that threatens to crawl down your spine.
"What's your name?" He suddenly asks, sitting back in the chair as he places the plastic bag on the windowsill next to an unfamiliar pile of thin papers. Plucking the top one, he flattens it out against the cool surface with practiced ease.
Slightly taken aback by the sudden question, you shift awkwardly on the bed. "Bambi", you say after a moment's of hesitation. It wasn't the entire truth, then again, it wasn't entirely a lie either.
"Why Bambi?" He wonders, fingers pausing across the paper as he turns his head in your direction.
You shrug, picking awkwardly at your painted nails with pursed lips. "People say I remind them of one, a deer I mean."
"And do you agree with them?"
He asks it so casually that you almost wanted to tell him that it was none of his business. But the longer you watch him, you find yourself hesitating less and less. "Not really", you quietly admit.
Truth is you hated how your friends and family treated you. Like you were some porcelain vase ready to shatter at any moment's notice. You want to believe that it is not who you are. That is why you were here in the first place.
"What about you?" Your whisper barely makes it past the lump in your throat as you regard him shyly. "What is your name?"
The man, who'd been spreading the dried and crushed leaves in a fine line right through the middle of the paper, pauses. He shoots you a lingering glance, the corner of his lip tugging upward. "Yoongi." He simply states before returning to his work.
Nodding silently to yourself, you watch as he rolls up the paper with precision. Pale fingers moving along the paper, he taps one end lightly before deeming the job finished. Setting the now rolled joint down on the windowsill, he gets started on a second one.
"Is there a reason you want to do weed?" Yoongi hums as he grabs a fresh piece of paper and flattens it out. His tone is casual, if you hadn't been listening you might think he was asking about the weather.
Giving a shrug of your shoulders in an feigned attempt at nonchalance, you huff. "I don't know… I just wanted to try something new I suppose." It wasn't a total form of deception, if you really thought about it. But there was more to why you had contacted him, you both knew that.
"Yeah?" He says, grabbing the plastic bag to pour out more of the dried herb onto it. "Your family got anythin' to do with it?"
You frown, ignoring the way your heart sped up when he hit the nail on the head. "My family?"
Yoongi nods, rolling the paper together before bringing it to his lips, his eyes still peering over at you through his dark hair. "You know, the whole Bambi thing", he muses, dragging his tongue over the paper in order to seal it.
You watch with a dry throat as he does, fingers curling around the sheets beneath you. For some reason you couldn't find it in yourself to lie to him, you didn't think you even wanted to. "I suppose a little…" You murmur, gaze following the path of his hand when he grabs one of the joints and walks over to join you on the bed.
The mattress dips under his weight when he takes a seat, close enough to where your knees nearly brushed. "That's usually how it starts", he says as he fishes up a lighter from the pocket of his jeans.
He turns to you fully, joint between two fingers when he regards you, "You ever smoked before?"
Shaking your head, you grip the bedsheets a little tighter. God, he must think you're pathetic. But Yoongi only nods to himself, bringing the joint to rest between his lips. "It's fairly simple", he murmurs as he flicks the lighter with his thumb.
The flame ignites between the two of you, casting his face in a dangerous glow that makes his sharp features stand out all the more. He brings the fire to the end of the joint, drawing in a breath as the flame catches onto the rolled paper. Then he lets the lighter drop back between you as he inhales deeply.
You watch the ordeal with a mix of both horror and delight when Yoongi tips his head back and exhales a thick cloud of smoke. The murky scent of cannabis that fills the room makes you scrunch your nose in slight distaste.
He hands you the joint a second later and you blink twice before silently accepting it. "Bring it to your lips", he instructs, fingers wrapped around your wrist as he guides your hand toward your face. His touch is surprisingly gentle, but it didn't hold the same edge of faux protectiveness that your friends' and family's would.
"Inhale like you're drinking from a straw." His grip loosens, and you don't comment on the fact that he kept his fingers wrapped around you.
Doing as he'd said, you inhale — forcing yourself not to flinch when the smoke crawled its way down your throat. It was a foreign sensation, the burn scratching at your insides, you weren't quite sure you liked it.
"Exhale", Yoongi murmurs, thumb stroking over your wrist absentmindedly.
He doesn't have to tell you twice as a strained cough suddenly escapes you. Covering your mouth with your free hand, you cough and clear your throat fervently as the aftertaste lingers on your tongue.
"What the—" You splutter, brows furrowing as you regard the joint still held between your fingers.
Yoongi chuckles under his breath, his eyes glinting with fond-amusement. "First timers struggle with that part." He doesn't take the weed from you again, instead he waits patiently for you to gather your bearings, his gaze never leaving you as he does.
"Try again", he encourages when your fit of coughing dies down.
You were skeptical of that idea — and yet you bring the joint back between your lips without complaint. Part of you was already anticipating a repeat of your first attempt, but when you inhale a second time, you find that the smoke slithers down your throat much easier. You still grimace when exhaling, only this time the little cloud that followed resembled that of what Yoongi's had looked like.
"You're getting there." Shifting slightly on the mattress, he finally lets his hand drop back down from where it had rested around your wrist, "How does it feel?"
Pausing for a moment, you try to determine if you felt anything at all. The crease between your brows deepens a fraction and just as you're about to say that nothing had happened, you feel it. A slight tingle behind your eyes, an almost light-headed feeling taking root.
"It's… Good." With a satisfied nod, you take another hit, this one goes even smoother.
Yoongi continues to watch you with the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "Yeah?" He looks pleased to hear that. The air between you grows lighter for each hit you take, the tingly sensation spreading through your head rapidly.
When you hand him the joint he takes it without complaint, inhaling deeply before letting the smoke seep past his lips. The room is plunged into an almost vaporous state, the remnants of your exhales lingering between and around you both. You watch the smoke as it curls in on it self with hazy eyes.
"So…" Yoongi drawls when handing the weed back to you, "Your friends and family, they don't know about this?"
You could hear the curiosity laced within his words. Usually you weren't one to open up so freely. Well, usually you weren't one to get high with strangers — suppose you were past the standards other people had held you to for so long.
With a shake of your head, you scoff, "God, no." The idea of you sitting here as you let the drug cloud your mind would surely ruin any perception your loved ones ever had of you.
And maybe it was the weed messing with your head. Maybe it was the thought of finally breaking free of those imaginary chains that had tied you down for so long. Or maybe it was the way Yoongi was looking right now, like something dangerously close to salvation. You find your voice without even having to search:
"I would never do that." You hum when taking another drag of the joint before handing it over to him. "They don't think I'd dare." A snort escapes you at the thought of your mother's face if she knew, "My parents believe I'm staying over at a friend's tonight." You sigh, letting your hand trace the soft sheets you were sitting on, "I'm too sweet for anything like this. That's what they would say if you asked them."
The corner of Yoongi's lip twitches when he brings the rolled paper to them, "Are you?"
Something about the way he asked that made it seem almost like a challenge. Regarding him with half-lidded eyes, you remain silent for a moment as you ponder your answer.
"No."
You swallow, shaking your head as your finger draws mindless patterns on the mattress. "I'm not sweet. Not the way they want me to be at least."
Beside you, Yoongi takes one final drag before putting the joint out against the windowsill. When he sits back, his dark eyes are filled with something your disoriented mind can't quite decipher.
"What do you want to be then?" He murmurs, brows furrowing enough to tell you that he was genuinely interested in what you had to say. That would be a first for you.
Gaze drifting to where your palm rests against the covers, you purse your lips. What did you want to be? Anything that wasn't the girl your parents had tried so hard to raise, anything that defied the fragile woman your friends saw you as. Finally your attention returns to him. "Reckless", you say, your voice full of confidence you didn't even know you had.
"I want to be reckless."
The words taste foreign on your tongue. Foreign but somehow right. Your eyes meet Yoongi's, there they linger for a moment long enough to be awkward — only it never was.
He exhales quietly, gaze drifting down to your lips with intent as his tongue prods against the inside of his cheek. Then, before you can even question the not-so-subtle diversion, he leans in.
His mouth is warm against your own. His lips are softer than they looked, careful and tentative when they pressed onto yours. Yoongi kisses you slowly, like he was half expecting you to jerk back with a shriek. But you don't. Any other day you might have, but tonight you want to be reckless.
Kissing him back feels right. He tastes like the weed you'd smoked, that and something so strangely him. Your eyes flutter closed when his large hand envelops the side of your face, thumb stroking over your jaw as he pulls you closer.
You let him slip his tongue inside your mouth, the wet sound that follows sending a tingle down your spine and you suppress a shudder. Part of you wondered if this was all the drugs doing, or if perhaps... This was who you had been all along. Perhaps all you had needed was a little nudge in the right direction.
When he pulls back he takes all of his warmth with him. Your eyes snap open, lips parted and an insatiable need for more stirring deep inside of you. "What was that for?" You quietly murmur, eyes drifting down to his hand, still cupping your face.
Yoongi only smirks, the same smirk he'd been giving you all night, only this time it feels all the more intimate, like it was meant only for you. "I'm being reckless", he says.
Your gaze snaps back to his at that, searching him for any hint of foolery. You come up empty handed. "Do it again", fingers already curling around the thick fabric of his hoodie, you reel him back in — and Yoongi lets you.
The next kiss is void of any hesitation as your lips crash together in a mess of hot breaths and barely concealed sighs. Yoongi's hands are on your hips the moment your tongue sneaks its way inside his mouth, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he lets himself be pulled on top of you.
His bed is heavenly soft. The pillow beneath your head feels like laying on a cloud and when Yoongi redirects his attention to your jaw and throat, you gaze up at the ceiling with a content exhale. The room spins slowly, the once intimidating shadows now dance across the walls.
Letting your fingers run through his dark locks, you tug on the ends softly, feeling his breath hitch against your neck as he places another open mouthed kiss to the skin there.
Yoongi makes his way down your body like a man starved. Parted lips dragging across your shirt, he pulls it up enough to press a wet kiss to your stomach before his teeth lock around the hem of your jeans. His hands have moved from your hips, two fingers flicking the button open before yanking the zipper down.
"Tell me to slow down", he murmurs when pulling your pants down your legs, discarding them somewhere on the floor before he parts your thighs.
You want to tell him that stopping wasn't an option in your book but before you can ever think of getting a response out, his nose is bumping against your clit through the thin layer of your panties.
A shiver crawls up your spine at the barest of touch. You were never one to get this worked up over a simple kiss. Must be the weed you tell yourself in vain, fingers grasping at the sheets when Yoongi's fingers hook around the lining of your underwear in order to tug them down.
His breath is scorching hot against your bare cunt. Thumbs stroking the inside of your thighs in a gentle caress, he leans in to press his open mouth against you with a low groan.
"Jesus", he exhales in a rough breath, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as his tongue drags against you in one motion. "This is the closest to heaven a man like me is ever goin' to get."
You can't even work up a response to that, your jaw slacked as a moan gets pulled from you when Yoongi's tongue comes down on your clit. He presses himself flat against you, sighing in content before lapping at your building arousal.
One of his hands slide down from your thigh, middle finger joining his mouth as he pushes inside of you slowly, savoring the way you clench around the single digit alone.
Your hips move to meet his without thinking as you practically grind yourself onto his face and hand. "More", you gasp, the grip you have on the sheets almost lethal at this point.
Yoongi only hums against you, tongue dragging lazy circles over your clit as he lets you fuck yourself onto his middle finger before gently adding the ring one. "Anything you want", he murmurs, voice muted against the warmth of your cunt.
The weed was doing its job at keeping you dizzy, your orgasm approaching faster than it ever would as your stomach tightens into knots. "I'm…" The sheepish admission lingers on the tip of your tongue, never making it further than that but Yoongi seems to know just what you're trying to say.
"Go on", he breathes, tongue flicking against your clit almost teasingly. "I want to taste you."
Your body trembles, a lewd moan spilling from your lips as your climax hits. The lightheaded feeling intensifies and you screw your eyes shut, thighs threatening to close around the sides of his face at the sheer pleasure.
And Yoongi is there to savor each second of it. His tongue laps up at your release greedily, fingers still moving steadily inside of you as he curls them enough to have you seeing stars.
"Fuck", he huffs under his breath when he pulls back. The lower half of his face is glistening with the evidence of your release and he licks at his lips in an attempt to save every last drop. "Anyone ever tell you how amazing you taste?"
You can't help a short, breathless laugh at that. "Not that I can recall no…"
Yoongi hums, the hand still on your thigh running up and down slowly when he sits back on his knees. Your gaze drops down his body, lingering on the unmistakable strain in his jeans. Despite the fact that your body was still buzzing with sensitivity after your orgasm, you can't help but crave more.
Not late to catch on, Yoongi's smirk grows as he tugs his thick hoodie off in one go, discarding it alongside your pants before crawling on top of you. "One more?" He asks when brushing the back of his hand against your cheek.
Quickly nodding, your hands brace themselves on his shoulders as he reaches down to undo his own jeans. You listen to the sound of the zipper being unmade.
"Haven't got a condom on me", he murmurs, pausing as his eyes search yours. "That alright with you?"
"Yeah. I don't care just—" Bottom lip trapped between your teeth, you gaze up at him expectantly. It didn't matter anymore, nothing did. You just needed this, needed him — and you would be damned if you couldn't have it.
Yoongi doesn't say anything else as he leans down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. You feel the tip of his cock when he drags it against your dripping cunt, using your joint arousal as lubricant before gently pushing inside with a grunt.
Your body pulsates with need, desire pumping through your veins as your nails dig into the apex of his shoulders. The stretch of his cock made you almost delirious and you were close to begging for him to go faster. Yoongi kept a slow and tortuous pace, letting his hips roll against yours like he was afraid of hurting you.
"I won't break."
The words would have shocked you at any other moment, but right now the only thing you feel is determination. You were not the frail little girl everyone perceived you to be. You'd come all the way out here, smoked the weed, kissed the guy you'd just met and you would have him fuck you properly if it so was the last thing you did.
Yoongi peers down at you through dark lashes, tongue dragging across his bottom lip. One hand braced next to your head as he kept himself upright, the other one slides under your chin as he tilts your head toward him. "I know you won't, Bambi."
Then he slams his hips against yours, fingers locking around your jaw as he leans in to seal you both in a rough kiss that was more teeth than tongue.
The new pace he sets is fast and hard, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the bedroom. His tongue invades your mouth without asking, pulling a whimper from you as you feel yourself clench around him.
This was the high you had been seeking all along, the danger your parents, friends and family had all warned you to stay away from. It all took the form of one man, and that was Yoongi. You knew in that moment that one taste would never be enough, you would come to crave this feeling over and over.
He breaks the kiss a moment later, thumb brushing over your chin when he leans back. His hips slow their pace, hand sliding down to rest on your hip before he reaches behind him. Your brows furrow, a silent question on your lips as you watch him bring the second joint he'd rolled to his lips.
Retrieving the lighter, he flicks it once as he sets the thin paper on fire and inhales. The hand on your hip tightens as he brings you closer, cock still buried inside your cunt when he gives another sharp truths and you choke on your own words.
"You'll soon find that one isn't enough", he explains between drags, continuing to fuck you relentlessly as the smoke curls around you.
Watching him with bleary eyes, you reach out to let your fingers trail across the expanse of his chest. His muscles ripple under your touch, a shudder running through him as his cock twitches.
You could already feel your second orgasm of the night building, your body trembling as you fought the urge to squirm. Yoongi notices, of course. His eyes flash with desire, a sharp breath escaping him as his lip curls upward. "Close already?" He muses, thumb brushing against your hip.
When he feels you clench around him with need something inside of him seems to snap. "Fuck, come here." His arm loops around your waist, hoisting you from the mattress in one swift motion as he brings you to straddle his lap instead.
The new position allows him to sink even deeper inside of you and you let out a soft gasp at the feeling. "Yes, please…" You sigh, throwing your head back as your hands find their way back into his hair. There was little restraint in the way you were grinding yourself against him, chasing after your desired release.
Yoongi lets you set the pace, siting back as he takes another slow drag from the joint. His exhale slaps you right in the face, but the smell no longer disgusted you, if anything it only spurred you on further.
"I'm gonna cum" you bluntly admit, it was half a warning half a plea. The arm he keeps around your waist tightens as he wordlessly urges you closer.
With a shuddering moan that vibrates through your chest you allow yourself to let go, pussy fluttering around his cock as you ride out your high without stuttering. The feeling is euphoric, the haze clouding your mind only increasing the bliss of having him so intimately close.
When your vision finally clears again and your movements slow, you find Yoongi already watching you with a lazy smirk. He brings the joint to his lips, inhaling before leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. The breath he exhales goes right into your mouth and you swallow without having to be asked, fingers curling around his dark locks.
His hips thrust up into yours, hard cock spearing through your sensitive cunt and you whimper against him. "Fuck— Can I?" He asks through gritted teeth, the hand holding the joint coming to rest on your shoulder as he peers into your eyes in an almost pleading manner.
You can only nod, forcing your trembling legs to work as you move yourself up and down on him.
Yoongi exhales, lips chasing yours when he gives one last messy thrust. Warmth spreads inside of you when he cums, his cock pulsating in tune with the way you clenched around him. You want to savor this moment, secretly wishing for it to never end — but you knew it would eventually.
When his breathing returns to normal and he goes soft inside of you, you expect him to pull out — to throw his clothes on and have you leave. But Yoongi stays where he is, forehead resting against yours as he exhales.
He regards you through hooded eyes, blinking slowly when bringing the joint back to his lips for one last drag. "How's that for being reckless, Bambi?" He asks as the lingering smoke fills whatever space was left between you.
You smile, fingers playing with a strand of his hair, "Just like I had imagined it."
summary: one day, you’re buying a soft, brown fur coat from the thrift store. the next, you have a man on your doorstep claiming he’s your husband.
word count: 6.8k
warnings: selkie!dino, human!reader, references to scottish folklore but a very loose interpretation, swearing, reader is bitter, mildly depressed and very tired of life, chan is the cutest sweetest boy ever, questionable self preservation instincts, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, kinda sub!chan, oral (fem!receiving), riding, slight nipple play.
a/n: so this was loosely based on an ask i got about selkie!dino, and i really did a lot of research on selkies and came up with a plot to go w it. im sure this isn’t what anon originally wanted, but i loved the idea of selkies and i went with it ㅠ
SELKIE (n.) — from icelandic, irish and scottish lore
⦾ shapeshifters. they live as seals or otters in the sea, but shed their skin or fur to change into beautiful humans on land.
⦾ a selkie must hide their skin carefully when they walk on land, because if their skin is lost, they cannot return to the sea.
⦾ whichever human finds and keeps the skin/fur of a selkie is considered as the selkie’s spouse.
These last few weeks have been the most impressive run of insanely crappy weeks you’ve ever had.
Everything just keeps going wrong. With work, with bills, and even a petty fight with one of your closest friends. To top it all off, your last phone call with your mother went awry too, with her complaining about your schedule and you getting a little too harsh on the phone. You regretted it immediately, but now she’s a little icy with you, which only dampens your mood further.
It has just been bad overall, so this shopping trip with Seungkwan is really something you need, even if you don’t have a whole lot of money to spend.
“Oh, I like this one.”
You hold the large coat up to your chest and turn to Seungkwan so he can take a look. It’s huge, falling all the way to your knees, and the fur is dark brown, a neutral and earthy color that looks shiny and smooth. It’s very soft to touch, and you have to wonder how it ended up in a thrift store. It looks and feels so high quality.
Seungkwan tilts his head as he appraises it. “Put it on.”
You do, standing in front of the full-length mirror for a better look. You turn to assess some angles, but you’re quickly being distracted from the way it looks, focusing more on the way it feels. It’s comforting as hell, and very warm. You’re still in awe that you managed to dig up something so good from this store.
“I’m getting it.” You announce before Seungkwan can even give his opinion. You don’t know why, but you really feel drawn to this coat. Something tells you that you need to own it. And after the shit week you’re having (it’s not even Wednesday), you think you deserve this. You haven’t bought anything new in ages. If this can give you a little boost of happiness when you feel like you’re drowning, then you won’t pass that opportunity up.
It doesn’t cost a lot, considering how wonderful it feels on your skin and the fact that you’re getting your next paycheck after the weekend. You feel a positive sensation jump in your chest as you walk out of the store, listening to Seungkwan whine about something work related. You’re quickly swept up in his emotions, augmenting his words and losing yourself in the conversation. You really do need to vent, and Seungkwan is the perfect person for something like that. He matches your energy, understands your struggle since he himself is afflicted with a terrible case of jerk-boss. You feel like you are shedding off pounds and pounds of negative build-up, which you are so thankful for.
Two more workdays follow your trip with Seungkwan, and they weigh heavily on you. By the time the weekend rolls around, you are so grateful you could cry. You need this, the relief of two whole days of no work. You get home on limbs that weigh like lead. With nothing but rotting in bed in your mind, you quickly change into something more comfortable, a loose shirt and leggings. You go through your streaming services to find something to watch as you cook. Just when you’re settling on the couch to start eating your freshly cooked meal, you hear a knock on your door.
Your eyebrows furrow, confused. For one, you aren’t expecting anyone. And for another, you have a doorbell, so the fact that someone is knocking makes even more questions arise. Before you can think further, there’s another knock, more insistent this time, and you’re quickly placing your bowl on the coffee table and scrambling to the door before you can wonder about who it might be. You curse the fact that front doors in your apartment building don’t have peepholes. You carefully unlock and open the door a tiny smidge, peering outside. You blink, confused at the sight.
It’s a man. He looks young, around your age, and has a head of thick, shaggy brown hair that is falling into his equally dark eyes. You look down, and you pause at what you’re seeing. He’s wearing a sweater vest over what looks like another sweater, both terribly mismatched. And he’s wearing…. a skirt?
Yes, it’s a plaid skirt. Deep maroon. Layered over dark denim jeans. And right below them, leather sandals.
You don’t even know what to say. You look back up at the man, and this time, he’s wearing a wide smile. His eyes are wide and bright, and you’re caught off guard by how cheerful he looks.
“Hi.” His voice is fresh, chirpy. You nod your head uncertainly.
“Hello.” Your own is uncertain and damp. You hold the edge of the door tightly, bracing yourself.
“My name is Chan.” He says.
You nod slowly. “Okay.” There’s no way in hell you are telling this stranger your name.
“May I come in?”
Your jaw drops at the question. Who is this man? Why is he dressed so strangely?
“Who are you?” You can’t help but scowl. You don’t have time for this. If this is some strange sales call or something, you are not interested.
The man blinks, as if confused by the question. “I’m Chan.”
Is he stupid? You stare at him for a moment. “Look, I don’t know you and whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”
As you go to close the door, the man rushes forward, knocking his palm on the wood and stopping it in place. You freeze, feeling slightly scared now. He immediately pulls his hand away, now fiddling with his fingers and looking incredibly nervous.
“I’m your husband.”
You blink once. Twice. He doesn’t say anything more, just stares like he has told you nothing more than a fact about the weather.
“Excuse me?”
He looks just as nervous, but he nods slowly. “You took my fur. You bought it. So I’m your husband.”
You are so confused and shocked that you don’t even realise you’ve opened the door properly. You’re just holding the doorframe now, jaw dropped, an incredulous look on your face as you eye him. He shifts a little uncomfortably, swaying back and forth as he wrings his hands.
“I’m a selkie.” He babbles. “You bought my fur. I’ve been looking everywhere for it. I lost it near the pier a few weeks ago. I can’t go back without it. But I’ve found it now. It belongs to you. Which means I belong to you now. I’m your husband.”
You don’t understand more than two words out of his mouth. Briefly, you think of drugs, and you edge the door slowly closed again.
“Listen,” you say, trying to keep annoyance and confusion out of your tone to make it more soft. Maybe he will listen to you that way. “There’s a shelter just a few blocks down. I promise you will find help there. I’m sure if you ask someone, they will tell you exactly where it is.”
You wave your arm to the left in a vague gesture for direction. He just stares at you. You fidget.
“I can’t leave.” He says. “You have my fur. I belong to you.”
You are starting to get a little scared, so you shake your head vaguely as you keep pushing the door closed. “Sorry. I can’t help you.”
You close the door before he can say anything else, immediately locking it. You stare at it for a second, listening. You can’t hear shuffling, or footsteps. You wonder if he has left.
You double check the locks before moving back inside, wondering what you should do. The whole interaction has left you a little shaken. You eye your now cold food, and the paused movie on your television screen. It only makes you grit your jaw and huff, feeling annoyed again. You have enough on your plate without worrying about some weirdo at your door. You can’t let this weigh on you. It’s probably a one-off, someone who just got confused. And you did try to help him, so hopefully he takes your advice.
But you can’t focus. Even as you sink onto your couch and finish absentmindedly eating, your stare blank as you watch the screen. You can’t help but think of the gibberish he spoke. Before you can stop yourself, you’re reaching for your laptop, pulling it towards you and opening the search bar. Quickly, you type ‘selkies’.
There’s so much you find. Page after page of what looks like old, Scottish lore. Sketches and paintings, as well as written text. They are sea creatures, like seals or otters, that can transform into humans by shedding their skins or furs. You remember the man’s words.
‘You have my fur. You bought it.’
As you keep reading, you learn that taking a selkie’s fur means having ownership of them. It symbolises an intimate, lifetime bond. Like mates, or spouses. You recall him calling himself your husband, making an uneasy feeling settle in your stomach. Everything he said somehow makes sense. It’s fantastical, and outlandish to think it might be real, but in the context of it all, it really isn’t random words strung together. Maybe he was confusing you with someone else. Maybe they are doing some weird role play thing. You’ve seen stuff like that on the internet.
Your phone dings. You absentmindedly look at the text. It’s from the lady who lives across from you.
[minyoung apt 34]: hey. theres a man sitting outside your door. should i call someone? are u home?
You stare at the text, confusion and a small bit of realisation dawning on you. You throw your phone on the couch and stand up, quickly beelining to the door and unlocking it, pulling it open.
He is sitting beside the door, back against the wall just to your right. He looks up when you appear, blinking at you. You gape at him.
“You’re still here.” It’s more of a statement than a question.
He nods. “I can’t leave.”
The cheery, bright tone seems to have drained out of him. He sounds….. sad, almost. Unsure. Like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. His silly skirt is bunched up to his thighs, and the jeans are maybe two sizes too big for him. You hesitate, and then you make a very stupid decision. You brace yourself.
“Get up. Come on.”
He seems surprised, and honestly, so are you. You pull the door open more and step aside, watching him quickly scramble up. His face seems to have lightened, but he still looks apprehensive. Slowly, he walks in. You sigh deeply and shut the door behind him.
He’s looking around like he has never seen a house before. Or a living room. Four walls, pictures, a couch. His eyes are wide and beady as he stares at the television. You watch him carefully. In complete honesty, you don’t know why you invited him in. But there’s something in his voice that doesn’t ring any warning bells in your head. You’re sure your parents would have a heart attack if they heard of this, cursing at themselves and you for not instilling ‘stranger danger’ as well as they should have. But he doesn’t give you that vibe at all. When he turns to look at you again, there’s something earnest about it. Sincere.
You shift uncomfortably. “Chan, was it?”
He nods.
“And you’re… a selkie?”
His nod is even more vigorous this time.
“Okay.” You don’t know what to do with your hands. He keeps staring. “And you came here because…”
You prompt him to continue, and he does. “I’m your husband.”
You feel a flicker of irritation. “Yeah, you said that already. But I don’t know what that means.”
He frowns a little, lower lip jutting out. It’s almost cute. You shake the thought away.
“You bought my fur.”
You huff. “Yeah, I don’t know what exactly that is, but I don’t have anything of yours, buddy.”
He tilts his head, as if thinking hard. You start to regret inviting him in.
“I-it’s brown.” He says. “Dark brown. And very soft. A little heavy. And it smells like the sea.”
Your face smoothens in realisation. Wait, does he mean….?
The coat. Your newly bought fur coat. You haven’t worn it yet, since it’s a little too warm for the current weather. You’ve been waiting for a particularly cloudy and chilly day to put it on. Realisation dawns on you.
You leave Chan in your living room, taking less than a few seconds to find the thing and carry it back out. The way Chan’s face lights up at the sight of it has your heart racing. Again, you are hit with the reality of how sincere and pure he feels. No one can be this good an actor.
“You can have it.” You hold it out. “This is what you’re here for, right?”
While he looks happy to see the coat, he shakes his head, turning his bright eyes back to you. “I’m here for you.”
You feel your face heat a little, remembering the spouse and mate stuff you just looked up. You fidget where you stand, considering him.
God, your run of insanely crappy weeks just won’t end. And you really feel like you can’t deal with this right now. So you just huff and nod, feeling drained.
“Fine. But you will sleep on the couch until I know what to do with you.”
His resulting smile is so blinding, you wonder if there truly is something mythical about him.
…………………………………….
You don’t tell Seungkwan about Chan. Frankly, you’re still not sure what you will do about this whole situation, since you know that even if Chan leaves, he will just go back to sitting outside your door. He tells you as much himself. You also don’t know how supportive Seungkwan will be when he finds out that you have an unknown man living on your couch, claiming to be a supernatural creature of the sea. You honestly don’t have the energy for that lecture, or to convince Seungkwan that something deep in your chest is telling you that Chan is harmless. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, a strange reverence in his eyes, like he has never seen something more fascinating in his life. Or maybe it’s the fact that he genuinely doesn’t know anything.
You find some of Seungkwan’s and your brother’s clothes in your stuff, telling him to change into a sweatshirt and pants and to take off whatever ridiculous clothing he is wearing. He looks much better that way, more normal, but he claims to feel weird.
“Are you sure this is enough clothes?” He looks uncertain. You can’t help but feel amused.
“Yes, because you’re indoors. You can put something else on top when you go outside.”
He nods, albeit a little hesitant. But he seems to trust your judgment.
When you offer him a meal, he accepts it carefully, eyeing the bowl of noodle soup like he has never seen it before. He picks at it, and makes a face when he eats it. He tries to quickly hide it, but he can’t fake anything to save his life, so you spot it immediately, and when you ask him what he usually eats, he lists varieties of fish and shellfish you have never heard of before. You do end up buying some for him, and conveniently, you don’t even have to cook it. He eats it raw.
“You would love sushi.” You quip as you watch him eat. When he gives you a confused look, you just shake your head and wave it off, mentally making a note to take him to a sushi place sometime.
Chan tells you he has never left the water before. His pack never trusted him enough to do it, and apparently they had been right. He lost his fur very quickly, without even realising, and he has been trying to track it for weeks, claiming he can’t go back without it.
“So now that you’ve found it, you can go back.” You say, but he shakes his head.
“I can’t leave you. You’re my wife.”
Right. He keeps saying that, always in the softest tone, looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. It lights your face on fire, makes you fidget where you sit, but he is never fazed by it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
It’s not like you’ve never had anyone’s romantic attention before. You have had boyfriends. Granted, most of them ended terribly. You’re still not sure if you’re completely over your ex cheating on you. But Chan is different. Hell, he’s not even human, so it’s not like you can compare him to anything from your past. Dating has always been difficult for you, and you kind of gave up on it when you moved and got hit by the shitstorm that is now your life. It was put so effectively on the back burner that you had forgotten what this felt like. Having someone like you like this.
With Chan, it’s hard to figure out how to act. You don’t know what to do with all his…… positivity. Chan feels like something untouched, untainted. He reminds you of how you were when you just moved to this town. Hopeful and ready to start your adult life. And then the universe decided to start beating the crap out of you, until you felt like you were just surviving, going through the motions.
Chan isn’t like that. Chan is….. luminous. He randomly compliments you, talking about how nice and colorful your apartment is (you don’t think it’s anything special). Or saying he likes something you’re wearing, or that your hair is pretty and shiny. Simple compliments, nothing too poetic, but he says them all with so much earnestness. He especially gets giddy when you wear his coat, saying you look best in it, patting you down before you go to work. It always leaves you hot and fidgety. You really don’t know how to handle him, or his easy affection.
Your life changes as the weeks go by.
Work is just as hectic as always. You get the mountain load of two or three people, enough to have you ready to pull your hair out. You slave away all day, dragging your feet as you finally get home, but this time, it is not to an empty house. Because Chan is there. Chan and his bright smile and his endlessly curious but simple questions. Chan with his many, many stories about life under the sea. He always notices that you’re tired, and he offers to cook for you. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he is good at following instructions. So if whatever he is cooking comes from a packet with directions on the back, he ends up making something very hearty and nice. Usually, you are so tired that you don’t mind anything he makes. You will eat it as long as you aren’t the one who has to cook it after working all day.
You complain to him that your legs get cramped up from sitting on your desk chair for so many hours. He pulls your legs towards him before you can protest, plonking them down on his lap and kneading the calf muscles. All your rejections die in your throat as soon as you feel the glorious pressure of his hands. You moan appreciatively, not noticing how Chan positively perks up at the sound, doubling down on his efforts to lessen your fatigue.
That becomes a daily occurrence.
A few weeks of Chan living with you has made you much more comfortable with him. You watch the screen with tired, bleary eyes as he runs his fingers over the soles of your feet from where he has them in his lap. It feels wonderful, as always. While you watch the TV, he watches you. He does that often, just openly staring. It used to make you uncomfortable, and you got very close to scolding him a few times. But the look on his face always makes you stop. A look of awe that you’ve never felt directed at you before. There’s nothing creepy about it, only pure, unfiltered marvel. So you just let him do what he wants.
A voice deep inside you says you don’t actually mind, you might even enjoy it, but you try not to think about that voice.
You let out a weary sigh and shift a bit, rolling your shoulders to adjust the ache in them. Chan notices, because he always notices, and he pauses his movements on your feet.
“I can rub your shoulders.” He offers.
You blink, considering it. You already know how good it will feel, but you don’t know if you want to cross that boundary. This is different, having your feet in his lap. But you don’t know how you feel about Chan’s hands all over your back and shoulders. It would feel too much like testing dangerous waters.
The truth is, you like him. He has become a breath of fresh air in your bitter and depressing days. Every day, you come home while looking forward to his company. He is so different, light, cheerful, effervescent. He talks and talks and talks, about any and everything. And it doesn’t annoy you. Never. He injects something warm in your cold, silent evenings.
You don’t have to worry with him. There’s no agenda here. He doesn’t want anything from you except your company. He takes care of you like no one has for a really long time.
Sometimes, he feels like a dream. And you perpetually carry the fear that one day, he will go away.
He’s still watching you, anticipating your reply. His hands slowly work on the arch of your foot. His eyes, that deep warm brown, pores into yours. For the first time in a long time, you can’t bring yourself to care about consequences. You just nod.
“Okay.”
He ends up seating himself beside you, coaxing you to turn your back to him on the couch. You can feel him touch your sweater before speaking again.
“Would it be better without this?”
You flush but nod, reaching down to tug the sweater off, so you’re left with a long sleeved shirt instead. You feel his touch right in between your shoulder blades. Slowly, he starts pressing into the skin over your shirt.
Chan is way too good with his hands for a creature that didn’t even have hands until a few weeks ago. He digs his thumbs into the lines of your shoulder blades, making your eyes roll as he breaks knot after knot of tension in your muscles. He purses his lips and frowns as he gets a feel of it. You hear a soft huff of breath.
“Your muscles are so tense.” He murmurs. “This only happens to me when I swim for a very, very long time. Hours and hours. With no breaks.”
You crack a little smile at the comparison.
“It feels like that sometimes.” You mumble, staring at the opposite wall while lost in thought. “Like I’m just swimming and swimming. No breaks. No end in sight.”
His touch slows, but doesn’t lose its strength. His fingers coil around your shoulders, kneading. Your eyelids flutter.
“Human lives are difficult.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you hear him in the silence of the muted television screen. “I feel like none of you are happy.”
You purse your lips. “What makes you say that?”
Another exhale, this time almost like a defeat. “You never smile. You never laugh.”
You blink, processing. You don’t know why that is unexpected, but it catches you off guard. Your mind whirs. You think on it.
When was the last time you were truly happy?
When you try to look back on the last few months, you can’t pinpoint anything. Then, a memory floats to the surface, from just a couple of weeks ago. Chan had tried to bake something, and while he succeeded, he left the kitchen in such a mess that he was almost reduced to tears by the end. He had pouted and whined about it, saying it is ’way too difficult’ to make a cheesecake. You couldn’t help but muffle your laughter at his flour caked face.
It still makes you smile.
“You make me happy.” You say.
His hands pause. Not a falter, a complete halt. You wonder if you’ve crossed a line.
“I do?” There’s something shaky in his voice, like he can’t believe it. You just nod.
With the hold Chan has on your shoulders, he maneuvers you to turn around. You do, finally able to see him face to face. Your breath hitches at the hope in his eyes, the unadulterated happiness.
“I make you happy?” He asks again, like he just can’t bring himself to accept it.
You can’t help the lift of your lips. You nod again. “You do.”
You don’t expect him to kiss you, but you don’t stop him either. His lips are endlessly soft, and so, so eager. When you don’t push him away, he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. You are hit with the very faint scent of sea salt, and it feels like you’re on the coast. Your heart squeezes. Your hands reach up, cupping his face, and you push harder into him.
Chan whines, whines, lapping at your lips like he needs them to breathe. His tongue licks into your mouth. His enthusiasm is almost too much for you. It should be a surprise, but it’s not, because it’s Chan, and he has always been like this. He hangs on to your every word like it’s law. He looks at you like you’re the mythical creature, not him. You feel his hands now, on your knees before they slide up, gripping your hips tightly. He inhales your every sigh, and something warm and electric coils in the pit of your stomach. Your hand winds in his hair. It’s soft, just the same texture as your (his) coat, and you can’t help but grip it tight. He moans openly into your mouth. It’s too much. You break away for air with a loud gasp.
It doesn’t seem to deter him, because he smooches over your cheek, your jaw, further down your neck. Your eyelids flutter, tilting your head back, your hand still in his hair. You encourage his movements. His tongue licks over your skin. He moans again.
“I want to taste every part of you.” His voice is breathless, desperate. You feel yourself clench. He pulls away so he can look at you, his eyes pleading, brighter than you’ve ever seen them. This close, you can see that his pupils are completely blown.
“Please? Can I?” His tone is shaky.
God, he needs to stop doing that. It’s making wetness pool at an alarming rate between your legs. You so desperately want him down here, it makes your hips buck up involuntarily. You don’t even think about it, all inhibitions thrown out the window. You nod.
He doesn’t let you undress yourself, gently brushing your hands away because he claims he wants to do it himself. He lays you down on the couch, hovers over you on his knees as he peels your clothes off, until you’re left completely naked under him. He watches you with so much hunger in your eyes that your face flames, and it takes everything in your power not to shrink into yourself. Truthfully, you love it, love seeing the sincere lust in his face, the way he runs his tongue over his bottom lip, eyes lingering over every inch of you, like he wants all of you.
Something about being so deeply desired has your head spinning.
He is true to his word. His lips trail over every inch of you. He runs them over your shoulders, your arms, even holding your hands gently to kiss the pulse point on your wrist. Every few inches, he lays a soft kiss, before going back to running his lips and tongue over the skin. He licks down the valley of your breasts, burying his face in them for a few seconds. He spends extra time on your nipples, sucking and flicking his tongue over them until they are stiff and peaked. By the time he is anywhere close to your core, you’re already gasping and trembling under him in anticipation.
Finally, finally, he spreads your legs. He stares for a long time, thumbing at your outer lips, opening your slit to the cold air, peering at your little nub, swollen and ready, neglected.
“Pretty.” He whispers. “You’re pretty all over. Every inch of you.”
You feel a pressure build behind your eyes. Fuck. You can’t be this lame. You can’t be the one crying during sex. But Chan isn’t touching you, he is worshipping you. In his hold, under his hands, you feel like something precious, something worthy of this kind of reverence. It’s an unprecedented feeling. You don’t think anyone has ever wanted you this much. Not before him.
He leans closer, and you feel his breath on your pussy as he speaks.
“This is it, right? This is where I can pleasure you the most?”
You suddenly remember that Chan isn’t really familiar with human anatomy. So far, you haven’t felt his lack of experience at all, mostly because you think his enthusiasm is so intense that it masks the inexperience completely. You nod at him, swallowing tightly.
“Yeah.”
He licks his lips. “Can I taste it?”
The words are way sexier than you thought they would be. You throw your head back. “God, yes. Please.”
Something about the ‘please’ does it for him, because he licks a long, thick stripe all the way from your clenched hole to your clit, dragging slowly over it. He hums when his tongue withdraws, just for a second, just to taste, and then he’s digging in again, flattening his tongue over and over on your slit, like he approves of the taste, like he wants more.
He’s sloppy, not bothered by the filthy wet noises your sopping cunt makes, lips and tongue running over every nook and cranny. But there’s one spot where you need him the most, and you can’t help it. You wind a hand through his hair, tugging his head up until his tongue runs just over your clit. Your hips jerk.
“There,” you gasp, “right there.”
He’s a quick learner, just like he learned to cook after just a few tries, and how to work the television and your Netflix account, and how he figured out which clothes go together. His tongue flicks eagerly over your clit, like he’s hanging on to every cry and moan that falls from your lips. He must register how the noises amp up when he pays attention to your clit, because he pushes your legs further apart, buries his face deeper into your cunt, wraps his lips around it and sucks hard. Your back arches right off the couch, gripping his hair tightly. He groans into your pussy.
It’s a cycle. His lips and tongue make you feel good, you tug at his hair in encouragement, he hums into you, and the vibrations feel even better, sending chills up your whole body. Your high builds a little too quick, and you wish this could just go on for hours and hours. You have no doubt in your head that if you asked him, he would do exactly that. And very happily too. But your need for release is more pressing than that, so you hold him close, you babble about how you’re almost there, and when your orgasm hits, you go cross eyed with it, wave after wave of pleasure cresting inside you as you shake and cry through it. Chan doesn’t slow for a single second, letting you writhe and twist under him, chasing your hips wherever they go. It’s only when you tug his hair hard enough to pull his head away that he finally stops, looking up at you with dazed, teary eyes. His whole face is sweaty, wet, and blotched pink over his pale cheeks.
He’s a vision.
You pull hard at his sweatshirt until he’s scrambling up your body, and you kiss him hard. He moans appreciatively, immediately licking into your mouth like he needs it to breathe. Your own taste invades your tongue.
“Let me do that again.” He whines. “Please. Wanna make you feel good. Let me lick you again.”
You moan and feel yourself clench hard, head spinning with how badly he’s turning you on. But you feel so empty, and you need him in other ways too, or you feel like you might combust.
“Later.” You promise him. “Need your cock right now.”
“My what?” He pulls back, still looking unfocused as he frowns down at you. You blink a little, clearing the fog in your head a little. Oh.
Your hand travels down until you palm the bulge in his pants. He jerks violently and gasps.
“This,” you whisper, biting your lip. Chan’s eyes shoot down to where it is trapped between your teeth. “Need this inside me.”
“Inside….?”
It’s better to do than to explain, so you push yourself up, arranging him under you until you're straddling his lap where he sits, undoing the drawstring of his sweatpants and pushing them down enough to free his cock. Your mouth waters at the sight. He’s girthy, way more than you’ve ever taken before, and he curves just at the tip in a way that you know is going to make you see stars when he fucks you right. You run your hand over him, and he gasps again, hips bucking into your touch.
“Feel good?” You ask. Chan nods furiously.
“Wanna make you feel good.” His voice sounds wrecked. You can’t help your giddy smile at his laser focus on making this pleasurable for you.
“You will.” You adjust yourself until you’re hovering over him, running his tip through your slit. You feel him grip your thighs tightly.
The first slide in is glorious. He’s so thick that he stretches your poor pussy out enough to make your legs tremble violently. He runs his hands over them, watching your face scrunch up in pleasure and pain. If you had more control of your mental faculties, if you weren’t so busy taking his massive cock in, you would try to placate the worry on his face, but you have other things to concern yourself with right now.
The deeper he slides in, the farther up his eyes roll. His jaw goes slack, and you watch with a tinge of amusement as the feeling makes his own face go through a million emotions in the span of a few seconds. It makes you brave, more daring, and it makes you feel so sexy to have the power to make him feel all this for the first time. His grip on your thighs is near bruising, which you don’t think he realises, too lost in how warm and tight your cunt feels. Finally, you are fully seated on him, all the way up to the very base.
“Good?” You manage to gasp out. It seems he chokes on his own words, because he just pulls your body close and jerks his head down in a nod.
“What about you?” He looks up at you, blinking furiously. He looks like he might cry if you say that it doesn’t feel good, not that you would lie like that. You giggle breathlessly.
“It’s so good, Channie.” You coo, running a hand through his hair. “You fill me up perfectly, like you were made for me.”
He whines, so loud and thick with want that you think he might cum right there. He holds you tight against him.
“Yes.” He gasps. “Made for you. My wife. Wanna be with you forever.”
It’s incoherent babbling. Uninhibited because of the lust. You shouldn’t take him seriously. Except you know Chan. You know he doesn’t lie. You know he means this with every fiber in him. Your heart stutters, your exhale shaky. You hug his body tight to you, unable to respond. You want him impossibly closer. You tug at his sweatshirt.
“Off.”
He doesn’t waste a single second, revealing wide expanses of built muscle. You run your eyes over him, hungry for the sight, for the feel of him. Once more, emotion builds inside your chest, filling you up from the inside out.
Finally, when you feel like you’ve adjusted to his size, you rock your hips on him, testing. He gasps immediately, hands running everywhere he can reach you and feel you. You let him, basking under the attention now that your hesitation has melted away and the lust has left you wanting. You slowly build up a rhythm, bouncing on him with less and less care until you feel his cock properly fuck into you the way you wanted. Little gasps and moans leave your lips as well as his. Your body warms under the exertion, the deep penetration making your core clamp up slowly and steadily, pleasure building inside you. Skin against skin makes wet plopping noises, a dirty sound that only adds to what you’re already feeling. It seems Chan just can’t stand to have his mouth unoccupied, because he quickly finds your nipple and starts sucking, making you cry out at the feeling.
Exhaustion starts pulling at your limbs after a while, and you squeeze your eyes shut in frustration. You’re so close, you can feel it. You just need a little more, his cock really ramming into you, just a few well aimed thrusts and you know you would topple over.
“Chan.” You pull his head up with a tug on his hair, a habit you’ve created by now. “I’m- I’m tired-”
He doesn’t even wait to hear more, gripping your hips tightly and pistoning up hard into you. You gasp, arching into him.
“Like this?” His voice is raspy, rough. You nod vigorously, unable to form words as he keeps going, fucking up hard into you until you feel nothing but the intense stimulation on your sweet spot, his tip rubbing insistently over it again and again. His pelvis grazes your clit just right with every thrust. You don’t even have time to warn him, clamping tight around him as your orgasm racks through your core. Your whole body winds up with the release, toes curling and eyes rolling. Your lips release a mantra of ‘oh god, oh god, oh god’ as you weep through it, nearly blacking out with how intense it is.
Chan groans loudly then, and you feel something warm coat your insides. Beneath you, you can feel his body jerk and shake, and you hold him tight against you, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He moans into your chest as he comes down from his high.
He leans up, kisses you slowly, softly, a welcome feeling after the harsh pounding you just took. You hum into his lips, savouring the feeling of it. Your head is fuzzy, like someone just cleaned it out, leaving nothing behind. Chan nudges his nose against yours, and you blink your eyes open. His smile is dopey, giddy, and you can’t help your giggle.
“I like you like this,” he whispers, “you look so relaxed.”
“All thanks to you.” You brush his hair away from his sweaty face, scratching his scalp a little. He visibly shivers. You can’t help but smile.
You kiss him again, still light and soft. You feel his cock twitch inside you.
“Can I lick you again now? Please?”
You are a little caught off guard, huffing in amusement. “I don’t think I have it in me, Channie.”
“I’ll be gentle.” He runs his hands carefully up your bare back, as if to make a point. “Please. Wanna make you feel good.”
Something stirs in your core again. God, this man will be the death of you. Well, not really a man. A selkie. Your selkie. And his blinding smile when you give in to his begging is enough to tell you that there’s no coming back from this.
Not that you would want to. Like Chan said, you want him to be here with you forever.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: rich!choi seungcheol x f.reader, the reader also used to be in love with wonwoo
When it comes to your friend group it’s clear you’re in an extremely different tax bracket. Things get complicated when you drunkenly marry Seungcheol after he tells you he wants to take care of you.
𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): friends to lovers, smut, romance, angst
𝐚𝐮(𝐬): nonidol au, married in vegas au
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 13.5k
𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: drinking, blacking out, cussing, lots of emotions, and being confused about feelings.
𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: soft dom choel, multiple sex scenes, consensual drunk sex, unprotected sex, sex in the shower, fooling around in the bath, clit play, breast/nipple play, fingering, multiple positions, creampie, big dick seungcheol, dirty talk, nicknames: pinky, baby, sweetheart (hers) cheol (his)
𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+
𝐚𝐧: I couldn’t have written this story without @aeristudios. They were literally here for every step of this story. Thank you @orbitondgtl & @hanniehaeo for beta reading this one.
🎧: delicate - taylor swift | snooze - sza | sacrifice- mariah the scientist | just for me - pinkpantheress
There are times when you realize that you and your friend group are in different tax brackets. All of the boys in your friend group have different types of jobs. Soonyoung owns a dance studio, Joshua is a producer, Jeonghan and Mingyu work at Seungcheol‘s company, which he started up when he was twenty. Wonwoo works a tech job with Minghao. Then there is you, working as a freelance writer. A struggling freelance writer at that.
When the money is good for you, things are great, but recently, you can't find work to save your life, and you’ve had to dip into your savings to get by. It’s safe to say that recently things have been quite tough for you.
Sitting in Seungcheol's expensive penthouse with a beautiful view of the city, you’re next to Wonwoo, listening to the rest of the boys go on about what the plan should be for Seungcheol's upcoming birthday. He’s turning thirty, and the boys have been talking about the possibility of a trip to celebrate.
“I say we just commit to finally doing a group Vegas trip.” Jeonghan chimed in. He and Soonyoung have been trying to plan a Vegas trip for years at this point.
“Really, Vegas?” Minghao seems unamused by this idea.
“That could be fun. Could you guys all swing, missing some work for this?” Seungcheol asked.
“I mean, technically, you're mine and Jeonghan's boss.” Mingyu laughs.
All the boys agree to go other than Wonwoo, who is traveling for a work trip that week. When they all turn your attention to you, you wish you could disappear. There is absolutely no way you can afford a trip right now. It’s been over a month since you had a job. You shouldn’t be doing anything lavish.
“I probably shouldn’t travel. I’m trying to lock down a few jobs.”
Seungcheol's eyes lock on yours, and he stares at you intently. He’s always had this ability to easily read you. Setting his beer on the counter, he reaches for his phone in his pocket. You watch as he starts typing away on his keyboard.
Your phone buzzes, and you instantly know he’s texting you.
From cheol 🍒: just go on the trip.
From pinky: I wish I could, but money is tight with the lack of jobs I’m getting.
From cheol 🍒: literally just agree to going and I’ll pay for you. You won’t have to worry about anything. I’ll give you a credit card and you can swipe away and pretend the money is coming from a magical account.
From pinky: that’s insane.
He sets his phone down and gives you a smile across the room. “Okay, let’s figure out who is rooming with who. Jeonghan and Shua together. Hao and Mingyu, and then Soonyoung and Pinky.”
“I thought Pinky didn’t agree.” Joshua chimes in. It used to embarrass you, that your nickname refers to the time the wind blew your skirt up and flashed all the boys your pink panties. It’s been over ten years now, and the nickname doesn’t faze you anymore.
“Pinky is going. Right?” He gives you a look, letting you know you can’t say no.
“I’ll go—“ You know this is an absolutely insane idea.
“Good luck. Let me know how this goes.” Wonwoo laughed beside you.
-
Arriving in Vegas feels like an absolute whirlwind. You barely have time to settle in before the boys are dragging you around.
Jeonghan had the absolutely insane idea that the whole group had to be in a bar when it was officially Seungcheol’s birthday . That would be great if you haven’t been drinking for literally hours.
Your hand was gripping Soonyoung’s as he led you towards the bar. He’s talking to the bartender as you attempt to fix this dress that is way too short for your liking.
Looking over where your friend group is, you see Seungcheol watching you. The moment Soonyoung has drinks, he leads you back to the bar, holding his own drink and one for the birthday boy.
As soon as you're close to the group, Jeonghan grabs your arm, moving you closer to the birthday boy. Holding out Seungcheol’s jack and coke he gives you a smile, pressing his lips to your forehead for a quick kiss. This isn't something out of the ordinary, as the entire friend group tends to lack personal boundaries.
“Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.” Seungcheol’s hand lingers on your lower back. Standing next to you, he leans down and says, “You look really pretty.” Being – for the most part – one of the only girls in this friend group, it’s not unusual for the boys to compliment you. The way he says it feels different though.
“You look pretty good yourself, birthday boy.” He gives you a crooked smile.
“Let me buy your next drink.”
“I didn’t buy my last one, Soonyoung did.”
“Just let me buy it.”
“But it’s your birthday, you shouldn’t be spending money on drinks.“
“It may be my birthday, but I want to take care of you.” You can hear Joshua and Jeonghan arguing about something in the distance, but all you can fully focus on is the way Seungcheol is staring at you.
“Cheol—“
“Pinky?”
“You don’t need to take care of me. I should be buying you drinks.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his wallet. Without another thought, he pulls out a black metal card and hands it to you. The cold metal hits your hand before you can even argue with him, a clear indication of how wealthy Seungcheol actually is.
“Why are you giving me your card?”
“Because, the whole time we’re here in Vegas, I want you to just use it. Like I said before, pretend it’s coming out of your bank account if it makes you feel better.”
Maybe he’s right, clearly he does have too much money. Why on earth would he freely hand you his black card and just tell you to spend his money?
“Here, time for shots.” Jeonghan comes over holding a tray of what looks like tequila shots.
“Not now Hannie.” You try to wave him off. Before you can say anything else, he holds a tequila shot to your lips.
“Be a good girl and take the shot for Cheol’s birthday.”
You glance over at Seungcheol, who grabs a shot and holds it up to his own lips.
The golden liquid burns as it slides down your throat. You’ve been here an hour, and this is the third shot Jeonghan has passed out. It’s not that you're a light weight, but the amount of alcohol you’re being given will definitely have your judgement feeling cloudy before you know it.
“Cheol, chug your drink and then get on the dance floor with me and Pinky.” Soonyoung pulls you away from Seungcheol before you can even argue with him. You shoved his credit card into your bra to keep it safe.
You aren’t even able to object as he drags you towards the crowded dance floor. Looking back, you find Minghao following behind.
The music is loud, and it’s so crowded you’re pressed against Soonyoung. He turns you around so your back is plastered to his front. It isn’t unusual for you to end up on the dance floor with these two.
Soonyoung rolls his hips with yours to the beat of the music. Looking over, you watch as a random pretty girl has found her way into Minghao’s arms.
You feel Soonyoung release you, and before you can turn around to question him, another body is pressed up to you. A large hand rests on your stomach, rolling your body back against him. There is no way Soonyoung would let a random man dance with you, this has to be one of the boys.
“Do you mind if I take Soonyoung‘s spot?” Seungcheol's husky voice rings in your ear. This is just the man you preferred to be dancing with.
“No.” You say loud enough for him to hear over the loud music.
One hand stays resting on your stomach while the other rests on your hip. His thumb drags over the side of your thong, pressing against the tight fabric of your dress.
You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol in your system or the feeling of Seungcheol's body against yours that makes your head spin.
“Cheol—“ you practically moan, leaning your head back against his shoulder.
“I can see why Soonyoung likes dancing with you.”
Pulling away from him, you turn around, wrapping your arms around his neck. His body is pressed up against yours. You’re straddling his thigh as you move to the beat of the music.
“God, you’re so pretty.” He leans down so his nose is brushing yours. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes—“ the moment the word leaves your mouth, his lips crash into yours. One hand grips your hip while the other rests on your ass, pulling you closer to him. It’s been so long since you had properly kissed anyone. The feeling of his pouty lips against yours is enough to leave you feeling drunk on lust.
Pulling away, he whispered against your lips, “I have wanted you for so long.” Without another word, you lean in, crashing your lips to his. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him close to you. His strong thigh is between your legs as you grind against him. Your lips fight for dominance, everything around you fading away.
He pulls back and gives you a grin. “I shouldn’t kiss you like this in public.“
“Why is that?”
“Because I can’t keep my hands to myself when we kiss like that.”
Mingyu and Soonyoung walk towards you, pulling you away from your moment. Soonyoung grabs your hand, pulling you away from Seungcheol. “Come on, Hannie got more shots.”
The more shots they’re able to pour in your mouth, the hazier things get. The liquid courage has you thinking with a one track mind. All you can think about is an equally drunk Seungcheol.
Leaning against the wall in the club, Seungcheol has you caged in with his arms on either side of your head.
He’s leaving a sea of kisses across your neck up to your jaw. “We should get married.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I’m just crazy about you.” He peppers your jaw with kisses.
“We can’t get married.”
“Lovebirds, you’re being a little too intense.” Jeonghan teased, pulling Seungcheol away from you.
“You’re just jealous, Hannie.” Seungcheol leans in to kiss you again.
“Come on, loverboy.” He grabs Seungcheol, pulling him away from you.
Leaning against the way you watch as Mingyu pours straight from the bottle into the birthday boy's mouth.
Joshua walks over to you and reaches up, wiping away your smeared lipgloss. “Are you good?” You’ve always been close with him. He’s always one of the first to check on you.
“Yeah. I think I’m gonna leave with Cheol.” There is no way you can just leave this club, go back to your hotel room with Soonyoung, and pretend this never happened.
“Can’t say I’m shocked. Just make sure you use a condom.”
“Shua—” You whine.
“I’m not judging you, just be safe.” He kisses the top of your head before sending Seungcheol back towards you. “I’m serious, use a condom.” He pats Seungcheol on the back.
Pushing yourself off the wall, you walk up to Seungcheol. “Can we please get out of here?” This club feels too crowded, and you just want to be alone with the man you can’t stop kissing.
Hand in hand, he leads you out of the club. He pushes you up against the wall, hidden away from prying eyes. His lips are all over your neck, and his hand is under your tight dress, toying with your thong. It’s taking everything in him to not slide his finger right into your tight core, right out there in the open.
“I want you so bad—” You moan, closing your eyes.
“I will give you anything you could possibly want.”
The last thing you remember is Seungcheol pulling you away from the wall.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Bright morning light peaking through the curtains wakes you up. You’re an absolute idiot for not closing the curtains fully, even in your drunken state.
You quite possibly woke up with one of the worst hangovers of your life. The pounding in your head mixed with the feeling of nausea is unbearable. If you manage to survive getting out of bed, you quite possibly might kill Jeonghan for pouring too many shots of tequila down your throat.
Closing your eyes tighter, you move further into the bed. Something blocks you when you've barely nestled under the blankets. It bounces back when you push it aside, and when you finally turn around, you see Seungcheol. A lot of him. Your heart practically jumps out of your chest at the sight of him barely covered by a thin white sheet. That same sheet is doing nothing to hide his morning wood.
You remember kissing Seungcheol at the club while Jeonghan egged you on, and your heated makeout session as he pulled you away from the club. You even remember him putting his hand up your dress. You don’t remember anything that happened in this room, or what led you both to be naked. The dark marks across his neck are a clear indicator more than just innocent sleeping took place. You have reason to believe those marks were left by you.
You pull away from him as quietly as you can. Luckily, you’re in his room, so you could probably sneak out without him noticing. The issue is what happens when you get to your room you share with Soonyoung. You can barely slip away underneath the blankets before he pulls you close.
“Stop trying to run away. Just cuddle with me.” He mumbles, not bothering to open his eyes.
“Seungcheol—”
“Baby, just stay in bed. My head hurts, and cuddling with you will fix it.”
“Baby?” You relax, letting him pull you closer to him. Lying on your side, he pulls your leg up so it’s resting on his stomach. He hasn’t bothered responding to your confusion about your new nickname.
“You’ve never called me baby before.”
“Well, you weren’t my wife before.” You must be hearing things. There is no way he just called you his wife. It feels as if an ice cold bucket of water was poured on you.
“Wife?”
“We got married?”
He knits his brows together. “Pinky, remember I told you I wanna take care of you?"
“I didn’t think you were serious about actually putting a ring on my finger.”
“Speaking of rings. I wanna get you a proper nice ring after I have some caffeine and food, and then possibly give you a reminder about our time in this bed.” He leans over and presses a kiss to your forehead.
“Seungcheol—“
“Pinky, before you freak out, just think about the pros of us being married. I can give you a list if you want.” He’s absolutely insane. He can’t actually think randomly getting married in Vegas is a good idea. He has more money in his bank account than you’ll probably ever be worth.
“Why would you actually want to marry me?” You pull away from him.
“I have liked you since college. Long before I saw your cute pink panties. I have more money than I could ever need. I want to take care of you. You work so hard, and I don’t want you to stress about money. I think we’re a good pair. You can’t tell me you don’t have feelings for me.” Seungcheol is laying all his cards out on the table. He’s wanted you for as long as he can remember. This is one shot at trying to fully be with you. Who cares if you skipped a couple major steps and just married you.
“Cheol—“
“Do you not like me?” His face falls a little.
“I obviously like you. If I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t have made out with you. It’s just… people are going to assume I’m a gold digger, or you’re my sugar daddy.”
“I can be your sugar daddy if you want me to be.”
“I’m being serious. This whole thing is crazy.”
He sits up. Reaching over, he rested his hand on your cheek. “It might be crazy, but I like you, and I know we could fall in love so easily if you gave us a real shot. We can pretend we’re just dating if you want. But I would prefer we go all in.”
Well, he’s clearly insane, and you might be too because suddenly his idea isn’t sounding so crazy. ”What does all in include?”
He gives you a gummy smile, “you move in with me, and we live as husband and wife. That means we can kiss and do all the things married people do.”
“Cheol, this is crazy.”
“I know, but let’s just see where this goes.”
“Okay—“
“How about we shower and then go get breakfast, and then I’ll get you a nice ring.” He pulls away the covers, revealing his very naked body. He stands up completely unfazed by the fact that he’s naked.
“Shower?”
“Yeah, I need to shower, and you probably want to shower, and I think we should save water and do it together.”
He walks off to the huge en-suite bathroom he has. You never got to fully look around this suite he booked while you were sober. Before going out, he met everyone at Jeonghan and Joshua’s room. This hotel is definitely too expensive for you. But for the boys, this is nothing.
Right now is the time to be brave. Seungcheol told you he wants to stay married and act like a married couple. If he’s your husband, you should have absolutely no issue joining him in the shower.
Walking into the large white and marble bathroom, you’re greeted by the sight of Seungcheol standing behind the glass. Your eyes are drawn to his very large length, that is basically hard.
“Is my wife going to join me?” He turns to his back and is facing you. Your eyes go to his olive tree tattoo. You remember him getting it Anytime you’ve gone to the pool or seen him shirtless you’ve always wanted to trace it.
Walking towards the shower you slide open the door and step inside. This shower is so big it could probably fit five people. The shower head is above you. Seungcheol steps aside, he’s still under the water but it gives you room.
“Can I kiss you again?” He tilts your head up so you’re looking at him.
“Yes.”
The first time his lips touch yours it’s slow, as if he's testing the waters. Your hand rests on his chest. His hand rests on the back of your head, holding you close to him. His lips move against yours as if he needs you to breathe.
“I couldn’t believe it when you actually agreed to marry me.” He says with his lips against yours. “I would have married you years ago if you would have said yes.” He moves you backwards and your back hits the cold tile behind you.
“You didn’t think about maybe just asking me out on a date?” You say between feather light kisses against his lips.
“I have wanted to ask you out since college. There were a few things that complicated it. One being I was worried about our friend group, another one being that I thought Wonwoo liked you.”
He kind of hit the nail on the head with Wonwoo being brought up. Wonwoo didn't necessarily like you, but you had a good five years when you thought you were in love with him. Turns out time heals a broken heart and you let go of your feelings for him long ago. Wonwoo and you are still very close, you just don’t pine after him like you used to.
“Cheol—“
“You don't have to explain anything to me. Just promise me you’ll give us a shot.”
“I’ll give us a shot, but you don’t want you to worry about Wonwoo.”
“I’m not worried about Wonwoo now. I talked to him before we left and he told me not to worry about him.” Why on earth would he ask Wonwoo about what’s going on?
“Why did you talk to him?”
“My only birthday wish was, I was finally going to ask you to be mine. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t stepping on his toes.” He caged you against the shower wall. “This is the perfect way to spend the morning on my birthday.”
Wrapping your around his neck, you pull him closer to you. “Are you really serious about wanting to be married?”
“One hundred percent. Let me take care of you, baby.”
“I could get used to you calling me that.”
He crashed his lips into yours for a searing kiss. No man has ever kissed you quite like he has. The way his lips move against yours it’s almost as if he’s kissing you like he needs you to breathe.
Reaching down you take his already hardened length in your hand. You can’t lie, you're a little ache between your legs from your wedding night that you don’t fully remember. The size of him alone in your hand, you know it’s gonna take a little while for your body to adjust to him.
His nose rests against yours. A low moan passes his lips as you stroke his velvety length.
“How do you like this?”
“Focus on the head.” He groans.
His hand dips down and he starts playing with your clit, before dipping two fingers into your wet core. “Fuck—“ He moans.
“Cheol—“
“I need to get a condom.” He pulls his hands away from you.
Reaching for his hand you stop him from leaving the shower. The idea of feeling him raw right now turns you on even more..
“I’m on birth control.”
He looks at you with a surprised look playing across his face. “Are you sure?”
“I’m clean. It’s been a year since I’ve had sex with anyone other than my own hand or my vibrator.” That’s definitely embarrassing to admit, but if anyone should know this information it should be your husband.
“I’m clean too. I haven’t had sex in like three months.”
“If you want we can go bare.”
“Where do you want me to finish?”
You let out a little chuckle at this question. “Inside?”
“Okay.” He steps towards you again. “Can you turn around baby?”
Your hands are placed on the cold tile, you arched your back. Looking over your shoulder you watch as he pumps his large length. “We’ll go slow. You said our first time I’m in your words, fucking massive.”
“I trust you to take care of me.”
True to his word he ever so slowly pushed into you. As he bottomed out he gave you time to adjust. His hand gently rubbed your back helping you to relax. The stretching feeling slowly starts to dissipate into a feeling of pleasure.
“You can move. Can you play with my clit while you do?”
“Of course.”
His thrusts are slow but deep. He’s hitting places inside of you, you aren’t quite sure another man has ever reached. Reaching around his fingers rub your clit. Pushing your hips back, you meet his thrust. One of his hands grips your hip tightly,leaving finger print shaped bruises in his wake. With each drag of his cock he seems to brush a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars.
“Cheol—“ His name comes out as a broken moan.
“Such a good girl.” You could get used to him speaking to you like that. You’ve never been one for dirty talk or pet names, but with him you can’t seem to get enough of it.
“So big.”
“You’re so tight, it’s like you were made for me.”
Pushing your hips back harder, you’re chasing your release that is getting closer and closer. Squeezing your eyes closed you concentrate on the filling of his hands on your clit.
The dam breaks as a white hot wave hits you. A slur of curse words and his name pour from your lips. Your walls contract around his massive length. Your arms start to give out as you start to fall forward. Without even thinking he grabs your hips keeping you from falling.
“Baby, I’m close.” His thrusts are sloppy as he holds you up. He slams your butt against his pelvis as he fills you to the brim, painting your walls with his milky release.
“Can you put your hands back on the wall?”
Even in your dazed state you listen to his request. Your hands are on the cold title wall holding yourself up.
Slowly he pulls out of you, watching as his cum slowly leaks out. He never necessarily had a creampie kink, but seeing you like this might have changed something inside of him. He’s not sure if he could ever wear a condom with you again, after seeing you like this.
“Fuck that was good.” You mumble resting your cheek against the shower wall.
“I need to clean you up.” He reaches for an unused washcloth hanging on the wall.
After an intense round of shower sex, Seungcheol takes his time washing your body, and washing your hair. Once the water is off he even dries you off before wrapping you in an expensive white fluffy robe.
Seungcheol ordered room service. They quickly brought up coffee and pastries.
Thank god you’re sitting in bed wrapped up in a robe and not still naked. The door opens and Jeonghan barges in. Seungcheol doesn’t seem fazed that he’s practically naked wearing only a towel resting low on his hips.
“Soonyoung said you didn’t come back to the room. I had a feeling this is where I would find you.” The grin Jeonghan is wearing is enough of a sign that he’s enjoying this.
“Jeonghan, why are you here?” Seungcheol turns around and starts going through his suitcase.
“I’m making sure you’re both alive and well. Soonyoung was a little concerned about where his roommate ended up sleeping.”
“Well, you found us and were alive. You and the boys do whatever you want today. I’m going to spend the day with Pinky and go shopping.”
“Dude it’s your birthday, don’t you want to have a birthday dinner?”
He looks over at you. He’s trying to figure out if you want to go to dinner with all the boys. “Sure. Can you book us a reservation in the private room at the sushi place downstairs?”
“Sure.” Jeonghan looks over at you giving you a knowing glance.
“Have fun, lovebirds,” he practically sings walking out.
After finally getting rid of Jeonghan, Seungcheol takes you to your room to get ready. Luckily Soonyoung is nowhere to be seen. You weren’t ready to face any of the other boys quite yet. Dressed in a sundress and a pair of sandals he takes you down to the lobby where he has a car waiting for you.
He’s made the decision to go shopping for rings before eating lunch. Arriving at the Bellagio hotel, he takes you by the hand leading you straight to Tiffany and Co. You quite literally can’t afford anywhere like this before in your life.
The moment you enter the store a sales associate walks up and asks if you need any help.
“We’re here for an engagement ring, and wedding bands for each of us.”
You can’t even say anything. You're just shocked this is even real. Everything in this room is absolutely out of your budget.
You’re immediately led off to a private room. Silently you sit there next to Seungcheol as a bunch of rings are placed in front of you.
“Any specific shape in mind?” The sales lady asked.
“No.” When you dreamed about getting married as a teen you never got to the point of imagining a wedding ring.
“Baby, don’t worry about the price. Just pick what you think is perfect for you.” Seungcheol whispers in your ear.
“Are you getting married soon?” She asked.
“We’re actually already married but I want her to have a proper engagement and wedding ring.”
The amount of sparkling diamonds on the tray in front of you, is worth probably more than you will ever make in your lifetime. Your eyes are instantly drawn to a beautiful teardrop shaped diamond. It’s on the smaller side which is perfect for you.
Picking it up, you slide it on your finger. Instantly you know, this is the ring. Glancing over at Seungcheol you find him intently watching you. “Do you think that’s the one, baby?” Him calling you baby still makes you feel warm and fuzzy.
“If it’s not too much, yes.”
“We’ll take that one, and can we see the wedding bands for her and myself.”
Within moments all the engagement rings are gone and instantly a sea of wedding bands are in front of both of you. Your eyes flash over to a v shaped diamond encrusted ring that would match your tear dropped shaped ring perfectly. Without even thinking you point, the one that caught your eye.
Seungcheol picks it up and slides it onto your finger. He grabs the engagement rings and puts them on with it. Instantly something tells you that this is your ring.
“I think I just watched you light up at the sight of these.”
“They’re beautiful.”
“We’ll take these two.” He says before you can even protest.
“Seungcheol, how much are those?
“I told you it doesn’t matter. You’re my wife and I want to spoil you.”
Seungcheol picks a beautiful platinum wedding band with diamonds scattered around it. When it’s time to check out, you try your hardest not to see the total, but unfortunately you see the total is close to thirty thousand and you instantly feel sick. The idea of him dropping that much money instantly is insane.
Luckily your wedding ring set you picked is perfectly your size. Seungcheol wastes no time putting it on your finger.
After ring shopping he takes you out to brunch at a beautiful restaurant. He’s talking to you all about a business trip coming up and asking if you would be interested in traveling with him for now on. How are you supposed to say no to something like this?
“Cheol, I was thinking maybe we should wait until we tell the boys all about our marriage? and hold off on wearing our rings. I was thinking maybe telling them and Wonwoo all together.” You don’t want one of the boys telling Wonwoo. This is definitely something you should tell him.
“If that’s what you want to do. Would you like me to keep your rings safe until then?”
“Yes please. Maybe tonight I should sleep in my room with Soonyoung so the boys don’t push too much.”
“That’s not a bad idea. I’m saying this now, on the flight home you’re riding next to me. Mingyu can sit with Soonyoung.”
“Okay.”
Seungcheol's entire birthday was spent with you. After lunch you went shopping, where he not only bought himself some clothes, but he also had no issues pulling out his fancy black card to buy you a dress he thought would look beautiful on you.
Heading back to your own hotel room you find Soonyoung getting ready.
“Well, well, well. Look at who finally decided to show up.” He teases you, grabbing his belt off the bed.
“Sorry I was a little preoccupied.”
“Preoccupied by Cheol’s dick?”
Soonyoung has never been one to sugar coat things with you.
“I’m not kissing and telling.”
“I’ve heard he’s pretty big. I’m shocked you’re still walking.”
“Soonyoung, shut up.” You grab a decorative pillow and throw it at him. He quickly dodges it and gives you a huge smile.
“Damn you’re feisty. I thought getting some good dick would make you chill out.”
Oh if only he knew what getting ‘good dick’ had led to.
“I’m going to change my shoes and then we should head downstairs.”
Arriving at the restaurant you show up just as Seungcheol arrives with Jeonghan and Joshua. Minghao and Mingyu arrive shortly after. This sushi restaurant is absolutely gorgeous.
The host leads you back to a private room where you have a private chef. There aren’t any food menus passed around, only a cocktail menu. The chef starts making omakase style sushi for the group.
This is the nicest sushi dinner you have ever had. The boys are having a great time, each with a ton of delicious sushi and drinking. Jeonghan ran off to the bar and paid for a huge bottle of sake. He comes back into the room and starts pouring liquor straight into everyone's mouth.
You’re sitting across from Seungcheol watching him have a great time. Seeing him happy instantly makes you happy.
The moment the check comes, Seungcheol pulls out his black card before anyone could argue. Before the waiter could get out of the room Jeonghan rushes up and swaps the cards.
Jeonghan hands the card back to Seungcheol. “You pay me too much to do my job. This is the least I could do for my best friend.”
The two of them have been best friends since freshman year of college when they were roommates. Jeonghan was there every step of the way of Seungcheol creating his company. It was inevitable that Jeonghan would work for him and make bank alongside him.
The night comes to a close and the group is heading off to the elevators. You and Seungcheol are walking in the back of the pack. He keeps intentionally bumping you, and giving you knowing looks.
He gives you a quick kiss before anyone can see. The way he’s looking at you, gives you butterflies.
Parting ways everyone to head off to their own room, you head off with Soonyoung. You’re getting ready to shower before you get a text.
from cheol 🍒: Goodnight baby
from wifey 💕: Goodnight my husband 💗
˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The last four days after returning home have been an absolute whirlwind. Seungcheol immediately hired people to pack up your things and move you into your now shared penthouse.
As soon as you returned home you had to take a trip to Seungcheol’s bank, so you could be added onto all his accounts. Reluctantly you took all the fancy debit and credit cards he gave you.
This whole situation doesn’t feel real. According to Seungcheol, the black card that is now in your name can be used for anything you want.
Today is the first day things feel slightly normal. You’ve been working all day on a freelance assignment you were able to get. Seungcheol has been at the office all afternoon. You don’t expect him home until just before the boys are coming over for game night. It’s going to take some getting used to living in this huge penthouse.
The door opens and Seungcheol walks in carrying too many designer shopping bags. You instantly know he went on a shopping spree for you.
“Cheol, what did you get?” You close your laptop and look at your husband.
“I got you some new clothes, a purse that I saw because it made me think of you. Some things that are more selfishly for me.”
“What did you get for yourself?” He sets one of the bags on the counter and pulls out some very expensive looking lingerie. You can’t help but smile. “So you saw that and thought of me?”
“Yes. There is also a pretty dress I got for you to wear tonight.”
Something deep down inside of you told you, telling Wonwoo wasn’t going to be easy. Having this game night with the intention of telling the boys about your marriage suddenly feels tacky and wrong.
-
Dressed in a beautiful flowy yellow dress Seungcheol bought you as a gift. You should feel beautiful and happy, but you aren’t. You’re anxious and feel nauseous. It feels weird that Seungcheol had no issue dropping all this money on a designer dress and shoes for you to wear tonight.
Taking a deep breath you walk out of the bathroom and find Seungcheol standing in front of the mirror fixing up his hair. He looks so handsome.
“You look gorgeous.” He says the moment his eyes lock on you through the mirror.
“Thank you for the dress.”
Turning around he steps towards you. His dark eyes slowly travel up and down your body. He looks at you like you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. “We need to go shopping and get you more dresses like this. You look absolutely breathtaking.”
“You’re just saying that because it makes my boobs look big.” The moment you put this dress on you saw how crazy it made your chest look.
“That's just a bonus, but you look absolutely beautiful.”
He reaches out holding your hand. “If you want to keep our marriage on the down low we can.”
This isn’t a secret you can keep to yourself. You don’t want to lie to your friends about what is going on between you and Seungcheol. If you agreed to stay married that definitely means everyone should know you’re married.
“You and I both know you are going to call me your wife and confuse people sooner rather than later.”
“You’re not wrong.”
“You rarely call me Pinky anymore. You seem to be quite fond of baby and your wife.”
The boys start showing up one by one. Wonwoo comes over pretty early on. You’re chatting in the kitchen together. He’s drinking a beer, while you’re sipping on a glass of wine. Wonwoo is telling you about his work trip. He asked about the Vegas trip. You dance around telling him about what has unfolded between you and Seungcheol.
“How drunk did everyone get it?”
“I don’t even remember everything from Cheol‘s party at the club.”
You don’t think you have ever gotten that drunk in your life. Even at crazy college parties, you never got nearly that drunk.
“Damn. I missed black out drunk Pinky?” Wonwoo lets out a laugh.
“I would prefer I never black out again.”
“I don’t blame you. I wish I could have gone. You all seemed like you had an amazing trip.”
“Wonwoo and Pinky get in here.” Soonyoung yells from the living room.
Game night is already as chaotic as it tends to be. It’s not a game night if Jeonghan isn’t trying to find a way to cheat. Him and Joshua are being absolute menaces like they normally are together. You’re sitting on the couch next to Seungcheol.
Jeonghan is attempting to cheat to win.
“Pinky, you’re just jealous you’re losing like always.”
You know Jeonghan is joking, he’s always loved to tease you. The problem is you can feel how annoyed Seungcheol is.
“Hey, don’t speak to my wife that way.” The moment the word wife leaves his mouth it feels as if all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room.
“Whoa wait, what?” Jeonghan looks extremely confused, along with the rest of the room.
Suddenly the room goes dead silent for what feels like a lifetime. Seungcheol stares at you with wide eyes. Looking past your husband you see Wonwoo standing next to Joshua. The look of confusion on his face morphs into hurt.
“You guys actually got married?”’Jeonghan asked the question clearly the whole room wanted to ask.
“Yeah we got married. We’re fully together now.” Seungcheol says. You’re left sitting there silently in shock.
“We thought you two just got drunk and fucked.” Soonyoung chimes in.
Wonwoo looks at Soonyoung and then walks off towards the kitchen. This is not how you wanted him to find out. Hell this isn’t how you wanted any of them to find out.
“We got married.” Seungcheol squeezes your hand.
“Did you move in here?” Joshua asked.
“Yeah, she moved in.”
“What about your lease?” Joshua is asking the same questions you asked.
“It’s over in four months and Seungcheol is helping me with it.”
Jeonghan barks out a laugh. “You two are actually insane, but for some reason I think this is a good idea.”
Stepping away from Seungcheol, he releases your hand. Walking away from everyone, you head off to the kitchen where you find Wonwoo leaning against the counter.
“Wonwoo—“
“What were you thinking? Pinky you’re smarter than this.”
“We were drunk and it just happened.”
Taking his glasses off he rubs his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. “Are you guys going to get this annulled?" He puts his glasses back on.
“No, we're going to stay married.”
The look on his face isn’t like anything you’ve ever seen before. He’s never looked this sad or disappointed when he’s with you. “You’re insane, you can’t think this is a good idea. You’ve never even dated each other and now suddenly you’re married.”
Wonwoo is bringing to the surface all the little insecurities you’ve had about being married suddenly.
“I know it’s crazy, but I think this is a good idea. Seungcheol has liked me for a while, and I can’t lie, I've had feelings for him.”
He barks out a laugh. “That’s fucking fantastic. I’m so glad you talked about your feelings. Maybe try dating before just jumping into being married.”
That hurt so much more than you thought it would. Wonwoo’s reaction is worse than you could have imagined.
“Wonwoo, you’re being mean.”
“No, I’m being real. You and Cheol are in some honeymoon lalaland and not realizing this is absolutely insane.”
“We talked about this and we think it’s a good idea.”
The shame that takes over you, knowing that one reason Seungcheol wants to be married to you is so he can support and take care of you.
“I can’t stand here and lie to you, and say this is a good idea.” He pushes himself off the counter. “I’m going to head out.”
“You’re really just going to leave?” Tears brim your eyes as you try your hardest not to cry.
“Yes.”
“Wonwoo why are you acting like this?”
“Because if I would have gone on this trip, none of this would have happened.”
The feeling of an ice cold bucket of water being dumped on you makes the room fall dead silent. Wonwoo stands there looking defeated and tears are now sliding down your cheeks.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“That’s fine, I should leave.” Without saying another word Wonwoo walks out of your new home. He doesn’t bother saying goodbye to anyone, he just leaves. The worst part of it all, is now you’re both hurt and you’re not quite sure you can ever fix things between you.
The tears don’t stop falling. How are you supposed to just walk back out there where all your friends are and act like nothing happened. Leaning against the counter you push away your tears.
Looking up you find Seungcheol walking towards you. “Baby what happened?” He rested his hand on your cheek, wiping away your tears with his thumb.
“Wonwoo said we’re crazy and said we should annul this.” Closing your eyes you try and stop the tears from falling.
“We might be crazy, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting this, from wanting you.”
“I want this.” You lean up towards him. He leans in, resting his nose against yours. “I want you.”
“Don’t let Wonwoo upset you. He’ll come around.”
“I need to stop crying. I don’t need the boys knowing about my fight with Wonwoo.”
He leans in pressing his lips to yours for a gentle kiss. “Mingyu left to go talk to him. He kind of stormed out, but none of the boys will judge you. Just go back out there and act like nothing happened.”
Seungcheol was right, walking back to the living room the remaining boys acted like nothing happened. Soonyoung is more interested in seeing your very expensive ring that Seungcheol bought you in Vegas.
“I can’t believe you were just sharing a room with me pretending you weren’t married.”
“Cut me some slack, we were trying to navigate this.”
Soonyoung nudges your shoulder. “I thought you had seemed happier since the club that night. Now it makes sense. Clearly our beloved Cheol is treating you right in more ways than one.” He raises his eyebrows at you suggestively.
“Soonyoung—“
“Fine, don't have to talk about it. But I want you to know if being married to Seungcheol makes you happy, I fully support you guys.”
The night comes to a close and the boys head out leaving you alone with your husband. Seungcheol finds you in the kitchen drinking a glass of wine. That conversation with Wonwoo was so much harder than you expected it to be.
Seungcheol comes up behind you wrapping his arms around your stomach. He rested his head on your shoulder. “Baby—”
“Cheol?”
“How about we take a bath together and then let me take care of you.”
“Okay.”
Seungcheol en-suite bathroom is double the size of yours in your small one bedroom apartment. There is a standalone large shower, and bathtub that can comfortably fit two people. The bath is filled with vanilla scented water and lots of bubbles. Seungcheol is sitting with his back against the edge and you’re lounging between his legs.
Silently you play with the bubbles in front of you. Seungcheol is focused on you. He can tell how upset you are. He knows your conversation with Wonwoo hurt your feelings. Anyone who knows you, knows how close you and Wonwoo are. He’s pretty sure you and Wonwoo have never even had an argument.
“I like you so much.” He says capturing your attention. His hand rests on your soft stomach, kneading the flesh. His hand dips lower, his finger dips between your folds. Slowly his finger starts toying with your sensitive clit. “Relax and let me take care of you.”
It’s only been a week and somehow Seungcheol knows all the right places to touch to make you fall apart instantly.
Your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave. Rolling your head back against his shoulder, you moan loudly. “You’re so good for me.” He whispered against your ear. “Let’s get you out of here and move this to our bed.”
Seungcheol referring to things in his home as yours still feels strange.
Laying on the bed with a sea of expensive high thread cotton sheets surrounding you. Your legs are spread. Your husband is sitting on his knees slowly thrusting into you over and over again.
“You feel so good.” He moans.
His hand rests on your mound. His thumb is rubbing circles on your clit pushing you closer and closer to the edge.
When you’re like this with Seungcheol nothing else seems to matter. You aren’t thinking about your fight with Wonwoo. You aren’t thinking about money. The only thing you can think about is how he’s making you feel.
His pace is slow and deep. Your body is learning to adapt to the sheer size of your husband’s cock.
The closer you get to your orgasm washing over you, the closer you want him. Your reach for him. All you can do is moan his name. Instantly he knows what you want. His body hovers over you, caging you in. Your fingers tangle in his hair holding him close to you. Rolling his hips into you, his pelvis keeps brushing your clit, pushing you closer and closer.
The moment the knot in your stomach snaps you find your release moaning his name like a prayer. His own release follows. Echoing sounds of low moans and broken words pass his lips. He fills you to the brim and stills hovering over you. He doesn’t move, he just leans down and kisses you repeatedly.
“I’m so happy you’re my wife.” He said against your lips.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
It’s been three weeks since you last saw Wonwoo. Every time you contemplate texting him and asking him to talk, you end up chickening out.
During this time you have been trying so hard to get used to your new life. Luckily you were finally able to secure a few new writing jobs. Things in your professional life finally seem to be going in the right direction.
Your week days are filled with hanging out in the kitchen in your makeshift office, while Seungcheol goes into work.
Things with your new married life are taking a little bit to get used to. You aren’t quite sure you’ll ever be able to properly comprehend how much money Seungcheol truly makes. The amount of money Seungcheol has no issue dropping on you is absolutely absurd. This whole sharing his bank account situation is still rubbing you the wrong way.
Standing in the grocery store you’re pushing the cart listening to Soonyoung tell you all about his date. After one single date he’s basically already in love with this girl.
At the check out you watch the total slowly go up. Without even thinking you go to grab your own credit card. One that’s for an account not attached to your husband’s.
Before you can tap your card you see Soonyoung give you a look. “Why aren’t you using his credit card?”
“I can pay for myself.”
“I know you can, but you aren’t just buying groceries for yourself now. They’re for him too, and he’s going to be pissed if he realizes you spent your own personal money on him.”
Rolling your eyes, you grab the black metal card Seungcheol gave you. “I hate this. This whole thing makes me feel like he’s my sugar daddy.”
“Pinky, he can’t be your sugar daddy when he’s literally your husband. He wants to support his wife. It’s his job. For the love of god, just let him spend money on you.”
After grocery shopping with Soonyoung you head home and put everything away. The whole time you’re alone with your thoughts you think about reaching out to Wonwoo. It’s eating away at you, that your friendship might be over because of your marriage. Even though you miss Wonwoo, you can’t bring yourself to give up your marriage to make him happy.
Another thing that can’t seem to leave your mind is the whole spending Seungcheol money situation. It doesn’t leave your mind the entire day.
After a long day at work Seungcheol asked if you would go out to dinner with him. Sitting in another expensive restaurant, you look at the menu, your eyes about bulge out of your head at the prices. Looking up at Seungcheol he’s scrolling through his phone.
“Cheol, this place is expensive.”
“It's fine, just order whatever you want.”
The waitress comes back around. Seungcheol orders a bottle of wine and an expensive steak. She turns to you.
“I’ll take the house salad.”
“Is that all?” She takes the menu from your hands.
“Yes.”
Seungcheol hands over his menu and tilts his head at you. “Why did you only order an appetizer salad?”
“I’m not that hungry.”
“Baby, I told you money isn’t an issue.”
“I’m aware, but to me this place is too expensive.”
He opens his mouth to speak and instantly closes it. There is a long beat of silence as you just stare at each other.
“How was work?” You’re trying your hardest to change the subject.
“It was fine. Some clients came in and I had Jeonghan and Mingyu handle it. I was thinking about taking some time off, so we could celebrate being married just the two of us.”
“How long?”
“Maybe a week.”
The waitress comes over with a bottle of wine and silently pours each of you a glass.
“Before you go, can my wife please order the salmon risotto?”
You go to open your mouth and he sends you a look basically letting you know not to complain.
Reaching for the glass of wine, you bite your tongue. You want to tell him to stop spending money on you, but you know this is a fight.
The rest of dinner is quiet. You don’t complain about the money, just sit there making small talk with him. The moment the check comes you blankly stare at the table. You don’t want to know how much the bill is. You know the sound of his metal black card hitting the check book.
He stands up and takes your hand leading you out towards the valet. Seungcheol can tell something is wrong. You might not have been married very long, but you’ve been friends for over a decade. He knows how to read you like an open book. He’s well aware he’s upset you.
Arriving home the elevator ride is just as quiet as the car ride home. Seungcheol knows you need to talk before going to bed.
He goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water while you head off to the bedroom. Walking back into the bedroom he finds you putting on your pajamas.
“Pinky?”
“Yes?” You turn to face him.
“If you’re going to yell at me, can you please do it now?”
A heavy sigh passes your lips. Sitting on the edge of the bed. “Cheol I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to yell at you. I wish you would realize how jarring all of this is for me.” He stands in front of you and silently listens to what you have to say. “I went from struggling to get writing jobs and living from paycheck to paycheck to this. It’s insane you have no problem dropping thousands on me. I’m not used to this luxury lifestyle you live.”
“I make so much money, I’m happy I finally have someone to spend it on.”
“That’s nice, but this whole lifestyle doesn’t feel real to me. It makes me uncomfortable just throwing your card around like it’s nothing. I want you to be my husband, not my sugar daddy.”
“I’ll try and tone it down. Just understand that occasionally I’m going to want to spoil you.”
“We need to find a middle ground.”
“I’ll try to calm down with the money.” He stepped closer to you. Putting his hand under your chin he tilts your head up. He drags his thumb across your bottom lip. “I don’t want to upset you. My goal as your husband is to support you emotionally and to make you happy.”
“You do make me happy. I just need you to understand where I’m coming from.”
“I do.”
Leaning down he presses his lips to yours. You honestly don’t want to fight with him. This conversation could change a lot of things. You hope that he truly understands.
A few days passed and Seungcheol decided to take a week off of work to spend time as a properly married couple. On the first day he asked if you wanted to take a vacation somewhere and you immediately shut that down.
You’re on day three and after taking a trip to the museum and getting lunch, you’re laying on the couch together watching a movie. He just placed an order for your favorite Thai food place.
He’s laying on his back with you resting between his legs. “How do you feel about eventually having a proper wedding?”
You’ve definitely thought about this a few times.
“I’m not opposed to it.”
“It doesn’t have to be anything crazy. I would like to properly marry you in front of our friends and families.”
You want to stay married but it oddly feels too soon to be thinking about this. “Maybe we should wait a little while to plan this.”
“Okay.” He’s a little sad you clearly don't want to do this now, but he’s trying to be understanding.
“When do we have a proper wedding can it not be super expensive?”
“It can be whatever you want it to be. You can have full reign planning it.” He doesn’t care how his wedding looks as long as you’re the one walking down the aisle towards him. He pined after you for years. All he cares about is you’re finally his.
“Is Soonyoung going to be your man of honor?”
You’ve known Soonyoung since you were sixteen. He’s been your best friend ever since. It would be weird if he wasn’t your man of honor.
“Yes. Is your best man Jeonghan?” You lace your fingers with his. Gently squeezing his hand.
“I think he would kill me in my sleep if I picked someone else.”
“He would make me a widow if you hurt his feelings like that.”
“I have to make sure I don’t die on you.” He brings your hands up to his lips and presses a kiss to the top of your hand. “I’m enjoying being home and getting to spend time with you.”
“This has been nice.” You’ve known Seungcheol for a decade, but this feels like you’re getting to know each other on a romantic and more intimate level.
Soon your take out arrives and you spend the evening eating dinner and enjoying each other's company. As night falls you’re tangled up in your sheets. Laying on your stomach with a pillow under your hips. Seungcheol is on his knees straddling your legs. He pushes his hips into yours at a slow and deep pace. This angle has his hitting spots inside of you that have never been reached.
Your fingers grip the sheet. Closing your eyes you moan his name. He’s stretching you out in the best way possible. Leaning down he presses a trail of open mouth kisses across your spine.
“Fuck—“
“You feel so good.” He moans.
Lifting your hips, you push them back slightly to meet his thrust. Sex with your husband is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.
“Baby.” His moans are intoxicating.
“I’m— cl-close.” He’s practically made you a rambling mess.
“Cum for me.”
He picks up his pace helping both of you chase your highs. Squeezing your eyes closed your high washes over you like a white hot wave. He gets two more thrust in before he slams his lips into your butt hitting his own high. He feels you to the brim with his milky white release.
Pulling out of you, he watches intently as his release leaks out of you.
Jumping off the bed he cleans up the mess he made before crawling into bed with you. Pulling you close to him your head rests on his chest as he gently rubs your side. It’s not long before sleep finds both of you.
˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
You’ve been married for two months and things are finally starting to feel normal. Seungcheol has chilled out after practically throwing money at you.
It’s been a long day for you. You lucked out and found a new writing job that pays well. You’ve spent all day trying to finish as much as possible whileSeungcheol’s been at the office all day. The moment he gets home he immediately finds you in your bedroom working on writing. You’ve made yourself cozy on the bed with your lap desk and a cup of tea.
“Jeonghan is hosting a game night tonight.” He says walking across the bedroom towards you.
You close your laptop, setting it on your nightstand. “Is everyone going to be there?” It’s been a while since your whole friend group has hung out. Things have been a little office since everyone found out about your marriage.
“That’s what I’m being told.”
“Does that include Wonwoo?”
He leans against the dresser and lets out a heavy sigh. He knows that this whole Wonwoo situation is eating away at you. He’s never liked seeing you sad, and knowing that you’re hurt right now makes him want to fix this.
“Probably not.”
“It’s safe to say I ruined our friend group.”
“You didn’t ruin the friend group. You aren’t the only one who is to blame here. He’s not just upset with you.”
“I hate this.”
“Pinky, can I ask you something?” He has a feeling he already knows the answer to this, but it’s going to eat away at him if he doesn’t ask you.
“Yeah?”
“I know Wonwoo liked you, but did you also like him?” His question caught you off guard. What the hell did he mean? Wonwoo liked you too?
“At one point I’m pretty sure I was in love with him, it was one-sided though.” This is the first time you’re admitting out loud you were in love with Wonwoo.
The look on Seungcheol's face hurts. His normal bright eyes have sadness behind him. “Pinky—“ He thought everyone knew Wonwoo was in love with you. “Wonwoo liked you.”
You’re giving him a look he can’t even explain. You look like he just told you the worst news possible. “Oh—“
“It seems half the group knew about your feelings and the other half knew about his. Maybe that’s why so many people were confused about us getting together.”
“Wonwoo liked me?” Suddenly it feels like the glass floor below you shattered. How on earth did you not realize that he liked you back.
“Yeah.”
“ I just feel so confused. I thought when I was in love with him it was one-sided.” Your eyes brim with tears.
“I’m sorry—“ He whispers, watching as your tears slide down your cheek.
“I think I should go.” You push yourself off the bed.
“Pinky—“
“Cheol, I’m confused and I need space.” Walking off to the closet, grab the closest duffle bag you can find.
Closing his eyes he tries his hardest not to cry. Walking over to the bed he sits there silently watching you pack a bag to leave him. Everything is suddenly crumbling and he doesn't know what to say or do to fix it.
When your bag is finally packed you don’t kiss him goodbye. He follows you to the front door. Before you can leave he grabs your hand.
“I’m begging you not to give up on us. I know this is confusing and I’m sorry about everything. Just please give us a chance.”
“I’m going to stay with either Soonyoung or Joshua.” Those are the last words out of your mouth before you walk out of the door.
Game night is essentially canceled. Soonyoung and Joshua rush to meet up with you, so you aren’t alone.
Jeonghan, Minghao, and Mingyu go to the bar with a very upset Seungcheol. The only way he’ll get through the night is if he drinks enough to forget. He knew when you found out about Wonwoo you might take it badly, but he didn’t expect for you to confess you were basically in love with Wonwoo before you got married.
Sitting on Soonyoung’s couch you cry your eyes out telling the boys about what happened. You embarrassingly cry about your missed connection with Wonwoo.
Your mind can’t seem to let go of the thought that you could have been with Wonwoo. You told yourself over a year ago you got over him. You finally moved on and weren’t in love anymore. Why did Seungcheol admitting Wonwoo returned feelings suddenly break your heart? Things with Seungcheol are good, why are you questioning if you should stay married?
Soonyoung holds you close as you cry. “Pinky, I think you should stay here. You and Seungcheol can work this out. But I think you need to figure out what you feel for Wonwoo.”
“Soonyoung is right, I think you need to navigate your feelings for Wonwoo. From what you have said, you were in love with him. Cheol basically gave you emotional whiplash confirming Wonwoo had feelings for you.”
Week one, it feels like a breakup. You find yourself trapped in Soonyoung's guest room at your own volition. You've cried on and off for days. You only leave the room when Soonyoung or Joshua drags you out.
Seungcheol isn't fairing much better. He's found himself at the bottom of a bottle, attempting to drink away his pain. He feels guilty for how everything unfolded between you.
Week three, you're back to working nonstop on writing assignments. You've just thrown yourself into work. You're back to living paycheck to paycheck. You've offered to pay Soonyoung rent for taking up his guest room, but every time he refuses to take any of your money.
This week Seungcheol stopped by Soonyoung's studio to attempt to check on you.
"Cheol why are you here?"
Soonyoung wasn't expecting to see him. Since your "break up" or more so "break" the friend group has been in a state of disarray. Things have seemed to split between everyone. Wonwoo is only speaking to Mingyu. Seungcheol is only seeing Mingyu, Minghao and Jeonghan. You're living with Soonyoung and only seeing him and Joshua. Everyone is aware Jeonghan and Joshua are still seeing each other. The only details Seungcheol has received regarding about you are the things Jeonghan has shared.
"I'm here to see how my wife is doing." Seungcheol sounds like a broken man. He's experienced heartbreak before, but this feels so different.
"Cheol, she's clearly hurt and confused." Soonyoung has done and will do anything to protect you. Even if that means protecting you from the man you've fallen in love with.
"I hate this." Seungcheol sighs, pushing his fingers through his hair.
"Do you think I like this? She's miserable, and clearly you're miserable."
"How is work going for her?" He knows you've gone back to picking up a ton of writing jobs. He's also very aware you haven't been using any of his cards he's given you. He hates that you're going to be struggling to get by again.
"She's always working. She's always on her laptop writing." Soonyoung knows he needs to let Seungcheol know at least some of what is going on with you.
"Are you charging her for rent?"
Soonyoung barks out a bitter laugh. "Fuck you, Cheol. You know I would never ask her for money."
Seungcheol looks down feeling ashamed he even asked. This whole situation is a mess, things feel so tense between him and Soonyoung now. "I'm sorry I asked. I came here to offer you money for taking her in."
Soonyoung rolls his eyes. "Dude she's not a burden. She's fine, she can stay with me as long as she wants."
"God, I just want her back." Seungcheol sighs.
"Yeah, I know Cheol. You just need to give her space. She'll come back to you when she's ready.”
“What if she's never ready?"
"She will be. So give her space."
A month and half in, you still can't kick the aching feeling in your chest. Joshua finally convinced you to have a movie night with him and Soonyoung. You're caught off guard when you find Jeonghan standing in Joshua's kitchen.
"Pinky." Jeonghan smiles the moment he sees you.
"Hannie." Your eyes brim with tears instantly. You've missed him so much.
Jeonghan steps closer to you and pulls you into a hug. You haven’t been seeing all the boys, but you know you've probably destroyed the whole friend group.
Jeonghan releases you and kisses your forehead. "I was tired of you avoiding me. I had to force Shua to let me crash your movie night."
Reaching up you push away your tears that have fallen.
"Pinky, why are you crying?"
"I miss you. I miss what our friend group used to be. I miss—" you want to say your husband's name desperately. You've missed him nonstop since the moment you walked out of your home you had shared.
"We miss you too." He reaches down, brushing away your tears. "He misses you like crazy. He asks me every day if I have heard from you."
Hearing Jeonghan mention Seungcheol makes your chest squeeze. "I miss him too. I'm just still confused."
"That's okay, Pinky."
"Can you tell him I say hi?"
"Of course."
Two months in Seungcheol has reached his breaking point. He's aware his marriage might be over, but even if it is, he wants you to fix things with Wonwoo.
Swallowing his pride he goes to see Wonwoo. He hasn't seen Wonwoo in four months, since that night everyone found out about your marriage. Wonwoo and Mingyu have lived together since college. Mingyu was kind enough to let him know Wonwoo is home.
Knocking on the front door he holds his breath waiting. The door opens, and Wonwoo stares at him looking confused.
"Why are you here?" Wonwoo finally speaks.
"I'm assuming you know Pinky and I are on a break?"
Wonwoo holds the door open and steps aside for Seungcheol to walk in. He walks over and sits on the couch that's placed under the window. Seungcheol sits on the chair across from the couch.
"I know about your break. Mingyu let me know." Wonwoo is just as torn up about your friendship. He's devastated at how things unfolded between the two of you that night. He can still see the way you looked at him.
"That doesn't tell me why you're here Cheol."
"Did Mingyu tell you what happened between us?"
"Nope." He didn't ask any questions. He honestly didn't feel comfortable knowing what happened.
"Well I always knew you were in love with her, but I didn't realize she loved you."
Wonwoo's eyes go wide. He feels like he's been punched in the gut. "What?"
Seungcheol lets out a heavy sigh and runs his hands up and down his face. "I didn't realize you both had feelings for each other and it's clear, Pinky has unresolved feelings for you."
"Cheol, I didn't know."
"I know. If I had known— even though I love her Wonwoo, I don't think I would have made a move on her. I thought you were the only one with feelings for her." His voice is shaky, and he sounds as if he's about to fall apart at any moment.
This whole situation is a god damn mess. "Cheol, she doesn't love me anymore. She wouldn't have married you if she did."
"I keep trying to tell myself that."
Wonwoo takes his glasses off, he sits them down on the couch next to him. He pinches his nose taking a deep breath. "What do you want from this conversation?"
Seungcheol isn't sure why he fully came here. To be honest he just wants you and Wonwoo to fix things between you in one way or another. If he loses you to Wonwoo, it might break his heart, but he'll be okay one day if he knows you're happy.
"I just want you back in Pinky's life. I don't care if she picks you, I just want you to be there for her."
Wonwoo leans forward resting his elbows on his knees. "You really love her don't you."
"Wonwoo, I love her so fucking much."
˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
The front door opens and you hear footsteps approaching. Looking up you find Wonwoo standing there. God you’ve missed seeing him.
He sat down at the table across from you. He paused for a moment. “Your husband came and talked to me. I think he’s right. We should talk. I’m sorry about how things ended last time we talked. ”
“What?” Closing your laptop you knit your brows at him.
“He told me that you’re torn up over not talking to me.”
It's been six months since you last saw him, and the sight of him sitting front of you makes you want to cry.
“Wonwoo, this whole thing is a mess.”
“He also told me that he informed you that I was basically in love with you.”
“I had no clue." There is a twisting feeling in your stomach.
“It’s okay, I didn’t realize you felt the same way. I always just assumed you were in love with Cheol.” It's clear you were oblivious to the affection both boys had for you.
“This whole situation is complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“Wonwoo, my brain can’t process the fact I’m fucking married and now I’m finding out you were in love with me.”
“Did you still love me when you went to Vegas?” He asks calmly.
“No.”
“Then why does it matter?”
“Because what if we're supposed to be together?”
It’s the what ifs that are now eating you alive.
“But we aren’t, so why does it matter?”
“Why doesn’t it matter?”
“Because you’re literally married, and it’s clear Seungcheol is in love with you. You might not want to admit it, but you love him now.” He reaches out, taking your hand.
“Wonwoo—“
“Do you actually want to be with me? Do you want to give up everything you’ve built with him?”
“No.”
“Then it doesn’t matter what we used to feel.”
“I’m scared of what I have with him. The whole thing has felt like a whirlwind, and we haven’t done anything in the correct order.”
“Don’t be scared. If I didn’t think Seungcheol was good for you, I would have kept pushing for you to end your marriage.”
“It would have been so much easier if we dated first.”
“Then tell him you want to date, before you go back to acting like a married couple. Tell him you need space of your own.”
"Wonwoo."
"Yeah, Pinky?"
"I missed you so much." You can't help but cry.
Wonwoo stands up and walks over to you. He holds his hand out. You grab it as you stand up. Without even thinking you wrap your arms around him holding him close. You cry as he holds you. His large hand runs up and down your back, soothing you.
"Wonwoo how do I fix things with him?"
He pulls away a little. Before leaning anything he leans down and kisses your forehead. "I think it's time you go home to your husband."
˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
Soonyoung helps you pack up your stuff and Jeonghan offers to give you a ride to your home you share with Seungcheol. Pulling into the parking garage Jeonghan glances over at you. What if it's been too long and Seungcheol has decided he no longer wants you back.
"Pinky?"
"Huh?"
"Are you nervous?"
"Yeah, I broke his heart leaving. What if he's decided he doesn't want me back?"
Jeonghan reaches over unbuckling your seatbelt. "Don't be dumb Pinky, he clearly still wants you. He wouldn't have sent Wonwoo to you if he didn't."
Taking a deep breath you open the door. Jeonghan walks to the back and grabs your two duffle bags. He helps you carry your stuff into the elevator and walks down the hall to the door of the penthouse.
Standing at the door, you pause, it's been two months, should you knock or just walk in? Jeonghan doesn't let you get lost in your thoughts. He puts in the door code and walks in.
Seungcheol is standing in the kitchen when you enter.
"Cheol, I brought your wife back." Jeonghan can't help but smile.
You awkwardly wave, "hi, Cheol."
"Hi, baby." Him calling you baby instantly makes you smile. Jeonghan takes your back from you and heads off the master bedroom. You and Seungcheol don't say anything for a moment. It's almost as if you're both waiting for your time alone so you can talk.
Jeonghan comes back into the entry way. "I'm going to leave you guys alone. I'm going to go get dinner with Shua."
The front door locks and Seungcheol holds out his hand. Without even thinking you take his hand. He leads you off to the dining room. He pulls out a chair and you sit down. He sits down across from you. This all feels so weird.
You break the screaming silence that has formed between you. "Wonwoo came to see me."
"I know."
"He told me it shouldn't matter that we had a missed connection. I wasn't in love with him when we got married, and even if I'm afraid to admit it, I'm in love with you."
Seungcheol can't help but smile at the fact you're admitting you love him. "You love me?"
"Yeah I do, and because I love you, it shouldn't matter that I missed what could have been between me and Wonwoo."
Seungcheol reaches across the table and laces his fingers with yours. "Pinky, I love you, and I haven't stopped, even while you were gone."
"That's good, because I want to work on our marriage."
He squeezes your hand. "You wanna stay married?"
"Yeah I do."
He can't help it when his eyes brim with tears. When he sent Wonwoo to see you, he had given up all hope that things would stay the same with you two. "I missed you so much, baby."
"I missed you too."
Seungcheol stands up and you do the same. He walks over to you, and pulls you into his chest. Pulling back you look up at him. Without a second thought he crashes his lips into yours for a desperate kiss. He hasn't seen you in months and every part of his body and soul has craved you. He never wants to go even a day without talking to you.
Pulling away a little he smiles down at you. "I have a request."
"What's that baby?" He'll do anything you could possibly ask him to.
"We can still be married, but can we act like we're dating. I feel like we skipped so many steps and I want to experience what it's like to date you."
He gives you a big smile. "We can absolutely do that."
Ten months later you find yourself preparing to walk down the aisle for an official wedding with your husband. Things have gone back to normal with your friend group. This time when you're getting married all your family and friends are here.
Your bridal party consists of Soonyoung as your man of honor. The rest of your bridal party is a mix of Minghao's girlfriend, Joshua, and your cousin. Seungcheol's best man is obviously Jeonghan, he was very serious when he threatened to make you a widow when Seungcheol joked about picking someone else with him. His groomsmen are Mingyu, Minghao, and Wonwoo.
Wonwoo managed to sneak off and met up with you, Soonyoung and Joshua. All three boys doted on you telling you on and on about how beautiful you look.
Walking down the aisle you immediately cry at the sight of Seungcheol waiting for you. Your wedding is everything you've ever dreamed of. It's not some crazy lavish event, it's the perfect wedding for you. The one expensive Seungcheol fought you on, was paying for the dress of your dreams.
Your vows are perfect, Seungcheol lights up as he's told to kiss the bride. Your kiss is dramatic, he dips you, kissing you in a grand fashion. Friends and family cheer applauding.
The reception feels like a blur. It's the perfect party, Seungcheol made a big deal about multiple open bars, and having it in a big venue for all your friends and family to party.
The ceiling above the dance floor is draped in sparkling twinkle lights. The song you picked for your first dance plays. Your arms are wrapped around his neck as you sway to the beat of the music. There isn’t some grand choreo, it’s just the two of you lost in the moment in the middle of the dance floor. All eyes are on you, but the only thing you can focus on is Seungcheol.
"I love you," He says just loud enough for you to say.
"I love you too."
You might have had an untraditional start, but the only thing that matters is you ended up here.
— synopsis: you and yoon jeonghan are just friends. just friends who work together and watch midnight screenings of old films, just old friends who share a sofa seat in the back of a cinema. just friends who kiss, who run away...just friends.
– genre: friends with benefits to ??? ; smidge of angst, smut, fluff.
— pairing: fwb!yoon jeonghan x fem!reader
– word count: 4.2k
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warnings: swearing, crying (mostly out of pleasure but also like...a stress cry. everything is okay dw 👍🏻). mingyu is a plot device. he's kind of possessive, a little bit toxic, too i think. kissing, public indecency. also mostly smut. speaking of: smut warnings: unprotected sex (new to them but not to haologram's blog) ; riding, clitplay, powerplay dynamics...jeonghan breeding kink (we talked about this once in september and it never left my mind) biting, hair pulling, creampie. that's it!
— what to listen to: bittersweet memories - bullet for my valentine ; fade into you - mazzy star ; how high - ice spice.
– author’s note: welcome back to haologram! this is a special segment i’ve created to give a quick thank you to all of my friends this holiday season, and this one is for my yaoi freak twin, @hannieoftheyear! emita, thank you for always making me feel so welcomed in spaces we share and always making me feel so seen when i'm struggling to find light in my own darkness. i hope i'm able to do the same for you and i hope you know that you have me, always. thank you for also matching me and aeris' freak about heated rivalry, it's so fun to talk about it with you guys and i hope we can keep letting the freak flag fly together! i know you like movies, so i tried to incorporate the ones i could remember you talking about! happy haolidays, ema! i love you!
"WHEN I SAY 'CALL ME BACK', I'M NOT GIVING YOU A CHOICE, SWEETHEART."
Jeonghan's hand is gentle as he holds your jaw, making you look him in the eyes. It's dark in the backseat of his car, your eyes glassy with unshed tears because if you cry, he pulls out. Not that Jeonghan has ever cared about making you cry — and it's always from pleasure, don't get the wrong idea — but tonight in particular, you're not allowed the tears. No matter how good he's making you feel.
Your thighs shake as the cold metal of his zipper brushes against your skin, his cock buried deep inside you and you nod as best as you can without closing your eyes at the pleasure his thumb is building by circling your clit agonizingly slowly. You'd been sitting on him for the last fifteen minutes, his eyes stern as he scolded you for not calling him back when he said to.
It wasn't like Jeonghan was your boyfriend, or anything.
He wasn't. He was merely a guy that started as your friend. Truly — you'd met Jeonghan at an AV Club in during your senior year of undergrad, and the two of you became close friends almost immediately. You were hanging out every day, you met all his friends and even met his girlfriend at the time — only for her to tell Jeonghan twenty minutes after you left his apartment that she did not like you.
Jeonghan had never been one to let someone try and control his life, so it was an easy snip. Sure, she concluded that you must've done something to him — slept with him, touched him, kissed him, something. In her mind, you were the snake that convinced him to bite the apple and she hated you faster than you could say Yoon Jeonghan.
Neither of you really cared, truthfully. You were far too busy with all your extracurriculars and your part time job at the cinema, and Jeonghan was frying bigger fish — meaning, he was bugging you at all your extracurriculars and constantly watching and rewatching films with you. It got to the point that your manager realized how good of friends you were and even offered him a job, which he happily took with the condition that his schedule was exactly the same as yours. She checked with you first, of course, and you gladly agreed — happy to have a friend glued to your hip that you could talk film with.
It wasn't until exactly a year later that you fucked up.
It was during a midnight re-screening of Chicago in theater 4, and your cinema had those sofa seats where couples could sit together. You were nestled into one side of the cushion and Jeonghan was sprawled across the other, limply holding a cherry ICEE in his hand and fiddling with the straw as he chewed Dubble Bubble like a cow.
You were both struggling to find jobs in your fields after graduating. He was contemplating a move across town, you were thinking of grad school…both things that would strain your friendship if not carefully curated to fit your needs.
Jeonghan was at the top of your hierarchy. You were at the top of his.
You couldn't even remember what part of the movie was playing when you leaned over to whisper in his ear, only for him to be leaning in at the same time and your lips brushing. You both jumped back, eyes wide as you both tried to stutter out apologies only for him to roll his eyes and wrap his hand lightly around your throat, pulling you in to him and slotting his lips with yours.
You were the last two employees left in the cinema, having gotten permission to run the film before turning the lights off and locking up. His hand on your throat suddenly pushed you back, pressing you into the cushion of the sofa as he slid between your thighs and slipped his tongue into your mouth. Things escalated, his cold fingers slipped beneath your panties as yours palmed him under his boxers.
You didn't fuck. You didn't even see what the other looked like, because you bolted right after you were done. Not a goodbye, not even a thank you.
"Lock up when you're outta here."
It was safe to say that your friendship took a huge blow that night. You felt it as you sprinted out of the theatre, your cheeks hot even as you unlocked the employee door and left it propped open for Jeonghan to remember to lock it when he slipped out. You felt it as you ran past his old beater, having spent many nights the summer before lounging in the backseat while passing a joint between the two of you.
You felt it as your heart raced the moment you slid into your car, resting your forehead against the steering wheel as you muttered curses. You felt tears prick at your eyes as you fumbled with your keys, hardly jamming them into the ignition and barely able to peel out of your parking spot — just in time to see Jeonghan wiping his face harshly and blowing a breath out of his pursed lips.
Two days passed. Two long, excruciating days.
Neither of you spoke, awkwardly working your shifts and muttering apologies before yet another night rolled around where your manager allowed midnight screenings for employees. You sat with each other out of instinct, in one of the loveseats at the very back of the theatre while the small gaggle of coworkers sat in the front and all apart. One by one, the movie bored them — so they started slinking out. Tzuyu and Mingyu were the last to leave, slinking by your sofa to make sure you knew you were the last two and if you could lock up.
You both nodded, giving them a thumbs up before turning your attention back to the movie. They left without another word, leaving you and Jeonghan alone in the middle of 10 Things I Hate About You. You shifted then, making Jeonghan glance over at you. He was holding yet another melting cherry ICEE, his lips stained with the red dye as he tongued his cheek.
"Scoot over." He muttered, and you glanced at the space between you. It could fit at least two more people, and you must have looked confused because he tapped the fabric with his knuckles, two slim fingers beckoning you to come closer. "Scoot over."
You obliged silently, the air of the suddenly inch-wide space between your thigh and his grew hot as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you into him. He brushed his lips to your temple, before whispering in your ear.
"We don't have to talk about it, and we don't have to ever do it again. Just stop acting like I don't exist, please."
There was an edge to the end of his sentence, a whine that made your heart sink and race all the same. You felt his lips, cool against your skin, press a kiss to your cheek before you sighed. He was nibbling on his straw, eyes trained on Julia Stiles.
"I'm sorry."
"No, I'm sorry. You don't have to be. I kissed you first, I came onto you. It's my fault."
"No, I'm sorry for liking it. Now everything is weird and I can't look at you the same."
He stopped chewing on his straw then, his eyes daring to look at you out of his peripheral, "you liked it and you think that's going to ruin our friendship?"
"Isn't it?"
"I'd argue that you running away before I could even check on you is what would ruin our friendship, but what do I know?"
You scoffed then, shoving his shoulder as he dropped his drink into the cupholder and tilted your face toward him. He kissed you again, slowly, his fingers cold from the cup as he trailed them down your jaw and wrapped them gingerly around your neck. You leaned into it more, climbing into his lap and snugly settling in as Mr. Morgan spoke, "Lord, here we go."
And go, you did.
Your hands pulled his belt off in six seconds flat, tugging at the zipper of his pants as he slid his hands up your shirt, your bra loosening around your chest the moment you let his tongue slip into your mouth. His hands fondled your chest, cold fingers rolling your nipples into hard peaks and you palmed him until he was half hard, pulling him out of his boxers. He groaned into your mouth, hips thrusting lazily into your hand before he unbuttoned your jeans with one hand and slid his hand between your thighs.
"I need to have you." He had whispered against your swollen lips, "please. Please let me."
You did.
Not in the theater, absolutely not. You're a lady.
You fucked him in the backseat of your car. Your car, not his — because you couldn't risk leaving anything that belonged to you in that car. Chances were you wouldn't get it back, and if your friendship left in the back of Jeonghan's car, you'd never get it back.
He kept your panties. Tucked in the pocket of his leather jacket as you fucked yourself open on his cock, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along your bare shoulders, licking the sweat off the slope of your neck and whimpering underneath you.
You used to run this show. You made the rules. You ran him like the damn Navy and Jeonghan all but bowed his head and followed your lead. Fucking you when you wanted, kissing you as long as you needed, humping your mattress once this became that much more intimate and leaving after making you cum on his tongue thrice.
It's been two years of this — you chose grad school, he followed — and somewhere along the line…the power dynamic shifted. You worked on his schedule, you did what he asked of you. You submitted, fully, and while he liked it…he missed you bossing him around. Leading him, telling him what to do — and he told you that, openly, shamelessly.
But on nights like this? When you pissed him off, flirted too long with someone who wasn't even worthy of breathing the same air as you and look like they snuck onto Earth? None of which were true about the Kim Mingyu, but Jeonghan was angry and used other words to talk about how unfit you and Mingyu would be as a couple.
On nights like this, however…he made the rules. He made you beg to get fucked, to get a kiss, to touch him. He made you sit completely still on his cock while he was fully clothed, simply scolding you for thinking any other man that isn't him should have access to you the way he does.
Touching you. Kissing you. Making you wet by simply squeezing your hip while he walks by, murmuring soft praises against your neck as you cry over a stupid course project that you (foolishly) procrastinated and he stayed up all night helping you do it.
Because Jeonghan, despite the idiotic and unspoken 'friends with benefits' title, never forgot about the friends part. He is your friend: he supported you, he lectured you, he got you drunk and helped you sober up. He was your friend, and he never let himself (or you, for that matter) forget it.
So…it's a bit cynical, almost funny to sit on his cock in the back seat of his car and listen to him scolding you while holding your phone in his hand. A phone that has a picture of you and him as the lockscreen, his birthday as the passcode, him and your mutual friend Seungcheol as the homescreen.
Him, him, him.
Yours.
He scoffs at your poor attempt for a response. He shakes his head, lightly tapping your cheek with his finger as he tongues his own, "speak. You have a mouth, use it properly before I find another use for it."
"Yes, sir." Your voice is whiny, and you're almost embarrassed as he coos. He taps your chin with his knuckle, making your head lightly turn before he grabs it again, "you're sorry, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"What are you sorry for, angel?"
You let your mouth fall open, but no words come out as he leans into your face. Your eyes scan his, your vision blurry behind the gathered tears that threaten to spill as he taps your phone against your chest.
The problem with all of this has truly caught up to you. The problem, you know, with kissing Jeonghan. Sleeping with him, touching him. Letting him still be your friend and letting him pretend he's your boyfriend at bars when guys get too close — only to actually feel like he is when he kisses you like he loves you.
When he's gotten slower and more affectionate during sex. When he kisses you just to do it sometimes, with no expectations of anything else — when he stands behind you while you make the both of you dinner or a snack, when he takes over typing on your laptop when your fingers start to ache and words your notes and ideas the best he can to match your tone in your essays. When he stays after work to watch midnight screenings of older movies everyone's moved on from, and lets you narrate your favorite parts out loud as he sips his cherry ICEE and twirls your hair in his fingers.
When he physically pulled you out of the bathroom where you were two seconds away from fucking Mingyu — dragging you by the hand and ignoring everyone's prying eyes as he slammed the door behind him.
The problem is him, and you. And whatever the two of you are doing.
The problem is the feelings that stir in your chest every time he flashes you a warm smile, laced with mischief. The problem is the way your pulse races under his hand around your throat when you're dancing together in a club, an odd outing for Yoon Jeonghan but he goes because you like to let loose that way. He likes to watch you dance with Chan and Minghao, he likes to let you rile him up until he laughs out of jealousy before fucking you stupid in the back of his car.
The problem is that you've fallen absolutely head over heels for Jeonghan, and it's ruining your life. It's ruining your life, your friendship, any focus you have on anything that isn't him.
He is ruining your life.
You don't respond, letting your eyes close and the tears trickle down your face, hot and wet as he tuts, pulling his hand away from between your legs…when he realizes you can't stop crying. Your shoulders shake slightly as you cover your face with your hands, and you don't get to see the panicked look at glosses over his eyes as he tosses your phone the side and wraps his arms around your waist. For a moment, you seemingly both forget that you're connected at your cores, your face buried in the crook of his neck as you cry silently.
"Woah, woah. Alright, it's okay. Let me—"
"No! It's fine, I fucked up."
Your voice is much too thick for Jeonghan to refute anything you say, and you pull away, wiping at your cheeks haphazardly. You sniffle, blowing a breath out your pursed lips as your voice shakes, "I'm sorry for—"
He presses his lips to yours, effectively shutting you up. He tightens his arms around your waist, your own wrapping around his shoulders as he pulls back, "don't cry, baby. I'm just fucking with you, I didn't mean to take it this far."
"But I—"
"I love you, okay? I don't want to hurt your feelings. Did I? Tell me if I did."
You don't hear anything past the I love you.
He seems to notice. Even in the dark of the parking lot, in the depth of the shrubbery that hides his car from view and conveniently hides your semi-nude body from any prying eyes — you can see the hot blush crawling up his cheeks.
"What?"
"I'm sorry."
He tries to move away from you, but your thighs tighten around him and render him motionless as panic floods in the back of his eyes. He tries to mask it, keep his breathing level, even force an air of confidence as he clears his throat, arms loosening around your waist and gripping the leather seat of his car.
And then it all falls.
"What do you want me to say, Y/N?" He whispers, softly admitting defeat. He sighs, running a hand over his face, "fuck. Goddamnit."
"Jeonghan."
"What? What, Y/N?"
"Jeonghan," your voice is softer, his eyes holding a layer of fear that seems thick. A fear that you only have when you realize you may have too much dip on your chip. A fear that only settles after you get the answers you need, rather than the one you want. A fear that is telling you that he thinks he's ruined this, what you have.
That he's ruined you.
And he has.
He absolutely has — for anyone else. Ever.
"I love you." He blurts, his eyes flashing that same fear over and over again as they slowly fill with tears. "I love you, damnit. Why couldn't you just call me back?"
You feel your body relax a bit as he groans, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes as a pout graces his lips, "you didn't have to go to that party."
"I didn't." You reply, nodding your head carefully. He huffs, ripping his hands away from his face and letting a few tears wet his lashes, "then why did you? I told you I was coming by. I told you I wanted to hang out."
"Because I needed to get over you, Jeonghan." Your admission takes a moment to sink in, and you run your hands through his newly bleached hair carefully, tugging at the ends. "I needed to get over you because you were driving me crazy. You think this is easy? Being your friend and knowing you could go out at any time and find someone else to warm your bed when I'm falling apart at a party?"
"You don't just warm my bed," he mutters, sniffling before looking at you through his wet lashes. "You also make it in the mornings, with those sick hospital corners—"
"Yoon Jeonghan."
He snickers, his laugh still thick as he looks away from you, "I'm sorry."
"What are you sorry for? Being in love with me?"
"Not telling you I was. Not telling you that I am."
He can't look at you, but he seemingly gathers the courage to force himself to peer at you, "I'm sorry for not telling you that I'm in love with you, and even more sorry for not showing you that I want to be the only one you're in love with, too."
"And making me cry?"
"No, I quite like it when you cry."
"Jeonghan."
"That, too, I guess. Only tonight. I thought I hurt you," he murmurs, nibbling on his lip as you sigh. "I never want to hurt you, Y/N. I mean that."
"You didn't. I was hurting myself by keeping my feelings in." You shake your head, cupping his cheeks as he blinks up at you, "I'm sorry, Hannie."
"I love you."
You smile inwardly, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lip, "I'm sorry for flirting with Mingyu instead of calling you back."
He rolls his eyes, opening his mouth to speak when you lightly lift your hips before grinding down against him. A gasp falls from the back of his throat, long fingers grabbing at the soft flesh of your ass and squeezing like his life depended on it. You kiss his cheeks, "I'm sorry for letting him touch me in the bathroom of Soonyoung's party instead of calling you back."
He huffs, rocking his hips up into you, "are you sorry for letting him take your underwear off, too?"
"You think he would've fucked me over that bathroom sink?" You whisper, meeting each of his thrusts with a roll of your hips. He scowls, "not the way I do."
"Badly?"
"Say you love me and I'll forgive you for saying that."
"I love you," you murmur, brushing your lips to his. His hands squeeze the swell of your ass again, using it as leverage to pull you up and down his cock. His eyes bore into yours as your fingernails dig into the leather of his jacket, "yeah? My lady loves me, right?"
"Yours," you nod, breathless as you move to pull your shirt over your head, cupping your tits in your hands as he kisses you messily. "Your lady, Jeonghan."
"Loves me. Say it. Say you love your man, Y/N." He begs, his dull fingernails digging into your skin as he drags his cock along your gummy walls. Your eyes flutter shut as you mouth at his neck, your panted breaths filling his ears as he whines, "baby, please."
"I love my man," you mumble, nipping at his ear. "I love my man, Yoon Jeonghan. Just for you, I promise. Just yours."
He buries his face in your neck, whimpers falling from his lips as he fucks you open on his cock. He tries to kiss your skin, only succeeding in licking the sweat off your shoulders. He sinks his teeth into your skin as your cunt clenches around him, a choked moan piercing the air as you tug at his hair. You feel him twitch inside you, and you ignore the burning in your thighs to fuck yourself on his cock, his jaw falling slack as he pulls you impossibly closer to him, deft fingers fumbling to find your clit, determined to make you cum with him.
He's never finished inside you before.
"You'll let me, right?" His voice is raw, a plead as he looks up at you with watery eyes. You nod, before feeling his hand tug at the ends of your hair, "use your words. Yes or no."
"Yes, sir." You choke out, feeling your thighs tremble, the warmth spreading in your belly as your orgasm washes over you, "want it. Want you to fill me up."
"Yeah? Want me to make a mess inside my girl?" He pinches your nipple between his fingers, earning a gasp from you before his lips brush yours, "want me to give you a baby, huh?"
Your breathing shakes as you feel his hand wrap around your throat, pulling you closer to him as he looks at you with those eyes. The eyes that would make you say yes to anything.
"Wanna have my baby, right? Everyone knows you're mine, then." His voice is hoarse against your lips, "gonna knock you up, okay?"
"Y-Yeah," you nod as he kisses you hungrily, all teeth and tongue as he staves off his orgasm, a weaker one building in your lower belly as his tip keeps brushing the perfect spot. You clench around him, your fingernails digging into his wrist as he pulls back, "right there? Yeah?"
He angles his hips to hit it just right, a weak laugh falling from his lips as you whimper, squirming in overstimulation as he matches his strokes perfectly. "Gotta make sure it takes, baby. Gotta make sure you're mine forever."
"I am."
"Gonna put a ring on your finger, I promise. Gonna make you proud."
His promise is followed by the taste of your orgasm hitting the tip of your tongue, your limbs fuzzy as he follows shortly, spilling inside you with a shameless whimper. He doesn't stop rolling his hips against you, resting his forehead against your shoulder as he overstimulates himself, "I love you. I love you so much."
"J-Jeonghan—"
"I love you."
He stills, shakily kissing your sticky skin before shrugging his jacket off and tossing it to the side. Your phone rings on the seat, Mingyu's contact flashing across the screen. He looks at you, your eyes tired as he tongues his cheek.
"Don't make a scene, please." You whisper, resting your forehead on his shoulder. He clicks his tongue, reaching over and declining the call with a double press of the power button. His eyes stay glued to it, "the gall. After he kept your panties. Those are mine, you know. I bought you those."
"They're in my purse," you sigh, rolling your hips against him against your better judgement. "Want you only, Hannie."
"Enough to be mine?" His hands hold your hips as he presses his lips to your cheek, dull nails digging into your skin as he looks at the mess between your thighs, leaking down his cock and smeared on your cunt. "You love me?"
"I love you," you nod, reaching over to limply swipe all your belongings onto the floor of his car. Your phone hits the ground with a thud, the screen lighting up with a text as you climb off Jeonghan's lap shakily. You crawl onto the seat, spreading your knees just enough for him to fit between them. He obliges, picking up your phone and tossing it into the front seat with a grumble of you're mine.
"Prove it. Knock me up, lover."
"I love you."
NEW! Message From: Kim Mingyu
[11:09PM] hope you're okay. call me back.
🎄 deadlines don’t care about christmas. boo seungkwan
all in all, working on christmas with seungkwan was always going to end badly. an argument that goes too far and a forced timeout in the pantry crack open everything you have both been avoiding, pushing your rivalry past the point of no return. by the time you step back into the office, things are different.
🗂️ PAIRING/WC :: boo seungkwan × fem!reader ⋅ 1,212 words
🗂️ CONTENTS :: rivals to lovers, idiots in love, forced proximity (pantry timeout), working on christmas, mutual pining, tension → release, “if he gets it, he gets it” energy, side characters: joshua, soonyoung, jihoon, seokmin.
⚠️ WARNINGS :: mild physical aggression (grabbing wrist / arm), not very noticeable hints of toxic masculinity (acknowledged and addressed), minor swearing, no sexual content beyond kissing, no violence beyond brief restraint. but lmk if i missed something.
❄️ A/N :; surprise @chanranghaeys, it’s me!! hope you enjoy this little thing i scribbled while on my trip heheh. the internet was so bad that i had to write bits on paper just to make sure the words didn’t vanish into the void while saving lol. sending you lots of love and happy holidays. it’s always been such a treat crossing paths with you!! written for @studiosvt holiday fic exchange and divider from @thecutestgrotto ‹3
YOU REALLY WANT TO KICK HIS BALLS.
You stand in the middle of the office floor with a paper cup crushed in your hand. It’s Christmas Day and you’re here because deadlines don’t care about holidays and because your insufferable boss believes suffering builds character.
Seungkwan stands across from you with his mouth moving before you can stop yourself and him from talking stupidity again.
“You weren’t supposed to touch that file,” he points straight to the fact, but it makes you want to scream.
“I was fixing your mess,” you hissed. “Again.”
Soonyoung and Seokmin hover nearby to pretend to work while very clearly listening to you two too. Jihoon is seated at his desk with headphones on while typing with his usual focus. Joshua leans against the coffee counter, sipping coffee and watching everything unfold with his gentlemanly interest.
Seungkwan laughs sarcastically but it’s not funny. “My mess. Right. Because you always know better.”
“You always think you know better,” you shoot back. “You hate it when someone else’s right.”
His eyes flick down to the spilled coffee on your hand that spilled as you were holding the cup top tight. He notices everything even when he pretends not to… that only makes it worse. “Give me the drive.”
“No.”
He steps closer, but it doesn’r make you step back. This has always been your problem with each other. Neither of you ever backs down.
Soonyoung comes in between. “Hey, hey, it’s Christmas. Maybe we don’t fight today?”
“Stay out of it,” you and Seungkwan say at the same time.
Seokmin winces. “Wow. Twin flames.”
Seungkwan reaches for the drive in your hand, but you pull it back just before he could grab it. He grabs your wrist tightly; it’s not gentle or too aggressive. But it’s enough to make a point. Your breath stutters more from anger than surprise.
“Let go,” you bark.
“You shouldn’t even be near that server,” he replies. “You could mess everything up.”
“I already fixed it.”
He stares at you and something ugly flashes across his face with pride mixed. He lets go, then grabs your elbow instead and turns you away from the desks. “We’re done,” he says. “You’re coming with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He moves anyway. He always does this and decides for both of you. His hand stays on your arm as he steers you toward the hallway. You dig your heels in to try to pull free.
“Seungkwan,” you scream and snap. “Don’t.”
Soonyoung walks from behind. “Okay, okay, that’s enough.”
Seokmin agrees. “Yeah, man, chill.”
Joshua appears in front of you and Seungkwan to block the path. “That’s enough,” Joshua orders. “Both of you go cool off. Separately.”
You try to step around him to escape free, but Seungkwan tightens his grip without thinking.
The room goes quiet when Jihoon finally looks up from his laptop. “If you break something on fucking Christmas, I’ll actually kill you both.”
Seungkwan takes a breath and loosens his hand to step back. “Fine,” he says. “Five minutes. Pantry.”
You roll your eyes. “You don’t get to order me around.”
“Pantry,” he repeats. “Or I tell the boss exactly what you were doing.” You hate that he has that card. You hate that he catches you sneaking into places you weren:t supposed to be. You hate that he’s right about the risk. You hate that you care.
You walk past Joshua without looking at him and into the small pantry. There’s a cheap wreath taped to the door. Someone has hung mistletoe above the light switch as a joke. You notice it immediately and hate that too.
Seungkwan closes the door behind you. “What were you thinking.’
You turn on him. “Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid.”
“I’m not,” he responds. “I’m talking to you like I should to someone who keeps putting themselves in danger to prove a point.”
“I’m doing my job.”
“No, you’re not! You’re trying to beat me.” You go silent as he rubs a hand over his face. “You always do this. You push until someone stops you. You don’t have to do everything alone.”
You laugh with the undertone of a sarcastic laugh and tiredness. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Dropping his voice, he looks at you. “I know I’m an asshole. I know I hate being wrong. I know I hate that you’re good at this. But that doesn’t mean I want you getting blamed if something goes wrong.”
It does something to you. You think, I hate how much that matters. You think, I hate that he sees me. You think, I wish he would just say it plainly.
“Then say that,” you whisper. “Don’t grab me and drag me away.”
Silence fills the room as the kettle clicks off. “I’m sorry,” he feels bad when the words sound unused. “I shouldn’t have touched you like that.”
You press your hands together to stop it from shaking. “I don’t hate you… I hate that I care and I don’t know what to do with it.” You look up at him. He’s close. You smell his clean and familiar cologne. “I thought you just wanted to win everything.”
“I thought the same,” he replies.
“Maybe we’re both idiots.”
He huffs. “Probably.” Your eyes drift up to see the mistletoe hanging above you, crooked and stupid. He follows your gaze. “Wow.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not,” he looks at you with very soft eyes that look like there’s sadness and regret. Then, he still adds, “Unless you want me to.”
Your heart thumps as this feels reckless and overdue. “I want you to stop fighting me,” you step closer to hint at things if he gets it. If he gets it, he gets it — you leave the rest unsaid.
His hand lifts, hesitates to give you the time to pull away, then cups your jaw when you don’t. He still waits for you after cupping your jaw, just in case he has been wrong this whole time. You answer by leaning in. Your lips meet his in a kiss that starts in an unhurried press, then molding in as you fit together. His thumb moves against your cheek as you breathe him in. The noise outside dulls and the unsaid that has lived between you for so long finally loosens. You melt into it without thinking, holding still and moving at the same time.
But just when you guys started to melt more into it, someone bangs on the door instead of knocking.
“Get a room,” Seokmin yells from the slightly open door, which now you realise was only closed and not locked.
Soonyoung snickers beside. “It’s Christmas. Let them kiss.”
You pull back breathless but smiling. Seungkwan rests his forehead against yours without giving a fuck about the other two. “We’re going to be so unbearable.”
You grin. “We already are.”
Outside, the lights blink, and the office hums. You stay there for a second longer forehead to forehead. Work will pull you back soon, deadlines will still exist, so will arguments, and pride, and stubborn habits neither of you will drop overnight, but at least for the first time you’re on the same side. And for now, Christmas will keep going.
SUMMARY: When you let your friends take you to your first baseball game, you didn’t expect to enjoy it. You especially didn’t expect the right field to go over the fence and into your lap.
WC: 7,699
AU: Sports, Strangers to Lovers
GENRE: Smut/PWP
WARNINGS: Brief collision/mentions of some aches, recreational drinking, a lot of teasing, some general/light humiliation of a public incident making the news, Soonyoung and reader hit it off a little unrealistically but idc, explicit language, explicit sexual content including protected sex, vaginal fingering, a bit of thigh riding, light cum eating, oral. (f. rec), multiple orgasms, Soonyoung is a bit of a talker/needs words of affirmation in bed lololol
A/N: I unfortunately do not like this fic remotely as much as I was hoping to, considering I have erased and re-written it from scratch seven times. This fic is entirely different than what I originally planned to write, but ultimately I just need to get it into the world and say that sometimes fics aren't perfect :) so RIP to the original 20k romcom this was supposed to be and hello to the cutie little smut piece it ended up as! Also pls know literally none of this would happen this way in a baseball game and I know that. I had to force myself to stop trying to make this realistic bc as someone who works in baseball I'm always like THAT WOULD NEVER HAPPEN but you know what??? ITS FUNNER THIS WAY!!!!
A/N 2: Special thank you to @100vern who hosted the Aju League Collab with me because we were just two baseball girlies who had obsessions and a dream lmfao. I love you and this was fun!
MAIN M. LIST | ASK | AJU LEAGUE COLLAB
THE SMELL OF BEER AND HOT-DOG STEAM HITS YOU IN THE FACE AS SOON AS YOU STEP THROUGH THE GATES OF WRIGLEY FIELD. You raise your brows, shocked at the sheer crush of people underneath the grandstands. It’s loud, the booming voice of the public address announcer barely audible over the buzz of the crowd.
Seungkwan leads your group through the sea of blue, grey and pinstripes. There is no rhyme or reason to some of the outfits you see, people decked out in Cubs gear head to toe, some people dressed with giant faces of players and hats that are tall enough to tip over. You laugh, drifting closer to Junhui as someone dressed in a full Cubs-themed suit passes you.
Your seat is down the first base line, a wedge of green plastic seats packed tight against the brick wall that separates you from the field. The grass is absurdly green, bright against the stadium lights above. Above center field you spot the hand-turned scoreboard, the numbers flipping as workers update scores across the league.
Sitting between Seungkwan and Junhui, you crane your neck to drink in the sights and sounds of pregame. Wrigley Field is packed tight, the humidity of the July heat burning off as the sun sets in the distance. You’re still cataloging the scene when the player introductions boom through the speakers, making you flinch.
Both Junhui and Seungkwan stand, clapping and urging you to join them. You shoot to your feet, clapping along as players jog out to stand on the baselines in order, each one of their backs to you. Admittedly, you only recognize a few names. You don’t keep up with baseball enough to know the finite details, but you do know the big names that Chicago adores: Choi. Imanaga. Swanson. Kwon.
The public address announcer rolls through the final few names, the crowd swelling louder with each one until the last cheer fades before the anthem. The buzz of the evening hums under your veins and you find yourself turning to Seungkwan, excited for your first game.
Despite living in the city for years, you’ve never made your way to Wrigley to watch the Cubs play. Tonight, Seungkwan had insisted you come out and experience real summer baseball complete with hot dogs, beers, the cup snake and the ivy covered walls.
You haven’t figured out what a cup snake is yet, but by the time you’re sitting in your seat and Junhui is shoving popcorn at you, you’re excited to find out.
The players break away after the anthem, jogging to their positions. Right field is closer than you realized, your eyes snagging on Soonyoung Kwon as he breaks away from the baseline, trotting to his position only a few yards away.
From your seat, he’s barely a stone’s throw from the foul line. You crunch on a piece of popcorn, studying him. He looks just like he does in photos, a pretty face with intense eyes that burn under the brim of his hat. He snaps his glove as he adjusts it, bouncing a little as he settles in for the away team to start the top of the first inning.
The first three innings unfold, peppered with Seungkwan and Junhui’s commentary as they point out plays and explain terms when players are at bat that you don’t understand. You enjoy it, happy to learn something new. Each crack of the bat ricochets throughout the park, sharp and making you flinch on instinct, unable to keep your eye on the ball's trajectory.
Seungkwan leans on your shoulders, explaining the counts and signals, sitting up sharply when Soonyoung hammers a ball right to the bleachers. The entire stadium shoots to its feet, Junhui yanking you up as fans lose it. Soonyoung jogs the bases, pointing up at the fans as he brings in three runs.
By the fourth inning, the night air has cooled, a soft lake breeze threading through the stands. The Cubs are up by two thanks to Soonyoung, who is now pacing the outfield like a predator, eyes dialed in as the next batter for the away team comes up to the plate.
The crack of the ball makes you flinch again. Seungkwan starts laughing but suddenly the sound of the crowd changes. You glance up to see Soonyoung is already moving. He explodes off the grass, closing the distance between him and the wall in front of you with impossible speed, head turned up as he tracks the ball that’s popped up in the air along the foul line.
And he doesn’t stop running.
You only have a second to open your mouth - in warning, in exclamation you’re not sure - as he clears the warning track and launches himself, clearing the low brick wall in a blur of blue and white. For a heartbeat, everything is noise and weight as your breath punches from your lungs, Soonyoung’s shoulder crashing into you. The plastic seat bites into your back and Seungkwan’s beer goes flying.
“Holy shit!” Seungkwan yells, voice cutting off as the right fielder collapses into the two of you. Soonyoung’s hand is stretched upward, ball in glove. The crowd loses their minds, Seungkwan screaming and pointing at the ball. “He caught it! Out! He caught it!”
You're dazed, blinded by a moment of pain an impact as you and the right fielder tangle together. You feel the bear soaking your jeans, the popcorn wedged in your bra, and the bone-deep ache of being absolutely trucked.
Soonyoung hauls himself off of you, a tangle of limbs and spilled beer and the hint of leather, sweat and cologne. You blink, a little out of it from the collision. And then he’s leaning over you, one hand braced to the back of your seat, the necklace around his throat escaping the buttons of his jersey, swinging.
It takes you a long few seconds to realize his mouth is moving and that he's talking to you, but there's blood roading in your ears and the world is still spinning a little as the pain of the collision dies down into shock.
“What?” you ask dumbly.
“I’m so sorry,” he says again, mouth pinched with worry. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I can get an EMT-”
You rub your arms - you'll probably be bruised, but nothing is damaged. You're more dazed at the sudden proximity of his intense eyes and painfully handsome face a few inches off of yours than you are from injuries.
“Oh - no. Uh. Shocked?”
Your thighs are buzzing from the impact, but mostly you’re aware of the heat of him, the way his chest rises and falls inches from yours. He’s scanning you for signs of injury but you feel warm under his gaze, hyper aware of the way people are shouting his name and taking photos, but his gaze is pinned to you.
“You sure?” He asks, tilting his head. “Neck okay? Did I step on you? God I’m sorry.”
“I’m good,” you laugh, still breathless. “I promise.”
The tight crease in his brow softens, relief turning into a crooked smile. “Well. Guess I really fell for you, huh?” He tips his cap as he puts distance between you, eyes glinting. “Most people wait until after the first date for a lap dive, but I’m a little competitive.”
You laugh loudly, nerves sparking. “Pretty aggressive strategy.”
“Worth it, though. Best catch of the night, if you ask me.”
A few fans nearby - including Junhui - howl their approval. Soonyoung laughs and hops back over the wall, tossing the ball to the umpire. He hesitates one more time, flashing you a smile that has your heart flipping.
“You sure you’re okay?”
Someone shouts at him to marry you and you feel heat creep up your neck. “Yeah,” you tell him. “I’m okay.”
Soonyoung nods, finally stepping back. He wears that lopsided smile the entire way back to his position, turning to look at you again as he settles back in right field. The crowd around you whistles and throws a few comments your way, making you sink into your seat and hide your face as Seungkwan grabs your forearm and shakes you bath and forth.
“I cannot believe that just happened,” Junhui laughs, clapping his hands. “Seungkwan you’re soaked!”
“He didn’t ask if I was okay!” Seungkwan pouts, wiping himself with a beer soaked napkin. “He landed on me too!”
A ripple of laughter echoes through the fans around you, everyone buzzing from the moment. You take a few gulps of water, trying to cool yourself off from the embarrassment and heat of Soonyoung’s gaze.
Junhui claps you on the shoulder. “Sorry Seungkwan, I guess she’s his type.”
You sink lower in your seat, pretending to study the field, but your pulse is still sprinting. Out in right, Soonyoung adjusts his cap, settling back like nothing happened. You try to follow his lead, but when the next batter strikes out and he glances your away again, a smile lighting his face, you can’t help but feel your stomach flip again.
The next inning crawls. You keep catching him glancing your general direction. Every time he does, Seungkwan starts hitting your thigh, despite you hissing at him to shut up. You’d think it was just a coincidence, except when the inning ends, Soonyoung glances your direction and winks.
Junhui elbows you so hard you nearly punch him on reflex. “On my god.”
Seungkwan is less subtle. He cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “WE SEE YOU, KWON!” Which earns him a groan from you and a laugh from half the section. “What? He’s winking at you and you want to glare at me?”
You pretend to watch the batter, but your mind keeps skipping like a scratched record, going back to the way he tumbled into your lap, the smell of leather and cologne, the way his necklace caught the light. The smirk and the glint in his eyes.
Soonyoung haunts you the rest of the game. You try to focus anywhere but him, but any time you peek at him, he’s already watching you. Grinning, even, like there’s an inside joke you haven’t been let in on yet. It makes you twitchy and giddy in equal parts, the fans around you teasing you through the end of the game.
Thankfully, the Cubs are able to hold the lead through nine innings. You stand and clap, trying to mutter the lyrics to Go Cubs Go alongside the rest of the fans, your eyes dragging to home plate where the team comes out to clap each other on the back before heading into the dugout.
People start to filter out of the rows, the clack of plastic seats snapping shut and empty cups cracking under feet backtracking the public address announcer. Seungkwan and Junhui help you gather your things as you start to side shuffle from your seats and head to the stairs, talking about where to go after the game.
Junhui pauses mid-sentence as your section starts to yell again, kids screaming and rushing down the steps toward you as ushers try to slow them down or stop them. “Uh, why is- oh shit!”
You turn around to follow his gaze to see Soonyoung sprinting - not toward the dugout, but toward your section. The field crew freezes as he vaults the low wall, cleats skidding on the concrete aisle. Phones whip into the air as people cheer, fans and kids asking for autographs as he moves up the row toward you, smiling and shaking fans hands as he goes.
Soonyoung stops in front of you, cheeks flushed and grin bright. “Hi,” he says, a little breathless. “So can I get a second date?”
The section around you erupts in catcalls and applause, someone yelling, “SAY YES!”
Your heart is pure static. You can feel every camera trained on you, but all you see is him, dark hair damp under his cap, eyes sharp and hopeful as he smiles at you. You lick your lips, opening and closing your mouth as your mind races to string together a response.
“Um,” you fumble for your phone. “Yes?”
He reaches for your phone and you let him, watching with a mind full of static as he types in his number and saves it to your phone. When he hands it back, you see he’s texted himself a ‘cutie from the stands :)’ and you blush.
“What’s your name?” He asks, biting his lower lip. If he’s aware there are dozens of people watching you, it doesn’t bother him. He seems used to the attention, unbothered by the fact there are people absolutely recording the moment for social media. You give him your name anyway and he grins. “Pretty. I like it.”
Soonyoung turns to sign a few balls and gloves before he hops back over the wall, where someone from the clubhouse is yelling for him. He looks up at you and winks again before jogging back toward the dugout, cheers following him as he does.
You stand frozen for a beat longer, phone still in your hand, the weight of what just happened settling over you. Your chest is buzzing as you turn to look at your friends, both who are watching with shit eating grins.
“You… you have Soonyoung Kwon’s phone number,” Junhui says, mouth still open. “Unreal.”
“He is very into you,” Seungkwan laughs, amazed. “What a night."
Your hand shakes a little as you slip your phone back into your bag, trying to shove your excitement and nerves down. “I don’t even know what’s happening right now.”
“Don’t question it.” Seungkwan smacks the back of your shoulder. “Live in the moment, diva.”
-
Living in the moment is the only option you have, it seems. The entire world is living in your moment, videos of the Cub's right fielder crashing into your lap going viral. Your friends can't stop watching it, their shrieks of laughter growing worse three rounds in.
The bar is tucked in a quiet pocket away from the ballpark, a random place Seungkwan's buddy mentioned being low key. From the outside it had looked closed but when Seungkwan stuck his head in, you all were delighted to find a warm, cozy bar with a decent crowd - full, but not. overwhelming.
Inside it's warm and low-lit, the boots filled with mismatched seating and dark wood. A single neon sign buzzes over the bar and the TVs above the bar show the game highlights - including you - over and over again. The mezcal makes it better, but Seungkwan and Junhui shoving TikTok in your face makes it worse - and a little better, their sense of humor making you grin despite everything.
"You're trending above the actual game highlights," Junhui snorts, downing the rest of his beer. "This is insane."
You drop your forehead to the sticky bar. "I'm going to have to fake my own death."
"Well don't do that. You did get his number."
You flush. You did. The memory of his easy smile and glittering eyes is enough to make you shiver and you straighten, sliding off the stool. "I'll be back. Please continue watching my greatest win and my greatest shame."
You head to the bathroom, weaving through the crow toward the narrow hallway that leads to the back. The floor is sticky as you go, sneakers suctioning lightly as you walk. You're halfway to the bathroom, eyes on your phone as Seungkwan sends you another clip when you collide with someone coming the opposite direction.
"Shit, sorry!" You squeak, looking up as someone steadies your elbow.
The air leaves your lungs. Soonyoung is standing there in a black hoodie and a hat pulled low, cheeks flushed. He smells like a fresh shower and something deeper like wood and leather, the same cologne you smelled earlier.
His grin is big and delighted, leaning back as he looks you up and down. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Are you stalking me?"
"For sure. I knew you would be at this very specific bar that my buddy owns and have chosen it for that specific purpose."
You laugh, breathless. "I mean you did jump the warning track for me."
"It was worth it." Your heart skips a beat as he steps back, eyes glinting. "If this isn't fate, I don't know what is. Can I buy you a drink? One I won't immediately spill on you, I promise."
Your heart trips over itself. He chews on his bottom lip like he's nervous - like he's not a star fucking athlete - and you feel yourself fall immediately. You glance over your shoulder where you can see Seungkwan and Junhui gaping - not even pretending to be looking elsewhere. Seungkwan gives you an exaggerated thumbs up and you nearly die on the spot.
You turn to face Soonyoung again. "Yes, you definitely can."
He grins, pleased and a little cocky. He gestures to two stools in the corner of the bar. "Meet me over there. What are you having?"
"Mezcal margarita."
"Woman after my own heart."
In the bathroom, you splash cold water on your neck. You feel your pulse pounding, a giddy energy buzzing through you alongside the alcohol. You have no idea why the fates have sent Soonyoung crashing into you twice tonight, but you're eager to let them string you along until they cut your cord.
Back out in the bar, you subtly point toward where Soonyoung is sitting when Junhui and Seungkwan look at you. You ignore their wild gestures and fist pumps as you snake through the crowd to find Soonyoung sitting at the far corner of the bar, his back to the brick wall.
You slide into the stool next to him and he looks up from his phone, grinning. He slides your drink over to you. "Thought you got lost."
Soonyoung looks good. He's relaxed in the corner, hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms, hat shadowing his eyes. There's a smug little curve to his mouth that makes your stomach flip as you settle on the stool and he slides a drink over to you.
"Had to stop hyperventilating first," you tease, sipping the drink. It's strong like you like it. "Seeing my own face on the TV is kind of new. I nearly died." On cue, the TV above you has the highlight and you groan as he laughs. "Can they stop playing it?"
"I like it!"
"Somehow that doesn't shock me."
"Hey," he shrugs, sipping his drink. "Not every dag I get to make a solid defensive play and land into a pretty girl's lap in the same ten seconds. Kind of cool."
"Does that usually work for you? Calling people pretty?"
"No." He smirks. "But I'm having a weird night. Figure I'd roll with it."
"Weird how?"
"Weird as in I had a highlight reel night and all I could think about post game was the look on your face."
"That's because you almost severed my legs."
He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but you laughed and didn't freak out. I honestly thought I ended you for a second."
"I'm tougher than that, I promise."
Something glints in Soonyoung's eyes, a little dark. Hungry, maybe. He tilts his drink toward you, mouth curving. "I'll toast to that."
For a minute, you just drink side by side. The noise of the bar fills in around you, the clinking glasses and laughter backtracking the comfortable silence. Soonyoung glances over at you and each time, his mouth twitches, fighting a smile. It makes your heart flutter and you try to keep your calm, ignoring the fact that your palms are sweating.
Soonyoung is beautiful up close. Somehow it doesn't surprise you that a star athlete is attractive, but he's the kind of pretty that draws the eye in: full lips that are a little red because he keeps biting the corner of his mouth, intense eyes that pin you to the spot, a carved jaw that offsets softer cheeks.
It's hard not to stare.
"So," he says, leaning his head back against the wall to look down at you. "What were you doing at the game tonight? You a baseball person?"
"Not at all. It was my first game."
"No shit? First game and I jump the warning track. "
"Yep. Seungkwan - that's the one trying not to stare at us - guilt tripped me into coming."
"Ah yes, my favorite demographic." He tilts his head. "Did you like it?"
"Yes, except I flinched every time someone hit the ball."
"Maybe I owe you an apology."
"No!" You laugh. "I just kept thinking the ball was going to hit me next."
"Nah, I'm good at catching balls." You raise your brows and he groans. "Badly worded, alright."
Soonyoung watches your mouth as you take a sip. You pretend not to notice, even though your stomach flutters. When you set the glass down, he shifts a little, knee knocking against yours briefly.
"So what about you," you ask. "Baseball since you were a kid or?"
"Yep. My cousin needed someone to pitch to when we were little. I started hitting and got good at it."
"Do you like it?"
"More than anything else in the world. It makes sense to me the way nothing else does." He hides his face in his hands, laughing. "That sounded so stupid."
"It didn't!"
He drops his hands, his cheeks red. You find it hard to believe someone like Soonyoung is reduced to blushing with you but it makes you feel confident. You nudge his knee with yours.
"It wasn't stupid," you promise. "It sounds nice."
"What about you then?" His knee stays pressed against yours. "What makes sense to you?"
"Most days? Nothing. I like to write though. I write books. So depending on the day everything makes sense or nothing makes sense."
"What about right now? Does right now make sense?"
Right now does make sense. It makes sense the same way gravity does, the inevitable pull to Soonyoung there. You think about how he crashed into you not once but twice tonight, and you can't think of a better word than right to describe it.
You give him a small shrug. "Right now feels easy."
Soonyoung smiles at that. He tilts his glass and taps it lightly against yours. "Good. To easy."
"To easy."
The conversation drifts then, lazy and unhurried. It slides from baseball to hometowns to work to absolutely everything important and nothing important at all. The bar hums around you but you lose yourself to the sound of Soonyoung's voice, leaning against the bar as he orders another round mid-story from his childhood.
Somewhere along the way, both of your knees stay pressed together. Neither one of you moves, facing each other as you talk. Another round appears, the neon sign buzzing above your heads faintly. You notice Soonyoung watching your hands, your mouth, your eyes - not aggressive, just interested.
It makes the room spin. You've dated enough people to know what want looks like and you see it in Soonyoung. It's subtle but its there simmering beneath the surface, like he's trying to keep it at bay. To be polite. You wish he wouldn't, too afraid to make a move yourself, waiting for him to do it.
Your phone buzzes at some point. You pull it out, the screen bright and blinding.
[SEUNGKWAN]: you good if we leave?
[SEUNGKWAN]: you can say no but we dont want to intrude
[YOU]: I think I'm good
[JUN]: UGH makeout already!!!!
[JUN]: Stay safe queen! Text us when you're home
You choke out a laugh and flip your phone facedown. Soonyoung is leaning on his palm, watching you with half-lidded eyes.
"Hmm?" He asks, nudging your knee. "All good?"
"Definitely."
The night starts to wind down but you stay talking. You feel the tension winding tighter and tighter, and by the time last call echoes faintly from the other end of the bar, you're buzzing. You slide off the stool and sway a little. Soonyoung's hand darts out to catch you.
"You good?" He asks.
"Yes," you laugh, breathless. "Sorry, I'm actually not drunk. My leg is a little numb from sitting."
And it's true. The only thing you're a little drunk on is the baseball player who smirks and pays your tab despite your multiple protests, and drops his hand low to the small of your back, barely touching. It ignites a fire in you all the same, your heart racing.
"Let me. walk you out."
The night air hits cool and sharp the moment you step outside. It's uncharacteristically cool for summer, but you don't mind. The bar turns to muffled noise behind you as Soonyoung leads you out onto the sidewalk, side stepping groups of people. He tucks his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, head tipping toward you.
For a moment, you both just stand there. He shifts his weight, eyes darting away as he says, "I had a good time, I'm glad fate made us collide twice."
"Me too."
He glances back at you again. His eyes dip to your lips then back up like he knows he shouldn't have looked. He swallows, suddenly nervous. "I want to um-" he breaks off for a second and laughs. "Oh my god, I can't even get it out."
"What?"
"I want to ask you something kind of forward but I don't want to come off as a dick. He thinks about it. "It's gonna come out awful."
You smirk. "How forward?"
"Like hey, do you want to come over forward?"
The words hit you below the belt, low and warm. You take half a step closer to him, smelling his cologne. You can feel the heat radiating from him, a shiver sliding down your spine.
"You already launched yourself into my lap," you point out. He groans and you grin. "And that didn't scare me away. So I think it's safe to say I like forward."
He looks down at you, eyes dark. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
There's a heartbeat where neither of you moves. His eyes trace your face and his mouth slides into a smirk. "Alright. Come over."
"Okay."
Grinning, Soonyoung lifts and hand to cup your jaw, gentle but sure. You suck in a breath as he leans in to kiss you, mouth warm and careful. He pauses like he's waiting to see if you'll pull away, but when you don't, he deepens it slightly, lips parting against yours.
The streetlamp hums overhead as you lean into him, hands finding his arms. He kisses you slow and lazy like he has all the time in the world, mouth tasting faintly of lime.
He pulls back a fraction, breath unsteady. "Let's go."
The Uber arrives in under two minutes. Soonyoung opens the door for you, hand brushing the small of your back as you slide in. He gets in on the other side, pulling the door shut and shuffling toward you as he greets the driver.
The city is beautiful at night. The street lamps wash the sidewalks in pockets of gold, reflecting in the metal shutters of storefronts. It's a week day so the world outside is slower, only stray people staggering down sidewalks and riding bikes.
Inside the car it's quiet save for the soft buzz of the radio and the low thrum of the engine. You sit close but not touching, your knees angled toward each other. Your pulse is still hammering, the electricity from the kiss humming along your skin.
Soonyoung shifts slightly, his thigh brushing yours. He rests his hand on your leg - light and hesitant. He looks at you for reassurance and when you grin, he smiles back, his hand turning to a warm, relaxing weight above your knee. His thumb draws slow, thoughtless circles against the fabric of your jeans and it takes everything in you not to shiver at the touch.
He leans back in the seat, turning his head just enough to look at you. The passing lights skim across his face, catching the edge of his jaw, the line of his mouth, the faint flush on his face. You think of the kiss, your eyes darting to his mouth again.
"You okay?" he murmurs.
"Definitely."
He smiles, squeezing your leg slightly.
You look out the window, watching the city pass by in blurs of lights. You pretend to be appreciating the view, but you're hyper aware of every breath he takes and every sweep of his thumb. You're nearly shaking, your nerves frayed.
Ten minutes feel like thirty. Or three. It's hard to tell when your heart is beating in your throat. You hadn't planned for your night to go like this but you can't help but feel right - like everything makes sense.
When the car slows in front of his building, you're surprised. It's a modest mid-rise building tucked into a discreet neighborhood. It's not flashy like you thought it would be.
Soonyoung thanks the driver and gets out, rounding the car to meet you as you slide out. He reaches for your hand, curling his fingers around yours, giving your hand a squeeze. You feel drunk off of him as he leads you inside, steps sure and easy.
The lobby smells faintly of cedar and cleaner, empty save for a single security guard who waves at Soonyoung with familiarity. You have a single moment of wondering how many girls Soonyoung has brought back here before you shove it away while climbing into the elevator.
Soonyoung keeps you close but says nothing. It's not awkward, but it's warm. His fingers stay linked with yours until he's fishing keys out of his hoodie and shouldering open his apartment, letting you in.
His apartment isn't at all what you expected.
It's tidy but lived-in. The entryway opens into a wide living room with deep wooden floors and tall windows overlooking the city. A low couch sis angled toward a TV mounted on the wall, a throw blanket tossed over the back. The walls are linked with framed game photographs and family photos. You grin at young Soonyoung in little league posing in the dugout.
"Sorry it's a little messy," he says. He kicks off his shoes. "I don't really bring people over so I don't clean much and I kind of live out of a suitcase during season."
"It's actually nice." You toe off shoes like he gestures for you too. "Smells like you."
And it does. There's a woody smell in the air, immediately familiar.
"Water?" he asks, trailing toward the kitchen.
"Definitely."
You follow him into a kitchen that is bright with pale cabinets. A bowl of fruit sits on the counter next to an ungodly amount of sports drinks and protein powders. He tells you to ignore them and opens the fridge with a grin, grabbing two bottles of water to hand you one.
It's cold in your palm and as you lean against the counter and gulp it down, he steps a little closer. He has the same look on his face he's had all night, like he's trying to hold back.
"What is it?" You ask, twisting the cap back on the water. "You look like you want to say something."
"I'm usually not so bad at this."
"At what?"
"Talking to girls." You grin, brows raised and he groans, head dropping back. "Sorry, that was lame."
"It's cute." He sighs dramatically and you laugh, nudging him with the end of your water bottle. "It is. Out with it. You can say what you want."
"I wanted to say I don't expect you to like…" He licks his lips. "We can just have a drink. Or chat. Or whatever. That would be fine. I didn't bring you here to do anything you don't want to do. That's all."
You look up at him, pulse hammering, and for the first time all night he looks… nervous. Not visibly, but there’s a flicker in his eyes, like he’s bracing for you to pull away.
"I think," you say slowly, heart hammering. "It's my turn to be forward. I wanted you to make a move like… all night. I was too nervous to. Cause you're you and… yeah."
The sound Soonyoung makes is a helpless groan. He steps into your space then, reaching a hand up to cradle your jaw. You let him tilt your face up to his as he crowds you against the counter, pressing his mouth to yours again.
The kiss he gives you is different this time. It's heavier and needier, no hesitation. Finally. Finally. His other hand finds your waist, fingers spreading against your hip, a little greedy. You smile into the kiss leaning up to press into him further.
Your water bottle drops to the floor with a thud, forgotten. You don't care. His thumb strokes the planes of your jaw, slow and deliberate as he parts your mouth with his tongue. You make a little sound in the back of your throat and he pulls away, breathing heavily.
"You're killing me," he whispers.
"Good."
His laugh is throaty. He kisses you again, softer and lingering before he straightens and steps away from you, pulling you with him.
"Come."
He threads his fingers through yours and leads you out of the kitchen and down a softly lit hallway. The smell of him gets stronger when he toes open the door to his bedroom.
The room is bathed in the gentle flow of a beside lamp he left on. There's a massive bed in the center of the room, the bedding a mess of white sheets and a rumpled comforter. It smells faintly of laundry and his woody cologne, the windows cracked to let in the breeze.
He pauses in the doorway, his hand still intertwined with yours, giving you a moment to back out. "You good?"
You nod, stepping closer, the heat from his body drawing you in. "More than."
He smiles, that lopsided grin that's been your undoing all evening, and leans down to capture your lips again. This kiss is slower than the one in the kitchen, more exploratory, like he's savoring the taste of you now that there's no rush.
His lips move against yours with a gentle insistence, parting slightly to deepen it, his tongue brushing yours. You sigh into his mouth, your fingers curling into his hoodie, pulling him closer.
Soonyoung's hands find your waist, sliding under the hem of your shirt just enough to graze the bare skin there. His touch is warm and calloused. He walks you backward slowly, guiding you toward the bed without breaking the kiss. The backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress and you both go down in a tangle of limbs, noses bumping. He laughs against your lips but stays pressed to you.
He props himself up on one elbow, hovering over you. You reach up and knock his hat off backward, earning a grin followed by a throaty moan as you card your fingers through his hair, the inky strands soft.
"You're fucking beautiful," he murmurs. There's no smirky or cocky athlete now. There's just raw honesty that makes you light headed. He dips his head down to kiss your jaw, lips trailing toward your ne ck. "Tell me if anything is too much or you don't like it, yeah?"
"Mhmmm."
You arch into his touch, your hands roaming his back. The muscles shift underneath his hoodie and you tug at the fabric, wanting it gone.
Soonyoung sits back on his heels, pulling the hoodie up and over his head in one motion, revealing a toned chest and arms. He's lean and strong, with a faint constellation of freckles splashed across his shoulders. He tosses his hoodie while you map them with your fingers, inquisitive.
He shivers. "That tickles."
"You're pretty."
He flushes. "Why is it that you turn me into a teenage boy again?"
"You already spilled in my lap, the worst is over."
Soonyoung groans at the double meaning to your words. He shakes his head and kisses you again, deeper this time. His hand slides up your side to push your shirt higher and you let him, only breaking the kiss to help him peel it off.
It's cool in his room, your newly expose skin pebbling. Soonyoung's gaze darkens as he takes you in, his hands roaming across your ribs and stomach, brushing up to cup your breasts through you're bra.
"Fuck you're perfect," he murmurs.
He brushes his thumbs back and forth over your hardening nipples and you gasp, wiggling in his hold. It's not nearly enough friction but the barest hint of it has you thrumming. He smile at the sound, leaning down to kiss the swell of your chest, tongue darting out to taste your skin.
Soonyoung unhooks your bra with ease - a far cry from the nervous boy he was a second ago - and tosses it aside. His mouth descends, his tongue eagerly circling one nipple while his fingers tease the other. It feels so good, your breaths turning sharp and shallow as you thread your fingers through his hair, holding him close. He switches sides, sucking gently, and the sensation shoots right to your core, making you squirm.
"So responsive," he mutters against your skin, laughing. "I love the sounds you make."
He kisses his way back up to your mouth, claiming it while he settles between your legs. You can feel how hard he is, his cock pressing up against your thigh through his jeans. It sends a thrill through you knowing you affect someone like him this much.
Your hands explore too, tracing the lines of his chest and abs, skimming down to. the waistband of his jeans. He groans into your mouth when your fingers brush over the seam of his jeans, hip buckling slightly. "Fuck. Don't tease."
He doesn't have to worry about that - you're impatient, the ache between your legs growing worse. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to grind up against him. He breaks the kiss, burying his face in your neck as he pants.
"Message received," he grinds out.
Soonyoung shifts his weight, one thigh pressed firmly between your legs. You don't hesitate, seeking friction as you grind against him, even through layers of clothes. He watches your face intently, eyes dark as he rocks his thigh against you, mouth curving.
"Like that?" he asks, voice low. "Feels good?"
"Uh-huh."
You clutch at his shoulders, grinding down onto his thigh, the denim rough against you. The seam of your pants hits just right and you tense. He senses it and grins, hands going to your waist to guide your hips against his thigh.
"Fuck," he hisses. "You're so wet I can feel it through your jeans, baby." He leans down to nip your ear and you let out a pitiful sound. "So hot for me already."
Soonyoung works the buttons of your jeans, popping them open with a flick. You lift your hips to help him slide them down with your underwear in one go. The cool air hits your pussy and you whine but Soonyoung's gaze scorches you as he takes in the sight of you underneath him.
"Fucking hell," he breathes, sliding his hands up your thighs. "So pretty."
He slides down to settle between your legs, his breath ghosting over your aching cunt, and you whimper at the feeling. He ignores you, taking his time to kiss the inside of your thighs, nipping lightly.
When his fingers finally brush against you to part your folds, you're dying. He circles your twitching entrance teasingly before sliding one finger inside, slow and deliberate.
"Shit," you breath out, sagging on the bed.
He grins and takes it as a good sign, adding a second finger when you moan. He curls his fingers perfectly, pressing up against your front wall to make you see starts. He starts to pump them, pace lazy, while his thumb circles your clit.
"Tell me what feels good," he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to your thigh.
"Right there," you gasp, his fingers hitting the perfect spot. "Shit, right there please."
He smiles, repeating the motion, his free hand holding your thigh steady. The wet sounds of his fingers is obscene but you don't care, your hips grinding to meet his fingers. He kisses your stomach, your hips, your thighs - anywhere he can reach, fingers working you expertly.
Soonyoung's vocal, murmuring how good you feel, how he loves the way you clench around him. When you come undone, it's with his name on your lips, your body arching off the bed as you squeeze down on his fingers hard.
He withdraws his fingers slowly, bringing them to his mouth to taste you, his eyes never leaving yours. "Sweet," he says with a grin, before shifting up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
You tug at his jeans then, desperate to feel him. "Off," you demand breathlessly, and he chuckles, standing to shuck them off along with his boxers. He's hard and leaking, the sight making your mouth water, but before you can reach for him, he's grabbing a condom from the nightstand drawer.
"No little league Kwon's today," he jokes, ripping the foil open with his teeth.
He settles back between your legs pressing his chest to yours. His skin is warm and you lean up to kiss him, messy and needy. He grins into the kiss, breaking it only to murmur, "I like you."
"Good."
Soonyoung presses in slowly, giving you time to adust. The stretch is a lot but good, filling you completely. You groan when he's fully seated, pressing his forehead to yours as he takes a breath to compose himself.
"I'm going to die if I come right now," he laughs. "Fuck my life."
You clench around him, pussy squeezing and he growls. "Yeah?"
"Don't do that," he whines.
Before you can do it again, he starts moving, slow thrusts that drag against your walls. You melt into the bed, fingers resting on his biceps as he fucks you gently against the mattress. He brings up one hand to cup your breast, thumb flicking over your nipple to make you twitch.
"So fucking good," he whispers. "You take me so well."
Soonyoung's weight presses you into the mattress, his eyes eyes locked on your as he fucks you slow and deep. Your breath stutters as you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. He picks up his pace slightly, sweat beading on his brow, muscles flexing under your fingers.
Your hand scratch down his back, urging him on. He responds to your touch, thrusting harder, the mattress creaking beneath you. He works you up to another orgasm and you feel it low in your belly, hanging right over the precipice. He notices and grins, grinding his hips into yours just right to send you over the edge, seizing up under him as you come.
"Fuck," he gasps. "Sound so fucking pretty when you come. Fuck."
Soonyoung doesn't hesitate. He pulls out out of you and slides down your body, surprising you. You lift your head, a question on your lips but it dies the second his tongue presses against your pussy.
"Oh fuck," you gasp, fingers twisting in the sheets. "Fucking Christ - Soonyoung."
He hums, pleased as he sucks your clit gently into his mouth. His fingers press you open and you whimper, his tongue gently but sparking your oversensitivity as he tastes you leisurely.
"Tastes so good," he mumbles, words muffled by your slick folds. His tongue circles your clit gently, chasing another orgasm. "Come for me again, baby. I want it."
You let out a pitiful sound as you do exactly as he asks, coming for him again. You feel your cunt pulse, your thighs closing around his head as he sucks at you greedily.
By the time he kisses back up to your mouth, you're barely alive, panting and sweaty and a mess. He brushes the hair from your face delicately. "You okay?"
"Yes," you rasp. "I think I met god."
"Was he the right fielder for the Cubs?"
You smack him and he laughs. He bends down to kiss you but you dodge him, rolling over under neath him to get on your knees, pressing back toward him. "Like this," you say, looking over your shoulder at him."
His eyes darken. "Yeah? This how you want it baby?"
"Uh-huh."
"Say less."
His hands grip your hips as he slides in, the angle deeper than before. You cry out and he bites into your shoulder lightly, playful. His tongue soothes the bite, sweeping against your salty skin as he fucks you slowly, his chest flush against your back.
He wraps an arm around your waist, pressing his hand between your legs to press his fingers against your clit. He doesn't do anything - just keeps the pressure there, the slide from his thrusts enough to stimulate you until you're seeing white.
"Feel good?" He whispers into your ear, breath hot.
"Fuck," you answer, voice cracking. "So good Soonyoung, holy shit."
His pace builds, the hand on your waist pulling you back to meet him. He kisses your neck, your shoulders - anywhere he can press his mouth, murmuring how amazing you feel, how much he loves the way you come for him. It drives you fucking crazy and before long, you think you're going to come again.
"Come with me," he whispers, hips snapping. "You can do another."
Turns out, he's right. You come together, teeth clenched as you do. He growls out your name, hips slowly before he stops, the two of you panting together. You can feel his heartbeat hammering through where your back is pressed to his chest, beating in time with yours.
"Fuck," he rasps. "I'll move in a minute, I need a second." He kisses your shoulder, soft and delicate. "It's an off day tomorrow. We can sleep in."
"Wow, inviting me to sleep over, huh?"
He laughs. "I went off the warning track for you. We're definitely into sleep over territory."
"So you admit it was on purpose."
"I admit it was fate," he murmurs. He nuzzles your neck, sighing. "The benefits happened to be entirely circumstantial."
Spent, you stay in his arms until he finals falls to the side, the two of you exhausted an drifting toward sleep.
-
The August sun is low in the sky, slanting cold across the ivy walls. Seungkwan is still droning about the ice cream machine nearest to your seats being broken, and you're pretty sure Junhui is too preoccupied checking his 50/50 raffle ticket numbers to be paying attention to Seungkwan's complaints.
It's a breezy summer evening and the Cubs are up by one in the top of the seventh with the bases loaded, two outs, full count. The batter fouls one straight back, making everyone - including you - duck as the ball hits the net before coming back down. The next time the bat connects, it sends the ball straight down the right-field line, high and slicing.
Soonyoung is already moving. He explodes toward the warning track exactly like he did that night, cleats chewing up grass. For a split second you think he's going to repeat that first night and leap up into the stands, but this time he jumps and snatches the ball, landing with a skid on the warning track.
The ballpark detonates. Seungkwan is screaming and Junhui is shaking you by the shoulders. Somewhere, a kid is crying because he dropped his hot dog. But you're only looking at a single person.
The Cubs' right fielder straightens slowly as he starts heading toward the dugout. He turns briefly, looking over his shoulder - not at where he caught the ball - but right at you. He gives you the same lopsided grin he always does before tapping two fingers to his lips and flicking them outward toward you.
From behind, someone screams "GET A ROOM!"
Seungkwan turns around in his seat, red in the face. "THEY ALREADY HAVE ONE DIP SHIT!"
Soonyoung laughs. You can see the crinkle in his eyes from where you sink down in your seat, covering your face. He taps the brim of his cap in a tiny salute only meant for you before jogging into the dugout to switch to the bottom of the seventh.
The scoreboard flips to the bottom of the seventh, and the organist starts Sweet Caroline, urging thousands of voices to sing off-key. All you can hear is the sound of your own heartbeat though, glancing at the left over footprints from Soonyoung on the warning track.
— synopsis: kim mingyu is a dear friend. a dear friend that spends nights in your arms, said nights set aflame with the tick tick tick of your gas stove when he makes you dinner, and searing kisses when he lays you down in your bed. yes, kim mingyu is a dear friend...and you wish he were more.
– genre: friends with benefits to lovers au; fluff, angst, some suggestive/smutty content.
— pairing: kim mingyu x fem!reader
– word count: 11.8k
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warnings: they're stupid. literally so fucking stupid. fighting, mentions of infidelity, jealousy & insecurities. mildly sexual themes and content: brief p in v scene, there's a titty in his mouth, etc. kissing, pet names (babe/baby, sweetheart, honey, etc.)
— what to listen to: ribs - lorde ; starbright - dabin, trella ; people watching - conan gray ; hard part's over - hoang, page ; like real people do - hozier ; fineshrine - purity ring.
– author's note: thank you to @/saradika-graphics here on tumblr for these daisy dividers! that being said, this is not proofread, but it was beta'd by my dear @starlightkyeom. another fic for thee gyuldaengie ever, @gyuswhore because i posted late and i just love you that dang much. dedicated to em (again!) i love you. ♡
KIM MINGYU COULD VERY WELL BE THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE.
Sweet, thoughtful, and delicate. Fragile, even: in ego, in sex, in love.
Sometimes, you think he’s made for you. Like Eve was made for Adam, by the rib. Sometimes you feel an ache in your left side, and you wonder if it’s the lack of Mingyu’s lingering presence – only to see him a week later, shown up to your front door with a beautiful bouquet and a bottle of wine.
Kim Mingyu is the petals of every flower in all the bouquets he’s ever given you. Velvety soft, perfectly cared for and beautiful.
But just as he is all those things – he is your Achilles’ heel. You can never say no to Kim Mingyu, can never admit that he something more to you than you care to acknowledge beyond just that – something more.
And just as easily as those flowers of yours were picked, they were tossed. Once they died, they served no value. You’d watch the petals fall onto your desk for a while, dried and crisp; before inevitably swiping them into the trash can and dumping the dirty water into the sink. The vase waited, empty (like you,) to be refilled once Mingyu swung by for his bi-monthly fix.
It wasn’t always like this.
You used to save some of the petals, some of the flowers themselves. Press them in wax paper between heavy books and forget about them until you read the books again. You’d toy with the dried petals, before they eventually became littered around your apartment – in the form of coasters, framed on the walls, even a pair of earrings you once made at a crafts class.
Because in the beginning, in the very beginning – Mingyu was just your friend.
He was your very nice, very attentive friend that brought you gorgeous bouquets from his florist friend’s shop, always picked out by Mingyu himself – down to the colorful paper wrapping and satin bow. You’d rarely see him more than once or twice a month as it was, because Mingyu is a very busy man – so the flowers were always accompanied with an apologetic smile and a quick kiss to your cheek. You’d make dinner together, or he’d cook for the two of you; his presence warm and inviting even in your own home.
He’d serve you a glass of wine or three, plate your dinner like you’re at a nice restaurant and hand you extra silverware in case one of you fell victim to his butterfingers – and he knew your apartment like the back of his hand. He knew you like the back of his hand.
Then, you kissed.
One time. By complete and utter accident.
You had moved into his typical cheek kiss in greeting, the both of you springing away almost immediately when you felt each other’s lips. You both spewed apologies like geysers, talking over one another before you both laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.
“No more kisses, got it. Could’ve said something earlier, you know.” He joked, but finally greeted you with a warm hug paired with a mumbled it’s so nice to see you that made your stomach flutter for the first time ever. You were wide eyed as you allowed yourself to be enveloped in the warmth of his body, in the soft feeling of his cashmere sweater that you’d given him for his birthday many moons ago.
Unfortunately, the attempt to make dinner together was awkward. You were both anxiously trying to keep things level, trying to crack jokes and talk about your lives outside of each other when you just sighed; your hands on your hips as you glanced at him in your pink apron that was much too small.
And he kissed you – this time, with purpose. He held your face gently between his hands, your own fisting the stupidly expensive cashmere sweater that left you without eggs and bread that month.
Dinner wasn’t homemade, after all. He’d turned the stove off in your frenzy to pull his belt off, his hands holding you flush to him as he led you both to your bedroom – where he’d shown you exactly why his ex-girlfriend can’t leave him alone, and why your ex-boyfriend constantly felt inferior to him. He made it clear he wanted you, even if it was just for the night – and he wasn’t about to fuck up the only potential chance he’d gotten.
You both fell asleep before either of you could say anything about the missed dinner, and the morning after was full of shy stares and a silent agreement – after you asked him if he’d even wanted to be your friend, if this was his plan all along. He admitted honestly that he’d never anticipated something like this and he never secretly wanted you, either – that he’d been your friend because he loves you, because you’re sweet and funny, because you’re you.
Twice a month. Dinner. Sex. Repeat. Just to get the taste of each other off your tongues, to fill the void of feeling someone next to you while you’re sleeping.
Eventually, you realized that things between you and Mingyu had grown to be just that – a fix. A bi-monthly, sometimes tri-monthly, fix; where he came to your apartment and still yielded those beautiful flowers. He’d gotten more into making dinner on his own, and you’d choose somethnig to watch – and you’d spend an hour or so filling each other in about your time apart over the warm meal and some stupid movie, if not Gilmore Girls.
Until one of you leans in for the first kiss of the tumble, and the illusion of romance shatters at your fingertips.
Not because Mingyu isn’t romantic; if anything, the guy could drown you in romance. In soft touches, in mood lighting, in catering to your every need while still meeting his own with little intereference. He’s kind and gentle, with an edge that makes your skin prickle when he works you over with his tongue between your thighs after peeling your clothes off with needy hands. He’s a bitch when his teeth nip at the skin of your thighs, his fingers digging into the meat of them like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he makes the wrong move; and you can feel the way he smiles against you as he brings you to the first orgasm of the night.
He’s yours when he kisses you like you mean everything to him, when he holds your knees to your chest while you cry on his cock. He’s yours when he holds you close, massaging your hips and kissing the expanse of your bare shoulders.
And you are his.
You are absolutely, irrevocably his when he slips inside you for the second time that night – his teeth sinking lightly into your shoulder at how sensitive he is but he loves the way you feel. Shuddered whimpers will fill the room, murmurs of missing you when he’s gone as he nibbles on your earlobe; he leaves a mess between your thighs, snugly wrapped in your walls as you both drift to sleep.
Every. Single. Time.
Maybe it’s not all that romantic.
Maybe it’s just...sex. Casual sex that convinces you it’s more the moment you press your lips to his because you’re so certain Heaven is a place on Earth – and it’s in Kim Mingyu’s arms.
That’s where it all ends, anyway. He’s gone in the morning without much conversation; you’ll shower together like real couples do and he’s started keeping a few changes of clothes in your apartment. You’ll brush you teeth together like real couples do; he’ll even rub lotion on your back before kissing the back of your neck and asking if you want breakfast. If you say no, he leaves.
If you say yes...he’ll make breakfast, an entire spread. He’ll make coffee, and he’ll sit right next to you in the cute breakfast nook that sold you on your apartment three years ago – right after you’d broken up with that ex-boyfriend that never liked Mingyu. For who he was, what he stood for or what he could provide...you weren’t all that sure.
But you don’t really care, either.
Mingyu helped decorate your apartment. He helped you make it yours and even slept on the floor of your bedroom with you when you were too scared to be alone on the first night. He didn’t complain about his very obviously sore neck the next morning, only giving you a quick hug goodbye as he left to his apartment six blocks away for a shower – and returning within two hours to help you paint your bathroom.
They say that friends to lovers is the best way to go. Friends that know each other’s coffee orders by heart, turning into lovers that deliver said coffee with a kiss on the lips. Friends that help each other pick an outfit for a night out, becoming lovers who take said outfit off at the end of the night with their lips running down each other’s shoulders and other unnamed places.
Lovers, who mean it more than words can explain, and the warmth of a fire could never rival the true heat behind it – the three little words that linger on your tongue.
That stupid, stupid I love you.
But you are you, and Mingyu is...well, he’s Mingyu.
You’re not sure what you are. You’re certainly not friends, but you’re not lovers...you’re just Y/N and Mingyu, in limbo. No label, no questions and consequently, no answers.
And you want an answer. You want to know what it’s like for him to hold you closer when you move away to slip out of your bed in the morning. You want to know what it’s like for him to flip you onto your back and kiss you despite the morning breath, what it’s like to be Mingyu’s, eternally, and never have a way out.
But...you are you.
And you know better.
IT’S WEDNESDAY NIGHT WHEN YOUR PHONE PINGS ACROSS APARTMENT.
You move out of the kitchen, making your way to it and grabbing it off the coffee table before flopping onto your couch.
NEW! (3) Messages From: Mingyu ♡
[4:21 PM] hey, y/n
[4:21 PM] just a quick question, are you free this friday?
[4:21 PM] no pressure 💘
You’re aptly draped across the couch for a distressed sigh as you read the messages. You throw your arm over your eyes, your heart beating just a little faster – there's a pot of stew heating up on the stove, and the whole house smells delicious as you close your eyes, knowing exactly how this could go.
He’ll show up at your doorstep, ten minutes before he said he’d be there. He’ll be wearing one of his nice shirts – maybe it’ll be that baby blue one that you love – maybe it’ll be the dark red that he always tucks neatly into slacks. Maybe he’ll be dressed down, something you don’t to see all that often – sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie, but he’ll still be carrying that stupidly large bouquet of flowers and a bottle of your favorite wine. He’ll kiss you hello again, but it won’t be on your cheek – no, he’ll kiss your lips.
He’ll kiss your lips and hold your waist gently, pulling you into him. He’ll nip at your lower lip, inching his way into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before setting the flowers down on the foyer table and pulling away. He’ll say it’s nice to see you, that he missed you, that he wants to hear about your day before kissing you breathless.
Because he’s Mingyu.
“And I’ll fall for it every damn time,” you sigh, staring at the screen. Your fingers move quickly, typing a singular ‘sure’, only to see his read receipt pop up before you can even sit up. Like he’s waiting for you to answer – sat at his desk, the one that’s shoved in the corner of his office and way too cramped for a guy his size. The one that’s piled high with confidential documents, that he eats his lunch at that he packs himself early in the mornings.
The one he’s sent you a few suggestive pieces of media from, the image of his silver watch moving up and down your screen still burned into your mind.
NEW! (2) Messages from: Mingyu ♡
[4:26 PM] hm, don’t know if i liked the way you answered that.
[4:26 PM] are you okay?
Are you?
You don’t get much of a chance to reply before he’s calling you. You quickly decline it, texting back with the excuse that you’re in the shower.
NEW! (2) Messages from: Mingyu ♡
[4:27 PM] you’re literally laying on your couch. you don’t shower until six.
[4:28 PM] this is your ‘lazy girl’ time, you’ve told me. i know.
“Curse your memory, Kim Mingyu,” you grumble, fumbling around to call him on Facetime. He picks up on the second ring, putting his AirPod in – but he’s not dressed the way he usually is after work. Or rather, during: he’s still got thirty minutes to his workday.
But you’re not complaining at the sleeveless white shirt, feeling your cheeks hot as he raises a brow at you through the screen.
“What are you doing?” You prop yourself up on a throw pillow, only for Mingyu to flip the camera and show the inside of your favorite grocery store, “what are you doing there? It’s Wednesday, you should be at work.”
“And you should tell me what’s got you so pouty.” He says pointedly, propping you up in the cart as he grabbed a bag for tomatoes. You’re silent as you watch him pick them out carefully, gentle fingers you miss wrapped around your throat squeezing the fruit softly. You blink as the thought leaves your mind, your mouth dry as you shake it off while he ties the plastic bag expertly.
“So? What’s got you so iffy?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re a horrible liar.”
Mingyu gives you a stern look as he hunches over the cart, pursing his lips as his eyes dart around the store for the next item to take him. Maybe peppers. Maybe a tub of soybean paste.
Maybe someone else to fill his bed, his heart. His stomach, with delicious meals he never lets you cook for him anymore because, in his words – you're tired. You work so hard and you’ve had a long day, sweetheart. Just sit on the island and keep me company.
“Need an answer sooner rather than later, sweetheart.” His voice is gentle as he grabs your attention again, only making you scoff as you wave him off with your hand.
“Seriously, I’m fine.”
“I dunno. First, you give me a one-word answer. Never in our six-year friendship have you responded to me that way, even when you’re in a bad mood.”
You tongue your cheek as he stops the cart in the snack aisle, your eyes floating immediately to the cinnamon biscuits right next to his head. He reaches for them, tossing the box into his cart without a second thought before reading the ingredients on a box of almond cookies, “next, you lie to me. A bold-faced lie, and to my face, at that.”
“I lied to your phone screen, dramatic ass.” You mutter, watching the way his fingers drum against the yellow box. He’s wearing the ring you’d given him for Christmas last year, the white gold snug on his thumb as he hums. He puts the box back, grabbing another with a click of his tongue.
“That I pay the bill on, mind you. So, you’re wasting time and money instead of just telling me what your deal is.”
“There is no deal, Mingyu. I’m not BOGO.” You snort, shifting on your couch and resting your arm under your head. He looks at the phone, tossing the cookies into his cart, “I should be glad, BOGO of you would kill me. You’re more like buy one, get one half off.”
“I think I’m more of a buy-two, get one free.”
“That’s even worse. One of you is more than enough. And that’s coming from me, someone who gets all of you regularly and happily, at that.”
“‘All of me’ is a technicality.” You roll your eyes, only watching the tips of his ears turn pink as he analyzes yet another box. Crackers this time, cheddar ones. Not your favorite, and infinitely inferior to the Parmesan ones.
“Be realistic, there’s no one but me. You’re just for me.” He murmurs, but the microphone catches it anyway. You tongue your cheek as he puts the box back, instead grabbing the Parmesan ones and throwing them in the cart. Your cheeks heat slightly as he nibbles on his lip, likely deep in thought as he looks over his cart.
“Even if that’s true, you could still be nice to me.”
“I’m so nice to you! I make you dinner, I buy you flowers, and I check in with you regularly. I get you gifts, I fixed your leaky faucet, and I rewired your entire gaming system after you moved into your apartment and didn’t want to figure it out. I’m the nicest guy ever, especially to you.” He huffs, and you let out a chuckle that makes his lips twitch. He masks it by sucking his teeth, and you shrug with an amused look on your face.
“You cook me dinner because you want to, you buy me flowers because you feel guilty and you check in with me because your job keeps you from actually seeing me more than once or twice a month. You get me gifts to make up for the fact that you’re not around as often, you fixed my leaky faucet because I practically begged you to, and you rewired my gaming system because you and Wonwoo wanted to play GTA for six hours.” You point your finger at him, watching the way he nods before picking up his phone. The camera pauses, the sound of Left Right by XG playing in the store the only sound coming from his end.
NEW! Message from: Mingyu ♡
[5:10 PM] i also go down on you because i want to, and i fuck you because i want to. but i don’t hear you complaining about that, hm?
“Because I want it, too.” You ignore the heart surging on your cheeks as you watch the message bubble pop up again.
NEW! Message from: Mingyu ♡
[5:11 PM] then be nice to me before i stop doing that for us, pillow princess.
“I am not a pillow princess! You just never let me do anything!”
The camera unpauses, showing Mingyu rolling his eyes and feigning disinterest before he sets the phone back down, “tell me what’s up or I’m coming over impromptu. I won’t give you time to tidy up, either.”
“You wouldn’t do that; you probably have a nice steak in your basket. You wanna go home and cook it and text me all about how I’m missing out because I live six blocks away and won’t walk to your place because those heels I wear make me too tired.” You snicker, watching the way he mimics you and moves his hand in a talking motion. You only laugh harder, “Mingyu!”
“Little louder, sweetheart. The neigbors know my name, anyway.”
“Kim Mingyu, I am a lady.”
“A loud one,” he snorts, sucking his teeth as he makes his way down the liquor aisle. “Are you free on Friday or not? Enthusiastically free, happy-to-see-your-Mingyu free. Not that sure shit, have some respect.”
“My Mingyu?” You smirk, but it’s a front. Your stomach is fluttering like crazy and you watch the way he bites back his smile to raise a brow at you.
“You know any other Mingyus?”
“Park Mingyu from the finance team that has had the hots for me since before you moved to the city.”
“He doesn’t count, he’s in finance. You’d get bored in two days.” He rolls his eyes again, “yes or no, sweetheart? My schedule fills up fast and I’m actively trying to get you in.”
“More like you’re trying to get in me.”
“That too, but all I’m hearing right now is that you hate me. That’s not all I have you around for, you know.”
You roll your eyes, sighing. He’s raking his eyes over you through the camera, grabbing a bottle of wine off the shelf as if it’s muscle memory. The label reads EISA Cabernet – your favorite. Particularly, when he makes you a thick steak with scalloped potatoes and asparagus that almost guarantees you fuck him within an inch of his life.
And he never complains.
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, Gyu. I promise.”
He crosses his arms, “I don’t believe you.”
“Then don’t.”
“You hate me.”
“Sometimes, when you make my steak too rare or you pull out.”
“Haha, so funny.” He sticks his tongue out at you, and you can tell by the signs on the ceiling that he’s moving to the checkout line. “You’re really not gonna tell me what’s up with you?”
“What do you want me to say, Mingyu? That I’m in distress? That I’m having a bad day?” You joke, before pouting exaggeratedly, “oh, please, Mingyu. I’ve had such a long, lonely day. Come over, I need you.”
“Stop that.” He huffs, crossing his arms as he leans on the cart. You laugh again, running your hand through your hair as you feel his eyes trailing you. You raise a brow as his eyes stop on your chest, and you dramatically cover the bit of cleavage your V-neck sweater shows. He scoffs, tonguing his cheek as he gets a register, carefully parking the cart. “Tilt the camera to your face, I don’t need strangers seeing your whole chest.”
“It’s not even my chest, dipshit. It’s my necklace at best.”
“Necklace I gave you.”
“Never pegged you to be a jealous, possessive man, Mr. Kim.”
“You don’t know a lot of things about me,” he shrugs, and you stick your tongue out at him as he scans his things. He shakes his head as you watch him, your eyes shamelessly trained on his arms as he moves about, before he snaps his fingers in front of the camera, “must you eye fuck me like that?”
“Listen, friends can admire one another’s beauty. That’s part of it.”
“Sure, sweetheart. Friends also tell each other what’s bothering them, but I guess we’re not all that of friends, hm?”
The double entendre makes you scoff as he swipes his card, his receipt printing loudly as he makes faces at you. You don’t speak as he takes the receipt and tucks it into his pocket, listening to him sweetly thank the aunties at the exit as he leaves with his cart. He whistles, “so? What’s wrong with you?”
You don’t reply, simply turning onto your belly and resting your cheek against the heel of your palm. You prop your phone up against the armrest of your couch, making a show of pulling your sweater down enough that it shows the white lace of your bra.
“Tease.” He chides as he pops the trunk, “come on, tell me. Because you’re gonna piss me off and then we’re both in a mood.”
“I’m really fine, Gyu. I’m tired, I’m gonna eat some leftovers...maybe watch a movie. It's just one of those days, you know?” You shrug, “it’s not like anything is particularly wrong. I just feel weird, and that’s okay.”
You’re lying through your teeth, but he doesn’t look all that convince anyway as you hear the timer in your kitchen start going off. You give him a quick smile, “my food’s ready, so I gotta go but I’ll see you on Friday, Gyu. I promise I’m excited to see you.”
“Well, you’d still need the context of what’s happening on Friday, but sure.” He shrugs, “just...are you sure you’re okay? I can cancel. I’ll work around you, honey, just let me know.”
You smile inwardly, pushing off the couch and taking your phone with you into the kitchen. You prop it up against your toaster as you reach for a bowl on your tiptoes, “I would say no if I didn’t want to see you, Mingyu.”
“I know, but—”
“Mingyu, baby, please.” You set the bowl down, putting your hands on your hips. He’s in his car now, pulling his seatbelt on as he balances you on the steering wheel. He’s pouting, “expect that impromptu visit anyway.”
“You never follow through with those, so I will not be cleaning my apartment tonight and I will be in my PJs by nine.” You respond, crossing your arms on your chest as you watch him roll his shoulders back – the fabric of his shirt taut against his chest. He catches you staring at him, his ears tinging pink once more as you smile cheekily, “I’ll see you on Friday. Drive safe, okay?”
“I will. I’ll see you later, baby.”
The call ends before he can see you process the petname. Your cheeks are hot as you stare at your home screen, a picture of you that Mingyu took at a burger joint after you and your ex-boyfriend broke up. You had a smear of ketchup on your cheek and Mingyu’s fingers pinching the other – he'd taken you out because you had been the one to break things off after yet another jealous fit about you being friends with Mingyu.
When you think about it, he ended up being right – just six months after the breakup, you’d slept with Mingyu for the first time.
Jaehyun had always been iffy about Mingyu, but you didn’t understand it then, or ever. The two of you had been dating for six months when he met Mingyu, your friend of two years at that point. They met at your birthday party, and Mingyu had been incredibly sweet – he'd greeted him with a firm handshake, complimented his shirt and watch, and asked what he was drinking. Jaehyun had stiffened slightly, likely at the way Mingyu towered over him; but his face soured when Mingyu greeted you next, the way he always had.
With that damn cheek kiss.
His aftershave was particularly mingy that night, and it made something in your stomach lurch but you ignored it. Jaehyun was quiet that entire night, even later when you were both in bed together and he was on top of you – he murmured it, effectively killing your buzz and starting a fight.
“I don’t like that Mingyu guy.”
Your relationship was no more than two years of weird jealousy afterwards. Jaehyun, however, was worse than you were in the weird terms and conditions of dating these days – he still followed his ex-girlfriends on social media and frequently engaged with their posts (you didn’t care.) He still talked to his most recent ex-girlfriend's mother, who he claimed said that he was like a son to her (again, you didn’t give a shit.)
It seemed to bother Jaehyun that you did not care what he was doing with his ‘friends’ of the opposite sex. He seemed annoyed that you could frequently hang out with your friends without caring about what he thought – posing in photobooths for pictures with your life-long friends Kwon Soonyoung and Lee Seokmin, getting dinner with your old coworker (and BFF-by-proxy) Hansol Chwe, taking shots with said BFF Boo Seungkwan at your favorite bar to celebrate his birthday...
Posting pictures of you and Mingyu at a farmer’s market the autumn before the breakup, trying spiked apple cider and pumpkin soup that you ended up bringing home for him to try.
Jaehyun didn’t like that you had friends he didn’t like. He didnt like that you had male friends period, but you simply did not care and especially not when he went on and on about Mingyu like he had a crush on him. You listened to his jealous rants about Soonyoung, Seokmin, Seungkwan and Hansol silently, merely peering up at him through your lashes and sipping whatever drink was closest. However, he really amped it up when he met Mingyu – and went as far as saying he was sure Mingyu wanted to sleep with you.
Only for you to find out in two weeks time that Mingyu had been across town that same night, breaking up with his girlfriend for saying the exact same thing about you.
She was so sure you wanted Mingyu.
And the truth was, you’d never thought about it – ever. You’d met Mingyu in grad school, through Seokmin – and your first memory of one another was at a horrible group interview for an internship that neither of you got. You stayed in touch following the months after graduation, only getting closer as Mingyu moved to your city a year after and needed friends to hang out with.
You were almost always one of those friends. If you couldn’t make it, he still made it a point to swing by your place and bring you something from wherever it was that he’d gone. Sometimes it was a thick slice of chocolate cake, sometimes it was an entire baked potato that he’d ordered to-go so you’d have something for lunch the next day. Sometimes it was just a handful of butter mints he’d stolen from the register attendant along with a colorful toothpick.
Mingyu is just like that. Sweet and caring and he is a good man. A Good Man, even, with capital letters and capital claim on your heart.
You sigh, turning your phone off and leaving it on the counter as you limply serve yourself your dinner. The stew isn’t as filling as it would’ve been had Mingyu made it, but you don’t let your mind linger on him too much as you eat on your couch and watch a YouTube video dissecting Pretty Little Liars.
Because thinking about Mingyu is bad for your heart. You can’t close your eyes when you do it, either – or his body flashes in your mind, the sounds he makes when he’s got your hands pinned to the mattress, the way he calls you baby between kisses that make your skin feel like it’s on fire. You can’t close your eyes without remembering the smell of his aftershave filling your nostrils, his fingers tugging at your clothes or the way he coos when you beg him to touch you anywhere.
Or...it’s worse, and you remember how good a boyfriend he would be. How good of a husband he would be – always having a spare change of shoes for you in his trunk for those times you’d go out to dinner or to hang out. Always offering his jacket, always holding your hand when you cross the street, always pulling you close when someone thinks it’s okay to get too comfortable with you. How he smooths a hand over your hair out of nervous habit as you worm through farmer’s markets and malls, how he’s easily thrown you over his shoulder several times when you’re throwing an embarrassing fit at a pub or a bar.
When he kisses you slowly, in his car that smells like him and you before you both get down. How he thumbs at your earrings when you’re sitting next to him at a restaurant or the movies, and his arm is draped over your shoulders. How he speaks to you softly and listens to you intently – actively interested in everything you have to say and what it means to you.
How he cares.
It has to be torture, being involved with Kim Mingyu the way you are.
But is it torture, at hands so gentle? Lips so soft, words so sweet, a heart so full?
You don’t think so.
9:32 PM.
You’d finished dinner hours ago, and your television was quietly playing some random Spotify playlist. The Kill by Thirty Seconds To Mars is filling your ears as you trill your lips dramatically and scroll on your work laptop, finalizing a presentation while sprawled across your couch.
Against your better judgment, you’d cleaned your apartment haphazardly and you took a long shower – but like any girl awaiting potential company, you put on yet another sweater and a skirt (that you dug out of the back of your closet; one that you’d caught Mingyu staring at you in ages ago.) Your pajamas laid neatly folded on your pillowcase, and you told yourself you’d get in bed by 9:45.
It’s unlikely that Mingyu will come by. You checked his location ten minutes ago, and he was at his apartment – likely cuddled up in his bed with all six of his pillows. Mingyu rarely leaves the house after eight on weekdays, anyway...unless he’s seeing you.
The time barely ticks past 9:33 p.m. when you hear a soft knock at the door – making you jolt up so fast, you feel something pinch in your neck. You still – glimpsing at the time on your laptop before checking your phone for any potentially missed messages. Mingyu usually texts you if he’s actually coming over...so it can’t be him.
No lights are on in your apartment but your stove one, so it only makes the atmosphere more tense. You stand up quietly and set your laptop down on your coffee table before hearing another knock – louder this time, the clink of metal on glass making you jump.
“Y/N, open this damn door.”
Mingyu’s voice on the other side makes all fear in your body dissipate in favor of annoyance, and you make your way over; unlocking the door quickly and huffing as you open it. He’s leaning coolly against the frame, holding a bouquet as usual – but you put your hands on your hips as you look up at him.
You hate the way your cheeks grow hot at his soft smile.
“It’s not Friday, Kim Mingyu.”
“I can still bring you flowers, baby.”
“Blah, blah, blah.” You make a face at him, opening the door further to let him in and turning on your heel – only to feel his arm wrap around your waist and gently pull your back into his chest. He smells like that same aftershave, your skin prickling as you glance up at him.
“Is that how you greet your guests?”
“You’re hardly a guest, Mingyu. Guests don’t know where my silverware is.”
“Or that you keep lube in your nightstand.” He whispers, squeezing your hip as you swat at his arm. You scowl at him as he presses a kiss on your forehead, “I told you I was coming.”
“It’s damn near ten at night.”
“So? I can just stay over.”
“You just wanna fuck me.”
“Or I miss you, baby.” He murmurs, pressing another kiss to your temple. “I miss you a lot, actually.”
“Breaking news: Kim Mingyu admits he misses his dearest, smartest, prettiest friend ever. More at eleven.” You snort, letting him turn you around as he smiles. You let him fully wrap his arms around you, your nose filling with that damn aftershave as he smoothly picks you up; your legs wrapping around his waist and your arms around his neck as he kicks your door shut with a kiss to your cheek.
“Kim Mingyu does,” he replies gently, and you feel shy as he nuzzles his nose against your cheek before kissing it again. Once, twice, three times. “I stopped by Chan’s, but he only had these and a few others. You like?”
You can hardly see the flowers, and Mingyu seems to recognize that as he flicks on your dining room light. Warm yellow rays fill the area, your eyes blinking rapidly to adjust as you glance at the flowers between you. Large white daisies are mere centimeters from your face, and you stop yourself from smiling to raise a brow at him.
“These are your birth flower.”
“You’re supposed to like everything about me, and that includes my birth flower.”
You roll your eyes, thumbing at the petals as he presses another kiss to your jaw, “yeah, they’re cute. I like.”
“Good, because I fucked up and also ordered another one for next week when I’m not going to see you, so you’ll be getting this twice but as delivery. I might get another just to apologize but that’s a quest for Later Mingyu.” He speaks against your cheek, pressing kiss after kiss on the warm skin, “missed you, missed you, missed you.”
“You’re smothering me!” You whine, feeling him pepper the side of your face with kisses, “Mingyu!”
“You complain I don’t see you enough, and you complain when I do. You’re never satisfied,” he jokes, carefully setting the flowers down on your dining room table to hold you closer. His hands are gripping your thighs, the material of your skirt straining against them as you press a kiss on the column of his throat, “thank you for the flowers.”
He shivers, “you always say thank you. Don’t thank me for the bare minimum.”
“I don’t get you flowers, Mingyu.”
“You should start. I like flowers and being smothered and impromptu visits with at my apartment with my dearest, smartest, prettiest girl, Y/N.”
You roll your eyes, ignoring the fluttering in your belly as you shake your head, “you’re impossible, Kim Mingyu.”
“Yeah, well...you love me anyway.”
“That’s an incredible assumption.”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.” You scoff, limply shoving his shoulder. He sucks his teeth, kicking his shoes off and clearly choosing to ignore your bait as he tightens his hold on your thighs, “what are you doing here, Mingyu? You’re not making dinner, and you clearly don’t have a plan in mind...so what do you want?”
He raises a brow, “I want to see you. Ask about your day. Also, steal some of those almonds you have hidden in your nightstand, next to your lube.”
“You just want me for what I can provide.”
“I want you for lots of things and lots of reasons, but what can you provide that I won’t willingly give you, anyway?”
You can smell the mint on his breath, like he’d brushed his teeth before getting to your apartment. Your eyes trail him silently, taking in the soft fabric of his casual t-shirt against the inside of your knees. Your skirt is starting to ride up, snug against your midthighs as you click your tongue in defeat.
“Exactly.” He says pointedly, squeezing your thigh as he flicks the dining room light off again, making you tighten your grip around him as he moves to turn on the lamp in your living room. He looks over your head at the television with an amused look, “are you sure you’re not sad or something? What’s with the ambiance?”
“You insist something is wrong with me, but I promise you,” you lamely hit the side of your closed fist to his chest, “I am fine.”
He gives you a knowing look in the moody lighting, before leaning down slightly. He glances at your lips, silently begging for a kiss only for you to roll your eyes and do the same. He smiles shamelessly, kissing you gently before looking around once more.
“It’s so dark in here.”
“I was just finishing stuff for work.”
“What have I told you about working off the clock? Stop working for free, they pay you shit as it is.” He squeezes your thighs for emphasis, and you suck in a quick breath involuntarily. You scrunch your nose as he grins, before smacking his shoulder gently.
“You’re the last person who can tell me that, you’re a workaholic. I see you twice a damn month because you’re always holed up in that office.” You shove a finger in his chest, only for him to press another kiss to your lips as you pout, “Mingyu!”
“You are so annoying, baby.” He murmurs, nipping at your lips like he might die if he doesn’t. “You can’t even appreciate that I took time out of my very busy schedule to come see you. And let’s not forget you love my job when it means you get to see me in a suit.”
“I’m going to ignore that for the sake of my sanity. What is so important about having dinner and jerking off for an hour that you think you’re doing me a favor?”
“I do not jerk off for an hour.” He scoffs, "I merely think about you for forty minutes and then I—”
“Enough. The point is that you do it. Like a loser. You’ll get carpal tunnel, you know.” You say with a sniff, your lips twitching as he laughs. He makes his way to your couch, sitting on the chaise at the end of it. He leans back into the cushions, smoothly adjusting you on his lap as he stuffs a throw pillow under his head to look at you. “Tell me why you’re here, Mingyu.”
“If you need a reason, it’s that I genuinely missed you. If that wasn’t already obvious.” He speaks sincerely, raking his fingers gently through your hair and earning a shiver. He tugs at it lightly, smirking as you let out a quipped whine before smacking his hip, “I just wanted to see you.”
“You’re holding me hostage against you, Mingyu.”
“Because you’ll sit a mile away unless I do. It’s like you avoid me.”
“I don’t avoid you, idiot. You just radiate so much heat that it makes me wanna die, I hate sweating.” You remind him, lowering yourself so you’re chest-to-chest with him, but propping yourself on your elbows to still hover over him. He plucks at the hem of your sweater, dipping his fingertips beneath the fabric; cool against your hip as he tilts his head, “that is true.”
“I know.”
“Can you hurry up and say you missed me, too? I’m starting to feel a disconnect.”
You purse your lips as you hold back your laughter, his pouted lips making you cover your mouth as you swallow your cackle.
“I did, I missed you.” You admit wholeheartedly, shrugging your shoulders as he tugs at the necklace he gave you, “of course I missed my Mingyu.”
“Not Park Mingyu from finance, right?” He sulks, tucking his chin to his chest as you chuckle, pinching his cheek between your knuckles carefully.
“Not Park Mingyu from finance, no. Don’t you know? I’d be bored in two days.”
“Exactly,” he huffs, wrapping his fingers gingerly around your throat, “can I stay? Or do you want me to leave?”
“It’s always nice when you stay over. However, you’re late for dinner and lack of punctuality does knock ten points off for Kim Mingyu. Still in first place, but you’re pushing it.”
“I’m sorry,” he nods, squeezing the sides of your neck gently before his lips plant a soft kiss on your forehead, “should we go to your room?”
“That’s incredibly suggestive, Mr. Kim.”
“It’s only suggestive if you make it suggestive, baby.”
“You calling me baby only cements my point.”
“Okay, maybe. But you could have some mercy on me.” He mumbles, pressing another kiss to your nose. You raise a brow, “are you sure you’re not the one who has a problem? You’ve been in my face since you got here, I’m literally on top of you. The world won’t end if you’re not touching me, you know.”
“I’m just used to having you close.” He shrugs, “I missed you.”
“Mingyu, you’ve said that so much that the words don’t even sound real anymore. You’ve been here for ten minutes and you’ve said it six times.”
“So? Is there a problem?” He mumbles against your lips, your breath hitching as he bridges the gap. His hands move to your hips, fingertips digging into the fabric of your skirt as he sits up carefully. Your hands palm at his chest as he pulls you impossibly closer, your skin littering with goosebumps as he slides his hands down your thighs. Your own shoot out to grab his wrists, pulling his hands away and pinning them to the couch before pulling away with a soft pant. He tries to kiss your jaw, his lips brushing your skin as you crane your neck away.
“What on Earth has gotten into you? Did you finally give into those stupid honey packs that Soonyoung was talking about the last time we all hung out?”
He scoffs, “absolutely not. You know I like this skirt, don’t play coy.”
You snort, dropping his hands to cross your arms on your chest. His fingers trace tight circles into your left knee, before he glances at your sweater with an amused look. He leans back on one hand, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he raises a brow.
“You knew I was coming.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then you were hoping I would, baby.”
“Shut up. You’re supposed to be at home, and I should be in my bed right now.” You mutter, tonguing your cheek as you see your laptop turn off due to inactivity out of the corner of your eye. You glance back at him, his eyes trailing the slope of your neck as you clear your throat and run a hand through your hair, “how was your day?”
“Funny you should ask. Kim Mingyu has had his first official bad day at the office.” He nods, pressing his lips into a thin line that makes you bite back a laugh. “People are entitled, and I usually get through it pretty well, but today was just off the damn charts. I was late to work this morning, and I had to push back a presentation because I fucking lost my thumb drive because I left it at home. An intern tried to tell me my numbers were wrong, when I checked the math not once, but three separate times. We got into a nasty argument, also something new for me.”
He shrugs, “I sent her home early and I left an hour after lunch. Bought groceries, made dinner...life goes on but today was actually such shit. So...it’s nice to see you.”
“I think you forgot ‘tried to flirt with Y/N’ somewhere in there. I think during the whole ‘brought groceries’ part.” You let your cheeks warm as you tilt your head at him, only to earn a devilish smile paired with a one-armed shrug as he taps your knee with his knuckle.
“I didn’t try to do anything.” He leans back on his elbow, sucking his teeth as you raise a brow at him, “I was merely stating facts. I’m nice to you, and you’re a pillow princess. One plus one has always been two, baby.”
“You are nice to me, that’s true. But you’re the one—”
“A lady like yourself mustn’t get her hands dirty for pleasure. That’s what I’m here for.”
His eyes are pointed, and you conjure an annoyed look as you poke a finger into his side. He squeals, grabbing your wrists and pulling you down on top of him, “stop that. Tell me about your day.”
“Nothing happened.” You shrug, pushing yourself up. Your hands are on either side of his head as you stick your tongue out at him, only for him to do the same and touch the tip of yours with his. You scrunch your nose as he snorts, before calling your bluff.
“You’re lying.”
“Hm...I broke my favorite pair of earrings. I tripped going up the stairs when I came back from getting lunch at that bistro we like in downtown. Park Mingyu from Finance asked me to dinner. Nothing insane.”
It’s not a lie.
But it’s been a few weeks since it happened. It was a rare day in the office for you, and you’d been in and out of meetings all mornings – but he caught you just as you got in the elevator to meet Soonyoung for lunch.
Park Mingyu wasn’t bad looking, and he was nice enough. He just...worked in finance, of all things, and had that same monotonous voice most finance men do. He didn’t slouch, but his tie was almost always haphazardly thrown on and you’d fixed it for him one time – but you figured one time was enough to get him hooked.
Kim Mingyu is looking up at you through his lashes, his hands seemingly now lost on what to do as he pulls them off your waist. His eyes are darting all over your face – likely looking for a hint at you kidding. A quirk of your lip, a twitch of your brow, something – but the silence between you only gets thicker as his jaw grows slightly tense.
“...did you give him an answer?”
“No. I said I’d think about it.”
Mingyu scoffs.
He actually scoffs, like how dare you have the audacity to tell someone else you’d think about giving them a positive answer to their dinner invitation? How dare you, when you know you’d likely not like your food? And then it’s awkward for weeks, before you get a paragraph to your work number about how Park Mingyu is such a nice guy – from Park Mingyu himself.
The man beneath you runs a hand through his hair, and you sit up to allow him to do the same. He does, unzipping his sweater and shrugging it off before he tosses it over the side of your couch.
You resist the urge to run your hands up his bare arms, cursing the way his shirt fits against his chest so snugly.
“When did he ask you? During lunch? Did you go to the office today?”
“Two weeks ago.”
You shift slightly in his lap, your cheeks hot as he stares at you. There’s a mix of emotions in his gaze – confusion, amusement...a bit of anger, you want to think.
A bit of jealousy.
“And you’re telling me this now?”
“I didn’t think I had to tell you. We’re not...dating.”
The word comes out choked. You feel it; he hears it, and your legs tighten subconsciously around his thighs. He glances down at them, his eyes catching a faded bite on your inner thigh from two weeks ago; his thumb pushing the hem of your skirt up high enough to make it visible to your eyes, should you look down.
“Are you gonna say yes?” His voice is level, but he’s not looking at you. In the low light, you can see the tightness in his jaw, the way he tongues his cheek before you feel his fingers tap your thigh, “are you?”
Your throat feels dry as you steal a glimpse of the flowers on your dining table.
“Y/N.”
You let out a forced chuckle, “c’mon, you know me, Gyu. He’s in finance. I really would get bored in two days. A few hours, even.”
He doesn’t seem convinced, “that’s not a no.”
“What do you want me to say, Mingyu?” You run a hand down the front of your sweater nervously, bunching the fabric in your palm as he leans forward slightly. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, not managing to shake his focus like the action usually would.
“That you’ll say no.” He says plainly, before scoffing as a smile of disbelief crosses his lips. “In fact, I don’t even know why you’re entertaining the idea of it when we both know you’d never say yes unless something happened between us.”
For a moment, you dislike Mingyu. Your eyes narrow as you look down at him, tracing his features as he clicks his tongue.
“What is this ‘us’ you’re referring to?” You speak softly, but clearly – splaying your hands on your knees as you lean into his space. “What do you mean by ‘us,’ Mingyu? What does ‘us’ mean to you?”
“You and I.”
“What about you and I?”
His hand leaves your thigh, and he has the gall to roll his eyes as he runs it over his face.
“You’d never say yes to Park, because you have me. You don’t need anyone else.”
“What makes you think I even need you?”
“The fact that you melt in my hands the moment I walk through that door.” He’s in your face, his breath wafting against your lips as he maintains eye contact. “You forget the world exists when I’m with you, and it’s the only time I’ve ever seen you relax. You love having me around, and you love me. You don’t have to say it for me to know.”
You want to pretend that he can’t feel the way you freeze on top of him. His eyes widen slightly as you swallow carefully, “love...is a stretch, Kim.”
“We both know it’s not.”
“You’re insane.”
“Then what does that make you, hm?” His hands are back on you, massaging the tension in your thighs that only makes your back rigid. A shiver snakes down your spine as his thumb brushes the cotton of your underwear, “what does that make you, baby?”
“I hate it when you call me that,” you blurt, and he has an unimpressed look on his face when you double down, “I hate it, Mingyu.”
“Yet, you pout when I call you Y/N.”
“Well, just call me Y/N anyway.”
You huff, moving to get up but he holds you in place – his grip firm as he pulls you into him. Your chest hits his as you avoid his gaze, your arms stiff between your bodies as you give up on getting off him.
“Still wanna tell me nothing’s wrong?” He mumbles, his eyes soft as he wraps his arms around your waist. You don’t reply, tonguing your cheek as you feel the stupid burn in your throat as you focus your line of sight on the flowers he put on the table.
Cute. Soft. Delicate.
An extension of him.
You swallow hard, blinking rapidly as you speak quietly, “what are we doing?”
He sighs, resting his forehead against your shoulder, “I don’t know. I thought I’d have an answer by now.”
“You don’t know,” you repeat, “because you didn’t want to ask me or because you thought I’d ask first?”
“Both.”
“Coward.”
The word is bitter as it leaves your mouth, but you can’t move. You don’t want to move – the fear of him slipping through your fingers overpowering as your hands grip his shoulders like he’s going to disappear. He leans into your touch, burying his face into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel his lips brush against your skin as you wrap your arms around his neck. Your fingers card through the hair at the nape of his neck, the smell of his shampoo making you melt into his embrace.
“Tell me I’m yours.” His voice is muffled against your neck, “please. Please.”
“I don’t know if you are, Mingyu.” You can’t recognize the sound of your own voice, thick and uncertain. His grip on you tightens, and you feel a shaky breath against your neck as you pull back, trying to meet his eyes. He stares at the necklace around the base of your throat, the seashell-shaped locket glinting in the light.
“I can be. I want to be.” He’s barely speaking above a whisper as his fingertip taps the locket, hooking around the chain and giving a careful tug. “Do you know why I gave this to you?”
You glance down at it, “because you were in Bali and it was on sale?”
He snorts, the air around the two of you settling evenly on your shoulders, “no. Well, I was in Bali, but no it wasn’t on sale and that’s not why I got it.”
“All I’m getting is that you went to Bali without me.”
“Yeah, well. I couldn’t be around you in all those pretty dresses you wear when it’s hot out.” He sighs, “seashells are a symbol of love.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re in love with me.”
He shrugs slightly, popping the shell open to reveal it empty, “it’s said that seashells are associated with Aphrodite, the goddess of love. That they represent the warmth and care and security of love, because they protect the pearl that grows inside that shell.”
He clears his throat, closing the locket with a click.
“The point of the locket was to put a picture of us in there, someday. It’s been six months since I gave this to you, and I think about it everyday.” He ducks his head like he’s afraid of the truth spilling from his mouth, but he can’t stop talking. “Sometimes, I think you were made for me, as stupid as that might sound. Like Eve was made for Adam, from his rib, or something like that.”
You can feel your eyes burning as you watch him nibble on his lip, his hands restless as he moves them from around you to the hem of your skirt before gripping the cushion beneath you both.
“I don’t know much about falling in love,” he admits, “but...I know that you saved all the flowers I gave you, bits of them, even before we started doing whatever we’re doing. A part of me wants to believe that you saved them because you wanted to keep me around, even if it was just the flowers I gave you...because I’ve kept all the receipts from Chan’s shop when I’ve bought them. I always liked giving you flowers because you like them, but after the first time we kissed...it felt romantic and I just wanted to make your life even just a little brighter and, ugh, I don’t know. Tell me I’m ruining this and I’ll shut up.”
You blink at him silently, shaking your head before sliding your hands down his arms, “have I told you that you talk a lot?”
“Many times.”
“Have I ever told you to stop?”
You raise a brow as you find his hand, slotting your fingers with his and curling them around his palm. His rings dig into your skin but you don’t care, “continue, Mr. Kim.”
“I hate when you call me that.”
“I don’t care.”
“I know,” he rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are pink as you press your lips to them gingerly, “I’m not...it’s hard for me to make time for people. You’ve seen it, you know it’s true because I’ve only been able to get you in every couple weeks and trust me, it’s fucking torture. They say that distance makes the heart grow fonder but I truly cannot fathom ever wanting to be away from you. It makes my chest hurt when I wake up after seeing you and I have to leave.”
“You don’t have to.” You shrug, “leave, I mean. You can stay. Forever, if you wanted to.”
His chuckle is almost humorless, “I’d never get anything done.”
You nod silently, tracing circles into the back of his hand with your thumb before you glance up at him. You let go of his hand to cradle his cheek carefully, watching the way he leans into your touch. His arm wraps around your waist again, pulling you down with him as he lays back against the cushions once more.
“So...I can be yours. If you want me to be. If you’ll have me, rather.”
You don’t respond, chewing on your cheek while pinching his between your knuckles. A silence blankets over you both, even as he brushes a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. You scrunch it, before resting your head on his chest with a click of your tongue, feeling his hand push the hem of your shirt up – fingers drumming against the warm skin of your hip.
“Earlier, you said I needed context for Friday. What’s that about?”
“My parents are in town.” He blurts, and your eyes widen as you jerk away from him, “I wanted you to meet them.”
You scan his face, your lips parting as you sit up. Your knees dig into his hips as you run a hand through your hair, letting out a chuckle of disbelief.
“Surely they don’t know we’re in this entanglement.”
“...They think we’re together.”
“Mingyu!” You choke on his name, earning a wince as you give his shoulder a slight shove. He pouts, grabbing your wrists and pulling you back on top of him, “why would you tell them that?! Why do they even know about me?!”
“Because I love you.” His voice makes you still, his eyes serious as he bores them into you. A wavering uncertainty is laced in them, mixed with that same pure adoration that he always held in even a wayward glance your way. Your hands curl into fists, your nails digging into your palm before he forces them open and interlaces your fingers. His thumbs trace circles on the back of your hands, nervously nibbling on his lip before he clears his throat.
“I love you, and I’m a coward but I cannot imagine being without you. It makes my stomach hurt to think about it, it makes me nauseous when I think about someone else having you the way I do. Someone else bringing you flowers and making you dinner and kissing you stupid when they don’t deserve you to begin with is an atrocious thing to think about. I love you, and I want to be your emergency contact. I want to make you dinner and rub your feet and I want to put a shiny ring on your finger. I want to listen to you sing in the shower, I want you to tell me it’s not a duet when I join in and I want to make good on any and every promise I ever let fall into you. I love you, and I want you, only. For the rest of our lives.”
Your nose burns as tears prick at your eyes, and you tear your hands from his to dig the heels of your palms into your eyes – coating them in said hot tears. Your voice is thick, “God, you suck.”
“I just put my heart on a platter for you.”
“That’s exactly why you suck, because now I can’t tell Park Mingyu I’ll have dinner with him.”
Your joke is ill received as he scoffs, crossing his arms on his chest as you wipe at your face haphazardly before leaning over and pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. Your hands cradle his face gently, thumbs rubbing his cheeks back and forth as he sulks, “I love you, Mingyu.”
“Kim Mingyu.”
“I love you, Kim Mingyu.”
He lets you kiss him, uncrossing his arms and pulling you close. His fingers dip beneath your sweater, squeezing your hips as he teases his tongue into your mouth – minty and gentle as your hands move to tug at his shirt. He stops you by abruptly sitting up, cupping your ass as he stands from the couch. Your legs wrap around his waist as his lips trail your jaw, nipping at your neck as he takes you to your bedroom, nudging the door closed with his foot.
“Wanna prove it?”
“Not a pillow princess, my ass.” Mingyu’s arm is tight around your waist, his hand holding your phone as your fingernails dig into his shoulders. “Pretty girl gave up a minute in.”
“I’m just used to a...certain lifestyle,” you whimper into his neck, before hearing the unmistakeable sound of a call dialing. You look over your shoulder wearily, watching Mingyu put the call on speaker. It picks up as he holds it to your face, pulling your head back gently by your hair, “tell him you’re having dinner with your in-laws.”
“Hello?”
“H-Hey, sorry for c-calling so late,” you stutter, your eyes squeezing shut as Mingyu’s hips rock up into you slowly. “A-are you busy?”
“Never too busy for you. Are you alright? You sound...choppy.”
Mingyu gives a hard thrust then, a whine tearing from your throat as you attempt to cough, “sorry, I’m g-good! I just w-wanted to let you know that I c-can't have dinner.”
“Oh...can I ask why? I mean, I’ve been pretty nice to you for as long as I’ve known you. Could warrant a date night.”
“She’s having dinner with her in-laws, bud. Tell him, baby.” Mingyu speaks clearly, an embarrassed moan falling from your lips as his grip on your waist tightens, “tell him.”
“I’m having d-dinner with m-my in-laws...” You pant out, your lips brushing his neck as your hand blindly reached around to hang up on the Finance Guy rambling about how you led him on. Mingyu tosses your phone to the side as his hand snakes between you to cup one of your breasts in his hand, “you might have to quit.”
You nod breathlessly as he sucks your nipple into his mouth, “they pay me shit anyway.”
“New position at my firm opened up.”
“God, shut up and fuck me.”
He chuckles, flipping you onto your back smoothly and pressing a kiss to the side of your face.
“Pillow. Princess.”
“THREE YEARS IS A LONG TIME WITH NO RING, MINGYU.”
Mrs. Kim’s eyes are pointed as her son tongues his cheek, and you bite back your smile as you tip your wine glass towards your lips.
He had mentioned they’d say something along these lines – of course, he only mentioned more details of the ‘relationship’ they knew on the car ride there. Everything in the storyline was essentially the same, if you ignored that Mingyu admitted he’d fallen head over heels in love with you after the first time you slept together and the two of you had only been officially in a relationship for the last thirty-six hours.
“Y/N just started a new job, Mom. It wouldn’t be wise to...take that step in this juncture of her career.” He’s spitballing, and his sister nearly spits her wine out across the table as Mr. Kim snorts. “It’s true! Babe, tell them!”
You fail at holding in your laughter, your shoulders shaking as you nod, “I did just get a new job. But I agree, three years is a long time without a ring.”
“Babe.”
“I’m just saying, you could put some pep in your step.”
He sulks in his chair, barely sinking down two inches as everyone at the table bursts into fits of giggling, “I’m trying to take your life into consideration, too!”
“Time is money, Mingyu.” You say, pinching his cheek between your knuckles. You lean over, pressing a soft kiss to the apple of his cheek – leaving a stamp of your lipstick on the skin as the waiter returns with the check. Mrs. Kim smiles as you reach for it instinctively, the grin only growing wider as Mingyu snatches it out of your hand and shoves his card inside the booklet before you can even protest.
“At least tell me he’s taking good care of you.” Mrs. Kim’s voice is soft as you all step out of the restaurant, and you feel your cheeks heat in the cool November air as you nod.
“Mingyu is a good man,” you start, patting his arm. He beams with pride, before sticking his tongue out at his sister that makes a gagging face. You snicker, squeezing his bicep gently, “if it were up to him, I wouldn’t lift a finger.”
“But it’s not.” He sighs dramatically, “she lets me make dinner and that’s it.”
“Let is the wrong word. He barges into my apartment with groceries and I feel bad for the guy,” you feign a pout, earning a scoff from your boyfriend as his parents share a warm look, “but...I love him. What can I do, say no to a nice steak and a foot massage?”
“Yes.” Minseo pipes up, before Mingyu scowls. You snort, checking the time on your watch before his parents lean in to hug him good night. You try to stand to the side, but his sister pulls you into the familial embrace.
“We’ll catch up with you both in two weeks. Mingyu, get the girl a ring!” Mr. Kim gives your shoulder a soft pat, and Mrs. Kim slips something into Mingyu’s pocket. She tries to be discreet, but your eyes dart to her hand as she waves goodbye. You do the same, your face hot at the idea of marrying into such a loving family.
Mingyu slides his hand in his pocket as you both walk to his car, his eyes widening as he pulls it back out. Two rings glimmer in the moonlight, ones you’d complimented on his mother’s hand at the beginning of dinner.
“Little soon for marriage, huh?” He thumbs at the diamonds, and you chew on your lip as you look at them. Your eyes flicker to his, a sparkle of excitement as you see him already looking at you. You clear your throat, holding your left hand up, “well...we can just see if they fit.”
“And if they do?”
“Then I guess we’re engaged, oh boyfriend of three-years.”
“I was nervous!”
Your laughter rings out in the nearly empty parking lot, “well, I love you, anyway. Three years or two days, you said forever and that you’d make good on that.”
“I did say that.” His hands are gentle against yours, trembling slightly as he slides both rings on. They fit snugly at the base of your finger, and you wiggle them with a little smile on your face.
“We can just be ‘engaged’ for like, two years. No one suspects anything then, wedding planning takes ages.”
“Or we can get married in six months. I have contacts everywhere and that’s when you’ll have enough PTO accrued for a honeymoon.”
“You’re crazy.” You scoff, “crazy and calculated, Kim Mingyu.”
“Crazy in love with you, but sure.” He rolls his eyes, opening the passenger door for you. “Mrs. Kim Y/N, in six months. Pencil me in, babe.”
“In your dreams.”
Kim Mingyu is the love of your life.
Sweet, thoughtful, and delicate. Fragile, even: in ego, in sex, in love.
You know he’s made for you. Like Adam was made for Eve. He still shows up with a bouquet every week, but your kitchen is now shared and nicely stocked with your favorite bottles of wine.
Kim Mingyu is the petals of every flower in all the bouquets he’s ever given you. Velvety soft, perfectly cared for and beautiful.
And just as he is all those things – he is your Achilles’ heel. You can never say no to Kim Mingyu, but you can finally admit that he is something more to you..perhaps, everything.
Friend, lover, soulmate – all in one. A BOGO deal, you’d say, and he’d argue he’s at least a buy two, get one.
But, no matter what – Mingyu knows exactly who he is in your life, and you in his. Glued together at the hip, working together (though you get to boss him around and he never thought he’d be into that, a thought penciled in for much, much later when you’re both working ‘overtime’ — read: his head between your thighs at your desk with your office door locked.)
Friends, lovers, soulmates – married (six months in, just like he’d said) and in love, two idiots held safely in the other’s ribcage.
— synopsis: you're alone in the woods following the tail-end of a very bad live-action rendition of the walking dead and you're in jeans of all things: but welcome to kim mingyu's early post-apocalyptic guide to falling in love. in three days, no less!
– genre: strangers to ??? ; post-apocalyptic au (think very, very early post-apocalypse) ; angst, fluff, mild smut.
— pairing: architect!kim mingyu x fem!reader
– word count: 42.1k
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warnings: swearing. mentions of zombies, though it's really not that serious or pertinent to the plot once they start spending time together. mentions of death, porn, wattpad...and essentially, they're fucking stupid. smut warnings: virgin!reader (so essentially mildly unrealistic but i do what i want) ; mingyu consent king because i said so, unprotected sex (it's the apocalypse where are they gonna find rubbers??), mild choking (f.rec), clit play, 'just the tip' (was not just the tip), fingering (f.rec), brief oral (f.rec), jokes during sex because i can't be serious to save my life, dirty talk, begging?, creampie (ew!!), pet names (baby, sweetness, slut (whoops)) and i think that's about it.
— what to listen to: sweetness - elliot james reay ; my kind of woman - mac demarco ; remedy - adele ; piece of my heart - janice joplin ; love at first sight - kylie minogue ; anyone - seventeen.
– author's note: welcome back to haologram. i want to preface that i don't know jackshit about zombie apocalypses but i know a lot about camping and angst! apologies for any typos, and thank you to @aeristudios for beta-ing this before i put in the smut (i am a woman of many talents, but smut is not one of them!) as always, thank you to @/saradika-graphics here on tumblr for these daisy dividers & this behemoth is dedicated to none other than @gyuswhore. to emberly: happiest birthday & congratulations on your graduation. i love you eternally. ♡
YOU HAVE NEVER KISSED A BOY.
It’s the only thing that crosses your mind as you sit in the middle of the forest, your hands covered in wild blackberry juice and blood from a gash on your palm, cause of the thorns. It sounds stupid, for that to be the thought that crosses your mind – but it means something to you.
You run your tongue over the gash, the metallic taste of blood mixing with the sweetness of the berry juice in a gross cocktail on the back of your tongue.
It was one of your hidden secrets.
One you talked about only to your pillow, not even bothering to waste precious gel ink on confessing it into your journal. You hid behind your hair in classes; you barely spoke up at your part-time job – letting your hands do the talking. You spent your hard-earned pennies on cool lip gloss: sparkly, shimmery, sticky and smelling of berries, vanilla, even mint. You were meant for more, you thought – your life couldn’t be all studying and entitled customers demanding half off their service.
You kept to yourself, and you had been close with two people: Lee Jian and Jang Jieun. Your best friends all through high school and college, glued at the hips like gum to shoes. They, too, knew of your lack of...boy kissing. Jieun had dated Jian’s cousin Hyunjin for three years before they broke up when he went abroad, and Jian had dated around through most of college – so neither of them had this problem.
And now, as the world continued to crumble around you, neither would you – it was unlikely. Eventually, almost surely – you would also succumb to the brain-melting that turned you into one of those undead things. Rotting, your flesh practically falling off the bone as you lost all sense of coordination and eventually, hopefully, got taken out by one of the surviving, merciful humans.
You lean your head back, scrunching your nose as your hair gets caught in the rough bark of the oak tree. You don’t bother complaining as you straighten again, rummaging through your backpack limply when you hear the familiar crunch of twigs. Your uninjured hand freezes, your shoulders tense as you peer over the edge of the ratty brown JanSport bag.
If it was slow, you could easily outrun it. You could climb one of the trees, you could kill it from a distance—
Your breath hitches as the rustling stops, and you look up through your lashes to see a very tall man looking down at you. He doesn’t look like he’s running; rather, walking – donning nice olive-green cargo shorts, a brown t-shirt paired with well-loved hiking boots and thick white socks. He wears a black watch that blinks 3:32 PM, and a silver chain peeks out from the collar of his shirt. Your fingers tighten inside the bag as you see him adjust the white cap on his head, and he raises a brow at you.
“It’s kind of counterproductive to hold a knife in your hand if you’re just going to...sit there.”
You glance down – your hand is gripping a red box cutter you’d taken from an abandoned warehouse you slept in a few weeks back. It had been a solace for a few days, until you heard the familiar chittering of the stupid, rotting bodies surrounding the building. You bolted out, leaving behind a rather large stockpile of bread and water – but you were alive, and you didn’t care.
Your bag was almost empty now; aside from the box cutter, some rope, a jar of honey you were almost too frugal with, half a sleeve of crackers, an extra pair of ratty socks and underwear, an unscented bar of soap...
And a stupid, unused tube of sparkly lip gloss that smelled like sickly sweet bubblegum. You didn’t even have a bra, the one you left with stolen by a fucking raccoon of all things.
“Are you hurt?”
His eyes are probing, and you remain silent as you nod slowly.
“Can you show me? I have—”
“Do you have any food?”
His eyes glimmer with amusement as he nods, and he tugs the packed rucksack off before crouching next to you. You push your own bag out of the way, pressing both your hands into your dirty jeans as you peer over the opening. The bag holds a netted pouch of oranges, apples and carrots, and there are tons of scattered plastic sandwich bags – not holding sandwiches, but what seemed to be dehydrated meals. Your eyes widen at the three biggest bottles of water you’d seen in weeks, your throat dry as you attempt to swallow. You’d run out the day before, hardly wanting to risk it with the streams.
“Can I—”
“Let me see where you’re injured, first. And we can wash your hands, too.”
You huff, sitting up on your knees and showing him your bleeding palm. The gash is still trickling, and he shakes his head as he fishes out a plastic first aid kit. You furrow your brow, watching as he pops it open to reveal it freshly stocked – and you move back slightly, eyes narrow.
“Where are you getting all this stuff from?”
He shrugs, “my family has a cabin in these woods. About a hundred miles north, give or take a few detours. But they’re gone, so. Yeah.”
Your heart sinks a bit for the too-friendly stranger, but you don’t let it tug too hard.
“...So, what are you doing out here? If you have shelter, I mean?”
“Looking for people to take back. You seem...alive. No undead freaks try to eat your brain yet?”
You try not to look offended at his questioning of your consciousness, but you can’t find it within yourself to say anything as he carefully pops open a bottle of antiseptic. He holds his hand out for yours, your eyes running over the healed calluses on his palms. You’re not as wary as you normally are and it worries you, but you place your own hand palm-up in his with a restrained tremble.
He’s cool to the touch. Almost as though he’d just run his hands through a stream, or the less possible option (for you, at least) — a nice, cold bath.
“How long have you been on your own?” He asks, and you’re easily distracted from the sting of antiseptic by his conversation. You shrug, watching the dirt and blood and sticky berry juice melt away as he wipes at your hand with a pinch in his brow.
“Since the beginning,” you mutter, your chest tight at the acknowledgement. Jieun and Jian had been amongst the first to go, and you’d narrowly escaped their attempt at infecting you by climbing out the window of your shared apartment after barricading your bedroom door. The entire ordeal had been so terrifying that you didn’t really remember it, much less how they got infected – but it wasn’t like you could do anything now.
You’d been on high alert since – your muscles tense as you prowled the streets alone. Your phone had been long dead, tucked in the very bottom of your bag. You tried payphones, but you grew more and more fearful of any sounds in your vicinity. The city was seemingly abandoned at that point; the chitter of the undead was the only thing you could hear for miles – and you missed the cicadas.
The man frowns, nodding as he smears a thick gel onto your palm. A roll of bandage is rummaged out of the bottom of his bag, and he carefully wraps your hand before tearing the end with his teeth and tucking it in place.
“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?” He mumbles, shoving the kit back into his bag. You shake your head eagerly, and he smiles inwardly before pulling out one of the bottles of water. He uncaps it for you, the click of a new bottle soothing to your ears. “Careful, you’ll throw it up if you drink too fast.”
You take the bottle gingerly, holding it awkwardly as you drink. It’s smooth down your dry throat, your eyes fluttering shut as you slump slightly against the oak tree. He chuckles softly, and you hold the bottle to your chest tightly with a pout on your lips.
“You have no idea how long I’ve needed that.”
“You also need a bath—”
“Will you shut up? I’m already down, don’t kick me anymore.”
He snickers, reaching into the rucksack and retrieving several bags.
“You have a name?”
“Obviously,” your tone is uninterested; eyes fixed on the bags in his hands. He glances up, wiggling his fingers to get your attention. You tongue your cheek as he tilts his head.
“Well, what is it?”
“What’s it to you, guy?”
You bite back a grin as he snorts, “cute. Fine, have your secrets.”
He holds up a bag, “this is something you can just soak in the water. It’ll be cold but it’s a meal, there’s rice—”
“That’s great and all, but I do not care. I’ve been surviving off berries, honey and a sleeve of crackers for three days. Just give it to me, please.” You hold your hand out, your exhaustion settling on your shoulders, making his eyes soften. He fishes out a thermos from his bag, placing it in your hand. You unscrew the top, warmth floating up to your face as you sniff it – your eyes never leaving him as he provides a spoon.
“Porridge. It’s plain, but—”
You don’t bother listening, your hand reaching into your bag and pulling out the honey jar. You take the spoon and shove it into the porridge, before thrusting the honey into his hands, open, please.”
You kneel closer to his bag as he pops the lid, your fingers wiggling through the netted bag and prying an apple out through the opening. Wiping it across your shirt, you sink your teeth into it and take a bite, holding it in your mouth before grabbing the now-open jar of honey from his hand and carefully tilting it into the thermos. A soft drip of nature’s gold swirls into the porridge, and you stir it in carefully before taking the apple between your fingers to spoon some into your mouth. It’s warm and sweet with the crunch of the apple, and you feel your eyes sting with tears as you lean your head back against the rough bark of the tree again. Your eyes close as you chew, a hot tear streaming down your cheek that you wipe away haphazardly, before practically inhaling the porridge as though it were your first meal ever.
Which...it kind of is, but that’s none of his business.
The guy just coos, watching you eat as he carefully repacks his bag and you adjust to fold your legs beneath you. The apple core is held between two of your fingers; the large bites subsiding as you scrape the bottom of the thermos for the last bit of porridge. He smiles inwardly, shaking his head as he holds his hand out for the items. He smiles inwardly, shaking his head as he holds his hand out for the thermos and spoon. You shovel the last bite into your cheek, coughing slightly around the last chunk of apple in your mouth as he screws the lid back onto the dish and shoves it to the bottom of his bag.
“Feel better?” He leans back on his hands, and you swallow hard around the porridge before reaching for the bottle of water. He takes it before you can, unscrewing the top and you mutter something adjacent to a thanks before carefully taking a sip. You hiccup slightly but fix your posture once more to sit with your back against the tree trunk.
“I missed hot food.” You admit, watching his hand spin the lid back onto your jar of honey. He slides it back into your bag, and you pull the ratty thing to your chest and look over at him. “Thanks for...helping me out. Uh, you didn’t have to.”
“Oh, it’s no problem.”
“You should get going. I’m sure someone else could need your help, too.”
He snorts, shaking his head, “I’m on my way up to the cabin. I don’t know how I missed you on the way down, but there is literally no one else in these woods aside from the occasional bear and deer. Have you ever had deer? Delicious.”
“No, I haven’t had deer. Are you always this talkative with strangers? Don’t you worry—” You cut yourself off, narrowing your eyes as you scoot back slightly, “aren’t you worried about stranger danger?”
“Stranger danger became a thing of the past when that loser in those downtown chemistry labs released that stupid experiment upon the general public. If you were so worried about me, you wouldn’t have eaten the porridge, drank the water, or let me bandage you up.” He shrugs, before giving you a pointed look, “you’re injured, hungry, in jeans of all things and you’re lost.”
“I am not lost.” You huff, and he raises a brow as he speaks, “yeah? Which way is North?”
“That way.”
“That’s left, my friend.”
“And it’s about time you do just that, guy. I am not your friend, either.”
“You’re quick with it. I like that.” He laughs, before gesturing at the bottle in your lap. “You can keep that, and we can refill it along the way.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere—”
“Again, you’re hungry, you’re lost and you’re dirty. I have food, I know this place like the back of my hand, and we can get you a nice bath if you just chill out.”
“Did you just call me uptight?” You scoff, crossing your arms as he bites back a smile, shrugging one shoulder as he zips his bag closed, hiking it over the other and standing carefully. He dusts his hands of debris, giving you a lopsided smirk.
“I said no such thing.”
“You implied it.” You hop to your feet, and he only smiles down at you. The warmth in it makes your stomach settle slightly, but your brows remain furrowed as he leans down and picks your bag up by the strap. He hitches it over the same shoulder holding his own, before moving forward.
“Come on, stinky. We’ll get you cleaned up, and you can joint he rest of the people I’ve found at the cabin.”
“I do not stink! How dare you—”
“Come on, princess. There’s a spring deeper in the forest. When was the last time you took a bath?”
You reluctantly follow behind him, your fingers gripping the water bottle before he takes it and tucked it into the netted pocket of his rucksack. You tongue your cheek, wrapping your arms around yourself and tucking your fingertips under your sleeves as a breeze blows softly. Autumn would set in soon, and maybe the end of the despair, too.
“Did you hear me?” He prods, and you kick a patch of grass behind his boot. He snickers, swatting his hand behind him and brushing your elbow. You smack the heel of his hand, his fingers pulling your fingertips before you twist them out of his hold.
“Three days ago. I finished the last of my water cleaning myself up, I don’t trust the streams.” You mutter, wrapping your arms around you tighter as you move to his side. He bumps his hip to yours with purpose, and you spare him a glance to see his soft smile. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m clean.”
“I’m not some weirdo, you know. I know these woods, and I wouldn’t put you in danger. You have to have some inkling of that, too, because you’re following me.” He raises his brows at you, and you only roll your eyes, kicking more twigs and pebbles.
“Yeah, right. I don’t even know your name, guy.”
“Well, it’s—”
You throw your hand up, the bandaged injury brushing his shoulder as you shake your head.
"Don't tell me. You'll get attached and I fly solo."
"…Right. Totally, princess. There's a spring this way—"
"Stop calling me that!"
"Well, it's not like I know your name, right?" He smiles cheekily, and you bite your tongue as you move ahead of him. Your back is damp from sweating in the sticky August afternoon, but you hold your head high as you keep trudging forward. This guy seemingly took pleasure in bugging you like his life depended on it; granted, you'd been in these woods for almost a month and a half and hadn't seen another living soul…you can't really blame him.
But because you'd been alone for so long, you also couldn't really blame yourself for not wanting to get attached. Who knew what lingered in these woods — bears, mountain lions…more of the undead, and creepy crawlers that would kill you without a second thought. All you could do was hope that he wasn't one of those.
"So," He starts, and you almost want to punch him in the face as you curl your fingers into your palms and tuck them under your armpits. He only chuckles at the visual, "what did you do before the world started crumbling?"
"I was an architecture student with a focus on interior design. Three months from graduation and with a first-class ticket to to Germany where I scored a major internship." You grouse, your eyes still glued to the forest floor. You kick a bigger rock out of your way with the tip of your canvas sneakers, "I was top of my class. My models were outstanding. I was displayed all over my professor's lecture hall. I would've been great. God, I would've been so fucking great. Stupid outbreak."
"Isn't surviving on your own for this long also something you could consider greatness?" He questions you carefully, almost as though you're a ticking bomb with no timer. You only shrug.
"That just means you're great, too."
"You don't think I'm great?"
"I think you're annoying. God, is this spring actually close or are you just gonna lead me down some ridiculous winding path?"
He snorts, his fingers cool against your skin as he carefully tilts your face to the left. The spring is down the hill, seemingly man-made and lined with big boulders. Your eyes widen, and you swat his hand away as you make your way down. He follows closely behind, your excited cheers being heard all throughout the woods as you slide down the hill, crouching on one of the boulders and sticking your hands into the flowing water. The water is slightly warm from the high sun but refreshing to the touch as you press your wet fingers against your neck, a sigh slipping from your throat as you dip them below the collar of your shirt.
"God, that's good." The sigh of relief from your lips must be amusing, because you hear a soft chuckle from the top of the hill. You quickly untie your shoes, ripping them off your feet and stuffing your socks into them. You dip your feet in, sore and blistered from days of walking as he slides down the hill.
"You should…take a dip. I can wash your clothes down the stream."
You scoff, "that's vulgar. A stranger washing my intimates? Please."
"You can wash your pink panties yourself, princess. I'm talking about your shirt and jeans. I have a change, if you want it." He rolls his eyes, tugging at hem of your shirt over the belt loops of your jeans. You swat his hand away, "go away! I can wash my own clothes! And I have a change, too!"
"Whatever you say, princess. I'll be down this way…enjoy. Holler if you need me." He shrugs, standing abruptly as you scoff inwardly. You cross your arms as he crunches leaves and twigs beneath his heavy boots, and you nibble on your lip as you stare at the water. A groan leaves your lips.
"Are you sure this water's safe!?" You call out, hearing an annoying chuckle from a few feet away.
"Do you want me to get in with you, princess?"
"Ugh, men." You grumble, tonguing your cheek as you stare at the water. You weren't a camper or anything, and your family never frequented hiking trails or the great outdoors all that often…but if he fed you, and he led you there, and he had experience in these woods…he had to know something, right?
Hesitantly, you peek over the boulders to see him holding a rag in his hand, his bag still hitched over his shoulder as he plucked berries skillfully from a bush. Blackberries, you think — but not too much as you strip yourself of your top and jeans, folding them neatly on one of the boulders before glancing over your shoulder again. He's kneeling now, still carefully sorting through brambles and thumbing berries as you cross your arms around your chest, ignoring the heat radiating off your cheeks as you remember that your underwear is in fact, pink, and only turning darker as the water soaks into it.
You're not gonna let a man you don't know see your intimates!
You wade into the water, cool against your skin as you reach about neck deep. A sigh falls from your lips as you lean your hair back into the water, refreshing against your scalp. Your eyes are closed as you swim through the water, working away the ache in your shoulders from your backpack straps being too tight.
"Feels good, huh?"
Your eyes immediately fly open, your arms wrapping around your chest as you look up to see the guy setting his bag down…with his eyes closed. He's set down the berries on the boulder where your clothes are, but they're not blackberries. They're red, and kind of enticing as you try your best to quietly swim over. You lift yourself up slightly, covering your chest with your arms still as you touch one with your wet hand.
"What are these?" You pick one up, piercing the flesh cell with your fingernail as he shrugs, eyes still closed as he expertly digs through his rucksack. You throw the berry at him, hitting him square in the chest and making him tongue his cheek as he shakes his head.
"Thimbleberries. You can eat some if you want, they're pretty good. I use the bark to make soap, which is what I'm going to give you here in a second."
"Bark to make soap? Incredible." You murmur, eyeing the berry in your hand. You run it under the water, wiping at the flesh carefully with the pad of your thumb before taking a tentative nip. The juice is sweet in the forefront of your mouth but tart on the back of your tongue, a hum from your throat catching his attention.
"Good? I like it as spread. Sometimes we make wine back at the cabin, or those fruit leather strips." He nods, eyes still closed as you throw another berry at him. "Stop that! You're wasting berries and I worked hard to pick those!"
"Open your eyes, dude. You can't see anything from where you are." You roll your eyes, and he lets out a huff as he tentatively peels open one eye. You give him a pointed look, holding out one of the washed berries as he pouts, plucking it from your fingers and stuffing it into his cheek as he speaks.
"I'm just trying to be respectful."
"And I appreciate that, but I'm sure you've seen boobs before."
He rolls his eyes, "that's not the point."
"The point, guy, is that I don't care. You've seen boobs and it's not like you're gonna do anything to me, so what the hell. We can be adults about this." You shrug, shoveling another berry into your mouth. "Now, what's this bark soap shit you're talking about? How does that work?"
"You've warmed up to me really quickly, haven't you?"
"The worst you could do is kill me. You don't have the guts, and I'm faster than you."
Your voice is confident as you take more berries in your hand, making him shake his head in amusement as he digs into the bag one more time. A flash crosses his eyes, and he pulls his hand out to reveal a small bottle with a pink cap.
"Here it is!" He holds it out to you, popping the cap to waft the smell into your face. You crinkle your nose, backing up slightly when he rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on! It smells nice!"
"It smells like eucalyptus and despair, and I can taste it. I hate that, bleugh." You make a disgusted face as you bite into another berry to erase the scent from your palate, and he frowns.
"It's either eucalyptus and despair or you stink for the next two days."
"I do not stink!"
He snorts, and you reluctantly hold your hand out for it. He drops it into your palm, "I wouldn't recommend…being in the spring while you wash. You'll contaminate it."
"So what do you suggest I do, genius? Give myself a little sponge bath?" You scoff, only for him to nod as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. You give him a deadpan look, slapping the boulder beneath your arms. "How the hell would I do that?"
"Uh, you step out and scrub yourself with a washcloth, then rinse until you're clean? The point of hiking is to enjoy nature while preserving it, princess."
"This is surviving, guy. Not hiking for fun!"
"Still. You may be faster but I'm stronger and I have no problem fishing you out myself." He shrugs, and you suck your teeth as you stare up at him. He doesn't budge, his eyes stern as he gestures you to get out.
"I don't like you, guy." You mutter, and he only snickers as you make your way to a lower boulder to pull yourself out. He looks away, digging in his bag quickly before pulling out a soft washcloth and handing it to you blindly. You snatch it out of his hand as you pull yourself onto the boulder, making a wet plop sound as you sit on the edge.
"I'll…give you some privacy. Just give me—"
"A holler, yeah. Scram, guy."
He does just that. You do as you're told, peeling your soaked underwear off and scrubbing yourself silly with the stinky soap and washcloth— unfortunately, feeling a lot cleaner than you had in months. Your scalp tingles as you haphazardly scrub the soap into it, and you feel almost insane as you keep looking over your shoulder to see him nowhere to be found. You rinse yourself off with the bottle of water he'd given you, glancing over to see he's left his rucksack and your backpack next to you. You grab yours, fishing out the pair of clean underwear and pulling it over your legs before ringing your hair out.
"Uh, hey, guy? Do you have a shirt in this thing?" You call out, glancing over your shoulder to see him jerk his head up from under the berry brambles. He quickly shuts his eyes as you cover your chest, your cheeks warming as he stutters.
"Y-Yeah, yep! Uh, just…dig around!"
You do just that, holding your arm over your chest as you root in the bag, pulling a brown shirt out and quickly pulling it over your head. You dip your feet back into the spring, "Thanks, I got it! We're good!"
"Great, great." He stumbles back over, holding the rag of berries in his hand before clearing his throat. "Are you…you're not gonna walk around like that, are you?"
"Well, I was kind of hoping to wash my clothes and just…lay here until dusk. Then…fall asleep in a tree or something." You shift, and you glance over to see him trying to hold in either a fart or laughter. You guess the latter as a smile breaks through, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as he turns his face away.
He clears his throat, letting out a suspicious cough as you narrow your eyes.
"You're laughing at me."
"I'm not, promise."
"You're a liar."
He lets out a breath, corners of his lips upturning involuntarily as he smooths his shorts with his hands. "I am not. You're just…funny."
"So you are laughing!"
"This is bear country, sweetness." He manages, clearing his throat again and fighting back his smile. "We can't stay here. Bears climb trees, bears maul you, then you're dead before the world's back in order. Wouldn't want you to miss that internship."
"Yeah right, internship's as dead and gone as any idea of society rebuilding itself after this. At this point we'll have to repopulate—" You cut yourself off, looking at him to see his eyes wide and cheeks red from the hot sun. "Uh…I just don't have very high hopes for that. So, I'm just going to take it day by day, I guess. If I die, then I die."
"Except you won't, because you have me! So, get up. There's a cave we can camp in around here, trust." He rolls his eyes, flipping through his rucksack before producing a pair of shorts and holding them out to you. "…Seriously, you're not gonna walk around in your underwear, right? You'll get eaten alive by the mosquitoes."
"Not true, guy. The DCA—"
"You wanna trust the DCA right now?"
He gives you a look of disbelief, and you shrug.
"A study in 2014—"
"That was a decade ago, sweetheart."
"I'm not your sweetheart, and who cares? Eucalyptus oil was approved as an effective mosquito repellent. If I get bit, I'll put my jeans back on. Not a big deal."
"What if that virus is zoonotic?" He argues, shaking the shorts in his hands as a way to emphasize his point. You raise a brow, crossing your arms as you jut your hip out.
"This ass is hypnotic, so at least I'll die knowing I gave it my all."
"I have another pair, just put them on. You're not being serious right now."
"Take a look if you want, pervert." You scoff, before crouching to gather your dirty clothes. You stuff them into your bag, before peeling your socks out of your shoes with a discontented sigh. There's a hole in the toe, but the other socks have suffered the same fate. You sit on the boulder to pull them over your feet anyway, before his hand wraps around your ankle and he snatches it out of your hand.
"Stinky, worn thin and one, two, three holes. Good grief, princess." He mutters, tossing it onto your lap before grabbing a fresh pair and a little box from his rucksack. You have half a mind to pull your leg away, but something about the cool feeling of his fingers around your hot skin makes you sit still as he cracks the box open. "These are moleskin bandages. We'll change them every night, because your shoes are horrible for this."
He touches the side of your pinky toe, hearing you hiss before examining the sole of your foot with a frown. He pads at it with his thumb, tonguing his cheek as he sets it on his knee to look at the other.
"You'll need insoles. I'll have to see what size boot you wear when we get back to the cabin, these are no good." He reaches over to grab your sneaker, peeking inside to see the soles worn and thin. He shakes his head, "maybe I should just carry you. This really won't do."
"I'm not a baby." You spit back, and his hand on your foot squeezes, making you wince. You kick him gently, only for him to pop your toes with one hand as you squirm.
"Not a baby, my ass." He moves to tend to your foot silently, even reaching into his bag several times for different ointments and oils before your feet are covered in slivers of moleskin bandages. He shoves the socks on, rolling the ankles as you realize how thick they are. He puts your shoes on for you, double-knotting the laces before glancing at the shorts.
"You sure you don't want them?"
"Good God, man. If it makes you feel better, I'll wear your stupid shorts."
"Well, now I don't want to give them to you." He sniffs, grabbing the shorts by the pocket as you loop your fingers into the waistband. "My shorts are not stupid."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, shorts. I'm so sorry your owner is restricting—"
"Shut up!"
"Good, now you know how annoying you are." You suck your teeth, yanking the shorts out of his hand and pulling them over your legs quickly. You tuck the drawstring until they're snug, before standing and pulling your backpack over your shoulder. "Now, move it, guy. I'm tired and I want to rest without feeling like I'm gonna die."
You shove past him, marching off with no direction as he snorts behind you. You hear him behind you; the rustle of his bag being thrown over his shoulder. You keep walking aimlessly, before crossing your arms on your chest and talking over your shoulder.
"What did you do before the world decided to end?"
"I thought you said you didn't wanna get attached, princess?"
You scoff, "yeah, that's why you don't need to know my name. That's how people keep stray animals, you know. They say they'll only take care of them until they're healthy, then they name the thing and suddenly that animal is getting scraps off the table and it sleeps at the foot of the bed."
He chuckles, his stride lengthening to end up next to you. He tilts you slightly to the left, to a different pathway than your original wandering.
"That's a good point, I guess. But like animals, people are won over by personalities. We could have things in common, shared experiences and the like."
"I doubt you and I have anything in common, guy." You quip, shaking your head and feeling your damp hair brushing your neck. You swipe it back, behind your ears as he hums.
"You sure?"
"I won't like you anyway. You're annoying and invasive, you know that?"
"Annoying and invasive got you clean, fed, and is now finding you a place to sleep. I'd watch that mouth if I were you."
You don't like the way your stomach flutters at his tone, but you scoff anyway.
"Throwing it in my face only shows you're doing it to make yourself the good guy."
"Or it's me reminding you that you don't know me, and I don't have to do this."
"See my previous statement, guy."
He only clicks his tongue, shoving his hands in his back pockets as he shrugs.
"So what did you do? Were you always a professional loser?" You loll your head back, looking up at him as he runs his tongue over his lip.
"You're mean, you know that?"
"You'll learn to like it."
"No doubt about that, princess."
He pushes you behind him as he steps in front of you, a rockier path leading downwards appearing a few feet ahead. He reaches back, his fingers brushing your hip before you instinctively give him your hand. He grips it carefully, his other hand reaching back to hold your hip as he leads you down the unstable terrain.
"I was an architect with a Master's degree in interior design. I completed my degrees in three years because I was an overachiever, but that got me chances to design three buildings downtown and a few apartment buildings in the outskirts. I was working on a house before the outbreak started." His voice is straight, almost a bit solemn as he kicks a few rocks out of the way. "It was for my family, but you know how the wind blows."
You feel your chest tight as you reach the bottom of the terrain, his hand slipping off your hip, but you don't let his hand go as he moves to pull it away. He glances down at you, and you clear your throat as you drop his hand, rubbing your palm on the back of your shorts.
"I'm sorry for your loss…guy."
"Life goes on, princess."
You hate the way your heart sinks as he shrugs, before his hands tilt your shoulders to the right. You force one foot in front of the other, clearing your throat again and staring up at the trees surrounding you.
"How do you feel about mahogany?" You blurt, tucking your hands behind your back as he carefully maneuvers your shoulders to move you in certain directions. He snorts, "mahogany? The wood?"
"Yeah. Let's have a conversation."
"You feel bad now, don't ya?"
"Never fucking mind."
His laugh is full bellied as you stalk forward exaggeratedly, your shoes kicking pebbles and twigs out of the way as you worm your way along. He catches up to you in two quick strides, the heel of his boot nudging the back of your sneaker as you stop to climb over a fallen log.
"Stop that!"
"I like mahogany, but mostly for flooring, staircases and doors. Not so much for anything that's eye level or above, I think it's too heavy. It's too rich of a color to be so high, I think."
You feel your lip twitch as you manage to get over the fallen log, crossing your arms defiantly as you glance over your shoulder to see him doing the same.
"Hm."
"Disagree?"
"No."
He smiles inwardly, but you quickly face forward once more as a clearing comes into view. Running water can be heard in the distance, and you try to walk confidently as the path becomes muddy.
"How do you feel about…elm burl?" You try, any nonchalance escaping your throat as he hums next to you, his lips pursing as he shakes his head.
"I love the patterns on it, but I don't think it's ethical to use it. It's so scarce and deforestation is a problem as it is, I can't imagine using it willynilly. Or willingly, actually. There are better materials."
You blink up at him, your cheeks warming as he glances down at you. His brow raises, "what?"
"Nothing."
"It's something. What, you like burl?"
"No, I actually hate burl. I don't think it's worth the time it takes to harvest, and I don't like the fact that people think the scarcity makes it more beautiful. It feels superficial and it grosses me out when I see homes that have it because I just know they paid up the ass for it. I know it's a great wood for homes in terms of durability and even super moisture resistant but it's frustrating to see the ignorance go over people's heads." You huff, crossing your arms tighter as he nods slowly, a quick hum from his throat as you look away.
"Sorry."
"No, I like it. You've got passion."
"Whatever." You roll your eyes, feeling your ears grow hot as he scoffs, his hip bumping yours with purpose. You swat at him, his hand grabbing your wrist and pushing it away as he speaks.
"It's good that you're like that! I knew so many people in the industry who didn't care. You don't know how frustrating it is…or maybe you do, depending on who you know." He grouses, his lip jutted out in a pout as you stop at the edge of the path. Lower is more muddy terrain, but you're too in awe of the beautiful waterfall to even care.
"Woah." Your arms fall to your sides, your eyes wide as he stops next to you.
"It's pretty, isn't it?"
"Will you judge me if I cry?"
"Yes."
"You suck," you shove his arm lightly, before wrapping your fingers around the straps of your bag tightly. You watch the water flow, before feeling his hand on the back of your head. He turns it slowly, and you see a series of boulders leading up to the waterfall.
"Wanna see it up close, princess?"
You don't get a chance to respond as he takes your arm anyway, pulling you down the terrain and around the water. You try your best to keep up, carefully maneuvering over bigger rocks and shaking your arm out of his grasp, only for him to reach back again and you slide your hand into his.
Like it's normal.
Because it is.
"Be careful, alright? These are slippery." He pulls you in front of him as the boulders appear in front of him, moving your hands to hold onto the dry edges. You wedge the tip of your shoes into the gathered rocks beneath it, and he grips your hips to hoist you up easily.
And you ignore the stupid flutter in your stomach again, standing up straight and moving out of the way as he pulls himself up with ease. You flicker your eyes away from the bulge of his biceps against the fabric of his shirt, swallowing hard as you carefully make your way up the boulders.
The spray of the waterfall is cooling against your warm skin, your eyes wide as you watch it cascade over the rocky ledge. You carefully put your bag down as he reaches your side, your fingers poking through the running water. You crouch down, running your fingers along the jagged edge of the platform you're standing on.
"How'd you find this?" You voice is full of air, only to hear him hum behind you, the weight of his rucksack hitting the stone as he sets it down. You glance over your shoulder to see him staring at the water, head tilted to the side as he shrugs.
"I found it on the way down, actually. It was pouring and I couldn't risk sleeping in one of the trees or in one of the tents. I used to play a game on Nintendo that had a world with a cavern behind a waterfall and when I saw this one, I looked around. The cavern, I mean, and there's no bears or anything. Lots of stalactite, though; it's pretty cool." He nods, looking down at you. You must look amused, because he scoffs. "What's so funny?"
"You play Nintendo games?"
"I was a boy once! A teenager!"
"What game was it? Super Mario Odyssey? The first world has a waterfall. Actually, a couple of them do, I think." You turn your attention back to the water, only to feel him crouch next to you. He wraps his arms around his knees, sticking one hand into the water as he clicks his tongue.
"It was, actually. Nerd."
"No way, loser."
"Way," he chuckles, pressing his wet fingers against his neck before carding them through his hair. "I'm gonna check out the cavern, make sure nothing's in there. I'll catch a fish or something and we can eat before we turn in for the night."
"Oh, I'm not all that hungry—" Your lie is cut off by the grumble in your stomach, and you give an exaggerated cough to cover it up before he nudges you with his elbow. He has a knowing look on his face, rolling his eyes at you as he stands up straight. He turns on his heel, and you watch over your shoulder as he takes a flashlight out of the pocket of his bag. He clicks it on, whistling to himself as he ventures fearlessly into the cavern.
You let your shoulders relax as he disappears, a breath falling from your lips as you sit on the ground. You tug your shoes off, tossing them to the side before laying on your back next to the water with your knees bent, crossing your arms on your chest. Closing your eyes, you let the anxiety of trusting a stranger seep out of your bones — because had he wanted to harm you…he would've done it already.
Some people are good!
Your nose burns as tears line your lashes, but you find an odd comfort in the sound of the waterfall paired with crickets you hadn't heard the entire time you were alone. Practicing vigilance, constantly being on edge…lack of sleep from almost falling off tree branches definitely left your body in fight or flight mode. You don't remember the last time you cried, either — likely even before the outbreak, if not the day you found out you got the internship in Germany.
"Fuck," You mutter, covering your face as you remember the letter you left on your desk, the envelope practically shredded from your excited hands. You'd even bought a frame to hang it over your desk, but it had been left dismantled for days while you called everyone who knew, while you celebrated and recovered from the gnarliest hangover you'd ever had. And it stayed there, when you escaped your roommates by a hair and fucked off into the woods.
Your mind races with what ifs.
What if you hadn't gotten out? What if you'd come home later like you'd planned to, having been asked to dinner by one of your group mates to compare notes? What if you'd been more prepared — the university had done everything to keep the students calm, promising a safe, virus-free environment. You'd packed a bag haphazardly, anyway, leaving it propped on your windowsill should you ever need it. You practiced constant distancing, staying two feet or more away from anyone at all times.
The outbreak at the University started with the football team. A nice boy named Jaehyun was in the wrong place at the wrong time, only to trail his way back onto campus during a tailgate and infect three other people before he was taken out by two cheerleaders with a crowbar. At least, that's how you remember it before you practically sprinted your way back to the dormitory, finding Jian and Jieun along the way and telling them what had happened. They immediately u-turned with you, and you all packed your bags that night. T-shirts, tank tops, underwear…snacks and water.
Eventually, you'd be the only one to use yours. Shirts ripped from snagging on tree bark; snacks finished within three weeks of your escape. You rationed water so carefully that you were in a constant state of dehydration, until you found the stocked warehouse. There was only one person there, and she never spoke to you — ducking out of the facility within hours of your arrival. You gorged yourself on the bread and canned foods, spearing them open with your box cutter and drinking all the water you could reach for.
Until that place was raided by those things, and you once more narrowly escaped.
You'd been in the woods since. Alone, tired, hungry. Cold on some nights, having lost your only sweater to a tree branch tearing straight through it when you fell off. Your jeans were wearing thin, and the summer heat only made surviving all the harder — but for whatever reason, despite your pessimism, you couldn't bring yourself to give up.
You were meant for more.
"You alright?"
His voice startles you, making you jolt up. You clear your throat, running your hand through your hair as you nod almost too quickly.
"Yeah. Yep, fine. Is uh…are you good?" You curse yourself for stuttering, staring at the scar on your knee from when you fell off your scooter as a kid. He crouches down next to you again, facing you before you hear the click of the flashlight. You look at him out of the corner of your eye, his own glued to your face.
"You're not a very good liar, you know that?” His voice is softer, but you scoff as you tilt away.
"I'm a great liar, thank you."
"Tell me a lie right now."
"You're cute."
You roll your eyes as he gapes, shoving your knee with the end of his flashlight. "You take that back! I'm very cute!"
"Sure, guy." You snort, before tilting your head towards the rucksack. "Aren't you tired from carrying that thing? Don't you have like, shoulder pain? Shouldn't you lay down?"
"Worried about my well-being, princess?" He teases, and you raise a brow at him, an almost disinterested look crossing your features as you nod.
"Yeah, who else will lead to me safety? If you're exhausted, you'll make all sorts of mistakes—"
"It would actually kill you to be nice, wouldn't it?"
His voice is still lighthearted, eyes warm as you turn to look at him. You run your eyes along his face, taking in his features before you blink slowly, meeting his eyes once more with a shrug of your shoulders.
"It might, I don't know. I've never tried it."
"Might be a good time to start, pretty."
"Shut up," you roll your eyes, pushing yourself off the ground and grabbing his flashlight. You tug your shoes on haphazardly as he snickers to himself, and you feel his eyes follow you as you flip the flashlight in your hand. You click it on, shining it into the cavern as he gets up to follow behind you. Your eyes widen as you flash the light up to the hanging stalactites, your lips parting with a soft woah.
"Nice, isn't it?"
"Beautiful. It's shimmering, the salt. Do you see it?"
"It's even prettier when it's warmer light. We'll light a fire in here in a bit, you'll see."
You nod, carefully trudging forward, "do you think any animals have ever lived here? Bats, even?"
"If that were the case, I think we'd be surrounded by bat shit."
"Bat guano is actually very important for some cave-dwellers. Lots of animals eat it."
"Taking the phrase 'eat shit' to another level, huh?" He makes a sound of disgust, only making you chuckle as you shake your head.
"Well, the animals who eat it are inherently gross to the average person, anyway. They're detritivores, the bugs and stuff that eat it. They're eaten by spiders, and pseudoscorpions. Ever seen a pseudoscorpion? Cutest little dudes."
He doesn't reply, making you glance over your shoulder to see him smiling inwardly as he looks at the ground. You narrow your eyes but move your attention to the pebbled floor beneath you. You run the light over it, seeing the toe of your shoe incredibly close to an otherwise blind pseudoscorpion. Your eyes widen as you crouch, your fingers gently pinching its round body as you turn to him.
"Look! See? Pseudoscorpion; claws like a scorpion, but he's just a little guy." You smile widely, holding the light above the small arachnid. "Not dangerous to humans at all, either. Very helpful, they eat bugs and pests, which makes them…"
You trail off as you notice how intently he's looking at you, his hands clasped in front of him. You clear your throat before quickly setting it down and watching it scurry away. "Anyway, uh. Yeah, so there was likely a bat colony here at some point. Maybe a couple big spiders, but they won't do anything to us if we don't bother them."
You nod, pressing your lips into a thin line before turning on your heel and venturing deeper into the cave.
"Why do you do that?" His voice rings out behind you, and you stop walking, glancing over your shoulder.
"Huh?"
"Why do you stop yourself from talking about things you like? Or get embarrassed by it?"
Your cheeks feel hot as you turn fully, but you keep a straight face as you tilt your head, opening your mouth to say something when you see him hold up the pseudoscorpion you'd put down. He holds it out to you, taking the flashlight from your hand and lowering the brightness to create a spotlight of sorts as you take the animal in your hand. He shines the light on your hand, eyes expectant and…warm.
"They're…uh, so they're synanthropic, or synanthropes. Like raccoons, that means they're technically harmless to us, but they've developed in environments near humans for so long that they can benefit from us without being a bother. Generally, that is." You nod slowly, before gesturing at the spindly arms the arachnid is holding up. "Their pinchers have venom they use to subdue their prey, usually smaller bugs like ants or mites, but it's not enough to cause damage to a human. They also have spider-like silk glands in their jaws, which helps them stay safe during winters. There are more than four thousand species of these things."
You clear your throat, "my father was an entomologist. He and I were really close before the outbreak, and he liked arachnids most. He was covered in tattoos of bugs, but he had one of these on his wrist for me, and he had a sequin spider on his chest and a peacock parachute on his arm for my mother. When I asked why I got this one, he said it was because I was half of him, and half of my mother; but that's a story for another day."
Pressing your lips together, you carefully place the arachnid back on the ground, watching it pinch at a passing ant. You let a smile cross your face, before feeling the heat of his eyes on you.
"I don't like bugs, personally." He starts, bringing the brightness back up on the flashlight and handing it to you. "I think my biggest fear is actually wasps."
You nod, biting back a smile as you shrug, "wasps are the Devil incarnate, so I don't blame you. Such angry things."
"Exactly! How is it my fault that I have to go outside? Should I just cease to exist for them?" He pouts, crossing his arms on his chest as you chuckle, tapping the flashlight against his arm before slipping past him.
"Let's get outta here, I'm starting to feel itchy." You say, carefully maneuvering your way back out of the cavern with him hot on your heels. The air outside is sticky, warmer than inside the dark cave, but it's welcome as you flick off the flashlight. "I'm getting tired."
"I'll get started on dinner, then." He nods, and you don't get a chance to say anything before he stops, looking at you over his shoulder, " and I'll listen to you any time. So just…talk, yeah?"
Your eyes widen, but you can't reply as he makes his way down the boulders, pulling something shiny out of his pocket. You hear a click as he reaches the edge of the water, and you peer over the ledge to see him crouched, his hand stuffed in his pocket before pulling out a palm full of what looks like to be seeds. His eyes are concentrated as you lay on your belly, using your elbows to prop yourself up and watch him toss the seeds into the water.
Almost instantly, the surface ripples with fish — a quick flick of his wrist pinning one of the poor fish in place on the rocky spring floor. The rest scatter, his jaw tight as he reaches into the water from the shore and plucks the fish out, pulling the knife out and rinsing it in the water. He clicks it closed, shoving it back into his pocket before laying the fish on one of the boulders.
You watch him repeat the process twice, from different angles around the spring until he silently returns to the boulder with his pile. You keep watching as he examines the fish carefully, running his fingers over the scales and tosses one into the woods behind him with a tick in his jaw. He stills suddenly, looking around before meeting your eyes. The tips of his ears tinge pink as you blink at him, his voice clear as he speaks to you.
"Are you just watching me?"
You don't respond verbally, only nodding as a smile creeps onto your lips. He shakes his head, muttering to himself as he descales the fish quickly. Your eyes are low as fatigue begins to sink into your bones, before you hear his voice again.
"You're real pretty up there, but you'd be prettier if you gathered some wood. Hop to, princess." He calls, using his knife to gesture around himself. You scowl as he looks up, a toothy grin on display as he waves you down. "I can't have you falling asleep just yet, you'll miss dinner. Come on."
Scoffing, you ignore the heat in your cheeks as you push yourself off the ledge, carefully making your way down the boulders. You land on the ground with a crunch of twigs beneath you, making faces at him as you start picking sticks up. You hold them against your arm, examining them and plucking any remaining leaves off before you come across the fish he threw behind him. You glance up, seeing his back muscles tense beneath his shirt as you leave it where it is, his silver chain sparkling in the sun; picking up the sticks around it and covering it carefully.
"Why'd you kill it if you weren't going to eat it?" You ask as you near him, holding your collection in your arms. Your shoulder brushes his arm as you peer at the fish in his hands, "how do you know what fish is okay to eat?"
"You kind of just have to trust your gut and also, fully cook it. We've never had advisories around here, and there's no salmon in these areas. If you see a bear with tapeworm around, it's usually from the fish in the waters. Therefore, don't eat the fish." He says pointedly, carefully clipping the fins of the fish off, "you'll know what to do depending on what the conditions are. You have to be alert and pay attention to your surroundings."
"So, why'd you kill it?" You ask again, watching him look away as he sliced the head clean off with a shudder.
"It's either sick and dying or getting ready to die. It was bloated around the kidneys; it likely had disease. It wouldn't have spread to the other fish, but it's always best to put them out of their misery." He nods, before grabbing the head and throwing it as far as he could into the woods. You hear it land somewhere, but don't look away from his hands as you clear your throat.
"Have you ever killed anything else?" You ask softly, and he glances down at you with concern.
"Not people, if that's what you're asking."
Your face must show relief because he lets out a laugh of disbelief. "There's no way you think I'm capable of that. I have morals."
"I don't know that, guy."
"Well, now you know. The biggest thing I've ever killed was a trout when I was sixteen, and I cried the entire summer. I couldn't eat it, either; my mother made me soup for three nights." He rolls his eyes, and you look at the fish in his hands, holding out one of the sticks. He takes it, stripping it of the bark with his knife before spearing the fish on it.
"Then how do you know deer is good?"
"I'll only eat it if someone else takes it out. I'm good at a lot of things but I can't kill anything. Fishing is the closest I get to it, and even then, I'm only doing it out of pure survival. I've never been a good hunter; it makes me sad and…queasy."
You nod, watching him behead the other fish before looking up at him.
"So, what about those undead things? Would you kill one?"
"I've had the pleasure of never coming across one. I think, morally…"
He trails off, spearing the fish with the stick before tossing the other head into the woods. He sighs, looking down at you.
"They're already dead. Out of survival, you have to do it if you're in danger. It's the only way I can justify it, if it were the case." He holds the stick of fish out to you, scooping the wood out of your arms as you take hold of the stick. "I have a lot of morals and values that I'm not willing to give up, even out of survival. I believe things should happen naturally, but I also don't believe anyone should suffer. That fish was suffering, and likely in pain. Those things…they're rotting from the inside out, they're suffering and in turn, making others suffer. Full death is the only option."
You nod silently as you both climb the boulders, his hand on your back at an arm's length from behind to catch you if you slip. You both make it back to the ledge, and you glance over your shoulder to see him looking into the forest before scooting into the waterfall.
"The sun is starting to set, so we'll have dinner and then you can get some rest. I'll stand watch for a bit." His voice is a little flat as he makes his way towards you, and you feel a bit of guilt settle in your belly.
"Sorry if that conversation made you uncomfortable." You murmur as he walks by, and he waves you off as he slips into the cavern, only taking three steps into it before answering you.
"It doesn't. It's good to talk about what you think, even if you're not sure when you'll go through it yourself. Death is an uncomfortable topic for everyone, but there is growth in that discomfort. Death is not the end of life, or love, for that matter, but it is inevitable." He shrugs, putting the pile of sticks down before separating a few. You peek in, before he appears in front of you and flips open a pocket of his rucksack, procuring a box of matches.
"Morals, values, it's all growth. Both to keep them, and to release them. Death is only temporary, because you live on in those who knew you. That's why I'm trying to stay positive in these days, you know? It's hard to be sad when you're making yourself look at life from a different angle."
He kneels, striking a match and tossing it into the pile of sticks as you slink into the cavern. The crackle of the wood is soothing to your ears, and the flame grows bigger within a few seconds.
"If you always think, why not me? Or even, why me? You'll get nowhere. Those aren't answers you're supposed to have, because if it was meant to happen to you, it would have. You just have to keep your head up." He nods, skirting past you as he slips his matches back into the rucksack. He picks it up, along with your backpack, and pulls them closer to the fire. He pulls out a few washcloths, before untucking the sleeping bag he'd had strapped to the back of the bag.
"Here, sit." He unzips it, laying it flat on the ground before taking the fish from you. You glance down at it, watching him sit cross legged on the other side of the fire. You look at him for a second, watching the way he props two stones on either side to hold the stick of speared fish in place. Toeing your shoes off, you lay them off to the side before kneeling onto the bag. It's cool against your skin, and you almost lie down but keep your arms rigid at your sides as you clear your throat.
"Do you think that's easier for you because you have your life more figured out?" You ask, and he glances at you with an amused look.
"You keep talking like I'm just this experienced guy," he snorts, carefully balancing the speared fish over the flame. "I've had one job my entire life. I've had the same group of friends since I was a kid, and I've kissed one girl."
"Well, yeah but you've already done so much more than I could ever imagine. You've designed things and actually saw them come to life, you've helped people," You shrug, poking the fire with a stick before tossing it in to hear it crackle. "For example, I've never even kissed anyone. Now that the world is ending and all—"
"The world is not ending, princess. You're being negative." He interrupts pointedly, and you give him a glare.
"Yeah, well…I should be allowed to complain."
He only smiles inwardly, turning the fish over once. The smell is beginning to fill the cavern, your stomach growling loudly; your arms wrapping around you as he snickers.
"It'll be ready in a bit, don't worry." He says, tentatively pausing before you feel his eyes on you. You glance up from the fire, his gaze shamelessly falling over your face and shoulders as you lean back.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" You bring your knees to your chest, resting your chin on them before wrapping your arms around your shins. He just shrugs, shaking his head before leaning back on his hands.
"Why haven't you kissed anyone? Just…didn't want to?" His head is tilted to the side, and you feel your cheeks grow hot as you stare up at the stalactite around the curve of the cavern.
"…I mean, I had chances. I just kind of kept dodging them." You say slowly, picking at a loose thread in the shorts you're wearing. "I've been on dates and stuff, and they'd always lean in, but I just wasn't that into them. And it's not like I value abstinence or anything, not that there's anything wrong with that but it's just not my vibe. I've…felt lust, and shit like that. However, I feel like a kiss should mean something, and if I'm not attracted to them enough, then…"
"That's one less step towards a kiss. Okay. I get it." He nods, "if it makes you feel better—"
"Don't try to relate to me right now. I'm sure you had girls throwing themselves at you." You scoff, and he rolls his eyes.
"Again, just the one girl, and I was with her for three years." He holds up three fingers, and you tongue your cheek before shrugging.
"Why'd you break up?"
He seems hesitant to answer, nibbling on his lower lip before looking up at the stalactite. You take the moment to peer at him in the flickering light of the fire, and you really look at him — soft lips, slope of his nose…paired with sharp eyes, and strong brows.
Pretty.
"She wanted to get married." He says quietly, kicking at a bit of rubble. "I was fresh out of school, and I'd just started designing my first building…I wasn't going to have time to dedicate it to wedding planning. I wasn't sure if I would have time for her, but I tried my best. We got engaged anyway and I was always busy. It just didn't work."
"Who broke up with who?" You ask, leaning forward nosily as he tongues his cheek.
"I broke off the engagement." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It wasn't easy, but it also wasn't working. Sometimes I wonder where I would be if we had gone through with the wedding. Would I be a dad? Would we have fought as much as we did towards the end of it all? Just…so many questions that I also can't bring myself to care about because I'll spiral over nothing. It was two years ago, life goes on."
"Do you want to be a dad someday?" You grab another stick from the pile next to you, poking the flame as he takes the fish off. He shrugs, staring at the fish tentatively. He turns it gently, watching the flame lick at the skin of it before answering your question.
"My future wife has to want kids for me to be able to make that decision." He clicks his tongue, "no use in me wanting something when she's the one bearing them. I'd just…you know. It's not fair to make that decision on my own."
"You think you'll get married? If the world doesn't end?" You continue messing with the fire as he turns the fish again.
"I mean…I hope. I made a bucket list on the first day of my freshman year in university, and it was the third or fourth thing I had on there." He carefully adds two more sticks to the bottom of the fire before glancing up at you. "Do you want to get married? Have kids?"
You dig your chin into your chest, smiling inwardly as you give a weak shrug.
"…I don't know."
"You're lying."
"I think I should focus on actually kissing a guy, first. Imagine if this outbreak hadn't happened. Maybe I'd be getting lots of dudes hitting my line in Germany." You roll your eyes, before sighing.
"I think I just want to fall in love one day. I was very focused on my studies my entire life, I've been to two tailgates, and I've been drunk twice in my life, and one of those was when I found out I got the internship. I've never kissed a guy, and I've never been a girlfriend, but that was my choice. And now, I don't have that choice, because the universe has just decided that it is fate for me. It's not like romance has ever been my top priority. I was loved by my friends and my family all the same, and the only love, or passion, or desire I truly had in life was design and architecture. God, I used to dream of my buildings being part of skylines and I went through a phase where I'd conjure up dream homes for my friends. I even promised that one day I'd build them, and I'd help decorate to their style…and now they're gone. They're gone and I'm here, with a stranger and in a cave complaining about the fact that I'll now never get the chance to fall in love or kiss a guy; when neither will they, because they are gone."
You close your eyes momentarily, tucking your chin into your chest before you blink up at him. He's looking at you with a flicker of sadness in his eyes as he shifts back on his hands, a slight tilt to his head. You maintain eye contact, nibbling on the inside of your lip and poking at the fire with the stick in your hand.
"Tell me your name."
"Y/N." You speak plainly, making the choice to lay down and toss the stick into the fire. You cross your arms on your chest, closing your eyes. "Not princess, sorry to burst your bubble."
"Y/N what?" He leans over slightly, and you feel a smirk tug at the corner of your lips. You open your eyes, catching him staring down at you. He doesn't look away, his eyes incessant as you turn your head slightly so he's not upside down in your vision.
"What's it to you, guy?"
"The curiosity will kill me, princess."
"I literally just told you my name, you don't have to keep calling me that."
"I like watching you squirm, it's cute." He shrugs, carefully pulling the stick off the rocks and out of the fish, laying it flat on a washcloth and slipping out his knife. He sinks the blade into the flesh of the fish as you turn to rest on your side, your eyes heavy as he holds a piece of the fish on the blade out to you. "Careful, it's hot."
You lean forward slightly, biting down on the piece of fish with your teeth before pulling it into your mouth. It's hot, yeah, but it's juicy and even a bit sweet as you chew.
"Good?"
You only nod as you hold your hand out for another piece, the sound of the crackling fire making you sleepier by the minute. You both eat in silence, with him grabbing the end of the sleeping bag and pulling you to his side of the fire so he doesn't have to keep reaching over to give you pieces. You pick it off yourself, still laying as you eat despite him telling you it's bad for you.
"Is the sun down yet?" You mutter, wiping at your eyes lazily. He glances over his shoulder, the sun peering through the waterfall and creating a pattern on the walls of the cavern.
"Almost. Come on, I have to put the fire out and let the smoke air out. You can sleep in a little bit."
"You've said that twice now, guy."
"Sue me for wanting to spend time with someone." He scoffs, "and my name is—"
"No, don't tell me. You'll get attached." Your sentence is almost interrupted by a yawn, but you force yourself off the sleeping bag, lazily dragging yourself towards the entrance of the cavern when you hear the hiss of the fire dying under the bottle of water he dug out of his rucksack. You hear the crinkle of the plastic before rustling, the smell of burnt wood wafting out of the cavern as he appears next to you with the sleeping bag. He spreads it out for you again, and you lay on your stomach as he moves to the side. He sits next to your head, a rag in his hand as he pulls the knife out of his pocket once more.
"What're you doing?" You ask tiredly, leaning up on your elbow to watch him.
"Just cleaning the knife. If my math is right, we'll be at the cabin in two days if we don't get any rain. If we do, it's three or four. I've got to ration things properly." He nods, and you peer at the knife. There's a corkscrew on it, and you forget the name of the style of knife but you smush your cheek with the heel of your palm as you point at it.
"Why do you need a corkscrew?"
"Do you always ask this many questions?"
"Well, guy, it's not every day we're being hunted by the undead, you know." You say pointedly, tapping his knee as he scoffs.
"Mingyu."
"Hm?" You look up at him with tired eyes, and he glances down before shaking his head with a sigh.
"That's my name. Mingyu."
"Okay? What am I supposed to do with this information?"
"Pft, I don't know. Maybe stop calling me guy?"
"And what, build a foundation of trust? You'd kill me if I got bitten by one of those rotting things." You huff, a hint of humor in your voice as you move to lay on your side.
"Uh, yeah. You'll be dead anyway, princess."
"I don't like your attitude, Mingyu."
"Sucks to be you, sweetness." He shrugs, and you let out an annoyed huff. You fold your arms under your head, using your bicep as a pillow. You blink at the running waterfall in front of you, the sun's rays bleeding through when you speak again.
"Where are you going to sleep?"
"Probably right here. I'm just gonna zip you up later, because it gets kind of cold in the cavern."
"Won't you be cold?"
You feel him shift next to you, your eyes looking up at him as he shrugs. "I can handle it. You already have goosebumps."
It's silent for a while. You watch the sun continue to set from behind the waterfall, the moon rising and illuminating the water. You blink tiredly, your body sore from the day but your fingers tap his knee gently as you push yourself up. He looks down at you, leaning back on his hands with a gentle smile on his lips.
"Yes?"
"Can we go to sleep now?"
"Yeah, you can go to sleep."
You shake your head, "that's not what I said."
He snorts, "what do you want from me, princess?"
"I want you to sleep! That bag is so heavy, I know you're probably sore all over and you're not admitting it to save face or something." You point an accusatory finger at him, and he purses his lips, nodding his head as if in agreeance.
"Wow," he says incredulously, "you're quite the mind reader. What else can you see? Can you tell my shoulders hurt real bad, too?"
"Mingyu!"
"You're so freaking cute, actually."
"Fine, freeze." You huff, laying back down and flipping the rest of the sleeping bag over your shoulders. You face into the cavern as he chuckles, patting the sleeping bag over your shoulder.
"I'll sleep soon. Just gotta keep you safe for a little longer." He admits softly, giving your shoulder a quick squeeze before sighing. You don't respond, curling your knees to your chest and hugging yourself in an attempt to sleep. The last thing your eyes catch before you close them is the time blinking on his watch — 9:42 PM.
You manage to doze off for a bit, your back popping as you stretch your limbs slightly; only to feel Mingyu has disappeared from next to your head. You lean up a bit, the moon in a different part of the sky now before feeling the heat of his body on the ground. He's snoring softly but shivering, still wearing his boots but his watch is slipped off and next to his head. You grab it: 2:09 AM.
Groaning, you move to shake him awake when he jolts up on his own. He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes slightly bloodshot as he squints at you.
"Are you okay?" His voice is raspy, and you shake your head as you run a hand over your face. He shifts to sit up, when you drape the folded-over part of the sleeping bag out onto the floor and point at it.
"Lay down." You pat the bag, before sitting up on your knees and tucking your mussed hair behind your ears. He blinks at you, silently giving in and sprawling across the bag. You crawl towards his feet, untying the laces of his boots quickly before yanking them off.
"Leave them on," He mumbles tiredly, but you just pat his knee.
"You're shivering, you're tired and you're sore. Just take them off to sleep well." You murmur, bringing the boots up to his head and sitting them next to him. You tuck the watch into them, before laying back down on your side of the bag. "Good night, Mingyu."
You try to ignore how his name feels on your tongue, only to hear him whisper behind you as he turns onto his side, his breath hitting the back of your neck.
"Mmh. Good night, Y/N."
THERE IS A MOP OF HAIR UNDER YOUR FINGERTIPS AS YOU STIR THE FOLLOWING MORNING.
It's slightly chilly, your skin prickling at the soft breeze that blows through the waterfall, but the rest of you remains warm as you wiggle slightly. Your hips are achy as you strain your neck to see Mingyu's head laid on your chest, his arms wrapped around you like he was trying to protect you from something. Your legs are hooked at your ankles around his waist, holding him flush to your torso. Your hand in his hair is nothing to the one dipping below the neck of his shirt, imprinted with the pattern of his necklace and absolutely not comparable to his on your hip – under your shirt.
"Mingyu." You pat his shoulders, the man not stirring in the slightest. You pat harder, only feeling him inhale deeply, but not wake up. You let out a huff of annoyance, making a fist and hitting his shoulder with the side of your hand. He jolts on reflex, waking up almost instantly as his hand shoots up to rub at his shoulder.
"What the hell is wrong with you? Why'd you hit me?!" You refuse to let the rasp of his voice distract you, and you force yourself to focus as you scowl and measure the distance between you with a pat to his chest and yours.
"You're on top of me, dimwit. I'm practically roasting." You wipe sweat from your neck, the sleeping bag sticking to your damp back. His eyes widen, and he glances down at the hand under your shirt. He rips it away, pushing himself off you almost in a tizzy before clearing his throat, kneeling above you.
"I, uh—"
"If you're gonna say you're sorry, just save it for when you actually fuck up."
"Still, I'm—"
"Mingyu." You hold your hand up, watching the guilt flash through his features as you point your fingertips at him. "I genuinely don't care. I'm just concerned about the fact that you radiate so much fucking heat. Aren't you sweaty? Jesus."
You sit up, grimacing as you feel your shirt stick to you. You reach into his boot, fishing his watch out — 6:07 AM. You tap the face with your nail, "we should get moving. If today is anything like yesterday, I need to get up before I lose motivation and leave myself out on a platter for the undead."
"Even in the mornings, you just say the most insane shit." He mutters, rubbing at his eyes before sitting back on his feet. "Are you hungry? I made more porridge before—"
"Will you catch another fish?" You ask quickly, sitting up on your knees and clasping your hands together. He gives you a deadpan look, and you jut your lower lip out in a pout, "come on, buddy! Just one fish, please? Please, please—"
"Don't beg, I haven't even processed your question." He grumbles, wiping at his eyes again, before stretching his arms over his head. His eyes are squeezed shut, a sliver of skin peeking out from his untucked shirt. "What if I just teach you how to catch one? It's easy."
"Or…you can just catch it for me while I start another fire." You wiggle your brows, and he lets out a sigh as he stretches again. "C'mon! You've gotten me used to a certain lifestyle—"
"Okay, okay." He lets out a sigh, rubbing his face before standing up. "Alright, checklist. Fish, porridge, bath. Oh, and changing your bandages…what else? Oh! Laundry, too. We might get out of here closer to nine."
He shakes out his legs, marks from the sleeping bag imprinted on his skin. He takes his watch from you, slapping it on his wrist before lolling his head back.
"My back is killing me, I can't wait to get back to my bed." He huffs, twisting from side to side and you wrinkle your nose at the sound of the joints popping before his eyes widen and he glances down at you with an accusatory look. "For the love of God, please stretch before we head out today. You were kicking the shit out of me in your sleep last night."
"Is that why I woke up being melted into the sleeping bag?" You chide, and he just rolls his eyes before running a hand through his hair.
"Shut up."
"Mmh, I don't think so."
You giggle as he scowls down at you, and you stretch your arms over your head as he grabs his boots. He shakes them out, making sure no critters crawled in during the night before shoving them on. You reach over before he can bend, tying the laces quickly before patting the tip of the boot and pointing to the spring.
"Come on, fisherman. Bring me home something good."
"You're lucky you're entertaining."
"You can say I'm cute."
"And why would I lie like that?" He muses, chuckling as he skirts past your swatting hand and grabs his cap off the rucksack inside the cavern. He stretches his arms over his head one more time, letting out a pained grunt before rolling his shoulders back and making his way down the boulders. You peer over the side of the waterfall like you did the day before, sitting with your legs hanging over the ledge as you watch him pop his knuckles before crouching at the edge of the spring again.
You'd never admit out loud that watching the way his brain works is a little…intriguing. The seeds, the quickness of his reactions, the way his eyes never lost focus despite the movement of the waters. Really, this is nothing that should impress you as much as it does — but you've also been alone for so long that the most entertainment you have is your brain replaying The Breakfast Club spottily as you roamed the forests aimlessly.
"What happened to starting the fire?" He calls from the same boulder he stood at last night, hand on his hip as he looks up at you. You shrug, pointing at your socked feet, "can't find my shoes."
"You mean you didn't look for your shoes. I moved them to the entrance before I went to sleep. Put 'em on, princess."
"What if I wash your clothes for you while you bathe? Will you gather the wood then?"
He rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he guts the fish and beheads it faster than he did the day before. He looks around, finding a stick at the edge of the spring and spearing it through. You watch with a bitten smile as he makes his way back up the boulders, holding the fish out to you with a feigned look of annoyance on his face as you take it.
"You're so annoying, stop smiling like that." He mutters, turning around as you chuckle.
"Thank you, guy!"
"Stop calling me that!"
You only laugh harder as you get up, propping the speared fish on the side of the cavern and pulling your shoes on. You grab your bag, opening it carefully and slipping your jar of honey into the pocket of his rucksack before digging out your dirty clothing and the bar of soap you had. You roll your intimates into your shirt, staring at the bunched pair of jeans at the bottom of your bag before pulling them out. You shove it all under your arm, glancing over the boulders to see Mingyu already climbing back up with his arms full of wood.
"Need some help?" You call, and he shakes his head, making it back with a tick in his jaw. He drops the wood, rolling his shoulders back slightly before clearing his throat.
"You should probably bathe; the fish can wait. Plus, then I can take your clothes," you hold your hand out, and he nibbles on his lip.
"I'll make the fish first, then I'll bathe. I don't want it to sit out for too long. You can wash your stuff first and lay it out in the sun so it can start drying. Use the bottled water, I've got a filter and we can fill up before we leave." He nods, almost to himself as you put a hand on your hip.
"At least give me your shirt and socks, guy. You're not going anywhere, anyway, you're gonna make the fire right here." You shrug, holding your hand out as he raises a brow.
"You just wanna see me strip—"
"I'll fucking kill you, actually."
He laughs, dodging your attempt at hitting his arm swiftly. He gathers the sticks carefully, piling them together as you set your stuff down before moving to shake out the sleeping bag. You roll it back up, tucking it under the straps of his rucksack before plucking at his shirt.
"Give it here, fella."
He snorts, flicking his cap off before tugging his shirt over his head. You take it, your eyes not missing the deep bruising on his shoulders from the weight of the rucksack. You chew on your cheek as you take a closer look, your fingers floating over the skin when he clears his throat.
"The bag is heavy, but it's fine. I'm fine, plus we should be home by tomorrow night. Don't worry about it." He says softly, and you involuntarily let out a noise of distress as he unties his boot laces to hand you his socks. You take them, huffing as you make your way to the second boulder down — the biggest one, and you soak each item individually in the higher end of the spring water. You barely dip your underwear, not wanting him to see the lace in your hand.
Your knees dig painfully into the boulder beneath you as you lather soap all over the clothes, the smell almost sterile as you rinse them and wring them out repeatedly. The knee pain only stops when you tug your shoes off to wash your socks. You wring your underwear out the most, wanting it as dry as possible so the sun can finish drying it faster than the rest of the clothes. You lay everything out, the morning sun hitting the boulder just right as you manage your way back up to the cavern.
Your eyes linger on the bruises on Mingyu's shoulders, spanning down his back. You crouch behind him, tossing your shoes to the side and examining the purple and yellow splotches before you feel his hand reach back and pat your thigh.
"Stop it. You're making me self-conscious."
"I'm just admiring your back muscles." You blurt, his laughter immediately ringing out as he swats at your leg.
"Seriously, stop. Just come eat your fish, princess."
"What will you eat?"
"Don't worry about me." He says pointedly, before standing up and grabbing his rucksack. He digs through the front pocket. He procures a bag of what seem to be toothpaste tablets, and two toothbrushes (one used, one new) are seen through the plastic. Your eyes widen, and you almost topple over as you stand to hold your hand out.
"No please or thank you anymore, huh?" He snorts, pulling the bag open to give you the packaged toothbrush. You tear it open as he holds out two tablets, "chew them. They have fluoride so I wouldn't recommend swallowing it, but…you do what you do, you know?"
You do as you're told, chewing the tablets until a paste forms and you scrub at your teeth for what seems like twenty minutes before the foam gets too much. He only bites back his smile as he does the same, before his eyes widen in realization and he pulls more bandages out of the bag. He holds his toothbrush in his jaw, grabbing your injured hand and peeling the wet bandage back. Your gash seems to be healing fine, but he dries the skin out with an alcohol pad before wrapping new bandage around it.
You end up swallowing your toothpaste like a lunatic, giving Mingyu the toothbrush to put away before plopping in front of the fire that has now slightly charred the side of your fish. You flip it over, waiting for Mingyu to sit with you as you speak.
"I used to be a masseuse, you know." You nod, and he seems interested as he nods, sliding everything but the moleskin bandages back into his pack and pulls out the same washcloth he used for the fish last night. He sits next to you, pulling the fish off the fire and sliding it in front of you before taking your foot in his hand, stretching your leg over his thigh.
"Were you? Was that your part-time job?" He asks, carefully peeling the bandages off your feet. You wince as he presses the pad of his thumb into the arch of your foot, nodding as you wave his hand away from your foot.
"I did it for three years, I think. Almost four, I made pretty good money, but I almost always needed a massage, too. I quit when I found out I got my internship," Your voice is soft, almost as though you're trying to butter him up for something. He seemingly catches on, pressing his lips into a thin line as you pick pieces off your fish to feed him and yourself.
"You don't have to do that for me, you know. Don't feel like you need to repay me or anything, I'm helping you because I want to and it makes me feel useful. Just let me do it." He says sternly, carefully sliding a bandage over the top arch of your foot. He wraps another on the side, your fingers holding a piece of fish to his mouth. He takes it, chewing almost angrily as you sigh.
"Don't you think that you should let people help you, too?" You ask, "I mean, what if it makes me feel useful? I may not know you all that well, but it doesn't mean I want to see you in pain."
"I'm not in any pain. It's just uncomfortable, it'll go away."
"Mingyu."
"Please, just drop it."
You huff, tucking your foot under you as he gestures for you to give him the other one. You glance at the watch — 7:03 AM, or something similar because his hand keeps moving as he wraps bandages around your feet.
"We're making pretty good time, I'd say." You nod at the watch, and he glances down at it with a semi-impressed look. "Maybe we'll be out of here by eight instead."
"Maybe. Eat up, I'm going to bathe." He murmurs, patting your knee before he slips away, taking a netted bag with him that you hadn't noticed him take out. You watch the way his back is stiff, the bruising patching up to the curve of his neck. His biceps are just as tense as he disappears around the waterfall, and you lean back on one hand as you pick at the fish in front of you. You sip your water diligently, hearing the soft running of the waterfall amongst the buzzing of flies and bugs.
The morning is quiet aside from the sounds of nature. You finish your breakfast, putting the fire out with the little water you have left in your bottle before reaching over to his rucksack and fishing out one of the apples in the netted bags. You wipe it across your shirt, sinking your teeth into it and holding it between them as you lay on the ledge with your foot hanging off the edge.
Mingyu returns shortly, hair dripping before he shakes his head like a dog, spraying the side of your leg as he makes his way up the boulders. The sun is significantly hotter now, so the spray doesn't bother you nearly as much, but you still kick the side of his thigh with your eyes closed.
"Come on, princess. We've got to get moving, and we only have one water bottle left so we gotta fill up before we leave."
You don't open your eyes, blindly feeling around for your empty water bottle and tilting it to the waterfall. The sound of water falling into the bottle is enough confirmation for you, earning a chuckle from Mingyu as he does the same. You can feel his presence around your head, before he takes the bottle from your grasp and finishes filling it for you.
"Can you get the clothes? I'll filter these while we walk."
You peel your eyes open, looking up to see him donning a form-fitting, sleeveless white shirt that nearly makes your eyes bulge out. You sit up quickly, almost choking around the last bite of your apple before you push yourself off the ground and scramble down the boulders, tossing the apple core far into the woods as you reach the clothes. They're surprisingly dry, almost hot to the touch as you fold them quickly and stuff them into your backpack. You hold your socks in your hand as you pull your backpack over your shoulders, tightening the straps before making your way back up to the cavern. You practically throw his socks at him, not catching the furrow of his brows when they land on his arm (and then, the ground.)
"What's got you so frantic? Take a deep breath."
"Nothing. Just…excited to get the day started." You speak through your teeth, shoving your feet into your socks, not bothering to shake out your sneakers before pulling them on. You lace them up haphazardly, before looking into the cavern. There's nothing, but you still pat the side of the opening in gratitude before making your way down the boulders. "Uh, you take your time. I'm just gonna…roam."
"Like hell you are, stay put." He scoffs, screwing a contraption on each of the water bottles before setting them down and grabbing his bag. You look away, focusing your eyes on the forest ahead of you and the sunlight spotting through the trees. "You need sunscreen."
"No, I don't."
"Being stubborn gets you nowhere with me. Get up here."
"Can't, sorry. Already said my thanks to the cavern, means I can't go back."
You shrug, feigning nonchalance as you imagine the irritated look on his face. You dig the toe of your sneaker into the ground beneath you, kicking at the dirt when you hear him move around behind you. His arm brushes your shoulder as he skirts past you, the bottles of water held tightly upside down by the straps of his rucksack as he grabs your shoulders and makes you face him.
"There's no trees for about ten miles with the route we're taking. If you don't put on sunscreen, you're gonna get a sunburn and I don't have anything to soothe it." He says flatly, his fingers covered in thick sunscreen as he presses them to your face. You let out a groan, rolling your eyes as he works it into your cheeks and forehead, trailing his fingers down your neck. You can feel your pulse pick up a bit, and you're hoping he doesn't as the tips of his fingers breach the collar of your shirt.
"Arms and legs. Sit." He makes you sit on the edge of the boulder, a scoff leaving your lips as he rolls up your sleeves slightly and spreads more of the sunscreen all over your arms and fingers, even working it into your cuticles. "Mingyu, I'm gonna be all sticky."
"Sticky beats blistering sunburn, plus this dries faster when you're not complaining."
"I'm not complaining!"
"Yes, you are, but I can handle it. So just let me take care of you, damn."
He rolls his eyes as he crouches, pushing the shorts up high on your thighs before wrapping his arms around your ankles. You glance down at him, and you must have some sort of look on your face because he holds the sunscreen up to you.
"Is this fine or do you want to do it yourself? I don't want to make you uncomfortable."
"You're not making me uncomfortable. I'm just not…used to this."
"Yeah, princess, no one is." He says pointedly, almost slowly as if he's talking to a child. You scoff, crossing your arms as your cheeks turn hot.
"That's not what I'm talking about." You grumble, your fingernails digging into your arms as he uncaps the sunscreen again, taking some in his hand before shaking his head.
"Then what are you talking about?" He slathers the cream on your shins, dipping slightly under your socks as you chew on your cheek. He reaches your knees, reaching behind them to coat the back of it before tapping the side. "Answer my question."
His fingers brush the inside of your thigh, your hand shooting out to grab his wrist as you take the sunscreen in your hand.
"The touching. I'm not used to the touching, okay?" You mutter, cheeks burning in embarrassment as you quickly cover your thighs in sunscreen, "you're so casual with it and I don't know what it's supposed to make me feel, and I don't want to think about it right now."
You cap the cream, shoving it into his chest before standing up and fixing your clothes to cover you. He blinks down at you, confusion and concern coating his gaze before he clears his throat.
"I didn't—"
"It's fine, Mingyu. I'm not uncomfortable, you're not in any trouble, nothing like that. It just makes me think too much. Now, let's fucking move." You gesture to the woods behind you, and he nods slowly, slathering the rest of the sunscreen left on his hands on his arms. He seemingly doesn't know what to do with his hands, crossing his arms on his chest before walking into the forest.
The first few minutes are silent. Just crunching of leaves and twigs under your shoes, his posture rigid as he tries to hide how often he rolls his shoulders back. You keep your eyes on the ground; your own arms crossed on your chest as he keeps about a foot of distance between you. His shorts are navy blue now; a cute little flower embroidered on the pocket with baby blue thread and the letters KMG.
"What's the K for?" You ask, and he glances at you over his shoulder.
"What K?"
"On the pocket of your shorts. KMG. MG is for Mingyu, right?"
You gesture at the embroidery with your pinky, and he reaches his hand back to touch the pocket before a look of understanding crosses his features.
"Ooh. It's Kim. Kim Mingyu." He shrugs, patting the pocket before crossing his arms on his chest again. You nod, "Lee Y/N."
"Nice to meet you, Miss Lee."
"Nauseated to meet you, too, Mr. Kim."
You miss the way he smiles inwardly; your eyes focused on the caps swinging from the back of his bag. You notice they also have his initials embroidered, as does his rucksack on the bottom left corner.
"Why is all your stuff labeled with your initials?"
"I went a little crazy when the outbreak happened, and all the things at the cabin that I took there in case of something like this look exactly the same. So, I hand-embroidered my initials on everything that was mine, and then everything else with whoever has it. There's a handful of guys up there, but you're the only girl I've come across thus far. When we get there, you'll get some clothes and a towel, and we'll pick a color and put your initials on them, and you can stay as long as you want."
He shrugs, your chest warm at the idea of having community again.
"As long as I want?"
"As long as you want, sweetness."
You bite back your smile, nodding to yourself, "do I get my own bed, too?"
"I believe so. If not, I'll just make some of the guys room together so you can have your own space." He glances down at you, "you can be happy about it, you know. You must've been very lonely out here by yourself. Don't think I didn't notice how tired you were, you were practically stiff from all the stress in your back."
"It was just…I felt a little pathetic." You start, "I wasn't prepared, but who truly is for something like this? We speculate, but we never actually think or hope it will happen. I was so sure I'd be in Germany, I thought my life was set in stone for me and I'd be…well. Yeah."
"This idea you have that you can't be great because you didn't make it to Germany is a little concerning to me." He speaks softly, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his shorts. "I think you're being too hard on yourself. You've made it on your own for this long, I think that shows resilience. I don't necessarily commend you for making it this far with such little food sources, because that's dangerous but things are scarce and you're alive. You're still kicking, so who says you can't do bigger things? Better ones?"
"You should be a life coach."
"I was a cheerleader in grade nine, I know a thing or two about spirit."
You snort, "I was a cheerleader, too. I only lasted six weeks because I broke my ankle during a standing back tuck. I ended up having to get surgery; it was the worst pain of my life and my mother was furious about the money we shelled out for the uniform and summer camp."
He bites back his laughter, shaking his head before clearing his throat. "What other things did you do besides school and work?"
"You mean did I have any hobbies?" You tilt your head, trilling your lips and sucking your teeth, "I was pretty good at playing guitar. Electric, bass, acoustic…my mom taught me. And piano, she loved piano, all that classical mumbo jumbo but she loved rock. I was also an incredible masseuse, you know—"
"You just don't let up, do ya?"
"You're asking me questions, I'm just answering. I was a master assembler of furniture, I was also good at baking. I made a cake or a pie for me and my roommates every week. I'm an ice cream connoisseur, specifically Ben & Jerry's and my favorite flavor is Cherry Garcia. I also really like soup and stews. Soft tofu stew? Absolute gas, my man."
There's a soft glimmer in his eye as he hums, "anything that you wish you could do right now?"
"Listen to the radio. I'd sit in my room with my mom's favorite station on odd days and my dad's on even. Rock on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and dance pop on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and then I'd alternate on the weekends. My dad loved Kylie Minogue, my mom was super into Janis Joplin."
"What's your favorite song? Of all time, and not your parents'. Yours." He looks around, carefully slipping in front of you as another hill is in your way. He starts reaching his hand back but quickly pulls it back to his side as he skillfully makes his way down, looking over his shoulder at you. You glance at his hand stuffed in his pocket, giving him an odd look before holding onto his elbow and making your way down.
"Of all time? Can I do top five?"
"Sure."
"Safe and Sound by Capital Cities, Ooh My Love by Stevie Nicks, You Don't Know My Name by Alicia Keys, You and Me by Lifehouse, Look On Down from the Bridge by Mazzy Star." You nod along as you speak, still holding onto his arm as you make your way through a vast field.
"You have a very 'divorced dad that's still in love with his ex-wife while trying to fit in with his kids' type of music taste."
You laugh as you register what he says, your fingers tightening around his arm as you shrug, "my parents used to sing together like they were going through a million and one divorces. Instead of fighting, they sat at my mother's piano and sang until they got over it. What's your favorite song? Top five?"
"Hm, I don't know. I liked a lot of different genres, but I think one of my favorite songs was definitely My Kind of Woman by Mac DeMarco. I listened to it a lot when I was in high school, almost on loop on days I had exams. I haven't heard it in a while." He nods, before clicking his tongue. "In fact, I think the last time I heard it was on the drive back to my parents' house after things ended with my ex-fiancée."
"Oh, boy." You wince, "what was she like? Was she nice?"
"Oh, the sweetest, really. Got along well with almost everyone. Smart, reliable, dependable…" He trails off, shrugging his shoulders with a tick in his jaw. "She was great."
"So why didn't you try harder to make it work?" You ask softly, "I mean, if she was so great, and she sounds almost perfect…what happened?"
"I wish I could tell you." He lets out a sigh of defeat, clicking his tongue, "I felt like a jerk, and I constantly wondered if I'd done the right thing. I would get calls from her, and I was cruel to answer, knowing things wouldn't change and I was drowning myself in work to avoid my feelings of guilt. We stopped talking a month or so after, because I stopped picking up her calls. She moved to Taiwan just before the outbreak, she got a really good job out there working with the Society for Wildlife and Nature and I'm here. I abandoned the house project for my family because I needed time to process everything, and though I'm over it now and I'm moving on…the guilt of never finishing that house eats away at me now."
"You're just a mess, huh?" You chuckle softly, patting his arm before shaking your head.
"We live with so much guilt, humans. We feel guilty about the things we do, the things we don't do, the things we think about and the things we don't. It's a never-ending cycle, and someday…it ends. Yeah, your family isn't here anymore to enjoy that house. But you can still finish it, you can bring new growth there. You'll marry, you'll have a kid or two and that golden retriever that everyone seems to want…and you'll heal because you'll see the space used for what you intended it for, you know? Togetherness, love, care and caution. Someone will trip up the stairs, and you'll have anticipated it. Someone will get shoved into a hall closet by their sibling and you'll have already pictured it because that's what a home is. Memories, good and not-so-good, tangible and in the mind, alike; because you are your family. And they live through you, still, and whatever you put into the world."
He doesn't speak for a minute, your hand still holding onto his arm as you both keep walking in the field. The silence is comfortable but thick, like one of you said something the other wasn't expecting and it's still suspended in the air, processing. You stare at the ground, watching your feet go in front of each other as the sun beats down on your backs. Mingyu rolls his shoulders back silently, and your fingers slip off his skin as you move to slip your hand into your pocket.
His fingers dart out of his own pocket, grabbing yours and interlacing them. Your fingers are stiff for a second, and you lean forward slightly to look at him — only for him to turn away. You frown, but curl your fingers around his hand…
And you ignore the way your heart quickens stupidly in your chest at his thumb rubbing circles into your skin.
The walk continues without much conversation, minutes turning to hours but his hand never letting yours go, even as he rolls his shoulders back and winces in discomfort. You feel a pang in your chest as he does it repeatedly, the sun moving overhead and making your skin grow hot. You ignore the fatigue settling into your thighs, leaning your head on Mingyu's bicep when he glances down at you.
"Your hair is scorching hot." He presses his free hand to your face, before reaching behind him and pulling one of the water bottles off his bag. He looks at it, the water clean on one side and the filter blinking green. He lets go of your hand, twisting the filter off and standing in front of you. "Close your eyes, this is gonna be cold."
"No way you're soaking me with that right now."
"I'm not, but your head is hot, and I have an extra cap. It's just to cool you down. I'll even give you a carrot if you just let me do this."
"Do I look like a horse—"
He sprays you with the bottle mid-sentence, an unimpressed look on his face as you scowl. He does it again, and you just close your eyes as he runs his fingers through your hair. The water drips down your shirt, soaking through as you move your arms to cover your chest. He tugs a cap off the back of his bag, pulling it over your head before moving to tuck your hair over the backstrap in a makeshift ponytail. He swings the bag off, flipping it open and handing you a carrot. You stare at it, tonguing your cheek as he pulls the bag back over his shoulders.
"I'm literally soaking wet."
"The sun'll dry you out, don't worry. And you'll bathe later, so it's no big deal."
"Sure, no big deal. What about the carrot?"
"Eat it." He shrugs, holding the bottle of water in his fingers as he blindly feels around for your hand. You let him take it, rolling your eyes as he bumps your fingers with his thigh in every movement. You glance at the carrot in your hand, sucking your teeth before holding it up to him.
"You didn't breakfast."
"I wasn't hungry."
"Bullshit. Eat it."
"You eat it." He sticks his tongue out at you, but you give him a stern look that makes him roll his eyes, his hand coming to grab the carrot and he bites a piece off with his teeth. You take the water bottle from his hand, swinging it on your side as you keep your eyes trained to the trees in the horizon, your dripping hair keeping you cool in the beating sun.
"What are your hobbies?" You kick at the grass patches, and he hums as he chews.
"Well, I was just very go-with-the-flow. I liked cooking, I did almost all the cooking when I lived in the dorms with my roommates and when I moved in with my ex. I also drew a lot, I designed a few album covers for a few of my friends that were underground artists in college. I also play guitar, but just electric. I have a shit poker face, and I can't lie to save my life; so, I know better than to gamble with my friends, but I'm very hands-on. I like embroidering things, if it wasn't obvious, but I overall just like using my hands to do something. It keeps me busy and the end result is almost always something I'm satisfied with."
You nod silently, before clearing your throat.
"What was her name?"
"Mina. Jeong Mina."
"Mina and Mingyu…M&M." You mumble to yourself, your fingers around the water bottle tightening slightly. The trees seem to be getting closer, and you stay silent for the rest of the walk, even when it feels like hours. Your hair dries slowly, your shirt drying even slower as you limply trek the last few miles with your hands linked between each other. Your back tenses as you hear a noise in the distance, but you see nothing as you look around slowly, even stopping Mingyu before walking into the shade of the trees. You glance around, your skin prickling but nothing catches your eyes until you hear Mingyu whisper in your ear.
"Don't move."
Your eyes dart around the field behind you, before you catch a sparkle less than half a mile away. You try to focus, but Mingyu's hand is pulling you slowly behind him as you realize that it's an animal, a bear. The sparkle is the eyes staring straight at you in the high afternoon sun as your breath hitches in your throat. You watch it move slowly, preparing to run as Mingyu's foot crunches something, and you both freeze as it keeps gauging your every move.
"When do we start running instead of standing here like idiots?" You speak through gritted teeth, now fully behind Mingyu and moving deeper into the trees.
"They're not usually around these parts, the bears stay closer to the water…so if there's one, there could be more." He mutters, his hand tightening around yours as you pull on it. "Don't let go, okay?"
"Mingyu!" You grit, pulling harder as you turn to face into the woods. Yet another dilemma lays ahead — a mountain lion, watching you from the trees. Emerald eyes are set on your face, ears are set back, black-tipped tail flicking as you make eye contact. You must stop moving because Mingyu bumps into you, glancing over his shoulder to see the large cat's claws dig into the bark of the tree.
"We have a better chance with the lion that we do the bear. At least she'll give us a head start," you're breathless, not wanting any sudden movements to make it pounce. You feel your heart beating wildly in your chest as the lion glances down before making contact with your eyes again. You dare yourself to look down, seeing a deer carcass laying on the forest floor.
"Bear is turning around," Mingyu's voice trembles slightly, but you mention nothing as you stare up at the lion with the most courage you can muster. For whatever reason, you put your hands up, carefully skirting around the dead animal that makes your heart sink in your chest. It's nature, you tell yourself as Mingyu keeps himself close to your back, pressed into you so hard that you can feel his chest rising and falling with every quipped breath. The lion follows you with every step, occasionally glancing at the carcass beneath it as you make it to the other side of it.
"We're leaving now," you say to no one in particular, and the lion stares you down, lowering its head as Mingyu's fingers dig into your arm, his hand in yours tightly squeezing. You watch the lion's tongue peek out to run over its snout, before a lazy yawn guarantees your temporary safety. Mingyu pulls you deeper into the forest, but you don't turn around, even as the lion closes its eyes.
Your grip on Mingyu's hand is almost bruising as you turn slightly, a shiver running down your back as he lets out a breath. You don't want to seem weak — because you're not. You're strong, you've done this for months alone.
Emotions are not weakness.
"I think I'm gonna throw up," you mumble, your breathing shaky as Mingyu pulls you into his chest. His fingers are warm against the back of your neck, squeezing softly as your forehead rests against his shirt — you can feel how fast his heart is beating as his necklace digs into your face, hearing him try to regulate his breathing and wrapping his arms around you tightly. You swallow a sob, but he just pulls the cap off your head, resting his cheek on top of your hair.
"It's okay. We're okay, we're alive." His voice is full of air as he squeezes the back of your neck again, your eyes watery as you squeeze them shut, gripping at the fabric of his shirt as you let a breath out. He keeps you close until you've stopped trembling, his hand squeezing your arms and neck, running up and down your back. "God, that carcass made me so nauseous."
You let out a snort, the reality of it all hitting you in the face. You're actually in this world right now, surrounding by things that the government created to hurt its own people. You're in the woods with this stranger named Kim Mingyu, who is annoying to the point that it's slightly endearing, and you can feel your breakfast unsettled in your throat. You let out a humorless laugh, your shoulders shaking as the laughter takes over your body.
"What the hell is so funny?"
"I should be in Germany. That's what's so funny."
You pull back, wiping at your eyes as another hysterical chuckle slips from your lips. "I should be in Germany! Instead, I'm letting a man I don't know take me to a cabin in the middle of nowhere and opening up about myself when I could be falling in love and being successful in Germany!"
He nods, his hands moving to hold your cheeks. His thumbs stroke the skin of your face gently, before he lets go and tugs your cap back on. He grabs your hand, taking the water bottle from your other hand and slipping it back onto his rucksack.
"Come on, we're a few miles out from another cavern." He mumbles, holding your hand tightly as he pulls you flush to his hip, his eyes alert as you both move through the forest tensely. Every footstep is too sudden, your hands tight around each other and you mouth a silent prayer to whatever God is out there to calm you the hell down. Mingyu is in no better shape, opting to constantly glance down at you when he thinks you're not looking — but he doesn't break eye contact when you meet his. He only blinks at you, gaze roaming your face before turning back to the unmarked forest floor.
"Are you upset with me?" His voice is soft, meek even; your hand squeezing his lightly before you lean your head against his arm with a sigh.
"Never," you shrug. "It's scary. I'm scared, and you're just as human as I am. I could literally feel your pulse going crazy. We're fine. You don't have to be brave all the time, you know? Fear is human."
"You're like a quarter. Both sides different, but still the same coin." He sighs, lolling his head back before rolling his shoulders, not letting you question him about what that meant. "My back fucking hurts."
"Thought you said it didn't."
"Yeah, well sometimes I lie."
"To save face?"
"Absolutely." He nods, rolling them back once more. "I can't be a wimp in front of a pretty girl; it's like shitting my pants."
"That's a bad analogy, whatever the fuck you were trying to say."
"That it's embarrassing, princess."
"That's such a horrible analogy, Mingyu." You wrinkle your nose, choosing to will the flutter in your belly away as you reach a shadier part of the woods. He keeps you close to his hip as he peers ahead, your cheek beginning to stick to his arm as you both sweat. You can only imagine how much his back hurts, the heavy rucksack moving with every roll of his shoulders. You glance down at his watch, the blurry face reading 4:53 PM.
"We still have so many hours left to our day." You groan quietly, feeling his thumb rub at the side of your hand in attempts to comfort you. "How long until we get to this cavern?"
"An hour or so. Don't worry, you can lie down as soon as we get there." He nods affirmingly, and you sigh as you force your eyes to stay open, the heat making your exhaustion set in much faster. You remind yourself that Mingyu is just as tired, if not more, and in pain as you put one foot in front of the other for what feels like an eternity.
Eventually, another slight clearing appears. Your eyes widen as you take in the height of this cavern — seemingly man-made but ancient. The trees have grown around it, warping around the entrance and mosses have overtaken the exposed rock. There is yet another spring below, but you can't bring yourself to bathe. You're too tired, and unfortunately, still very shaken up – even as Mingyu's touch grows increasingly comforting.
And confusing to your wildly beating heart.
"Here it is," he says plainly, pulling you in front of him as you both make it to the steps. "This was made hundreds of years ago, passed through generations before the last owner died and left it to the people that live in the cabins up in the colony. We opened it to the hikers; there's a sign on the north hill for it. It's just kind of a refuge now; it's kind of an unspoken rule that we have to keep it clean and tidy if we want it to stay usable."
You nod along to what he's saying, your thighs burning slightly as you make up the stone steps with his hands on your lower back. The entrance has a battery-powered lamp hidden inside the corner, and Mingyu grabs it, turning it on and illuminating the entire cavern. There isn't much to see — some dying potted flowers in the corner, a small window with glued sticks as a muntin. As you step in; a hinged door, oddly shaped but perfect for the entrance. You step inside cautiously, your foot landing on a soft rug. It's almost like a small apartment, except there is dust everywhere and you're certain there is a spider in the upper left corner of the wall. You glance down at the rug; a large sun embroidered in orange thread staring back up at you as you look at Mingyu.
He's not looking at you; his eyes are closed as he leans against the entrance of the cavern – a weary sigh falling from his lips as he forces one foot in front of the other, stepping inside and letting his bag fall off his shoulders. He reaches to close the door, a wince crossing his features as he manages to drag the locks in place quickly.
"Hungry? I can go catch something, it'll be quick." His tone is pained as he rubs his shoulder with a grimace, and you just shake your head as you toe off your shoes, dropping your bag onto the ground with a stretch.
"Maybe later, I'm not that hungry." You let a shudder fall off your frame as you kick your shoes into the corner, grabbing the rucksack and hauling it against the wall. You tug the sleeping bag out, unzipping it and laying it out on the ground as Mingyu sits on a milk crate that's next to the lamp, fiddling with the brightness as you toss the cap on top of his bag. You pull the water out of his bag pockets, reaching into the main slot and pulling out two oranges.
"I thought you said you weren't hungry?" Mingyu's voice rings in your ears as you kneel in front of him, pulling at the laces of his boots. "Let me go catch something—"
"Can you shut up?" Your voice is gentle, holding no malice as you tug his boots off one at a time. You toss them to the side of the room, watching him lean against the wall of the cavern with an uncomfortable sag to his shoulders. You pat the sleeping bag, "come. Lay down, I'll peel an orange, and you can sleep."
"I can peel my own orange."
"Or you can just let me do it for you."
He rolls his eyes, scoffing as you move out of the way, patting the sleeping bag again. He reluctantly slides off the milk crate, and you take his place as you sink your nails into the orange skin. He turns uncomfortably, grunting softly as he lays on his side, looking up at you. You raise your brows, smiling softly before crossing your legs at the knee.
"Something on your mind?"
"I didn't reapply sunscreen every two hours and we didn't stretch properly. Are you feeling okay?"
"I'm fine, gosh." You roll your eyes, carefully keeping the peel together as you move around the orange. He sits up painfully, "but—"
"No buts, Kim Mingyu. I'm okay." You nod affirmatively, before pointing your pinky finger at him, "it's you I'm worried about. You and your back. I watched you walk down the boulders this morning, you hold a lot of tension in your traps and deltoids, and even a bit in your acromion."
"It's like you're speaking Klingon to me right now, princess." He blinks up at you with drowsy eyes, resting his chin in his palm as you roll your eyes.
"Your back, you hold a lot of tension in your upper back from the fucking bag." You jerk your thumb in the direction of the brown rucksack, but he just shrugs as if it doesn't make him want to stiffen forever.
"I'll just take a hot bath when we get back to the cabin. I'll be fine." He mutters as you split the orange in half, and you slide off the milk crate onto your knees in front of him. You offer a slice, only for him to open his mouth lazily. You slip it past his lips, before eating one yourself with a shake of your head.
"Hot bath is not enough, you need a cold one, too. Maybe even a massage, and I can help with that." You say pointedly, and he rolls his eyes again, turning away from you defiantly. You chuckle, leaning over his broad frame and holding another orange slice to his lips. He takes it, chewing carefully as you hold another in front of him. "What are you so afraid of? Relief?"
"Nothing, I'm just not used to the touching." He repeats your words back at you, and you scoff.
"You had a partner!"
"Two years ago, I had a partner two years ago. And what if I moan or something? Isn't that embarrassing?"
"That's literally normal. It's only weird if you make it weird, tons of people moan during massages. Even I've done it."
He pouts, his lip touching the side of your finger as you tap the orange slice to his mouth. He takes it, and you pat his shoulder. "It'll bring you lots of relief. I wouldn't offer if I didn't know what I was doing, you know. I'm not going to hurt you, not on purpose, anyway."
"I know." He mumbles, picking at a loose thread in the sleeping bag.
"Let me just work out a few knots," you whisper, hearing him groan exaggeratedly as you lightly tap your knuckles into his back. He sits up, meeting your eyes with a tired look in his, "what if you're a bad masseuse? What if you're just talking up your skills? I won't even know until my back still hurts in the morning."
"At least try me out, damn." You scoff in mock offense, shoving an orange slice in your cheek as you pluck at his shirt. "Take it off. Lay down on your stomach, and you can put your arms under your head if you want."
He tongues his cheek, "what if it hurts?"
"It's going to hurt a little bit. You're already in pain, but this will be more of a release pain. Not a pent-up pain," you shrug, before tilting your head towards his bag. "You have any oil or lotion in that bag? Even the sunscreen is fine, too, if you don't."
He shifts, thumbing at the hem of his shirt before sighing. "There's a bottle of almond oil at the bottom. It's in a bag so it wouldn't make a mess."
You nod eagerly, crawling over to it and flipping the bag open. You dig around through the items, your eyes widening at the hidden pistol at the bottom. It's covered with a sheath, seemingly never used as you hear the thwip of Mingyu's shirt being pulled off. You shake your head slightly, spotting the oil in a bag and grabbing it before closing the bag. You turn to see Mingyu's teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he stretches his arms behind him.
"Stop stretching, fool. Lay down." You nudge his thigh with your foot, and he swats you away as he reluctantly does as he's told. You open the bag, taking the oil out to read the front, almond oil. "Oh, this is gonna smell so nice. At the place I worked, we'd heat this up and the rooms would smell for days."
You kneel next to him, popping the cap of the oil as he shifts slightly "We can stop any time, just let me know, okay?"
"Are your hands cold?"
"No, they just smell like oranges."
"Great, now all the bugs are gonna want me."
"At least someone does," you snort, earning a swat from his hand as you snicker. You pour a bit of oil on your hands, warming it in your palms as you lean over him. "Tell me about your life. Anything."
"What happened to not wanting to get attached?"
"Sometimes I lie."
You don't show any emotion on your face as he turns his head to look at you, only giving him a raise of your brows before tapping the side of your hand on his ribcage. "Go on. Talk to me."
He looks a bit skeptical, settling his head back on his arms as you slide your slicked hands onto his skin. He flinches slightly as you lightly dig your fingers into the tense muscles, running up the marks of the bruising. "Uh…so I used to play football. That's how I got my scholarship."
"What position did you play?" You wrap your hands lightly around his shoulders, squeezing softly as he tries not to squirm, "I was a wide receiver for the first year, then a quarterback the rest of my time on the team. I would've made captain but I graduated early."
"Athletic, smart, hardworking…and ridden with guilt. What a dreamboat." You tease, digging your thumbs into his shoulder blade. He scoffs, almost a grunt, "shut up. I'm sure you've got your own demons."
"Skeletons in my closet are few but sentimental," you admit, your skin prickling as you hear a soft gasp fall from his lips as you work through a small knot. "But we're not talking about me."
"Fine," he huffs, the heel of your palm digging just under his shoulder. "What do you want to know?"
"Whatever you wanna tell me. What's your favorite ice cream flavor? Do you think you're a bad kisser? Do you have a favorite color? Ever considered modeling?" You shrug, all the questions nonchalant as he hums, "what would you do with your life if you weren't an architect?"
"Well, I'm not an architect anymore, so I'd probably be doing this." He says pointedly, biting down on his lip as you press your thumbs into his lower back. You tap the skin softly, making him jolt as you snicker, "what about the rest of my questions?"
"Well, let me get to them!" He squirms as you slide your hands deeper, your thumbs settling in the dip of his spine comfortably.
"You've got back dimples. Cute."
"Shut up."
"They're cute. You're so cute."
He doesn't reply, but you watch the tips of his ears turn pink as he buries his face into his arms.
"You fluster easily?" Your voice has a coolness to it that you've never heard, but you don't care as you watch the flush crawl down his cheeks. "Oh, you're adorable."
"Will you stop that?" His voice is whiny as you laugh, softly digging your fingers into the skin. "I like red. The color."
"Is there any other red?"
"You know what—"
"Shh, just answer my questions." You smile inwardly as you slide your hands back up, finding another knot under the bruises. You work your fingertips into the muscle gently, watching his brow furrow as he clears his throat.
"Ice cream…I like strawberry. Sometimes vanilla, but strawberry is usually the contender. There was a creamery I used to go to a lot as a kid, and I never chose the flavor because the auntie who worked there gave me strawberry the first time I ever went. So, I got it every time until we got an ice cream maker at the cabin, and we just started making our own." He sighs as the knot slowly starts to give, your palms hot against his skin, "as for the modeling, I did a bit of that too, for money. I posed for the photography students, and I was semi-nude for the art students for a semester."
"Semi-nude? You're so scandalous," you chide, smoothing your palms over his shoulders once more. He sucks his teeth in response, opening his mouth to say something but you hear his breath hitch as your fingers slide under the necklace, squeezing the sides of his neck. You lean down slightly, "so, are you a bad kisser?"
"You can't ask me that. It's in poor taste."
"Oh, you're such a bad kisser."
"What would you know, virgin?"
"Hey!" You pout, squeezing the back of his neck lightly, digging your thumbs into the skin as he bites back a groan. "I told you that in confidence!"
"Last I checked, we're here alone, sweetness. And you didn't tell me that, I just confirmed it." He grunts into his arm, a muttered fuck falling from his lips as you run your hands down his shoulders tightly. You feel your cheeks grow hot, shifting on your knees as you clear your throat.
"Yeah, well. It's one of my only secrets, so I expect you to guard it with your life." You grumble back, rubbing your hands down the length of his back with slight pressure. You squeeze his side, your fingers coming to pull at his necklace as you lean down further, "did you hear me, Kim Mingyu?"
"Yeah," his cheeks are burning red as his voice comes out a bit breathless, turning his head to face away from you. You lean over his body, finding his eyes open as he glances at you out of the corner of them. You give him a pointed look, making him huff as he closes them. "Yes, I heard you."
"Thank you."
"It's not like I was going to tell anyone, anyway."
"I don't know that," you say, leaning back onto your legs and patting the dip in his shoulders. "Feeling better?"
"I feel tired." He mutters, wrapping his arms tighter under his head as your tongue peeks out to wet your lips. He lifts his head up, giving you a defiant look with pursed lips before clicking his tongue, "you're pretty good, I guess."
"You guess?" You snort, tapping his side. "I can keep going until you fall asleep, if you want. I'll turn the light off, too."
"What about you, though?"
"What about me?" You question, dropping the closed bottle of oil into the bag and sealing it, putting it aside as you peer at him through your lashes.
"Aren't you sore? Tired? Shouldn't you sleep, too?"
You shrug, "my bag isn't as heavy, and I just need to stretch a bit. I'll do it in the morning, probably take a bath, too. I'm just offering because you're actively in pain, more than I am. Just take it as a thank you."
"You don't need to thank me."
"But I want to, and this is the only way I can."
"Tell me about yourself instead. I'll take your thanks that way."
"Nope." You shake your head, untucking your legs from under yourself and stretching them out. You take your socks off as he sits up, a pout on his lips as he gets in your face.
"Come on! You asked me all those questions and I answered!"
"You answered because you have no self-preservation skills. That's a problem."
"I've kept you alive for two days!" He shoves your shoulder lightly, and you turn your head to look at him, glancing at the spot where he touched your shoulder. He swallows carefully, fixing the sleeve of your shirt where his fingers wrinkled it. "Sorry."
"I kept myself alive for much longer, but fine," you roll your socks, squeezing your calves with your hands as you bend at the waist. You close your eyes, wrapping your arms around your knees and bringing them to your chest. "What do you want to know?"
"Whatever you wanna tell me."
"You suck at this."
"You're so mean." He huffs, resting his cheek against your shoulder. You try not to stiffen, opting to continue running your fingers down your shins as you clear your throat, "Mingyu."
"Fine." He shifts, instead resting his chin higher up. "What's your favorite color? Have you ever considered modeling? Do you think you'd be a bad kisser?"
"You're so unoriginal." You snicker, making him scoff. "Fine, why are you braless in the middle of the woods?"
"First of all, a raccoon stole my bra, like, two weeks into this mess! That's not my fault!" You gape, your brows furrowing as you turn to face him. He's really close, his eyes boring into yours as you wrinkle your nose at him, "you're such a man. Of course you'd notice."
"Or, I have my chin on your shoulder, and I don't feel the strap."
"I could've gone strapless."
"There's no support in those things."
"You saying I need support?"
"I'm saying you seem like a reasonable person, and no reasonable person likes strapless bras." He rolls his eyes, and you bite back your smile as you turn away from him. "Are you going to answer my questions or not?"
"My favorite color is green. I was a nude model for a portrait class last year and no, I don't think I'd be a bad kisser. There is skill in the yearning." You shrug the shoulder he's not perched against, and he gasps in feigned shock.
"Fully nude?"
"Fully nude. It was a bunch of girls, and most of them were my friends, anyway."
"But you called me scandalous for semi-nude?"
"I'm a woman, it's different. Women have this gravitational beauty that men just don't possess. It's the same feeling you get when you look at, I don't know, the Northern Lights, or the moon, or the ocean." You quip, turning to face him again. "I'm sure you'd agree."
He tongues his cheek, eyes burning into yours before he shrugs. "I would but that's just—"
"Shut up."
"But I have more questions."
"Then ask them, loser."
He leans his cheek against your shoulder, eyes round and wet as he stares up at your face. You raise a brow, your gaze pointed as he wrinkles his nose at you.
"What is your dream partner like?" His voice is soft, his arms crossing on his bare chest; the face of his watch blinking at 9:43 PM. You hum, your tongue darting out to wet your lips again. His eyes follow the movement, before shamelessly looking back up at you.
"I don't know, actually." You admit, "I just hope he's sweet. A nice guy, but he has to be nice to everyone, you know? The aunties, kids, animals, too, because I don't like assholes. Uhm, I like lip gloss, so he'd have to be okay with me wearing it, and I like it when they dress nice. Also, when they smell nice. And I like a man that can eat, too. I don't know."
"You wear lip gloss?" He's gentle as he asks, and you move away carefully. You grab your bag, leaning back with it in your lap. He lingers behind you, and you move back enough and bring your hand up to rest his cheek on your shoulder again. He goes without resistance, watching you open your bag and pull out the folded clothes. You reach into the bottom, taking out the sparkly pink tube of bubblegum lip gloss and holding it up to the light.
"I used to collect them before the outbreak. I had at least two in every bag, all sorts of flavors and colors. I don't like this one all that much, that's how you can tell I wasn't really expecting this to seriously happen." You laugh humorlessly, unscrewing the cap and giving it a soft sniff. It was brand new, still sweet with the scent as you close it.
"Put it on, let me see." Mingyu nudges you, and you scoff, "it's just sparkly. There's nothing more to it."
"Let me be the judge of that." He huffs, making you roll your eyes as you uncap it again, reluctantly putting it on. The formula is a little sticky, but it tastes fine as some of it seeps into your mouth. You wipe the corners of your lips, seeing Mingyu watch you intently out of the corner of your eye.
"Up to your standards, Mr. Kim?"
"You're so pretty when you shut up, you know that?"
He's rolling his eyes almost too hard, but you just smile widely as his cheeks flush once more.
"You've done that a lot, you know." You mention slowly, putting the things away in the bag and sliding the lip gloss on top before zipping it up and tossing the bag aside.
"Done what a lot?"
"Call me pretty. Five times, actually. And you called me cute three times."
"You're keeping count?" He asks pointedly, before you give him an annoyed look. "So what? I can't have eyes?"
"Sure, you can, I just know that you're gonna fall in love with me." You jest, hearing him click his tongue, "would that be so bad? I'd say I'm pretty cool, the aunties love Kim Mingyu. And I don't care if you wear lip gloss, I like the way it looks on you."
"You met me yesterday," you deadpan, and he gives you a look that says so?
"I can still think you're pretty. I can think whatever I want; which is why I think you're smart, and strong, and mean, and you're pretty but that won't change." He shrugs, "you're…something. I can't quite figure it out, but I will."
"Or you could give up." You wiggle your brows, "it's not that serious. The world is ending."
"Then why are you so resilient?" He whispers, his eyes intense as he leans slightly closer. "Why are you so intent on staying alive if you're so convinced there is nothing to live for?"
You blink at him, lips parting before he leans forward slightly.
"If you didn't think there was something worth living for, you would've easily given up on yourself ages ago. I wouldn't have found you literally licking your wounds, and you wouldn't have let me feed you, or bandage you up. You would've looked that mountain lion in the eyes and taunted it, and then you'd be dead." He shrugs, his breath hitting your lips as your jaw tightens slightly. "So, stop acting like the world is ending. It's not. It doesn't end until you want it to, and even then, I won't let you think that way. Life isn't over because of this. Life doesn't end, ever. It keeps going, so you keep going."
He's so close that the tip of his nose brushes yours, "stop playing both sides of the coin. Either you're in it, or you're not. And as far as I can tell, you're in. So, stay in."
You can't tear your eyes away from him, your breath hitched in your throat as you stare at each other. A beat passes, a minuscule beat where you glance down at his lips — before you move back from him, wiping the back of your hand across your lips. Glitter smears over your skin with the thin layer of lip gloss, and you move behind him to turn the lamp off. He says nothing, allowing you to lay on your side and face the wall. You curl your knees to your chest, staring at the light bleeding through the window that illuminates the room.
He shifts behind you, a groan as he likely lays on his back. You say nothing, even when his voice whispers good night.
You can't sleep.
Mingyu took his watch off at some point, tossing it to the side and you saw it blinking lightly above your head, reading twenty minutes until one in the morning. His eyes are closed, back rising and falling steadily as you turn for what feels like the hundredth time, facing him as he sleeps shirtless and on his belly. You're shivering slightly, the cold of the night seeping in through the floor as you wrap your arms around yourself.
You think about what he said. Not because it bothered you, of course not…
You just didn't like to be seen that way, to be perceived further than what little information you voluntarily offer about yourself: architecture student, design snob, mean girl who doesn't need anyone. You had a problem with accepting whether this was something you could be positive about, and you think that of all people, Mingyu could understand — a life set in stone, something you'd wanted for so long…just ripped away. The idea of becoming great in what you wanted versus the reality in becoming great for survival were two different things, and while you knew you'd done well in keeping yourself alive…a part of you wonders what would've happened if you'd made it to Germany. If the outbreak happened after you left, if you would've managed to escape the hurt in your chest when your parents on the island stopped picking up your calls.
Or the way your mind flashes the day you hit the pavement falling out of your first-floor window, falling away from your two lifelong friends that you'd never get to see again. All because of a loser in downtown that opened fire against public health for no reason other than stupidity and selfishness.
You simply wonder, but wondering does nothing for your bitter heart as you watch Mingyu sleep soundly; a shiver sweeping through your body as you give in to your heart's incessant tugging.
"Mingyu." You whisper, but he doesn't open his eyes. A huh is heard, soft and sleepy, before you speak slightly louder. "Mingyu."
He doesn't respond, only sighing and lifting his arm, his fingers beckoning you to come closer. You nibble on your lip for a second, before he reaches over and curls his arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You move with it, letting him tuck you into his chest before pulling your side of the sleeping bag over your shoulder. You're engulfed with warmth, his arm holding you close to him as you feel him move your leg over his hip, your cheeks heating before you hide your face in the dip of his neck, his necklace cool against your lips and cheek.
"Sorry." You mumble, but he just squeezes his arm around you lightly before you feel the ghost of his lips on the shell of your ear.
"S'okay, princess. Can't sleep?" He sighs, his palm rubbing circles into your back as he drums his fingers in tandem. Your nose is filled with a mix of him as you bury your nose deeper into his neck, "it's just cold in here."
"You'll warm up soon." He mumbles, his hand sliding up to palm at the back of your neck. Your skin prickles slightly as he squeezes, breath hitching in your throat as your face is engulfed in a hot flush. His thumb traces circles into the side of your neck, "wear your lip gloss tomorrow. I like it."
"Think I'm gonna do stuff just because you like it?" Your voice isn't nearly as confident as you move back to look up at him, his eyes still closed as he shrugs.
"I think you should do stuff because you wanna, but if you want to do it because I like it—"
"Mingyu."
He laughs tiredly, and you scowl inwardly as you rest your forehead on his bare chest.
"You're cute, Y/N."
"Why are you messing with me right now? Aren't you sleeping? Go to sleep."
"I can't sleep when you're tossing and turning. I was just waiting for you to tell me you were cold."
"Pft." You grumble, trying to turn out of his hold when he tightens his arm around you, sliding down a bit to be eye level with you. He's hovering over you slightly, eyes teasing, tired, as they look down at you. Your blush grows hotter as he blinks down, your fingers curling into fists as you lamely hit his shoulder. "You're taking advantage of the fact that I'm cold."
"If anything, I think you are doing that. It's been cold before, when you were on your own. You managed." He raises a brow, his fingertips drumming against your back again. "If you wanted to cuddle, you could've just said that."
"I don't."
"Then move."
He lifts his arm up, giving you a pointed look as you cross your arms on your chest. You chew your cheek, looking away from him as you click your tongue. "You're being mean."
"You're not being honest."
"Mingyu!"
"Stop whining and tell me what you want, babe." He quips, "you're cute."
"That makes four times, you know. Or five, actually." You mutter, clenching your jaw repeatedly to will the stupid flutter in your chest away before groaning. "Can you just hold me? Please? I'm tired and I'm cold and I just wanna go to sleep."
He doesn't respond, wrapping his arm around your waist once more and holding you close. Your cheek is smushed with his as your arm drapes around his side, your fingers dangling over his back. If he feels your lips curve into a smile against his jaw, he says nothing — but you feel his frame relax under the weight of your limbs wrapped around him, his arm under your head bending at the elbow to pat the back of your head. His fingers run through your hair soothingly, your eyes fluttering shut as you whisper thank you against his skin.
"Good night, sweetness."
MINGYU IS STILL ASLEEP WHEN YOU GET BACK FROM YOUR BATH.
You'd escaped his grip without waking him just forty minutes earlier — and you're grateful you did, because you can't be blamed for the insane butterflies filling your stomach. He'd been fully on top of you once more, his head resting between your breasts and his hand slipped into yours, pinning it next to your head. He'd been snoring softly, pouting in his sleep with every inch you managed to move away, but eventually turned on his side as you wiggled away. You took a deep breath then, covering your face with your hands and feeling the heat of your skin against your palms.
You can't lie and say you didn't curse everything that got you into this mess — but you absolutely hate the idea of the crush you knew was forming in your chest. A crush, your mother always said, is a lack of information. And boy, do you lack information right now.
But something about him makes you not want to care. You want to throw caution to the wind, you want to let him hold you close every single night, you want to rub his back until he falls asleep, you want to wear lip gloss for him, and you want him to kiss you. You want to kiss him, over and over until you can’t breathe.
Until you need him to breathe.
You wonder if this shows how inexperienced you are, how easy it was for him to get into your head. His words, his help…his spirit and incessant need to keep going when the world is crumbling around him.
But he's just you in another person, isn't he? Smart, strong, resilient…and full of guilt.
So full of guilt — but his is from the past, and yours is from the present, from the thundering in your chest caused by him and his casual touching that you welcome without a word, by him and his ability to show fear despite wanting to be brave and succeeding.
Him, and how easily you felt seen, and how you've never, ever given in so easily.
Not to your feelings, not to your circumstances, not to a man.
You've religiously fought against every single odd in your life. Every single fight with your parents, every argument with your friends that left you in a puddle of furious tears, every single stepping stone that was set slightly higher for you because you're a girl. A girl with dreams and aspirations and a need to be the top of your class, the best in your department.
A girl with the incessant need to be great.
And you feel a little foolish to think that a few words from a man, a man you don't know, can make you realize that greatness can be found in anything. You hate it, honestly, because then, your mother is right. Your father is right, everyone who has ever told you to take it easy has been right — greatness is found everywhere, and your father's voice echoes in your mind from the night you left the island for Yonsei.
"You are going to shine, because you are a star. Stars shine everywhere, so just take it easy, kid. We'll be here when you get back, in all your greatness."
And now, they're gone.
Just like Jian, and Jieun.
Just like all the boys you never kissed, and all the boys that gathered the strength for weeks to tell you what Mingyu has been able to say so easily — that you're strong, smart, pretty. And you're only more skeptical of him as you realize just how easy it is for him to talk to you like that; like you're prey he's about to sink his teeth into, like you're going to fall in love with him and it'll be the best thing in your life for three months before he decides to find another, or that you're just simply not enough. Not experienced enough, not smart enough, not strong enough to keep maneuvering a world like this — where nothing is for certain.
Not enough.
You feel guilt seep into your bones as you glance down at him from your spot in the entrance, your hair dripping down your shirt — his shirt, the one he was wearing when he found you. The brown one with KMG stitched into his chest pocket, and the lace of your pink underwear peeking through the bottom as you feel your eyes burn with tears.
You move around quietly — covering yourself in sunscreen, peeling yourself an orange and grimacing at the taste after the toothpaste tablet. You wash your clothes, letting them dry on the steps, you stretch fully and even massage your feet lightly. You bandage your hand up, replacing your moleskins as silently as possible before slipping your socks on and tugging your jeans on.
You stare at the tube of lip gloss at the bottom of your bag, your heart fluttering as you swipe on a thin layer — before wiping it off with the back of your hand. You shove it back in the bag, your hands gripping the fabric before you toss it onto the steps and grab a carrot out of Mingyu's rucksack.
You watch the sun rise by yourself on the steps of the cavern, nibbling on the carrot when you hear a grunt from inside. You lean back slightly, peering into the entrance to see him stretching his arms over his head, his hair mussed with sleep.
He looks around for a second, patting the side of the sleeping bag when he sees you looking at him from the entrance. You give him a curt nod, pressing your lips together before tapping your wrist and looking away.
He moves about — you listen to him brush his teeth, put things in his bag, shoving his boots on before stepping out with an apple in his mouth and your shoes in his hand. His watch blinks 6:39 AM, and you feel him pull his cap over your head as you grab your shoes from him.
"Why didn't you wake me?" He murmurs, sitting next to you to lace up his boots. You scoot over slightly, your thigh still brushing his as you shrug, chewing far too much for your small bite of the carrot. He gives you a pointed look, sighing before turning slightly. "Did I make you upset? Did I do something? Say something?"
You don't respond verbally, shaking your head as you tug your shoes on; and that's when he notices you're fully dressed, and your hair is damp. He leans back slightly, your indifference making his eyes narrow as he studies you. You don't acknowledge it, tying your shoes and finishing your carrot in two bites.
"We should get moving." You murmur, and his brow furrows as you move to get up. His hand grabs your ankle before you can move away, looking up at you with confusion in his eyes.
"What's with you? Is this about last night?"
"What about last night, guy?"
"You tell me, princess."
You roll your eyes, shaking his hand off your ankle like a bug off your hand before turning to grab your bag. You slide it over your shoulders, hooking your thumbs in the straps before making your way down the steps. You stop a few steps from the bottom, looking over your shoulder.
"Come on. We don't have forever, you know."
Mingyu seems taken aback at your change in attitude, and you kind of applaud yourself for staying in character. You hear him slowly stand, and you make your way to the forest floor as he barrels down the steps. You walk forward until you feel him move you in the right direction, and then you pull away from his fingers. You roll your shoulders back, gripping the straps of your backpack as if they'll keep you sane.
You don't speak for a while. He gives you wayward glances that you don't bother meeting, holding his hand out with every hill that needs descending, but you don't take it. He grows a little stiff in front of you, awkwardly sliding his hands in his pockets as the sun starts to grow hot with the waning morning.
You look around diligently as you both walk, your eyes still a bit tired from your late-night tossing and turning. You'd woken up twice during your slumber, both cause of odd flashes in your dreams about the very same mountain lion you'd seen yesterday — only to be soothed back to sleep by the feeling of Mingyu's heart beating steadily against your ear. You scowl inwardly, keeping your eyes trained to the ground and kicking pebbles out of your way.
Mingyu stops abruptly, making you bump into his back, hitting your forehead on the clip that holds his sleeping bag. You grimace, rubbing at the skin when he turns around with a frown, his arms crossed on his chest as he peers down at you.
"I can't keep going in silence. Tell me what I did."
"Why do you think what you do is so important to me? Why do you think you're that worthy of having an effect on me?" You snap, sucking your teeth as you let your hand fall from your forehead, "not everything is about you. It's not like what I do will matter to you this much, so just leave me be."
"Oh, this is so about me." He scoffs, letting out a humorless laugh. "What the hell is the problem? What did I do?"
"You're confusing me! That's what you're doing!" You scream, screwing your eyes shut and covering them with your hands before letting out a defeated groan. "You ask me questions like you care, you touch me like it's second nature and you say nice things to me like you don't need reciprocity. You act like you're just this nice guy, and you tell me all this shit about how resilient I am as if I don't know. I know I'm strong, okay? I know I am, it's all I've ever been. I don't need you to tell me and I don't want to hear it anymore, because I want to have a chance where I don't need to be any of that!"
Your breathing is shallow as you wipe at your face, unaware at the tears streaming down them. You can feel the heat of his gaze on you, and you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes so hard you see splotches of color amidst the darkness.
"I need you to stop acting like I'm the only girl in the world. The cuddling, the teasing, the casual touching, holding hands and all of that…it has to stop. I can't do it. I don't know what it's like to be liked, much less to like someone. I have a weak mind and a weaker heart, and you're confusing me. Just let me be if nothing will become of it."
Your voice is no higher than a whisper, and you can't bring yourself to look at him as you sniffle. You wipe at your cheeks with the back of your hand, crossing your arms on your chest as you glance at his watch.
11:32 AM.
"Keep moving. It'll be lunch time soon." You murmur, pushing past him to keep walking in the general direction. You get maybe three feet ahead of him when he finally starts moving. He doesn't say anything, just stepping ahead of you and trailing to the left. You follow silently, aside from the sniffling — watching the way his hands palm at the fabric of his shorts before he just stuffs them in his pocket.
You entertain yourself by watching the time tick by on his wrist as you keep walking in silence — the sniffling stopping around 1:15 PM. You stop to eat, and he hands you things without looking at you; which somehow, hurts far worse than you could have imagined. He uncaps the water for you, he peels an orange for you, but he says nothing; only pulling his hand back if he brushes yours accidentally.
And suddenly, the fullness of your belly can't win over the emptiness in your chest.
You hadn't expected the day to go by so slowly. It feels agonizing — the heat of the sun on your back, the weight of your heart in your throat paired with a dryness in your mouth that no amount of water can quench. You ignore the worried glances he gives you as you bring the bottle to your lips again, his arms crossed on his chest as you cap it.
The walk is uncomfortable. Sure, the dense trees bring a comforting refuge from the sun…but you can't stop thinking about him, even from ten inches away. You can't stop glancing at him every time he's in front of you, every time he instinctively reaches his hand out before retracting it, every time you almost take it. It's 3:29 PM before he finally speaks.
"You're not the only one with a weak heart, you know. You're confusing me, too."
It's all he says, keeping his voice gentle and quiet, his eyes trained forward as another clearing comes about. Instead of a field, you're met with what seems to be a newly constructed fence — heavy iron and lined with chicken wire at the bottom. He moves in front of the gate, kicking gravel around until the sparkle of a gold key catches your eye. You point at it silently, before he sees it and grabs it. He unlocks the gate, pushing it open slightly and poking his head in when you hear a shriek so loud that it makes you wince.
"You're back! Mingyu's back!" It's a man's voice, and Mingyu is pushed back by whoever it is throwing himself at him. He doesn't stumble much, wrapping his arms around the guy with a smile.
"I told you I would be, Chan. And we have company." He pats the man's back, who stiffens as more people gather around the open gate. More men stare back at you, their excited smiles turning to faces of horror as they lay their eyes on you. Gasps and chatter rise, and Chan embarrassedly drops from Mingyu's arms, avoiding your eyes as he clears his throat.
"Introduce her, idiot." One of the men with thick brows speaks up, a pouty look to his lips as he crosses his arms on his chest. Mingyu scowls, "mind your damn business, she's not here for you."
"It's not like she's here for you, either." Another one rolls his eyes, leaning against one of the posts. He's lanky, nimble fingers running through faded blond hair as he looks you up and down. "In jeans? You're brave. What's your name?"
Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out as an embarrassed look glazes your face. "Uh…"
"Y/N. Her name is Y/N, now let us in. Don't you know? We're really tired." Mingyu speaks mockingly, waving them all back before grabbing Chan's wrist and pushing through them. You follow hurriedly, taking the key off the lock and holding it between your fingers as they let you slink past and one of the men locks the gate behind you. You lose Mingyu in the gaggle of men, chattering heard as they all push him towards the cabin that towers over you — four stories, you think. You can't see that high.
"She's cute," you hear someone whisper behind you, and you instinctively curl in on yourself before you hear a smack, followed by an ouch!
"Shut up. Leave the girl alone, she's needs to feel safe here."
"I just said she was cute! I didn't mean anything weird by it!"
"You're a guy, Soonyoung. We're all guys. She's gonna take a while to get used to us, so don't make her uncomfortable."
A grumble is heard, and you glance over your shoulder, the blond from before and another man with jet black hair behind you.
"It's okay. Mingyu's called me cute five times." You hold up five fingers, his name heavy in your mouth as the man with the jet black hair elbows the blond.
"See! It's not weird!" He scoffs, before holding his hand out. "I'm Soonyoung. This is—"
"Minghao. I can introduce myself, thanks." He rolls his eyes as you turn to shake Soonyoung's hand, his fingertips cold against your skin. "You must've been scared out of your mind out there. Were you on your own?"
"Uh, it's not really scary." You shrug, before shaking Minghao's hand. "I was alone from the beginning, so I just…adapted, I guess. I almost didn't let Mingyu help me."
Minghao's eyes hold something you can't recognize, before his other hand covers yours.
"You must be tired. Let's get you inside, hm? Seungcheol is making dinner." He pats your hand, before pulling you forward. You follow behind him, but his hand in yours doesn't make you feel anything different. It's just like holding hands with Jian or Jieun, or your parents — warm, kind. Just supportive, really, a guide.
Holding Mingyu's hand makes you feel like a schoolgirl with a crush.
Not that you have a crush on Mingyu, anyway.
You let them lead you to the front of the cabin, with Soonyoung taking the keys out of your hand and placing them in a bowl by the door. You step inside, immediately hit with a blast of cold air that makes your skin prickle. Minghao pulls you in, shutting the door behind you and pulling you closer, your hip bumping his as you walk through the open living room.
"You should settle in. Let's see if Mingyu has a room for you." He squeezes your hand softly, before pulling you towards a hall closet. You see Mingyu's back inside, sorting through piles carefully. Minghao lets your hand go, "come downstairs when you're done settling in. We'll get you some food and you can meet everyone."
"Okay. Uh, thanks, Minghao."
"No problem, sweetheart."
You miss the way Mingyu's back tenses at the pet name, but you turn back to see him holding a pair of navy blue shorts up. He shrugs, draping them over his forearm before grabbing a towel off the top shelf. He glances at it, touching the corners before putting it back and grabbing another one. He does the same, before nodding to himself and closing the door, a ring of keys around his wrist.
He doesn't say anything as he turns to you, tilting his head towards the set of stairs to your right. You ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as he turns without speaking, two steps at a time. You follow silently, thumbs hooked in the belt loops of your jeans as you look down hallways upon hallways of rooms. Some doors ajar, most closed — but your thighs are burning as you reach the fourth landing.
"Jesus Christ, are we almost there?" You grouse, and he only chuckles inwardly before stopping in front of you. You frown up at him, but he just shrugs, leading you down the hall of several doors, before a blue one ends the hallway. The letters KMG mock you in white paint, before he turns to the one next to it. It's green.
"This used to be a bed and breakfast before it came into my family. Hence, all the rooms." He nods, pressing his lips into a thin line. He holds the items in his hand close to his chest before looking through the keys with one hand, before finding one with a matching green stripe on the bow. He unlocks the room carefully, opening the door to show a fully furnished room with pale pink walls and a cherry-print comforter. You feel your chest tight as he slips inside, setting the items in his hands down on the white desk in the corner.
"There's pajamas in the bottom drawer, if they don't fit you, we can alter them. Uh, you have your own bathroom and a hair dryer, so don't worry about sharing. There's a radio, so you can listen to music or the news or whatever you want. There's a TV, and a VCR player because this place is kind of old, but everything still works. There is also a handful of different chargers in one of the desk drawers, I don't know if you brought anything with you but I'm sure you can find something compatible if you have a phone or something. The bed is yours, and so is the room, as long as you want it. And you get your key, so no one comes in here unless you want them to. Lights out by eleven, though, so just be a little quieter than normal if you're not going to bed. Oh, and there is a pair of slippers in the closet that you can have, so don't worry about walking around barefoot."
You feel a little silly as you fiddle with the hem of your shirt, nibbling on your lip as tears fill your eyes. You try to blink them back as you look around the room, the bathroom door ajar next to a white dresser with painted cherries. Mingyu looks up from the keys, holding the one to the room in his hand when you let out a shaky breath. His eyes widen, and you quickly turn away from him, wiping at your eyes and fanning at your face.
"You can just leave the key." Your voice is thick, "thanks."
He doesn't say anything, but his boots are heavy against the wooden floor as he stands behind you. You can feel the warmth of his body radiating off him, only to feel his hand pull at your backpack. You let him take it off, crossing your arms on your chest as you glance over your shoulder to see him hanging it on a hook next to the bathroom door.
"You don't have to stay, if you don't want to. You can pick any other room, but I chose this one for the sake of privacy. I'm the only other person on this floor, so feel free to move around. Just let me know, and I'll unlock another room for you."
You nod, almost scared to step past the threshold — almost like it makes it real. That you have a bed again, a door that locks, a place to shower whenever you want. He sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets before stepping in front of you.
"We don't have to talk, either, if you don't want to. Just…don't miss meals, okay?" His voice is soft, and you bite back the words in your mouth as he skirts around you. Your hand reaches for him, your fingertips brushing his wrist. He stops, glancing down at you as you tear your eyes away from the room in front of you.
"Are you upset with me?"
He shakes his head, his own fingers tapping the inside of your wrist as he moves away.
"You set a boundary. No matter how I feel, I'm not going to overstep that. We're all good." He nods, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He tries to move away again, but your fingers grab his elbow gently. He glances down at your hand, raising a brow as you quickly drop your hand. You clear your throat, and he turns to face you fully with a questioning look on his face.
"What do you mean, how you feel?"
He shrugs, the corner of his lip twitching into a lopsided smile.
"I think you have this idea of romance that's kind of…misconstrued. It's not always like the movies, and it's not always like the examples of romance we see around us. Our parents, friends, etcetera…romance is different for everyone."
You must look unimpressed, because he swipes his tongue over his teeth before he smiles.
"Are you seriously mansplaining romance to me right now?"
"No, I'm telling you that it's not the same for everyone. I think romance can happen fast, and I think that one person can experience different kinds of romance throughout their lifetime. I think there's romance in everything, including the way you're staring at me like I'm a dumbass."
"You are a dumbass." You mutter, "and I know what romance is. I know it's not the same for everyone, so you're just telling me shit I already know. So, you're a mansplainer."
"Sure, but I'm also absolutely enamored with you. Smitten, bewitched. Under your spell, even." He admits gently, before turning on his heel. "Think about that, sweetness."
You feel all the air sucked out of the atmosphere as he walks away, humming to himself as the keys jingle on his wrist. Your eyes are misty as you process the words out of his mouth, watching him walk confidently down the stairs like nothing has changed. You almost hate him, your heart beating normally just for a moment.
Just a moment.
The clock on your desk reads 9:22 PM.
Instead of going downstairs, you settled into your room a bit; after crying your eyes out in the shower, you diligently stepped out and did little skincare with what was stocked in the bathroom, and swiped on a thin layer of your lip gloss before getting dressed. Mingyu had given you three shirts, three pairs of shorts, a pair of long pants, a bunch of socks and a zip-up. You were given a pair of boxers, and you limply laughed as you pulled them over your hips before pulling one of the black shirts over your head, only to see KMG embroidered on the pocket in pink thread. You hold back your tears, opting to dry your hair in the bathroom before digging through the mess of cables in your desk for one to charge your phone. You manage to find one, plugging it into the wall before turning on the radio to 105.7 Seoul City Central — your heart skipping as My Kind Of Woman by Mac DeMarco starts bleeding through the static.
You leave it on, opting to pull the comforter back and examine the sheets when a bump in the hallway makes you jump. You still, feeling footsteps clambering on the wooden floor before you quietly tiptoe your way to the door.
"Get off me!" You hear bickering in the hallway, but you don't recognize the voices. You twist the knob of your door, peeking your head out to see three men wrestling as Mingyu holds a tray in one hand with an unimpressed look on his face. Soonyoung is amongst the men, as is Chan and another man you've yet to meet.
"I don't need a pack of wild animals following me to drop off food, you know." He puts his hand on his hip, steam rising off the plate as your stomach rumbles. The men on the ground continue horsing around, making Mingyu shake his head before rolling his eyes. You stare at the men on the ground with your brows raised, before your eyes flicker to Mingyu. He's watching them too, walking closer to your door before one of the men breaks free, and Chan starts screaming his head off as you cover your mouth with your hand.
"Mingyu! They're pinching me!" Chan whines, as he tries to crawl away. Mingyu snorts, switching the tray in his hand to the other side before helping him up. Soonyoung continues to pin down whoever is beneath him, earning a shriek along the lines of not the nipple!
"How many guys does it take to bring dinner up four flights of stairs?" You ask softly, and Soonyoung looks up from the man beneath him, nipples pinched painfully over the man's shirt. The man takes the chance and knocks him off, wrestling Soonyoung's arms to his sides and pinning them with his knees on either side. You cover your eyes as he twists Soonyoung's nipples through his shirt, a strangled yell ringing out as you bite back your laughter. Soonyoung manages to push him off, and they end up rolling down the stairs as you, Mingyu and Chan share a pursed-lip look until you all clear your throats in unison.
"Usually, just the one. But, Chan here has something he wants to give you." Mingyu tilts his head in Chan's direction, who smiles shyly as you look at him. You give him a soft smile, "nice to meet you, Chan. I'm Y/N."
"I know." He nods, before wincing. "I mean, it's nice to meet you, too. I just…I noticed you're not wearing earrings. I don't know if you wear them or not, but I have a pair I don't use. I just wanted to know if you'd like them."
He holds up a plastic baggie, a tiny pair of gold hoops with small rubies dangling off. Your eyes widen, and you hold your hands up as he shakes his head, tucking them into your palm, "just take them. We were all new at some point."
"I can't, really—"
"Good night, Y/N. Rest well."
Chan waves as he skips off, leaving you with the earrings in your hand and Mingyu standing next to you. You look at the earrings in your palm, before trilling your lips as you look up at Mingyu. He's already looking at you, holding the tray out to you. Your eyes widen at the colorful array, reaching to take it before dropping your arms to your sides and moving out of your doorframe. He slips past, setting it on the desk as he turns the radio down.
"Dinner. Soft tofu stew, rice, half an orange, and this yogurtade thing that Junhui likes; he made it for you. He was the one with Soonyoung." He nods, "oh, and this. Cake. Dark chocolate with raspberry filling, from Joshua. You didn't meet him yet, but I said you'd be up for it tomorrow. Hope that's okay."
He gestures vaguely at the tray, "just leave it in the hallway if you don't want to go downstairs. I'll pick it up later."
He pats the back of your desk chair, pulling it out for you. You silently take the seat, crossing your legs at the knee as tears fill your eyes for the third time. He coos, patting the back of the chair again before turning to leave, "enjoy."
"Will you stay?" You blurt, looking at the earrings in your hand instead of him. You can feel the heat of his eyes, and you clear your throat as you shift in your seat, "I don't like eating alone."
He hums in response, tapping the door before slipping out. You look up to see him opening his own door, light filling the hallway as he ducks inside. He comes back with a chair in his hand, closing the door behind him and sliding it next to yours. He closes your door gently, leaning back in his chair as you reach for the utensils on the tray. You run the pad of your thumb along the engraving on the spoon handle, blowing a breath out through your lips before setting it back down.
“Thanks. For everything, you know.” You’re quiet as you stare at the steaming food, shifting slightly on the soft cushion of the chair. Your hair is still damp, your skin almost raw from how hard you scrubbed at yourself but it was the best feeling in the world. Your hands splay on your knees, tugging at the hem of the boxer shorts as he clicks his tongue.
"You don't have to thank me. Just eat." He nods at the food, his eyes averting as your phone buzzes on desk as it turns on. Hundreds of notifications fill the screen, making the entire table buzz incessantly. He reaches over, carefully silencing it before turning it over. There is a photo of you holding up your acceptance letter to the internship in Germany stuck inside your phone case — one you'd meant to send back to Jeju before the outbreak. You'd slipped in there for safekeeping, only for it to find a permanent home there when you assumed the island was destroyed.
You eat in silence, ignoring the tears building in your eyes as the warm meal fills your belly. Mingyu is quiet next to you, content with just sitting beside you and watching you eat, shifting slightly with every few bites. You only make it halfway through the slice of cake before you push it away.
"Full?"
"Very."
"Want me to take it down?"
"I can take it, just give me a minute." You shake your head, leaning your elbow against the back of the chair and using your hand to hold up your head as you look at him. He's relaxed, showered — donning another brown shirt, but in sweatpants and his watch is gone, replaced with a silver bracelet. His eyes are warm as you meet them, but you clear your throat and look away.
"Are they nice? The guys?"
"Oh, yeah. A little annoying and loud at times, but sweet. They like to have fun."
"Are you the only one who ventures the great outdoors for survivors?" You try to add some humor to your voice, but it's meek as you pick at your cuticles. He pulls your hands away from each other, and you instinctively interlacing your fingers with his. He doesn't pull away, watching you cross your legs at the knee.
"I don't want them to get hurt. A few of them were pretty banged up when I found them, and Chan was wandering around bear territory a few miles south of here when I found him. I actually found him a month before I found you, so he's relatively new. And the youngest, by far." He nods, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. "His parents were jewelers. He had a bright future coming his way, too, but the outbreak took his parents, his brother and the business with them. He's been alone since, but…he's surprisingly positive. Quite the mood maker, actually."
"That's so…wow." Your voice is no higher than a whisper, and you glance at the tray. "I don't know my way around."
"Come on, I'll show you." He grabs the tray with one hand, standing up carefully and keeping you flush to his hip. He barely makes it out of the bedroom when he glances at you, letting go of your hand and gesturing at the sweater you'd hung on the bedpost. "Put that on, you're not decent."
"I thought you said they were nice guys?" You raise a brow, but indulge him anyway, zipping the sweater halfway up before pushing in your chair and moving his out of the way. He rolls his eyes, holding his hand out for you to take. You interlace your fingers again, letting him keep you close as you both make your way down the stairs. You grow a bit wary as you reach the first floor, squeezing Mingyu's hand as you tuck yourself behind him — a group of men gathered on the living room floor with bottles of soju and empty Yakult scattered around a table with playing cards.
"Mingyu! Join us, Jeonghan can deal you in." Soonyoung calls, but he shakes his head, "Jeonghan is a cheater and I hate playing games with you, you're always on my dick about everything."
"He's just mad because he's bad at mafia." Minghao mutters, and you snicker inwardly as Mingyu pulls you into the kitchen. "Wait, is Y/N with you!?"
"That's none of your business!" He calls over his shoulder, rolling his eyes as you look around the kitchen, your eyes landing on the same man with the pouty lips scrubbing dishes with a set of pink dish gloves all the way up to his elbow. Mingyu sets the tray down on the island, and the man with the gloves looks up, brows furrowed, "this is Seungcheol. He's the oldest, he's actually an old friend from college. We played football together."
Seungcheol gestures at the tray, "I'm not washing that. Everyone eats downstairs."
"She's new, give her a break."
"It's not about her, it's about you. You made the rule, Gyu."
"Yeah, well. I didn't tell you to wash it, anyway."
Seungcheol tongues his cheek, shaking his head before directing his gaze at you. "Was he this fucking annoying when he was bringing you back?"
"Oh my God, yeah." You nod eagerly, feeling Mingyu's hand squeeze yours as Seungcheol laughs. "He was so annoying and invasive, asking me all these personal questions—"
"Asking your name is not invasive!" He refutes, but Seungcheol is only amused as you hold up your interlinked hands. Mingyu huffs, pouting as he lets go of your hand; only for you to find it again as he tries to move away. You keep him at your hip, the warmth of his body comforting against your back.
"Invasive." You reiterate, "but it's nice to meet you, Seungcheol. And I'll wash this, don't worry about it."
"Nah, just leave it. I got it." He shakes his head, taking the dishes off the tray before looking at you pointedly. "But no more eating in your room. That's how we get ants, and you need to socialize. I heard you were alone out there, that's not good for your mind."
"I'll try to eat down here more often, promise." You cross an X over your chest, and he nods, "rest well, okay? We can get better acquainted tomorrow."
"Good night, Seungcheol."
"Good night, gorgeous."
"Don't call her that." Mingyu grumbles, pulling you out of the kitchen before Seungcheol can quip back. You let him pull you along, glancing at the men in the living room once more to see them all looking at you. You give them a quick smile, only for Soonyoung to point at you and turn to the group, and Minghao rolls his eyes as the man's name fall from his mouth as you and Mingyu reach the bottom of the stairs.
"Soonyoung—"
"See, Jeonghan? I told you she's cute! And Mingyu's keeping her to himself! Look at him, practically dragging her like a hostage—"
"Soonyoung, that's enough."
He pouts, crossing his arms on his chest as the other men glance at you.
"I'll be downstairs tomorrow, and we can all get to know each other. I swear I'm cool, I'm just…nervous." You give them a thumbs up, and Minghao just gives you a wave of his hand.
"We're not going anywhere, sweetheart. You take your time." He nudges Soonyoung with his elbow, "and stop calling her cute. She's a lady."
"Stop calling her anything that isn't Y/N. Her name is Y/N, call her that." Mingyu scoffs, earning an oooh from the group as he tugs you up the stairs. He tongues his cheek, grumbling to himself as you make it up the first two flights of stairs.
"What did you mean by saying that you're 'enamored' with me?" You ask as you reach the first step of the third floor, and Mingyu clicks his tongue, "just that. Enamored."
"Okay, yeah, but what does it mean?"
"Whatever you want it to mean, sweetness."
"Mingyu."
"It means I'd kiss you, if you let me. If you wanted me to." He says softly, shrugging his shoulders like it's not a big deal. "I'd kiss you breathless, if you wanted me."
You don't respond, your cheeks hot as you walk up the rest of the steps in silence. Your hand stays slotted in his, before you reach the fourth floor landing. Your hips bump as he walks you back to your bedroom, and you still in the threshold of the room. You glance around, and sure, it's yours — but it doesn't really feel like it.
"Mingyu?" You look up at him, nibbling your lip as he hums in response. You tug on his hand, wanting his full attention as you speak, "Mingyu."
"I'm listening, princess."
"Can I sleep in your room?"
"But I'm invasive?" He jests, and you scoff, pulling your hand out of his when he grabs your arm, pulling you into him with a chuckle. "You don't get to make fun of me in front of my friends and then pout when I do it back. It's unfair."
"I can do whatever I want," you huff, trying to twist yourself out of his hold when he spins you around to face him, his hand wrapped around the back of your neck as he looks down at you. You glare up at him, much to his amusement, "can I sleep in your room or not? I don't sleep well alone."
"I just don't know if we'll get any sleep if I say yes."
"You are so fucking annoying, Kim Mingyu. No wonder Seungcheol hates your ass."
"Cheol doesn't hate me, otherwise he wouldn't be here." He says pointedly, glancing at your lips before inching slightly closer, "and considering how fast your heart is beating right now, I don't think you hate me all that much, either."
His fingers drum on the side of your neck, the tip of his nose brushing yours as he tugs on the collar of your shirt.
"Brush your teeth, turn the lights off. I'll make room for you."
He slips away, ducking into his bedroom without another word as your hands cover your face like you're trying to hide the stupid smile spreading on your lips. You let out a breath, doing as you're told…and swiping on a bit of your lip gloss before grabbing your key and your phone off the desk and closing the door behind you. Mingyu's door is slightly ajar as you peek into it, your knuckles rapping against the painted wood as he's crouched in the corner of the room.
"Close the door, please." He waves you in, returning to his task. You look around the room, illuminated by the moonlight seeping through the window — a desk like yours, but his bed is bigger, the room is bigger. He's got lots of knick knacks lining the walls, and a bunch of photos. You stare up at them, seeing him pictured with a newborn baby girl; the image marked 2001.
"Little sister?" You say softly, and he hums. "Yep. She's safe, in Shanghai. She's there for school, I sent her money to stay over the summer so she wouldn't be trapped here during the outbreak. I haven't seen her since last spring. There's a landline downstairs, we call once a week when I'm not out looking for survivors, but my watch has a tracker that she can follow on her phone. It's fine."
You feel your lips curve into a frown as you cross your arms on your chest, but you nod anyway.
"Aha! Found it, I knew I had this somewhere."
You turn on your heel to see him holding up a vinyl — specifically, Stevie Nicks' 1989 album, The Other Side of the Mirror.
"Here, you can have it. You mentioned one of the songs on here in your top five." He holds it out to you, your eyes catching a silver reflection in the moonlight on the corner of the vinyl — an autograph. Your eyes widen, and he taps your arm with it. "Take it."
"I can't."
"You can. I'm giving it to you, princess. Have it." He tucks it under your arm, and you jut your lip out in a pout as you hold it to your chest. Your nose burns as he laughs in disbelief, and you tuck your chin to your chest as a tear trickles down your face. "You're such a crybaby."
"Shut up!" You stomp your foot like a child, "my mom had this one, she stood in line for it. She said she'd give it to me when I graduated."
You sniffle, running your fingers along the cardboard as Mingyu moves around the room, opening the window and fluffing his comforter.
"You're shit at comforting people, you know." You mutter as he glances at you from the headboard, fluffing a pillow in his hand as you wipe at your cheeks haphazardly. He snorts, pulling at the pillow before dropping it on the bed.
"Literally, what do you want from me? Huh?" He shakes his head in amusement as you slide the record on top of his dresser, your forefinger tracing the autograph as he bumps your hip with his. He meets your eyes, his thumb brushing a stray tear off your cheek as you sniffle again. He slides his hand down your face, fingers curling around your neck as he pulls you close, leaning down. "You act like I can read your mind."
"You should learn," You grumble as he pinches your cheek between his knuckles, "that's what good men do."
"Okay, what good men do you know that can do that?"
"I knew my father."
"That's a good start."
"And I know you can learn." You mutter, before moving away from him and climbing into his bed. You throw the comforter over your shoulder, feeling the bed dip behind you as Mingyu yanks it back. "Mingyu!"
"You didn't even ask if I was ready to go to bed."
"Well, I'm ready. That means you should be ready."
"You're also in my spot, sweetness." His lips brush the shell of your ear as he leans down, his hand squeezing your side gently before patting your back. "Scoot over."
You move away begrudgingly, a scowl on your lips as you turn onto your back. He slides into bed next to you, opting to prop himself up on his elbow. You blink up at him, crossing your arms on your chest as he tugs at your sweater.
"Why do you still have this on?"
"Wouldn't want to be indecent."
He rolls his eyes, and you zip it up the rest of the way to make a point. "I'm just sleeping in here. No funny business."
"I never said we'd be partaking in any 'funny business' to begin with, sweetness."
"Yeah, well, you're looking at me like I mean something to you and I don't like it."
"You don't?" He leans slightly closer, and you bite back a smile as you press your hands to his chest. pushing him away lightly.
"No."
"You're lying."
"A little."
He takes your hands off his chest, pining them on either side of your head before interlacing your fingers. You tilt your head at him, "is this your way of keeping me all to yourself? Like Soonyoung said?"
"You wouldn't like any of those guys, anyway. Not the way you like me," He rolls his eyes, hovering over you. He runs his eyes over your face as you suck your teeth, stopping at your lips. "You're wearing lip gloss."
"Who said I like you in any kind of way? You're fucking annoying." You lie, rolling your eyes as you realize he's still looking at your lips. You nudge the side of his hip with your knee, "Mingyu."
"Hm?"
"Let me go."
"Not until you admit you think I'm at least cute."
"Oh boy, we'll be here all night." You sigh in feigned concern, before gazing back up at him. "How's your back? Still hurting?"
He shakes his head, "a lot better, actually. I guess you were right."
You huff, "you guess? I was right! Even with all my hard work—"
"You enjoyed it, don't lie to yourself."
"That's not the point, dipshit. It's still work."
You turn away, "I used to charge a hundred and eighty dollars for a 90-minute massage, you know. I gave you one for free."
"Because you're a shitty business magnate." He smiles, and you tongue your cheek as his nose brushes yours slightly. Your breath hitches, "no, because I care about you. Sometimes."
He stills on top of you, eyes slightly narrowed as he scans your face. You nibble on your lip nervously, your knees twitching on either side of his hips as you avert your eyes to the headboard, littered with carved swallows. He lets go of one of your hands, instead cradling your cheek gently, his thumb pulling at your lower lip as he makes you look at him.
"Sometimes?"
"Well, we just met." You lose all confidence in your voice as you meet his eyes, so fucking warm as he looks at you. Warm and kind and comforting, inviting…caring. Loving, maybe.
Hopefully.
"You don't care about that," He probes, eyes scanning your face, "you threw caution to the wind the moment you met me."
"I did." You admit in a whisper, your hand carding through his hair as you swallow hard. "It wasn't like I had much of a choice, though."
"You did. You could've not spoken to me at all, like you didn't speak to me for hours today until you yelled at me." He pouts, "eight hours, you know. Eight hours without talking to me."
You mock his pout, "so long, huh? Must've been the worst for you, poor baby."
"You're so fucking mean." He gripes, burying his face in your neck. You snicker to hold off a shiver that wants to snake down your spine as his lips brush your skin, "you like it."
"Shut up." He mutters. Your hand cards through the hair at the nape of his neck before plucking at the collar of his shirt, moving his necklace over your fingertips and dipping your hand beneath it. The bruises are still there, albeit a bit lighter as you rub the pads of your fingers against them. His breathing tickles you, making you squirm when he squeezes your hand. "I missed hearing you talk today. I missed you."
Your cheeks heat slightly as you shift beneath him, your fingers tracing random patterns into the skin of his back, "you met me two days ago."
"I don't care." He groans, "I wouldn't care if I met you this morning. Time is relative, anyway, because it feels like I've known you an entire lifetime. I like having you around. I like it when you're mean and that you smell like honey and that you're so fucking smart and I like you."
You sink your teeth into your lip to stop yourself from smiling, but your chest bounces slightly with embarrassed laughter. Mingyu pouts into your neck, your fingers slipping out from under his shirt to squeeze the back of his neck.
"Stop laughing at me!" He whines, sitting up as you slide your hand down his chest. You pluck at his shirt, opening your mouth to speak when you hear someone knock on his door. You roll your eyes as he looks over his shoulder, and you sit up on your elbows, his hand slipping out of yours to hold himself up properly.
"What's up?" He calls, and the man on the other side clears their throat.
"You sleeping yet? The guys wanna play a couple rounds of pool." It's Seungcheol, and you pull at Mingyu's shirt as he opens his mouth.
"Tell him you're busy." You whisper, your lips brushing his cheek as you talk. He glances at you, your eyes pointed as Seungcheol knocks again. "Tell him."
"Uh, sorry, Cheol. I'm a little tied up at the moment." Mingyu lies through his teeth, making the man on the other side scoff, "doing what? You just got back, pull your pants up and come join us."
"Do you really think I'm rubbing one out right now? I'm tired." He tries to defend himself, but you press your lips to his cheek. He stills, and you plant another one right on the curve of his jaw, the soft slope of his neck before your hand slides up and tilts his face towards you.
"Tell him you're busy." You say again, your lips touching his as you speak. He leans into it, but you shake your head, pulling back as you gesture towards the door. He groans inwardly, letting you pull away fully and speaking loud enough for Seungcheol to hear him as you move to tug your zipper down.
"I'm really tired, Cheol. Maybe another night. Promise."
"Lame. I bet if Y/N came down, you would too."
Seungcheol leaves with two knocks to the door, and Mingyu clicks his tongue, words dying in his mouth as you tug on his shirt again — only to be interrupted by two more.
"Mingyu! Stop being a bitch and come lose!" Soonyoung's voice rings through the door, making Mingyu turn to look over his shoulder again, "Hosh, I already said no. And you just want an easy win!"
"Mingyu." You whine quietly, wrapping your legs around his waist to get his attention. He tries to focus on you, your lips pouted as you brush them to his again. "Want you to kiss me. Please, please."
"So fucking cute." He mumbles, nuzzling his nose to yours, only for another bang on the door to make you jump. He groans, pressing his forehead to yours as Soonyoung hits the door yet again.
"Come on, Gyu! We haven't seen you in an entire week! What could possibly be more important right now?!" Soonyoung complains, jiggling the thankfully locked doorknob and Mingyu's brow furrows in frustration as he opens his mouth to retort when you roll your eyes, sitting up abruptly and slotting your lips with his. You kiss him softly, your hands holding his face as he melts into you, a satisfied hum sounding from his throat. He pushes you back against the bed, his hand sliding to your hip as you slide yours down his chest and around his sides to rest on his back. Soonyoung knocks again, and you pull away with a huff.
"Can you please go away? We're a little busy!" You call, your nails digging into Mingyu's back as Soonyoung's gasp is heard through the door. His footsteps are heard clambering down the stairs almost immediately, and you look back to see Mingyu a little dazed with glitter on his lips.
"Are you really that bad at games? I thought you were kidding when you said you don't have a good poker face." You huff, making him blink a few times before he shakes his head.
"No, I'm not bad at games. I do have a shit poker face, though, and they like embarrassing me about it." He mumbles, and you tongue your cheek when he leans down, brushing his lips to yours. "I don't believe that was your first kiss."
"Good thing I didn't ask," You mumble, nipping at his lower lip with your teeth and slipping your hands under his shirt. He's warm to your cool fingertips, making him flinch slightly as you laugh against his lips. "Take your shirt off. Wanna see you."
"You just wanna see me strip." He chides, and you raise a brow as you drag your nails down his back, earning a shaky moan against your jaw, his hand tightening around your hip. You brush your lips to his cheek, your hands bunching his shirt against his skin, "take it off. Please?"
He sits up on his knees, towering over you as he pulls the shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere across the room. You let your eyes roam shamelessly as he leans back over, your hands sliding up the hot skin as you sit up slightly. You kiss him again, slower — feeling your belly fill with warmth as his hands pin your hips to the mattress, sliding up slightly and bunching your shirt under his hands as your underwear grows damp. You feel him stop moving, only sinking down lower and the back of your head hits the pillows as he breaks the kiss, trailing down your jaw. You tilt your face away, giving him more room when he stops, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"We have to stop." He mumbles, his thumbs tracing soft circles in your sides as you turn to face him. His cheeks are flaming red, your own warm to the touch as you clear your throat.
"Why? Did I do something wrong?" Your hands ghost over his shoulders, and he frantically shakes his head, his own hands coming to hold your face gently, "no, not at all! I'm just…"
You look at him pointedly as he trails off, only raising a brow, "Mingyu, if you're pitching a tent—"
"Why do you have to say it like that?" He whines, burying his face into your neck as you let out a chuckle of disbelief, your hands patting his shoulders, "how else am I supposed to say it? Boner?"
"What is wrong with you? Not like that!" He groans into your neck, making you laugh even harder as you wrap your arms around his neck. You press a kiss to his shoulder, your fingernails raking lightly against his skin as you let your head fall back against the pillows. You hum, "you act like you've never done this before."
"Not with you, I haven't."
You still slightly, giving him a soft sigh as you run your fingers down the back of his neck, before running your fingers through his hair and pulling him away from your neck. He pouts at you, clearly embarrassed as you press a kiss to his cheek. He sits up slightly, holding himself over you as you run your fingertips down his chest, "We can fool around, you know. I just…don't wanna go all the way yet."
“Got it.”
“Maybe just the tip. I heard that’s a thing.”
"We're not doing anything you don't wanna do, I promise." He nods, and you smile softly, puckering your lips up at him. He meets you halfway, planting a chaste kiss on your lips, "this is all at your pace, sweetness."
You nod, a bit of insecurity washing over you as you look at the ceiling. "Was it bad? The kissing?"
"Absolutely not," he shakes his head, gently grabbing your jaw to make you look at him. You make eye contact as he huffs, "again, I don't believe that was your first kiss. Unless you're a fucking witch, of course."
"I just read a lot of books," You mutter, picking at your cuticles, "watch a lot of movies…not necessarily of the general rating variety."
"Books and pornography didn't teach me how to kiss. Say it like it is." He scoffs, and you raise a brow, "not everyone can be as good at applying knowledge as I am. Plus, I told you yesterday…there is skill in the yearning. And I don't watch porn!"
"Everyone's seen porn at least once."
"…Not me. I can't even spell pornography."
"You're such a liar, babe."
"M'not your babe." You grumble, biting back your grin as he mocks you, before pressing his forehead to yours. You blink up at him, sticking your tongue out as he squishes your cheeks in his hand. You swat his hand away, "not yet, anyway. I guess. Ugh, I hate you."
"First of all, I kissed you." You argue, poking an accusatory finger in his chest. He only grins down at you, kissing the tip of your nose as you wrinkle it.
"And you're so brave, sweetness. I can be a little softer, if you want." He states, his eyes searching yours as you smile, "I'm not gonna break, you know. You can be whatever you want. Be rough, even."
He clicks his tongue, ears tinging pink once more as he looks away. "We don't even know if you like that."
"You don't know if I like that. I know myself pretty well, I'd say." You shrug, "not having experience with guys doesn't mean I don't know what I like. I can explore on my own."
"Have you?"
"Wouldn't you like to know, dude."
"I would, yeah. And don't call me that."
He lowers himself slightly, holding his head up over your belly with his chin in his hand. You shift to look at him, sitting up on your elbows, "you know I don't care, right? I can help, if you want me to."
"I care." He says softly, "I don't want you to do anything you're not ready for, I'm never going to expect or demand anything from you. I just…want you. We can talk about what you're ready for when you're ready for it, even if it takes years."
The idea of years by Mingyu’s side settles a bit of fear in your bones. The idea of years by Mingyu’s side, having known him for three days – something in his gaze truly does make it feel like a lifetime.
A lifetime of you and him. Of no engagement before you, of no other boys before him. Of learning all over again, with someone new...even if he’s the someone new for you.
You trill your lips to hide the smile daring to inch itself onto your face, nodding as you look down at him, running your fingers through his hair. "I would've been ready right now, if they didn’t come banging on the door. Your friends are really good at killing the mood, you know?"
"They normally don't come all the way up here, I don't know what's gotten into them." He pouts, eyes apologetic as you chuckle, "they miss you, I guess. It's normal to be oddly attached to some cute guy that saves you in the woods."
"That feels backhanded, but I'll take the cute, I guess." He rolls his eyes, and you wrinkle your nose at him as you tug on the strands of his hair. He grunts, pulling your hand out of his hair and interlacing your fingers with his when he glances down at your body, suddenly letting go of your hand and hovering over you again as he speaks to you. "Why aren't you wearing pants? Did you go downstairs like that?"
"Yeah? It's not like I need them; it's just us here." You shrug, snapping the waistband against your hip. He scoffs, "next time, put a pair of pants on."
"Why, if you're just going to take them off me?"
"Y/N."
"So scary, ooh."
You smile, running your hands up and down his chest. You palm at his arms, raking your nails down the skin and watching it prickle. Your eyes trail all over him, biting down on your lip as you wrap your fingers around the base of his throat, tugging lightly at his necklace as the cross pendant dangles above your face.
"Wear pants when you go downstairs." He repeats, and you nod, thumbing at the pendant before making eye contact. You run your hands down his chest again, plucking at the waistband of his sweatpants, "can I see?"
He tongues his cheek, "maybe. What's in it for me?”
"Does there have to be something in it for you? What, do you want me to beg?" You smirk, pulling at the drawstring to untie it. He shakes his head, "if you beg, I'll give in too fast. I'm weak."
"Good to know…" you click your tongue, toying with the drawstring as it comes undone. You tug on it, "just want you."
"Do you?" His lips brush yours as he leans down, your hands moving to tug your sweater off. It slips down your arms, and Mingyu takes it, tossing it somewhere across the room as you wrap your legs around his waist again. Your teeth nip at his lower lip before you kiss him gently, carding your fingers through his hair, "want to see you."
"You're looking at me right now, though?" He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, your cheeks warm as you shake your head. His eyes are patient as he ghosts his lips over yours, smiling against them as you pout.
"Wanna touch you."
"Yeah? Where?"
"Everywhere. Anywhere you want."
"Take me to dinner first, why don't you?" He laughs as you let out a whine of annoyance, nudging his hip with your knee as he buries his face in your neck. He peppers a few kisses along the exposed skin, mumbling against it, “so pretty, baby.”
“Mingyu.” You draw out his name as he smiles against your clavicle, his hands sliding up your sides and bunching your shirt around his wrists as he brushes his lips on yours again. You’re unamused as he pulls back before you can kiss him, but he shrugs.
“What’s in it for me, sweetness?”
“Uh, hot girl in your bed. In her underwear. At your mercy.”
He gives you a deadpan look, “‛at my mercy’ is a stretch, I think.”
“What, you don’t think I can be nice to you?”
“No, actually.”
“Ye of little faith,” you feign hurt, holding your hands to your chest as he shakes his head. He rolls his eyes, biting back a smile as he pinches the hem of his shirt between his fingers and pulls it over his head. Your hands move to touch him; fingertips cool against his warm skin making him jerk away slightly. You wrap a finger with the drawstring of his sweatpants, tugging on it gently, “what about these?”
He opts to shrug, before his hand plucks at the hem of your shirt, “what about this?”
“Oh, this old thing? Got it from a guy who rescued me in the woods, and he was real cute—” He cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, muffling your laughter as you feel his hands push it higher. His thumbs graze the swell of your breasts as you shiver, his lips trailing down your jaw and nipping a soft mark under your ear. Your skin litters with goosebumps, “you can touch, if you want.”
“I want to take it off.”
“Then take it off me, Mingyu.”
He pulls the fabric of your shirt over your head carefully, letting your hair fall around your head before tossing it to the side and pressing a wet kiss to the column of your throat. His voice is a hushed whisper, “thank you.”
Your words get stuck in your throat as he trails down your chest, kissing and nipping your skin; your fingers carding through his hair as his hands cup your breasts, carefully thumbing at your nipples. A shaky breath falls from your lips as he looks up at you through his lashes, tracing the left bud with the tip of his tongue before he pulls it gently between his teeth. The soft gasp that cuts through the air makes him chuckle, wrapping his lips around your nipple with a soft suck; your fingers tightening in his hair as your cover your mouth with your other hand.
He pulls at your wrist, interlacing your fingers and pinning it next to your head, “need to hear you, baby.”
“You don’t n-need to–“
“Well, I want to.” He’s eye level with you, pressing chaste kisses to your face, “I want to hear you beg and cry and say my name like it means something to you. I want to know I can make you feel good.”
He hovers over you slightly, his gaze raking over your flushed face. You can’t keep eye contact, your voice lost on you as his fingers ghost over your skin, “if you want to stop, we can stop. Just say the word.”
“I want you to touch me, Mingyu.” You murmur, his hand splaying on your hip as he kisses the apple of your cheek, “I am touching you, baby.”
“No, I want you to touch me.” Your fingers cover his hand on your hip, pulling it slightly lower. He raises a brow, dipping his fingertips beneath the waistband of your underwear as you nod, burying your face in his neck. He pulls the fabric down, and you lift your hips to help him slide the damp underwear down your legs. He tosses them somewhere, your thighs falling open for him as you plant soft pecks to the expanse of his shoulder; before feeling his cool fingertips dip between your legs and slide between your folds. You suck in a breath – your nails digging into his bicep as he collects your arousal on his fingers, and you hear a soft chuckle fall from his lips.
“Look at you, huh?” He whispers, tracing slow, tight circles into your clit. You whine into his neck, making him shiver as your teeth scrape the soft skin, “so needy.”
You’re almost embarrassed at the way your hips move against his hand; the room filling with the slick sounds of his fingers bringing you closer to the edge and your soft whimpers of his name and please, please don’t stop.
“Please, please?” He mocks you, his fingers slowing down to an agonizing pace as you feel the coil in your belly tighten. “Please, please don’t stop? Why?”
“Wanna cum for you,” your voice is shaky and barely above a whisper as he presses his lips to your hairline. You mouth at the column of his throat, “wanna be yours.”
“You are.” The rasp in his voice sends you over the edge, a choked mewl of his name falling from your throat as his hand tangles in your hair. He pulls you away from his neck as your thighs close around his hand, kissing you messily. It’s all teeth and tongue, a touch of desperation when you feel his painfully hard cock against your hip.
“Gyu,” you breathe out against his lips, nipping at the lower one to get his attention. Your hand trails down his softly chiseled chest before you tug at the sweatpants. His eyes are heavy with query as you press a chaste kiss to his lips, “let me help.”
“It’s okay,” he shakes his head, but his eyes betray him by fluttering shut as you palm him over the thin material. He tilts his hips away, pulling his hand from between your thighs and plucking at your lower lip with his fingers, “open, pretty.”
His eyes are low as you take his fingers in your mouth, snaking your tongue between them before he pulls them out and grabs your jaw gently. The kiss is slower this time – his lips sucking on the tip of your tongue as your stomach fills with butterflies at the weight of him over you, your nails digging into his shoulders as he moves to settle himself between your thighs again.
“Don’t worry about me, alright? I’ll be fine. Just relax and let me know if you want to stop.” He plants a kiss on your hip, before wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you to his face. You suck in a breath as he drags his tongue through your slick folds, your thighs trembling slightly as he carefully sucks your clit into his mouth. Your head falls back against the pillows as he busies himself between your thighs; pulling a whimpered moan from your chest as your hand finds his hair and tugs hard. You earn a grunt, your free hand finding your nipple to pinch between your fingers as he traces your entrance with his tongue. You grind your hips against his face, feeling the way he’s humping the mattress beneath him in a desperate attempt to get some friction.
“Mingyu,” your voice is airy as you manage to pull him away from your dripping center, “wanna feel you.”
His eyes widen, his hands around your thighs tightening as he glances up at you, “...you said you didn’t—”
“Mingyu.” You interrupt, your eyes pointed as you tug on his hair gently. He lets you pull him up, making his way up the mattress. Your hand pulls at his sweatpants, “please. I’m ready, I promise.”
“Y/N,” he sighs as you plant a kiss to his clavicle, “are you sure? We don’t have to do this, and I don’t have—”
“I promise, I am sure.” You nod before stilling and meeting his eyes. He blinks at you, your hand still holding the waistband of his sweatpants, “you...want to, right? I don’t want to if you don’t.”
“I want you to be sure, Y/N.”
“I don’t like when you call me that, actually.”
“You called me guy for like six hours,” he snorts, making you pinch his hip and earning a squeal. He huffs, swatting your hand away from him before hooking his thumbs in his waistband, “you are positive you want this? With me? Right now?”
“Yes. Take your fucking pants off, Kim Mingyu.” You roll your eyes, and he sticks his tongue out at you as he does what he’s told. He wraps his hand around his cock as he settles between your knees, your eyes widening slightly at the mess of precum on his lower stomach, “you’re big.”
He raises a brow, “huh. Never thought of it that way.”
“Yes, you have.” You deadpan, the little smirk on his lips proving your point as you sit up, “but...it’ll fit, right? You’ll make it fit?”
“There is no way on this earth you haven’t seen porn if you’re talking like that.”
“Consider I used to read Wattpad?”
“And somehow, that’s worse.”
You move your hand in a mock-talking motion, earning a roll of his eyes as he takes your hand in his, weaving your fingers together before pressing a kiss to your hairline. You let him lean you back against the mattress again, peppering the side of your face with his lips before feeling him speak against the shell of your ear, “just let me know, okay?”
You nod silently, eyes fluttering shut as you feel him drag the tip of his cock through your folds. He keeps you close, giving you a tentative nip at the side of your neck.
"Gorgeous," his teeth scrape against your throat as you cant your hips up, your body begging for the weight of his cock against your clit. He pins you down against the mattress, mouthing at your neck with a slow roll of his hips against yours. A shudder runs down your spine as your nails dig into his back, whined sounds spilling from your lips as the room grows hotter around you.
"You sure you want it?" He pants above you, your thighs shaking with overstimulation as you rut against his weeping cock. "Just the tip, yeah?"
"All of it. Will you give it to me if I do?" Your voice is airy, your nails digging into his shoulders as he ducks his head down, connecting your lips in a searing kiss. His hips roll slowly, your skin prickling as he bites down on your lower lip, tugging at it before letting it spring back.
"Beg me for it."
"Mingyu," you whine, feeling his mouth hot and wet against your neck. His teeth graze against your collarbone, making you gasp as he lapped his tongue over the spot with a groan, "come on, pretty girl. Beg for it."
“Please. Want you to fill me up.” Your voice is shaky as he sucks a mark into the base of your throat, your fingers moving to tug at his hair, “Gyu, please. Need to be yours.”
His lips are on yours before you can say anything else, carefully dipping the tip of his cock inside you. Your breath catches in your throat at the slight stretch, and he lets his hand snake down and trace tight circles in your clit, “I know, baby. Just relax for me, yeah?”
“Kiss me,” you whisper, feeling his lips brush yours almost instantly. He’s soft, interlacing your fingers for the umpteenth time that night as he licks into your mouth. You let him, sucking gently on the tip of his tongue as he carefully buries himself to the hilt inside you; stilling as he feels your fingers tighten around his, “you wanna stop?”
You shake your head, digging your nails into his skin as he moves slowly, kissing anywhere his lips can reach. Your fingers drag down his back as the burn ceases, your legs wrapping around his hips, “move, Mingyu.”
“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, giving a harsher roll of his hips. “So pretty, made just for me, right?”
“Yes,” you gasp out, burying your face in his neck as he brushes that spongy spot that makes your vision blurry. Your voice is lost on you, choked whimpers of right there filling the room as Mingyu’s hands roam your body with a searing touch before he holds your jaw gently, brushing his lips to yours as he brings you closer to the edge.
“Mine,” he whispers, pressing a wet kiss on your lips as you clamp down around him. “I’m yours, yeah? Just for you, baby.”
He doesn’t await your response, sitting up and pulling you onto his cock as your eyes prick with tears of pleasure. His ears are tinged pink as your moans of his name slip out, pleas of harder making him bite back a whine as his grip on your thighs becomes almost bruising. He pushes your knees to your chest, your eyes rolling back at the suddenly deeper angle. The familiar coil is building in your belly as his hand moves to wipe your tears, your own covering the back of it as you tilt your head to kiss his palm.
“So good for me, yeah? Take my cock so well, angel.” His voice is soft, diabolically paired with the way his hips were meeting your ass with sharp thrusts. Your hand wraps around his wrist, pulling it down, and his fingers instinctively wrap around your throat with a gentle squeeze to the sides, “fuck, you’re so perfect.”
His movements grow sloppy as the mix of sounds fills your ears – pitched whines from your lips, soft groans from his, the embarrassingly wet squelch between your legs that makes your cheeks hot as he teases you about it, tells you that you’re such a messy little slut.
“Come on, baby. Need you to cum for me, yeah?” His fingers find your clit, tracing tight circles as your gummy walls clamping around him – the heat in your belly flushes throughout your body with a choked mewl of his name. His hips stutter against yours, only making your legs tighten around him as he bent to kiss your lips, spilling inside you with a soft whine that made your skin prickle with goosebumps.
He stays sheathed inside you for a minute, his hands running up and down your sides as you limply try to kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. You hold him closely, nipping at his lower lip with a whispered thank you.
“Tired?” His voice is low against your lips, thick fingers massaging your thighs as you nod silently, making him chuckle as he pulls you off the mattress, wrapping his arms around you and carrying you off to the bathroom as you lazily mouth at his neck.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”
“Will you kiss me again?”
“I’ll kiss you all you want, princess.”
Mingyu’s eyes are glued to your face in the dead of night.
The moonlight streams through the blinds of his bedroom, casting lines across your back and bleeding over your shoulders. Your lips are pouted, brows furrowed as your head rests on his chest. You’re covered in another one of his shirts, but this one more personal – a ‘lucky’ one he had from before the world went to shit, covered in paint stains from his projects during college. You’d pulled it from his drawer without a second though, thumbing at the frayed hem of the sleeve before pulling it over your head and crawling into his embrace.
Not a second thought before your eyes closed; your arm draped across his waist as you buried yourself into his side.
And Mingyu wonders if the feeling of not being good enough for you will go away.
Of knowing you were meant for more, for greatness. How your heart yearned for that internship in Germany, to go home to your parents and brag about it. He wonders if he’ll get the chance to fall in love with you and truly fall in love with you – before you realize he might not be enough.
Mingyu is not all that experienced. In life, love, feelings. Sex, art, music. Mingyu knows one thing and one thing only, and that’s the cadence of his heart – the steady rhythm never wavering. Beating carefully for over two decades, softly guarded albeit accepting.
A handful of friends. A mother, a father, and a little sister he misses dearly. An ex-fiancée. A woman whose hand he held, lips he kissed, body he roamed. A woman who gave her heart to him, and he’d realized too late that he’d bitten off more than he could chew. A woman who, with angry tears in her eyes, told him he wasn’t worth the time she gave him because any other man would’ve locked it down by then.
That he simply wasn’t man enough for a woman like her, but that she wished him the best – though, she would be the very best he’d ever come across.
She was right about one thing: Mingyu had never really felt man enough for a woman like Mina. He hadn’t felt the earth beneath his feet for years before that final fight – simply flying by the seat of his pants and giving his all to everything he could. He burnt out, and he burnt out fast – his relationship crumbling before anything else could, and he remembers the way the diamond ring he saved to buy for six months bounced right off his chest as she threw it at him.
It sits somewhere in Shanghai with Minseo now. She was the first to know Mingyu had called the engagement off and comforted him by shipping over a container of almond biscuits from the local bakery. His parents had been supportive, even offering to pay his rent for a while if he needed a minute to figure himself out – but Mingyu did what he did best when he felt out of control: he started a new project.
He drew up blueprints for a house – a beautiful two-story for his parents, with rooms to fit him and Minseo should they want to visit and stay. He gathered vendors, he put in orders for materials, he even contracted Wonwoo onto his plan before the world around him also crumbled. He left the city with his best friend and Seungcheol, their arms linked and beelining for the cabin.
Mingyu has those blueprints still shoved in a shoebox in his closet. He brought them with him. He kept paint samples, a singular nail and a sample of mahogany wood he’d intended to use for a porch swing – one he’d pictured his parents sitting on and Minseo wiggling her way between them, but things didn’t turn out the way he’d intended. Minseo was across the sea, and his parents were gone.
Mingyu had felt such an ache of despair in his chest that he’d been tempted to call Mina at the beginning of it all. She always knew the right things to say, especially in his moments of crisis – but he stopped himself from doing it. He deleted her number instead and made Wonwoo stay in the cabin with Seungcheol with the excuse of going out to look for survivors. This was his new project.
He found all the boys in different states. Hansol and Seungkwan had been together, sharing a backpack and taking turns doing night watches. Jeonghan and Joshua were tree dwellers, and they’d hung around Minghao and Junhui often enough to lead Mingyu to the cavern they were all sleeping in. Seokmin had been the ray of light for Soonyoung, the both of them attempting to stay positive throughout their scavenging, and he remembers how Soonyoung burst into tears after eating a piece of fish roasted by Mingyu. He’d found Jihoon on the west end of the mountain – carrying nothing but a bottle of water and a notebook, a pen slotted over his ear. Chan had been the fastest to warm up to him, badly bruised from several tumbles out of trees and all sorts of scraped up.
Then he found you – tired, hungry, and hurt. In jeans, and alone. Your eyes were distrusting, but there was something in them that made his heart lose that normal cadence he’d been so used to. The arch of your brows when he walked closer, the curve of your lips when you quipped back with a quickness he was not used to, and it made his head spin. The way your lashes kissed your cheeks as you slept...
The way your hands felt. Soft despite a couple scrapes, but you moved them with a flair only an artist has. You spoke coolly, your expressions fitting every word spilling from your lips perfectly. You were smart and convincing, and riddled with guilt. You were weighed down with the guilt of not graduating, of not making it to Germany, of not seeing your parents one last time. Of not knowing what you’re doing – even when none of it is your fault.
Mingyu thinks he’s fallen in love with you at first sight.
“Why are you awake?” Your voice is raspy against his chest, his brows jumping as he glances down at you. Your eyes are barely open as you press a kiss to his skin, a terrible blush crawling up his cheeks and ears as he tries to respond. You shake your head slightly, patting his hip with your hand, “cat got your tongue?”
“Sorry.”
“Answer the question, guy.”
“Just...thinking, princess.”
You hum, carefully sitting up and looking down at him. Your hair is in disarray as you run a hand over your face, blinking a few times before tilting your head at him, “about?”
“You.”
He can see your face go through a range – confusion, contentment, skepticism. It settles on something he can’t quite put his finger on, but you shrug, “what about me?”
“Anything and everything.”
“What, am I the girl of your dreams?”
Your brow is raised, and Mingyu can’t seem to find the words as you cross your arms. Your eyes are expectant, but Mingyu averts his attention to the ceiling fan – following the lazy spin of it when he feels you move closer, throwing your leg over his hip and hovering over his face.
“What’s your deal, Kim?” You ask, your hair falling into your face as he smiles. He reaches up, tucking it behind your ears as you carefully swat his hands away, “tell me!”
“Go to bed, pretty. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” He leans up, pressing a kiss on the corner of your lips. You huff, your lips pouted as you get off him and lie down on your side, facing away from him. He rolls his eyes, turning over before wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling your back to his chest. You don’t resist, but you don’t look over your shoulder as you make a show of closing your eyes and huffing again, before he presses his lips to the back of your neck.
“Good night, sweetness.”
“Shut up.”
Mingyu cannot believe he’s fallen in love with you. In three days, no less.
MINGYU DOESN'T KNOW IF LIGHT EXISTED BEFORE HE MET YOU.
Well, of course it did.
Maybe not as bright, not as welcoming, not as warm or moody. Maybe not in the way the sun illuminated your skin at dawn, seeping through the blinds and casting patterns on the curves of your nude frame. Maybe not in the way your eyes twinkled every time you looked at him, a shy smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you physically blocked him out of your view with your hand to finish whatever you were doing. Maybe not in the way your laugh rang out through the cabin and made his skin prickle, and maybe not in the way that he can't sleep when you're still awake because he swears, he can see your face through his closed eyes.
He didn’t really know what the feeling was, but something stirred in his stomach every time he saw a sliver of skin when you stretched. Every time he saw you settle in your chair to eat dinner, every time you eagerly climbed four flights of stairs just to flop on his bed and make out until you were both too turned on to ignore it.
You turned into a different person then. Sure, you were confident, cocky even on a regular basis — but there was something that changed. You became an enchantress of sorts, and he couldn't bring himself to say no to you even if it meant he ruined his sweatpants and his sheets over and over again getting you off, even overstimulating you to the point of tears. He won't say no, because he loves the way his face grows hot when you say his name all sorts of low and raspy and how you didn't bother closing the door all the way anymore, your sounds bouncing off the walls shamelessly. He kind of liked that someone got sent up to slam his bedroom door shut every night.
It’s been three years since he met you in the woods.
Things had progressed slowly in the beginning, but he knew how you felt by the way you settled in his arms at the end of the night. You would kiss him good night, you would invite him in the shower with you, you would crawl into his lap if he was sitting somewhere – even if he was in front of the guys. No one said anything as you settled into his chest, his arms immediately pulling you closer as he continued his conversations.
And he felt something settle in his belly when he saw you getting along well with the guys. You became a master at beating Jeonghan at cards, and you would spend hours just sitting with Minghao in one of the basement corners talking about anything and everything. Soonyoung, Seokmin and Seungkwan would rope you into their hooting and hollering, and you would find an escape in Joshua or Wonwoo once your ears hurt from all the yelling. You, Hansol and Chan grew accustomed to falling asleep on the couch while watching old movies, piled on top of each other, and Seungcheol would be the one to throw a blanket over you. You added a touch of something to the group, but he found himself quietly staring at you from across the room when you would settle in the breakfast nook.
That was when you looked the calmest, other than right before bed. There was always a cup of untouched coffee sitting on the table, and a handful of blue pencils you’d found in Your knees would be pulled to your chest and holding a sketchpad he’d found in the back of his closet, specifically after you said you were bored while hanging off the edge of his bed two weeks into your time at the cabin – and you’d been glued to it. You’d flip it closed if he came too close, and you would leave it in your room and hide your key if you were doing something else.
You’d left for Germany six months ago, with a snug ring on your hand that meant you had someone back home waiting for you.
The country had fallen back in order, almost too soon after you’d situated yourselves in the cabin. Community clean-ups were organized as the same labs downtown tried to find any way to fix the damage caused. They were out billions of dollars, and eventually, things fell back into place. Hospitals were rebuilt, airports were reconstructed, and travel was reinstated. Diplomas and degrees were awarded to seniors who had been on track to graduate before the outbreak, and Mingyu watched you try on your cap and gown with a satisfied little smile.
And you got an email a few months later – congratulating you on your graduation and telling you that your internship in Berlin was awaiting your arrival.
Mingyu remembers it like it was yesterday – you’d almost thrown up out of excitement before something settled in the back of your eyes. Uncertainty, worry.
Guilt.
“It’s only six months,” Mingyu whispered as he cradled you in his arms, pressing a kiss on your temple as you cried quietly. “It’ll fly by and it’ll be like you never left.”
You were on a plane the very next week. You held determination in your eyes then, even when glossed with a layer of hot tears that you refused to let spill. Until you got to Berlin and called him every night for a week straight – trying not to sob as he gave you updates on himself and the guys, and showed you designs. He’d been hired to do a few projects around the city, finally putting a little extra cash into his pocket.
“You’re almost home, just a few more days.” Mingyu had reassured you just yesterday, as he looked down at the designs on his workbench. Your designs – the ones you’d hidden before you rolled them up the week you left and handed them over at the airport.
“A project for us.” You’d said, and he’d peeled them open (per your instruction) once you were in the air and on your way to Berlin. It’d been a perfect mix of your design and his old one – two floors, enough rooms to fit his sister and now, many brothers. A kitchen big enough for an island and to hold an annoying amount of boisterous people shouting about how hungry they are, and still – a cozy breakfast nook, one a lot like the cabin had: where you used sidle up to Mingyu and steal off his plate, kiss his bare shoulder, ask for a kiss. And his porch swing – big enough to fit you, him...and hopefully, a growing family.
“How’s the house comin’ along?” Seungcheol asks, holding his daughter above his head as Mingyu crosses his arms on his chest. “Looks about done to me.”
“It is done,” Mingyu nods, “just need to furnish. Paint, too...but Y/N is home soon, and I don’t think I’ll have enough time to move everything alone. She might wanna help, anyway, so I guess it’s fine.”
He feels his throat tight as he speaks, nibbling on his lip as he glances over at Seungcheol, who has a warm smile on his face, “thanks for helping me out. I thought I was going to lose my mind without her.”
“You put on a brave face for the woman you love, it’s only natural you freak out once she’s actually gone. Plus...I think you got most of the jitters out when you put that ring on her finger. Nice job.” He shrugs, clicking his tongue as he looks up at the house again and turns his daughter to face it, “can you believe Uncle Mingyu’s gonna make you a big house like this one? You get a room all to yourself, I never had one of those.”
Mingyu snorts, “I never said I’d make you one.”
“And jealousy is a disease.” Mingyu stiffens, his fingers on his biceps tightening as he hears a car door slam behind them. Seungcheol smiles inwardly, hiding his face in his daughter’s hair as she lets out a string of incoherent babbling, something that sounds a lot like Y/N amongst it.
“And to think, I was going to ask you to design it.” Seungcheol teases as Mingyu forces himself to peek over his shoulder – seeing Chan smiling brightly as he unpacks the trunk of Seungcheol’s SUV. Tears blur his vision as Seungcheol’s hand moves to squeeze his shoulder, the rough denim of your jacket rubbing against his arms as you wrap your arms around his waist.
“Where are your manners, Kim Mingyu? No hello for your fiancée?” He covers his face as he sniffles, and Seungcheol’s rickety laugh is heard as you sway Mingyu from side to side with all your strength. You squeeze him, “aren’t you happy to see me? I wanted to surprise you!”
He wipes his face haphazardly, taking a deep breath before turning around and almost crushing you in his embrace. Your arms wrap gently around his neck as he buries his face in your hair, breathing in the soft scent of your shampoo that he’d missed so much.
“I’m gonna put your bags inside,” Chan announces, “since Mingyu’s gonna cry—”
“Shut up, pipsqueak. When you find a girl worth waiting for, you’ll cry, too.” Seungcheol snaps, balancing his daughter on his hip before grabbing your duffel out of the front seat. “Take your time, lovers.”
Chan is heard in the distance asking why Seungcheol can tease you but not him, paired with a heavy hit of something and an oof as you tap Mingyu’s shoulders, “I can’t breathe.”
“Just a little bit more,” he murmurs, albeit loosening his grip as you suck in a breath, “I thought I was dying.”
“Pft, you can’t die without me, Gyu. Also, I bought a Switch in Germany. We’re playing Super Mario Odyssey and reliving the days we met, because I had a dream you didn’t find me and I cried.” You ramble, “we should get together with the guys, and we should order pizza, I’m starving. I missed you, did you miss me? Oh, and I—”
Mingyu stops you with a kiss, cupping your face gently and pulling away before it can turn greedy. Your eyes are wide, “are you okay?”
“Do you still hate burl?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay, good. Had to make sure Berlin didn’t change your morals,” he mumbles against your lips, pressing another kiss to them before holding you close, “I missed you.”
Your smile is shy as you let him card his fingers through your hair, looking up at him through your lashes, “I love you.”
“I love you more.” He peppers kisses to the top of your head, and he’s sure you can feel him smiling as he presses his lips to your cheeks and forehead, “let me show you the house.”
You nod excitedly, grabbing his hand and leading the two of you up the porch steps. He shamelessly looks at the fit of your jeans on your hips, “do you remember when I posed the question of whether or not the virus was zoonotic?”
“Yes, and yes, my ass is hypnotic. That is precisely why I wore these jeans. God, Mingyu. Get with the program, learn my moves!” You scoff, and he ignores the bickering he hears in the newly built kitchen as he pulls you into one of the downstairs bedrooms, his hands tight on your waist.
“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He presses you against the door, his lips traveling the side of your face before meeting your lips in chaste, flirty kisses before resting his forehead against you. “I missed you, so much.”
“Enough to catch me a fish, guy?” You laugh, tucking your hands into the back pockets of his jeans, making him roll his eyes.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: basketball player!Soonyoung x college dj reader
𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, angst, 90s au
𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: PG-13
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: cursing, talks of tough family dynamics, bit of heavy angst, kissing
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 8.8k
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You could easily name 10 things that you hate about him. But when you bond over music and families, you realize there's more to him than meets the surface.
𝐀𝐍: This was not an easy fic. It took me way longer than I planned to write, and the story I had mapped out went in a different direction. I still feel proud of this one, my longest fic yet, and I hope that you will enjoy it too 🥹 This is a part of my very own Now That's 90's collab hosted by me and @mingsolo. Thank you to @wooahaeproductions for reading this over and @hobeemin for making a banner for me at the last minute 💙
“Thank you for calling into C.A.R.A.T radio! What’s your song of the week?”
“Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve!”
“You got it! Thanks for calling into C.A.R.A.T radio at 526 AM.”
Hitting play on the record, the orchestra's melody hits your ears, sending you into an out-of-body experience, your soul floating to cloud nine. The hairs on the back of your neck stand every time the song is played, and you imagine yourself playing the violin, getting lost in the beautiful and complicated sinfonia.
Working at the college radio station was your life. It’s the only place to lose yourself to TLC, Nirvana, and Weezer for hours without judgment. You are in your 3rd year of college, getting your bachelor’s in music theory so you can be one of the most prominent songwriters in the world. While everyone in high school didn’t know what they would be doing with their life, you always imagined yourself getting a Grammy for Song of the Year on stage. That is your real passion: creating musical poetry for the masses.
You slowly take the headphones off and set them down, looking at the big clock plastered on the wall. You let out a heavy sigh, sad that your time at the station is ending. You are allotted two hours a day on Saturday as a part of credit for your program. If you had it your way, you would be here daily, listening to your favorite records and writing songs between commercial breaks.
“Hey,” your professor Kim calls out from her office. “Come in here before you leave.”
You gather your things to leave, looking at the station one last time before entering the smaller space. This isn’t her regular office, but it has everything you think you would need: a desk, a comfortable chair, and bookshelves full of books and ornaments for decoration. You have spent a lot of time in here, pitching new ideas for the station and getting turned down every single time.
“What's up?” You sit in the chair opposite of her.
“So we will be introducing a new segment to the radio where callers can call in and ask for advice about anything, and then you can recommend a song based on what they are calling in about.” She pauses to take a sip of water. “I want you to be a part of it.”
You don’t answer right away. You are peeved that Professor Kim wants you to head any segment. You have never shown any initiative to want to talk to anyone who calls in besides listening to music. It’s just not your thing. You are a loner at heart, and that’s how you plan to stay.
“Why me?” You finally speak up. “There are other people who are better at this than I am. Hell, ask Emily. She has been foaming at the mouth to talk about anything other than music.”
“Because you are who I want,” she shrugs. “I see how you look when you talk about your favorite releases. You go deep with the lyrics and how you can relate that to any part of your life. You are more than the person behind the voice, and it’s time other people see that.”
“Well, I am not trying to be the next Oprah or Ricki Lake,” you scoff. I just want to play music, write my songs, and do whatever I need to do for the class.”
“No one said you would be the next talk show anything,” Professor Kim retorted. “This will be considered a project, and it’s worth 20% of your grade. Plus, when you are in the industry and have sessions with the artists about the song's lyrics, don’t you need to talk to them about their life and what they need? Think about that.”
You nod, feeling defeated because you know you can’t talk your way out of this. You know she is right, but you will never admit it.
“Plus, it’ll be a good idea to get out of your shell and work on those social skills,” she says. “We will start in a couple of weeks, so get your mind ready because before you know it, you will be there.”
You nod and leave the office, your stomach grumbling loudly as you put your headphones on and listen to the latest Backstreet Boys release. It’s a quarter past seven, and dusk officially sets in the sky as you walk across campus. Working at the radio station is the highlight of your week, as you can’t play music loud at your dorm without others complaining. Fortunately, your dorm is set where you have your own space, but the walls are thin, and you can hear everything. You considered buying noise-canceling foam to cover your door but were told it was “against” the rules. Whatever.
Your stomach rumbles again, and you are determined to get a burger and fries in your stomach and drink an Oreo milkshake. You cross the street, open your bag, and grab your wallet before being met with a screeching halt from a car in front of you, its headlights blaring in your eyes.
“What the fuck?” You mouth at the driver.
The driver pokes his head out the window, and you instantly recognize him as Soonyoung, the star point guard of the basketball team. His black Jeep is crowded, full of guys and girls, with Usher blasting through the speakers.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” he waves.
“Yeah, no shit,” you retort, walking to the end before the car pulls off.
Jeers and boos could be heard, but you could care less. People like that always get in your way no matter what. You avoid people like that as much as people, as you don’t want to be mixed in with that crowd. Soonyoung will eventually go pro and live the NBA life, whereas you will be on the stage accepting awards, with millions of people cheering your name.
The segment started as planned, and you sat and listened to every caller asking for advice. Most of them wanted advice on how to ask someone out for a date, makeup, and things you didn’t care about. The only thing that made it worth it was you got to pick the music to go with the advice, which allowed you to show off your taste in music, from Britney Spears to Mandy Moore, Usher, Sugar Ray, etc. It made the time go by faster as well. You look through the glass, and Professor Kim gives you a thumbs up to take the last call. Letting out a sigh of relief, you let the call ring a few times before you answer.
“Welcome to C.A.R.A.T radio. You are lucky caller number 17. What’s on your mind?”
“H-hello?” a tenured male voice booms through the speakers. You groan, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.
“You’ve reached C.A.R.A.T radio! What’s on your mind?”
“Hey. You can use this line to ask for advice, right?”
“Yep,” you say, a bit annoyed. “Whatcha got?”
There is a lengthy pause, your fingers tapping dramatically on the soundboard. You raise an eyebrow at the professor, who shrugs and walks out of your view. You hear shuffling in the background, followed by what sounds like something being sipped from a cup.
“S-sorry, I am a bit nervous,” he apologizes. “It’s my first time calling in.”
“It’s alright,” you reassure him. “I know how it is. How can I help?”
“So I already have this path carved out for me by my family and everyone who cares about me. Sports is all I have known all my life, and I have worked very hard to get here.” He stops for a brief second. “Everyone expects me to act like this all-star college boy, and no one ever talks to me about anything else than sports, and I am starting to hate it.”
“Do you mind telling me what kind of sports you’re in?”
“I play ball.”
“Okay, that's good. Well, what is it that you want?”
“I’m tired of being what everyone wants me to be: this golden retriever everyone loves. I just want to be me.”
You understood how he felt. Maybe not in sports, but people pushing you to be something you’re not. You come from a family of doctors and lawyers who expected you to be the same. “Get good grades so you can get into an Ivy League school” is all you heard growing up. When you were seven, you expressed interest in music, sitting in front of the family piano on Christmas and playing Jingle Bells, which you learned on your own. Your parents cared for a while, putting you in piano lessons and taking you all over the state for recitals. They figured if you kept this up until high school, it would look good on college applications, but nothing that they took you seriously for.
It wasn’t until you learned how to play the guitar in secret that you fell in love with how the strings strummed against your fingers that you realized that your passion is music. Thanks to your choir teacher, you had a good voice and kept it in tune while practicing writing music. You soon sang in front of the school, getting high praise from people all over for your voice and how you would “make it big one day.” Your parents insisted that it was just a phase and that eventually you would become a doctor and make a “real” living. You were determined to prove them wrong by applying to one of the best music schools and getting in on a full ride. You did that, but it came with a cost: being cut off by everyone in your family but your grandparents. They believed in you from the beginning and made sure you were okay. You will pay them back in tenfold one day.
“Hello?” the deep voice cut through your thoughts.
“Y-yeah, sorry,” you snap back into focus. “Do you want my advice?”
“Yeah, I do,” you hear him clear your throat.
‘I think you should be who you want to be. It may feel a little different at first, but eventually, you will be happier being yourself.”
“I mean…” he pauses for another second. “How do I go about that? How do I show people the real me?”
“Hmm,” you think out loud. “Why don’t you try easing into it? Start a random conversation about something you are interested in that no one knows about. Gauge their reactions, and if they treat you weirdly, then start making new friends. It might be a little harder with your family, but they will come around. But either way, it’s exhausting having to hide yourself at the time. It’s the 90s and a new era!”
“Yeah,” he says slowly. I’ll try that. Thanks.”
“No problem!” You say. “Check out this song that’ll hopefully speak to your heart. This is me signing off on CARAT Radio, 800am.”
You played “You Gotta Be” by Des’ree, a personal favorite, closing out the end of your segment. Admittedly, it wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. Sure, some questions were annoying, but it allowed you to pass on music to people and help them get over whatever. You can’t call that a total loss. You push the mic to the side and leave the room, checking in with your professor before leaving.
“Great job,” she leaned back into her seat. “You were well-spoken and composed, and the music selections were excellent. Have you thought about being a radio DJ?”
“NO! you snort. “I want to be more behind the scenes, writing songs and getting Grammys.”
“Okay, okay,” Professor Kim chuckles. “But don’t rule it out. You are a natural at it.”
You nod and head out the door with a small smile. Getting complimented about your work feels good, but you rule out being a radio DJ. You deal with people if you have to, but you prefer to have time for yourself a lot of times. You’re just introverted like that. However, that last call was in the back of your mind. You just want to live and succeed at your dream job. It was nice knowing someone out there felt the same way you did.
Before you knew it, a few weeks had passed, and you had secretly liked doing the segment every Saturday, talking to people from different backgrounds and listening to their troubles. You had a song for every call, and you bragged to your professor at the end of your shift that you had impeccable taste. The analytics showed that more people were tuning in during your segment than at any other time on the radio. Not gonna lie; it stroked your ego quite a bit.
The mystery guy called in on Saturdays, ironically being caller #17 every time. He would call and ask for advice about getting his grades up, coming out of his comfort zone, trying new things, etc. You got to know him a little, see how he solves problems, and see his sense of humor. You have no idea what he looked like, but you imagined he was just your type, like a Keanu Reeves, Theo Mizuhara, or Merlin Santana. Is it crazy that you sometimes daydream about a man you never met?
Today was the last day of the advice segment, and everyone called in with their usual advice and well wishes. Like clockwork, the mystery guy was caller #17. His breathing was labored when you answered, followed by a clunk of metal hitting the floor.
“Welcome to C.A.R.A.T radio. You are lucky caller number 17. What’s your damage?”
“H-hey.”
You know it was him; the sound of his voice was familiar to you. You shift in your seat, sitting straight and placing your elbows on the desk. You try to keep a poker face, your professor watching you with curious eyes.
“Hey there,” you clear your throat. “How can I help?”
“I heard today is the last day to ask for advice,” he says. “I can’t say I won’t miss calling and hearing your voice every Saturday.”
“Oh yeah?” you chuckle. “ That’s good to know. Well, what is the last piece of advice that I can give you?”
“So, there is this girl,” he starts. “I really like her. She’s cute, a bit of a hard ass, and I really like her mind. She’s not like anyone that I’ve met. How do I ask her out?”
“Does she know you exist?”
“Yeah. I almost ran into her once, but we talked a lot.”
“Ah. Do you think she might like you?”
“I-I’m not sure,” he stutters. “We get along and everything and we have some things in common. I just don’t know if she would be into me.”
“Okay, well, it wouldn’t hurt to ask her out? The worst that can happen is that she says no; at least you’d know.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I’m nervous as hell, that’s all. Have you dated anyone before?”
You are taken aback, your professor raising her eyebrows through the glass. You nod, licking your lips before responding.
“I’ve dated here and there,” you say slyly. “It wasn't anything serious. What about you?”
‘Um, yeah, I have,” he snorts.
“Well, there you go then, tiger.” You’re clearly entertained by this conversation. “Remember how you felt when you asked the other girls out, and apply that same confidence to this girl. You never know. She might say yes.”
“Okay, I will take your word for it. Thank you.”
“Not a problem!” You beam. “Here is the last song I leave you with: ’ 4-page letter’ by Aaliyah. Have a good night, ya’ll.”
You play the final track of the night, setting down the headphones while Professor Kim claps her hands in applause. You roll your eyes playfully, pushing your chair onto the desk and exiting the booth. You feel light as a feather, dopamine taking over your body as you meet your professor in her office.
“Great job,” she smiles. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“Maybe,” you plop down on a chair. “It was fun giving out music suggestions.”
“Mhmm,” she nods. “Well, get out there and enjoy your Saturday. I will see you in class on Friday.”
You grab your things and leave the station, your stomach rumbling and your mouth parched. It’s after 8, and the nearest thing open is the local pizza joint with the best pepperoni pizza with the cheesiest cheese you’ve ever had. You go there often, and the owners, Dante and Gabriella, get your order ready before you sit down. “The usual?” they always ask, knowing that you are a creature of habit. Aside from your grandparents, they were the closest thing to family to you, always making sure your pizza was hot and crispy with a tall cup of Coke to go with it. They asked about your studies, and Gabriella always asked when you’d get a boyfriend.
“Ah, stop it, amore mio,” Dante jokingly shushes her. “She has all her life to find the love of her life.”
More people started coming in, and they left you to your food and your walkman. You gleefully put Parmesan cheese over your pizza, taking the first bite and feeling instant gratification. A slice of heaven, literally. You take your headphones on, listening to Kurt Cobain croon on Nirvana’s Something In The Way. The “Nevermind” album got you through some tough times, especially when your family cut off communication with you. It hurt you and made you feel isolated and misunderstood. On the outside, your mom and dad put on this persona of being open-minded and willing to do anything for the family. Why were you the exception?
You feel the tears well up, and you get yourself together before people start to notice, eating the rest of your pizza before you call it a night. You look around, seeing people on dates or hanging out with their friends, and you miss that. You had friends back home, but you all split up before you went to college. Who knows what their lives are like now. It’s not like you are visiting home anyway.
You clean up your mess and walk into the bathroom, relieving yourself and washing your hands before returning to your dorm. You looked at yourself in the mirror: your jean jacket covered your black button-up shirt, shorts, and stockings underneath. Your eyes were slightly red, a contrast from your fresh face. Stifling a yawn, you leave and wave goodbye to Dante, opening the side door and bumping into someone in the process. You look up, facing Soonyoung, his cheerful eyes meeting yours.
“We gotta stop meeting like this,” you mutter, backing up and adjusting your jacket.
“Yeah, we shouldn’t,” he responds, opening the door to let you out.
Your head snaps up, half expecting him to not hear you. You rake your fingers through your hair, walking out of the restaurant. He’s a handsome guy, you can admit that, with his fresh, faded haircut and trendy clothes. You get why he is popular with everyone.
“I’m sorry for almost hitting you with my car the other day,” he calls out.
“It’s alright,” you turn around. “Just don’t make it a habit.”
“Alright.”
He chuckles and goes inside, and you speed walk to your dorm. Did I just flirt with him? You think to yourself. What the fuck was that? You aren’t even interested in Soonyoung in that way. You two are the two opposites of each other. You’re clearly losing your mind.
The cool air calms you down, and the slight breeze underneath the moonlight keeps you at bay until you get to your building. It’s Saturday night, and everyone’s out; the only sound being heard is your boots hitting the tiled floor as you walk down the hallway to your dorm. Unlocking your door, you notice an envelope tucked underneath it. You sit on the bed, open it, and pull out a letter.
I know this isn't a four-page letter, but I like you. You’re funny, have good jams, and are down to earth. Did I say that you’re cute? I like talking to you every Saturday and don’t want it to stop.
I want to take you out to a concert on Friday. I’ll pick you up at 4 at your dorm. I know you've said yes if you’re there when I arrive. —Caller #17
“What do you think of this?”
Your former roommate and good friend, Nikki Prince, holds up a black leather jacket in your size. You asked her to go shopping with you for an outfit for tomorrow's impending date, and you needed another set of eyes. She majors in architecture and design but models on the side thanks to her striking looks. A tall, tanned skin and green-eyed beauty, she now lives with her much older chef boyfriend, Caelan, but whenever you need her, she’s always there. She’s French, stylish, and brutally honest. You loved that about her.
“I dig that,” you take it from her and try it on. It fits you just right. It would be chilly, so you bought new boots, a white shirt, and black jean shorts to wear with black stockings underneath. You wanted to be comfortable as you would be on your feet all night.
“Are you sure about this date?” Nikki’s foreign accent comes through. “How do you know this guy isn’t some serial killer? We’ve all seen Scream.”
“Gee, thanks, mom,” you roll your eyes. “If he tries anything with me, I’ll just show him the moves I learned from the YMCA.”
“I’m serious. This is risque for you, no?”
You shrug, slowly taking off the jacket and heading to the cashier. “I get your point, and if anything happens, I can defend myself. But I have a feeling that it won’t happen.” You greet the cashier and pay for the jacket. “I’ll call you before I leave and tell you about it the next day. Deal?”
Nikki nods, and you both walk out of the store, satisfied with what you bought. The mall is busy for a Thursday night, with young adults frolicking at stores like Rave and Wet Seal, looking for the latest fashion trends. The mall isn’t really your scene, as you prefer to thrift shop for your clothes. You have been lucky to find some hidden gems there, especially since you are on a limited budget. Nikki, however, said it was a special occasion, and you quote, “You are not going on a date in someone else’s vêtements.”
You stop at Auntie Anne’s, buying a massive pretzel with cheese on the side, while Nikki opts for a small lemonade. You offer her a piece, which she declines, saying her boyfriend, Caelan, will make her dinner later.
“How is that going, by the way?” You sit down at a table.
“It’s going good,” she enthuses, raking her fingers through her long black tresses. “He’s so mature and sophisticated. Imagine not having to cook and clean after a man and have good sex.”
“Well, yeah, he’s about six years older,” you remark. "He better know a thing or two if he wants to keep his model.”
Nikki gloats as you finish your pretzel, talking about the elaborate French dishes her boyfriend makes for her and how he worships the ground she walks on. Since you’ve known her, she has always been opinionated and refused to associate with people within your age group. Whenever you see her in the hallways, she always talks with teachers or ignores the lustful looks of college boys. You two got on well because you were roommates, and both were Scorpio risings. You understood each other.
“Oh shoot, I better head back to the flat,” Nikki says, looking at her watch. Caelan is going to be home soon, and he is making steak frites tonight.”
“Yeah, I gotta head to the dorm anyway. Early class tomorrow.”
You walk out of the mall into the chilly night air. She offers you a ride home, and you decline at first, saying that you will walk as it's pretty close. But a slight wind blows, bringing chills down your spine.
“Wait,” you shout after her. “I’ll take that ride.”
The ride was short and quiet, your mind occupied with your date with this mystery stranger. Nikki was right, you don’t know him, and he could be this crazy guy. But you’re also excited; the butterflies haven’t left your stomach since Saturday. You feel like you know him, and you don’t even know his name. He is just caller #17.
She pulls up to your building, and you hug her, preparing to run inside and shower. You know Nikki is still worried and means well, even if she sometimes acts like an overbearing old sister.
“Come over tomorrow at two if you can,” you announce. “You can help me get ready and meet my date in case anything goes crazy.”
“Alright,” Nikki seems relieved. “I’ll be there.”
You shut the door and shout your goodbyes before sprinting inside.
“Love you!”
“Yeah, yeah!”
The next day went fast, like a blur. You slept past your alarm and woke up after twelve, making you two hours late.
“Fuck, fuck, FUCK,” you shout as you scrambled out of bed and tripped over a blanket. You throw on a pair of jeans and an oversized sweater from the University, your hair in a wild ponytail as you brush your teeth and high-tailed it out the door. You ran to class, forming an apology along the way, your heart beating out of your chest. You are met, however, with a closed door and a white paper plastered on the door:
NO CLASS TODAY. ENJOY YOUR WEEKEND.
“Really?” You huffed, leaning against the wall. It’s not like you are late for class; your alarm was
set despite you being up late last night. But whatever, fuck it. You aren’t about to let this ruin your day.
The leaves flow softly with the wind as you walk back to your dorm, the sun playing hide and seek in the clouds. All you can think about is tonight and what concert you are going to. Maybe it’s a huge concert, and that’s why he is picking you up early… or perhaps it’s a local indie band at a bar. Your mind runs with endless possibilities, excitement pumping through your veins. You aren’t a hopeless romantic or a love-at-first-sight kind of person, but something about this person makes you feel good… like you finally have someone who can relate to you on some level. Granted, you have only talked with him on the phone, but you have a gut feeling and are rarely wrong about these things.
You finally return to your dorm and take a well-needed shower, washing and detangling your hair with much-needed privacy. Your dorm has shared showers; you usually take them when everyone is asleep at night. Fortunately, there were only a few people, allowing you to have time for yourself. You allow yourself to think of the water running down your body as him, his hands caressing your body, his lips maybe touching yours—
“Is anyone in here?”
You snap out of your daydream quickly, and the water turns cold right on queue.
“Y-yeah?”
“I am here to clean the showers,” a woman’s voice calls from the door.
“O-okay, give me a second.”
Cursing silently, you quickly step out and dry yourself, throwing on your robe and grabbing your shower caddy before exiting the bathroom. You are met by an older woman wearing a shirt representing your college and sweats, with cleaning supplies in tow.
“You were in there for a while,” she remarks as she sets out the wet floor sign. Do you have a hot date tonight?”
“Something like that,” you shrug.
You walk back to your room, and to your surprise, Nikki is outside your door.
“You’re early,” you remark, unlocking the door.
“Yes, I know,” she said. “But we will need more than two hours to get yourself right.”
“You act like I can’t dress myself,” you scoff. “I just wanted your company, that’s all.”
“Oh yeah? Mon ami, when was the last time you changed your makeup?”
You open your mouth to rebuttal but close it immediately. You hate to say it, but Nikki’s right. It’s not like you are going anywhere besides school, the music store, and the pizzeria.
“Exactly,” Nikki says, setting her stuff down on her bed. “I went and got you makeup close to your teint, just in case.”
She pulls out brand-new makeup from Revlon from mascaras, concealers, powders, and assortments of lipsticks of my choosing. She also bought nail polishes, saying it was time to add some color to your life. As much as you want to roll your eyes at her, she is right. As harsh as Nikki seems sometimes, she has a big heart and always looks out for you when you least expect it. You know a thing or two about style, but she takes it to a whole different level and isn’t shy about giving advice on it. You appreciate her so much.
Being honest with yourself, you are nervous as hell. You have had crushes before, but you have never been pursued like this, where someone likes you enough to ask you out formerly, even if it was via a note. This person cares about your mind or seems to. You aren’t sure how to feel; you want to be excited and have a good time, but you have a wall up for a reason. You don’t want to be disappointed again like your family has. You figured if the people you love the most can abandon you like that, there is no hope for you out there. You lived with that hard truth for a long time, and you were content with that. But god, this guy has you curious.
“What’s on your mind?”
Nikki finishes with your makeup and hair, gazing at you through the mirror.
“Butterflies in my stomach are killing me,” you grimace. “I can’t believe I am even doing this.”
“Oh, relax,” she blows a raspberry. “You always do this thing where you talk yourself out of things you deserve. Stop that. D'accord?
“Yes, mother,” you tease.
She sucks her teeth, and you get dressed, putting on the new clothes you bought and your black leather boots. Checking out your appearance, you are satisfied with your look, and Nikki gives you a thumbs up while she cleans up.
Knock, Knock!
You look at the door, the butterflies fluttering deeper in your stomach. You look in the mirror one last time as Nikki opens the door, a brief silence followed by a hearty chuckle.
“Mon ami, your date is here.”
You see him, and you're stunned. It dawns on you why he’s here, and you feel your heart drop all the way to your ass. This has to be some kind of joke.
“Soonyoung? What are you doing here?”
He walks more into your view, wearing a grey jean jacket with matching pants. His right hand is in his pocket, and he has a small bouquet of irises in his other hand.
“I’m here to take you to the concert?”
Nikki is behind him, trying to keep her composure and mask her giggles. Of all the people you thought would show up, Soonyoung was the LAST person on your mind. This is the person who was calling in every Friday and wanting to talk to you? Yeah fucking right.
“What happened?” you accost him. “Did you lose some bet, and you had to ask me out? Or do you feel bad for almost hitting me with your car?”
“No?!” he scoffs, clearly offended. “I mean, yes, I feel bad about almost hitting, but no one dared me to do anything. Do you think I am that kind of person?”
“Well, yes.”
You wish you could take back what you said, but it was too late. You knew you hurt his feelings, the crestfallen look on his face saying it all.
“This was a mistake,” he sighs dejectedly. “Sorry, I wasted your time.”
He handed Nikki the flowers and walked away, the air feeling thick and awkward. You couldn’t even look at her in the eyes. You knew you fucked up.
“Well, that was awkward,” you huff.
“And shitty.”
You raise an eyebrow at her, and she stares you down. You don’t want to feel worse than you already do, and Nikki isn’t helping.
“Honestly, I think the guy was telling the truth,” Nikki surmises. “He looked like a sad puppy.”
You think about this caller #17 guy who would call in every week and share his thoughts with you about everything, with you having to do very little. You think about how scared he felt about being his true, authentic self and how much courage it probably took to ask you out. You know you are a tough cookie to crack and understand better than anyone how it feels to go against the grain and be who you are.
“I fucked up Nik,” you slump on your bed.
“Yeah, you did.”
God, you hate her bluntness sometimes, but she’s right. You need to go find him and make this right.
“Do you think he’s still here?” you ask, sitting up and grabbing your purse. “He couldn’t have left that fast.”
“Only way to find out is to get off your ass and find him,” she says, pulling your arm. “Go find your guy.”
You both rush out of your dorm, jogging down the hallway and out of the building, looking for a silhouette of him. You were scared you missed him and felt defeated, not seeing any sight of him anywhere. Surveying the area one last time, you noticed a black Jeep peeling out of the parking lot. It stops at the stop sign, the second to last car to go. This is your only chance.
“WAIT!”
You sprint towards the car, barely meeting him as he is about to turn.
“STOP,” you exhale, relieved that you caught him. “Don’t go.”
Soonyoung steps out as you rest your hands on the hood of his car, trying to catch your breath. He touches your arm, his hands soft as silk, sending shocks throughout your body.
“Are you okay?” He asks, taking a good look at you.
“Aside from me about to pass out, I’m good.” You take a deep breath. “Listen. I’m sorry. I was a jerk and an asshole and—”
“MOVING YOUR FUCKING CAR!”
A middle-aged woman leans out of the window and gives you the bird, followed by a slew of car horns beeping in annoyance behind you and Soonyoung.
“Fuck,” Soonyoung curses, realizing the amount of cars behind him. “Get in the car.”
You both get in the car and drive off from the angry drivers, pulling into the nearest gas station. You sit with your hands in your lap, this weight of regret sitting on your chest and guilt eating you from the inside. You look at him, and he seems surprisingly relaxed as if you didn’t reject him
not even thirty minutes ago.
“I’m going to get some gas,” he announces. “Wait here.”
You watch him walk inside to pay and let out the deepest, most agonizing sigh. He should be calling you every name in the book, and rightfully so, as you insulted him. Why is he being so nice? Does he really like you that much?
He returns a few minutes later, shoving his pockets with change left over, and you both lock eyes with each other. In another situation, you would’ve been able to appreciate his good looks, trendy clothes, and tiger-like appearance. But instead, you feel sick to your stomach, disappointed in how you acted. You look down, twiddling your thumbs until he finishes pumping his gas and returning to the car. This is not like you at all.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi,” you stammer. “I’m sorry again. I feel like a terrible person, and I shouldn’t have bit your head off like that.”
“I know you were intense, but Jesus Christ,” he exhaled. “Why do you think I wouldn’t be interested in you? You made it seem like I lost a bet to ask you out. You made me feel like crap.”
Every word felt like a punch in the gut, and you deserved it. Despite your parents' many flaws, they always taught you not to judge a book by its cover, and that’s precisely what you did. You were pretentious and stuck up about him. In some ways, you aren’t any different from them.
“I guess…” your voice trails off. “I just saw you as the athlete that everyone is in love with. Your friends, I know the type, and we’ve never really crossed paths with each other unless I was bumping into you or almost getting hit by your car.”
“So… you saw me as the very thing I told you I didn’t want to be seen as.”
You didn’t have to answer back. You both knew the answer, and it was eating you up inside.
“I’m sorry, I am just gonna go.”
Before he could stop you, you exited the Jeep and started walking back toward your dorm. You are embarrassed and can never face him again. This is why you don’t don’t talk to anyone. This is awkward; it feels weird. You lose yourself in your thoughts until you reach the street light, waiting for your turn to go. The air is slightly chilly than usual, the smell of the ocean taking over your senses that you would enjoy any other time. Yeah, a walk to the beach sounds nice, you say to yourself just as the street signal turns green. You feel someone’s hand pulling you away, and you twirl around, facing Soonyoung’s back as he takes you back to his car.
“You’re dramatic as hell, you know that, right?” He shouts over his shoulder. “You didn’t even let me respond; you just hopped out like you were on the run.”
You stayed silent. What more could you say? He was right. He opens the passenger side, letting you slide in and shutting the door behind you. A few seconds later, he is on your other side, turning on the ignition.
“You not a terrible person,” he breathes. “A terrible person wouldn’t come sprinting out of their doom in boots and a nice outfit trying to apologize. You said you’re sorry, and it’s fine.”
“Is it?”
“I mean, I’ll get over it,” he shrugs. “I wouldn’t have pulled you back here if I didn’t want to be around you. Now, do you still want to go back and forth about this, or do you want to make it up to me by going to this concert?”
It’s a brief moment of silence as you seriously consider your options. You can tell Soonyoung is still bothered by what you did, but his small smile clarifies your decision.
“Lead the way, tiger.”
He chuckles as he pulls out of the lot, pulling into a line of cars headed in the same direction. The sun starts to set, the golden hour hitting the horizon at the sea. You fold your arms, confused as to why he is being so nice to you, despite you being a bitch to him earlier. You haven’t felt forgiveness in a long time, which feels foreign. Uncomfortable. You hope this feeling will go away as the night goes on.
You mainly rode in silence aside from the music on the radio, and the hour trip to the venue seemed to be double that. You pull up to Bayfront Amphitheater, packed to the brim with people screaming their hearts out to the band onstage. Your heart skips in excitement, realizing what concert Soonyoung took you to.
“The Foo Fighters?” you grin, unbuckling your seatbelt. “I’ve been wanting to see them forever."
“Yeah, I remember you were talking about it on the radio, so I figured why not,” his voice trails off.
Your heart feels like it is going to burst at the seams. This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you, and you had the nerve to be a bitch to him earlier.
“Hey,” you clear your throat. “I’m sorry again. I feel really shitty about it.”
“I know,” he says. “Look, let’s just enjoy this concert, and I’ll forget about it, okay?”
You nod, walking towards the loud music. The rhythm of the drums and guitar blended together, hyping the crowd. You let Soonyoung lead the way, checking your tickets and guiding you to your seats. The crowd is thick, with the smell of cigarettes and alcohol flowing freely, and everyone is caught in their own zone. You wouldn’t say you are claustrophobic, but being packed like sardines isn’t your definition of a good time. Soonyoung notices your discomfort and grabs your hand, holding tight until he finds your assigned seats. You felt safe with him, a tiny spark in you that made you swoon.
“Are you okay?” He shouts over the noise. “Do you want a beer or anything?”
“Nah, I’m good,” you shake your head.
The opening act finishes their set, the crowd politely cheering as the members walk off the stage. There is a small intermission, with people disbursing from their seats to grab drinks or making quick trips to the bathroom. You can feel Soonyoung looking at you, his eyes burning into the left side of your face. You lick your lips and pull strands of your hair to the back of your ear, a blatant attempt at flirting.
“Are you gonna stare at me all night?” You feel bold, turning your body towards him.
“I might,” he purrs. “I have a beautiful, mysterious girl sitting beside me.”
“I’m not that mysterious. We’ve been talking for weeks.”
‘Yeah, in front of thousands of people on the radio. Now I have you all to myself, and I want to get to know the real you.”
“Uh huh,” you nod. “Well, I’m always the same on and off air. You’ll see.”
“I hope so.”
He smiles at you, and gotta admit the man can flirt. Soonyoung is devastatingly handsome, and he’s quick with his words. It excites you. You like being around people you can banter with and not take shit personally. It takes a load off your shoulders, not having to hold yourself back every time. You just want to be you and be free. It feels like Soonyoung is chasing the same thing.
“I wouldn’t have predicted you’d be into rock bands like the Foo Fighters. What made you want to go to their concert aside from me?”
“Well, you might be surprised to hear this, but I actually like the band,” he laughs. “I’ve been following them since their debut.”
“Really?” you say. “That’s cool.”
“What?” Soonyoung leans closer, your shoulder barely touching his. “Do I not seem like the Foo Fighters type?”
“Aht aht,” you playfully wave your finger at him. “I’m not getting tripped up on that question.”
You fell into a rhythm of laughter that felt natural as if you had been doing this all your life. Despite your fuck up, he makes you feel cozy and open. The sun makes one final appearance, shining its glorious light on his beautiful, tanned skin. You can fully admit to yourself that he’s handsome as fuck, taking him all in before the sun dips below the horizon.
“No, but seriously, I don’t seem like the type to be into them?”
You pause before responding, being careful with your answer. “On the surface, no. But I am learning that there is more to a person than meets the eye.”
There is a comfortable silence between you two, the sweet-smelling breeze keeping you at bay as you sit and enjoy each other’s company. You have so much you want to say but don’t simultaneously. You savor this tiny bit of peace with him.
“I think I am gonna grab a drink,” Soonyoung gets up suddenly. “Do you want anything?”
“Yeah, like a juice or something.”
You watch him leave, checking out his ass as he stands in the concessions line. Nice and firm, definitely a football player’s ass. You look away before being caught, watching the crew prepare for the next act. You feel like a young girl who just realized you have a crush on a boy. You’re giddy inside, hypersensitive to everything around you and how you look. You hope he finds you as attractive as he says he does, or if not, keep up the lie a little longer. You’ve been dealt many disappointments in your life, and you can’t let this be one of them.
“Here. I got you a lemonade.”
You gaze up at Soonyoung, carefully grabbing the cup from his hand. He has a cup of beer in the other, sipping before making a face. You laugh in your cup, tasting your sweet drink with some tart. You feel refreshed and a little bit alive, thanks to him.
“Ladies and gentlemen, who’s ready for the FOO FIGHTERS?”
The crowd erupts into a roar as the band joins the stage, getting their placements to perform. Jolts of electric excitement course throughout your body, screaming your heart out before the first string is played on the guitar. You’ve always wanted to see them in concert, being a huge fan of Nirvana and following Dave Grohl after. Despite everything, he seems like a rad guy, and
if you ever had the opportunity, you would want to pick his brain and jam out with him.
“ARE YOU MUTHAFUCKERS READY?” Dave Grohl shouts into the mic.
You both scream as the first song is played, the drums scratching the excellent part of your brain while the guitars take you to another level. You look at Soonyoung, his attention on the band with his arms folded, in awe of the performance being given. He looks adorable, and all you can do is smile, satisfied that you are in this space and can experience this moment. The band keeps playing hit after hit, the energy around you making you want to levitate in the clouds. You haven’t been this happy in a long time.
You reach the last song of the night, and the key changes, the guitars riffing into a song you know all too well.
“I want everyone to sing this song with us— this is for the regular heroes out there.”
You feel the emotion and intensity in Dave Grohl’s voice, making you emotional. The song is about the ordinary person and their potential; you wish your family saw your potential. You wish you could share your music with them and see you thrive in the elements you’re most comfortable in. But instead, you’ve been cast out, and as much as you worked hard to get over it, it hurts you deeply.
“Are you okay?”
Soonyoung looks at you wide-eyed; you’re unaware of the tears trickling down your face. All you want to do is be held and told everything will be okay. As if he read your mind, he holds your hand, his thumb rubbing your palm softly, keeping you anchored in your emotional storm. Nothing else needed to be said between you two; the song lyrics moved your spirit.
Kudos, my hero
Leavin' all the mess
You know my hero
The one that's on
There goes my hero
Watch him as he goes
There goes my hero
He's ordinary
“Thank you for taking me to the concert. I had a really good time.”
You sit with Soonyoung in his car, sitting outside of your dorm. You talked about music all the
way back home, singling your hearts out to whatever is on the radio. Soonyoung is surprisingly a good singer, hitting some notes even better than you can. You wonder if he had any training.
“I’m glad I was able to make it up to you,” he grins.
“Oh, please,” you wave him off. I’m the one who started us on the wrong foot.”
“True. But I think you more than made up for it tonight.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes playfully.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Why were you crying during the concert?”
You knew this question would come eventually, but you still felt unprepared. You hadn’t really talked about your family life with anyone besides Nikki, but you were determined to keep it to yourself. But he makes you want to open up.
“The song really hits me,” you point at your chest. “I feel every word and every percussion note as it plays. It reminds me of my mom and dad, and I wish they saw me as a normal person with their own aspirations rather than the person they want me to be.
It was so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Soonyoung nodded his head, understanding what you were saying.
“My parents wanted me to be a doctor or a lawyer, and I just don’t see myself doing that. I fell in love with music and singing, and when I shared that I wanted to do songwriting full-time, they made me feel so low. Like I am stupid and naive for wanting a career in this. I would actually be happy.”
You huff, wiping fresh tears off of your face. “I just wanted them to support me, but they couldn’t even do that. Aside from my grandparents, they cut me off completely.”
“That’s not cool,” Soonyoung scoffs. “So they just went cold turkey and quit talking to you?”
You nod, bitterly reliving the last conversation you had with them before you made no contact.
“Why can’t our parents just let us live the lives we want? It’s like they want to live vicariously through us.”
“Right?!” You exclaim. “See, you get it!”
“Unfortunately, yeah,” he mumbled.
You turn your body to look at him, studying his face and the possible thoughts he is having. You may see more eye to eye than you realize.
‘So, what’s your damage?” You poke at him.
“It’s the same as yours,” he revealed. “They just want me to keep playing basketball so I can go into the big leagues and take care of everyone. I am essentially everyone’s meal ticket.”
“Well, you don’t have to be,” you say. “You could just say fuck ‘em and live for yourself.”
“Easier said than done,” he sighs. “I’m the first person in my family to attend college, and I actually like playing basketball. I believe in it, bleed it, all that… but whenever I am around my folks or friends, that’s all they want me to be about it. It’s like I’m not real. I am a person with complex interests and feelings, too.”
“I know exactly what you mean, tiger.”
You smile reassuringly; you understand that last sentence all too well. Your family would rather consider you the family fuck up, the black sheep, instead of understanding that you wanted different things. Why is that so fucking complicated? You stifle a yawn, looking at your watch and seeing how late it was.
“I really like talking to you and being around you,” Soonyoung confesses. I hope we can do it more.”
“Yeah,” you gaze into his eyes. “ I would love that.”
He walks you to your dorm, opens the doors, and holds your waist as you walk up the steps. His hands bring jitters and butterflies in your stomach that you hope you can experience more. You know you have a hard, cold exterior on the outside, but deep down, you want to feel love and adoration from someone. You hope Soonyoung can bring that.
You never want this feeling to go away.
“Thank you for walking me in,” you say, unlocking the keys to your room. “I know I was being a bitch early, but thank you for showing me a good time anyway.”
“It was worth it, seeing a smile on your face.”
“Was it?”
“Yeah,” he leans in closer. “I want to see it more.”
His lips touch yours, your chest bursting like fireworks as he deepens the kiss. Your arms rest on his shoulders, feeling natural and comfortable like a glove. He is gentle and kind, not doing too much but making you feel safe and like you can depend on him. It's crazy how one kiss can have you seeing your future.
“We should do that more often,” you joke, leaving one last peck.
He chuckles, pulling you into a hug.
“We will. I’ll make sure to do it more often.”
“Okay,” you say, walking into your dorm. “I’ll hold you to it.”
Pairing: demon!Kwon Soonyoung x f! grad student reader
Genre: smut, a smidge of angst, urban fantasy/dark academia
warnings: fingering, finger sucking, hoshi drinks her blood? but not really, oral (f and m receiving), spitting, dirty talk, chan makes an appearance and then gets dogged by hoshi, brief mentions of threesome, unprotected sex, cream pie, cum eating, multiple smut scenes, wet dreams, death (not main characters), occult shit
Length: ~11k
Note: as every fic this started as plotless smut and then turned into whatever the hell it is now. thank u @sailorsoons and @gyuswhore for being my betas, and @100vern for the banner. i haven't written anything and months so i'm a bit rusty. inspired by ninth house/hell bent by leigh bardugo
summary: You didn't mean to summon him but your demon is dedicated to serving you anyway he can.
m.list
This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.
You didn’t mean to.
The incantation you studied for nearly six months was perfect. In no way, shape, or form should the ritual have gone awry even if stray magic emerged. At worst, nothing should have happened. You’d should’ve ended up with an empty summoning circle, wasted materials that would need to be vacuumed up. At best, you’d have a servitor ready to assist with the more mundane parts of your thesis research.
As with every ritual, you drew the proper wards in salt and bone ash, some graveyard dirt on hand just in case. You had the knife, ready to sacrifice a few drops of blood for such a useful creation.
You recited the incantation, pricked your finger and then…
Nothing.
The sulfurous stench occult didn’t flood the room, the wards didn’t even manage a flickering glow. The candle flames didn’t even wince.
Utter failure.
You were too tired to do much more than release a choked scream in frustration before blowing out the candles and running upstairs.
Tomorrow you’d study the ancient manuscript for what you missed and try again. You just needed some sleep first.
You barely managed a few hours when you wake up with the distinct feeling something was wrong.
Everyone else left for winter break, leaving you alone with a mountain of books and articles to skim for the thesis you’ve been writing for years. It’s why you need a servitor to begin with; there was too much work to be done and simply not enough time.
No one should be in the house, but you got the distinct feeling someone, or something, was.
Only the noise of the house rang through your ears, the creak of the floor boards, the wind battering against the windows. The occasional owl calling from the tree outside the window of the living room on the ground floor. You swiped a knife from the kitchen and one of the spare jars of graveyard dirt before heading downstairs.
What a terrifying image you portrayed: a raggedy university sweater and pajama pants, dark circle bruised beneath your eyes, and a dirty kitchen knife.
None of it mattered.
The sharp scent of magic clouded the air at the bottom of the steps leading to the basement, thick as a curtain. But it wasn’t the rotten scent you were accustomed to. It was heavier with the sickly sweetness of flowers, like a poisonous bloom attempting to lure you in.
And what would want to lure prey into a trap more than a predator?
Standing in the circle was a man, but he was too perfect to be just a man. Gold flowed through his veins, illuminating him from the inside out. His eyes glowed like honey as he stared at you, watching. Waiting.
You were so distracted by his eyes you barely realized he was naked. He didn’t seem to care either, or register the fact he’s hard and you could see the way his length bobbed between his thighs.
Embarrassment didn’t have a chance to take root because he said your name just as sweet as the flower smelled.
You launched the jar of dirt at him in shock, the bottle shattering into a thousand pieces at his feet. The man made no move to avoid the explosion, didn’t disappear like the undead usually did when confronted with the reminder that they were no longer of the living. He didn’t even blink.
“What are you?” you shouted, brandishing the knife as if that could do anything. He was in the circle, that was safe enough for now.
“Yours.”
“That’s not,” you start, breathless. “What are you?”
“I’m…” He struggled with the words to explain his purpose.
You tried to keep your eyes level with his but miles of bare, tan skin, with taunt muscles corded underneath proved too tempting. A few silver scars littered his body, indecipherable in the light and the passage of time. He was much older than you could even begin to imagine; this form only the briefest glimpse of his actual power.
“I’m a servant.”
“You’re the servitor I summoned?”
The manuscript you studied didn’t specify what a servitor looked like, only that it would serve its summoner with whatever tasks it was assigned.
He nodded widely. “I’m meant to serve whoever I’m bound to.”
“And now you’re bound to me.”
“Yes,” he swallowed. For the first time, he seemed to realize he’s naked but continued to be unbothered by it. His palm shakily grazed over himself before curling around his thighs.
Other passages from your reading came to mind as you forced your gaze away.
Bind your servitor to their duties as soon as possible, they don’t do well without direction.
They are eager to please and are capable of any task their summoner presents them with.
“We need…” you swallowed, trying to hide the squeak in your voice. “We need to make a deal.”
He nodded.
“You have to follow all of my commands.”
“Of course.”
“If you don’t,” you stuttered, grasping at straws for a threat. “I–I’ll banish you to a demiplane.”
His head tilted to the side, eyes pouring down your figure. Perhaps the stains of your sweater weren’t intimidating to him, but you held the power. He was still stuck in the circle, and you could send him away with a few words. Either he listened or turned back into nothing. Or worse; stuck in a demiplane with no purpose for the rest of time.
“Whatever you tell me to do, I’ll do,” he rasped.
“Good. Give me your name.”
“Hoshi.”
You almost settled for that but something told you that wasn’t right. Occult creatures weren’t predisposed to honesty no matter how simple minded.
“Your true name,” you commanded.
He watched you for a long moment, eyes fading from gold to brown. Human eyes. Something familiar flickered in them when he said, “Soonyoung.”
As you repeated it, he shivered, a strangled inhale to match. You didn’t mean to, but a quick glance down showed he was still hard and leaking. Obscenely so. To the point it mixed with the circle drawn on the floor.
“Swear to do everything I say, and to never disobey me,” you said, eyes fixed on his, now golden once again.
“I swear to follow your every command, exactly as you say them.”
“And…”
“And to never disobey you or betray you. I bind myself to you, and anything you wish of me,” he vowed. Soonyoung attempted to take a step forward but stopped once he realized the circle was unbreakable.
Something wasn’t right. Soonyoung seemed like he wanted to tell you more, but you needed to ask the right questions. You knew what the question was, and that made you dread it all the more.
“You’re not a servitor at all, are you?”
Soonyoung rolled his shoulders, his muscles shifting and flexing with the motion. He seemed to grow taller, take up more space with the action as if only a fraction of his true form existed in front of you and the rest hid out of sight. “No.”
“Then what are you?”
“I think you know what I am.”
Since childhood you managed to summon all types of beings: spirits, a few hellhounds, a shade that left your mother locked in her room for weeks, refusing to see you. They appeared whether you called on them or not, flocking to you like a beacon. Summoning had never been your forte and now was no exception. But Soonyoung wasn’t like anything you accidentally called before.
A demon.
A demon who gave you his name and bound himself in service. To you.
Horrified, you rushed back up the way you came, the worn edges of the stairs bruising your knees as you tripped. If Soonyoung was truly a demon, then the wards would only keep him trapped for so long and the last place you need to be was next to him when he escaped. Profound relief greeted you once you were safely tucked back upstairs knowing that he hadn’t followed.
And perhaps a trickle of disappointment.
The dreams started a few nights after Soonyoung got stuck.
Stuck was the only way to describe him. Sandwiched between this world and the next, trapped in that tiny circle in the ritual room like a chained animal. He couldn’t leave the circle anymore than you could send him back where he belonged. You didn’t plan to conjure a demon with the incantation, which means you didn’t have a plan to banish him either. What had been done needed to be undone the exact same way, without error. Which meant late nights reading the same books you studied for weeks leading up to summoning the servitor, looking for any clue as to what went wrong; if it was the words, or materials, or anything else seemingly inconsequential. But no amount of reading gave you a clue because you followed the ritual to the exact letter.
He proved no help in the beginning, simply staring at you after each question about what he was and how he got here. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up each time you ventured to the ritual room for a new book, no matter how you tried to ignore his presence. He studied you with hunger
Then the dreams started.
They always began the same: you waking in bed, the aching in your core demanding attention. And then you’d be in the ritual room, or still in bed, occasionally in the archival library. You looked for something, someone. He was always there too. Soonyoung would pin you to the bookcase, down into the sheets, or against the floor boards so hard it hurt.
It was his teeth biting along your hips.
His lips sucking bruises into your thighs.
His tongue working over you in heavy strips; from your ankle, between your legs, across your breasts, caressing the sensitive flesh of your neck.
His voice crying your name, desperate pleas for something. To touch him too. To reveal in the bliss he so freely gifted.
Soonyoung knew how to touch you, skillfully working you into a pitiful mess every night. He knew exactly how your body worked, what you needed, all the tender spots to abuse until you begged him to stop.Every dream ended the same: you alone, overly aware who waits in the basement, unable to shake the feeling he knew and his pleas in your dream was for you to join him and make them reality.
Two weeks passed and you stood no closer to banishing Soonyoung than you were curing cancer. Perhaps closer to the latter.
You’ve all but ceased visits to the ritual room since he decided to finally speak. Soonyoung stared at you every time you entered the chamber. Even after weeks he did nothing to hide his arousal. The sweatpants you dug out only hide the plain view of his cock, not the fact he’s hard or the fact he wanted you to look.
They do nothing to muffle how he watched your every move, the heat of his gaze burning down to your core. Like he’s studying you, figuring out any sign of weakness, what made you tick.
“If you’re stuck here, you might as well work,” you said, approaching him. Magic had a unique smell. Stale smoke and rot. This close you realized Soonyoung didn’t smell like the magic you were used to. He smelled like old paper and night air, the richness curled around you and tempted you to take another step closer to him.
Your demon watched as you shuffled forward, eyes glued to your hands. “How?”
“Read this. I don’t have time to figure out how to banish you and continue my research.”
You handed him the leather bound tome through the circle without losing your hand, ready to release it the second it passed into his domain, but Soonyoung was faster. He snatched the book, pulling you in up to your elbow. Your wrist snared between his fingers, his tongue on your palm.
“My Mine of precious stones, My Empirie, How blest am I in this discovering thee, To enter in these bonds, is to be free; Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be.”
He licked between your fingers, sucked one into the hot swell of his mouth. The prickle of his teeth vibrated to your core.
“You taste amazing,” he moaned, eyes slipping shut. He followed the arch of your thumb, tonguing at the bare skin of your wrist between his fingers. “Better than those dreams.”
That snapped you out of whatever lust-fueled trance he put you under. Snatching back your hand, Soonyoung blinked as if he too was put under a lull, but you couldn’t focus on that. You needed to be away. As far away as possible in the massive house. And even that wasn’t far enough.
You had a demon problem.
Winter break was almost over, which means students floating back to campus. And students back on campus meant Soonyoung couldn’t stay a secret much longer.
No one else could know. Summoning creatures was out of bounds even for a house that specialized in using the dead and demonic for their bidding. When the dean discovered a demon on campus the punishment would be tenfold that of if you did manage to summon a mindless servant.
After nights researching in other libraries on campus, buried under books so old they verged on crumbling, you had answers but you’re no closer to a solution.
A servant of Asmodeus. Lustful, sinful.
Soonyoung’s purpose was to serve whoever calls on him, but the fine print is that he is the embodiment of desire. Not exactly an incubus but not exactly anything else you could find either. There are basic ways to expel him: exorcisms, burning incense, birch branches. Though, all your research leaves more questions because the creatures described in text take the form of dead lovers and Soonyoung is like no one you’ve ever seen before.
The stress of research made the dreams worse.
Soonyoung on top of you, behind you, beneath you. The positions changed depending on where you found him, but he was always inside you. His fingers, his tongue. Untangling all your nerves until they exploded and then doing it again and again and again.
The one time you begged, salty tears streaking down your cheeks, he gave you his cock. Inch by inch until your ass sat flush with his hips, Soonyoung’s arms bracketing you on either side, his chest sticky against your back.
“Imagine how much better I can do,” he moaned into your hair, hips ripping the air from your lungs, “if you let me.”
Another week and no matter how much you avoided Soonyoung, his presence lingered like the chill of winter barking at the windows.
The dreams changed again. Still full of naked skin and debauched sounds, but sometimes you woke in his arms, limbs heavy and satiated as if you really did let him into your bed. He was still behind you, on top of you, beneath you but he curled around you like a soft blanket instead of a needful lover as he pulled you apart until you couldn’t breathe.
Soonyoung would whisper more poems in your ear, lips etching the words into your skin, gently rocking into you with sweet whimpers. No longer were you bound to just the house, your subconscious took you farther and farther; into fields and caves, castles and mansions; in the soft glow of sunrise and into the eye of hurricanes; and your bodies met again and again and again.
After, he’d pull you his chest, tracing the skin between your shoulder blades as you dozed off.
“She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright. Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow’d to that tender light. Which hell to gaudy day denies.”
“I don’t remember that being the line,” you hummed.
Soonyoung pressed his mouth to your hair, inhaling deeply before speaking. “Blasphemy won’t earn you favors down the line.”
“I think I’ve crossed the line too many times already…” you said, moving to straddle him. “What’s one more?”
After another round — Soonyoung fucking up into you while you held on for dear life, eager to take pleasure from someone so willing to give — he laid you back down and buried his face in your stomach.
“How could something as divine as you be a sin?”
You realized the dreams were as much his as they were yours.
A week is all you had to banish Soonyoung back to wherever he belonged.
In seven days, the other members of the house returned and shortly after that, they’d descend to the ritual room and find him. He needed to go home. The sooner the better.
After an entire day studying the necromancy texts kept in the archives, you moved to one of the other society houses, hoping their library proved more useful. None of them liked sharing their magic but it’s easy enough to lie your way in under the promise of noting anything useful. They’d rather have a bookworm pick through the fluff and regurgitate the most interesting pieces than look for answers themself.
Chan was no different but he liked to pretend demonomicons and dusty grimoires fascinated him if it meant you’d let him sit with you. Two dates and nothing more didn’t seem to deter him from trying for a third, if anything he seemed eager to prove he deserved another chance.
It was well beyond midnight when he offered to walk you home, frigid wind curling through the streets. Chan was the one struggling to keep up as you all but sprinted home.
“I could come inside,” Chan suggested with a hopeful look on his face.
“No,” you shouted. “I mean…I have to clean up before everyone comes back. It’s a complete mess.”
He nodded, pretending not to be embarrassed from your easy refusal. “Alright. Well, have a good night.”
Maybe he’s what you needed. A quick romp, something to clear your head. Someone to fulfill all the fantasies Soonyoung planted and let bloom for the past month.
“Actually,” you said. “Maybe you could come in. Just for a little bit.”
Chan’s inability to satisfy you had nothing to do with him. Even as he rolled into you, attentive to every embellished moan you rewarded him with, you had to remind yourself that it felt good. His fingers between you would make you cum, his lips on your neck would make your blood boil. The way he groaned around your name sounded divine.
But every time your eyes slipped shut, someone else was saying it. Someone else touched you, tasted you, fucked you. You felt Soonyoung’s hands on you, confident where Chan was clumsy, knowledgeable where Chan was a novice.
If Chan knew something was wrong, he didn’t let it show, leaving just as the sun rose with a bit more pep in his step.
You managed a few hours of sleep, dreams melting with reality. Chan in your bed, except it was Soonyoung’s throaty moans filling the air as you rode him. Then you sprawled between his legs, back to chest, while Chan took the space between your thighs. Soonyoung gripped his hair, pushing his face firmer against your pussy, guiding him exactly how you need to be touched. But when Chan failed to do a satisfactory job, Soonyoung shoved him out of the way and showed Chan how you like to be played with until you woke up with a cry.
An hour long cold shower left you with numb fingers but had no effect on what plagued your mind.
Two days buried in books and diaries to avoid sleep and finally you had a lead.
There’s something to be said for carnal desires, and those created in service to them. The only way to banish those beings mirrors one’s own methods for purification in times of rabid depravity. — Jeonghan Yoon, class of 1923
Soonyoung must be what Jeonghan referenced in his diary; what he was and how to get rid of him once and for all. The ritual room had an entire bookcase dedicated to exorcisms, both new and old texts mingling on the shelves. You already exhausted most of them but the earlier pages of the diary quoted a line in a demonomicon you pushed to the side; it’d only been twenty pages, all shuffled around in the worn binding.
Jukoth’s Daemonum.
The pages were online, the LED screen of your laptop presenting the neat script. They held no rituals or instructions. Merely classifications of demons, from kings of hell to lowly vampires. You knew the copy downstairs would be far more useful. Frustratingly, Jeonghan’s handwriting littered many of the house books, Jukoth’s Daemonum would no doubt be graffitied in the same fashion.
Soonyoung said he’d do whatever you asked. Perhaps he knew the ritual to send him back where he came from. If he didn’t, maybe he knew where to look for one.
Tip toeing down to the basement, your demon waited inside the circle of salt and wax just as you left him. The aura of gold had yet to fade. Soonyoung looked almost more punishingly beautiful here than in your dreams. The full force of his presence warned every part of you to go back upstairs, put up the safety of new wards added in the last few days, lock the door, and hide until you found a way to get rid of him.
But wasn’t that why you were here? In this very house, at this very university? Decades of illicit occult activities the university would never officially acknowledge, silenced by millions of alumni dollars to keep the houses open. Your research was valuable enough for a well funded PhD as long as there were results. Results you couldn’t obtain if your demon stuck around much longer.
Thumbing through Jeonghan’s diary, you looked for the page you read last night. Several other books were listed along with the demoniomicon; all stored in the basement. Eyes low, you entered the room and scurried to the bookshelf opposite the door, Soonyoung's gaze pierce into your back the entire way.
Each leather spine slipped under your finger, a clean streak left in the dust as you searched for what you needed. Whoever last organized the shelves, some new initiate decades ago most likely, didn’t have a knack for alphabetization. French, Latin and Greek translations were sandwiched in tightly, obscuring the titles.
The basement was silent, sans the creaks of the warped wood beneath your feet. You could almost pretend to be alone.
Almost.
“You smell like him.”
Jeonghan’s diary tumbled out of your hand onto the floor as you choked on a scream. “What?”
“Chan.” He spat the word, something animal and primal and full of disdain behind it. Soonyoung’s rage washed over you like a blast of heat. Of course he’d know Chan’s name, he knew everything.
“Oh,” you squeaked, cheeks heating. There was no reason to feel ashamed but you curdled like a scolded child. “Just a friend. He was helping me with research.”
“Did you tell him about me?” Possessiveness twined through his voice.
“Tell him what? That I have a demon in my basement I can’t get rid of? Of course not,” you scoff.
You flipped through Jeonghan’s journal, nearly tearing the pages in an effort to ignore your demon’s eyes raking over your skin.
“Did you tell him how wet you get when you have my tongue between your thighs?” he asked smugly. “Or how you like being taken from behind?”
“Shut up,” you whispered.
“I listened to the entire thing and never heard those little sighs you make right before you come. Did you fake it for him?”
“Stop.” You didn’t dare risk looking at him. You didn’t dare risk turning around and fleeing upstairs either. If you moved a muscle, you’d be lost.
“He didn’t help you at all, did he? You wanted me inste—”
“I said shut up!”
Your hand came down onto the bookshelf, knocking an ancient vase covered in dust to the floor where it splintered into a thousand pieces.
“Shit!”
Only in a pair of wool socks, you stood trapped, surrounded by jagged shards in the dim candle light. Soonyoung’s very own captive. Diving to the floor, you clumsily picked up pieces to clear a thin path. The splinters split the skin of your bare knees and fingers, ribbons of blood trickling down your skin.
The smell of night and incense washed over you as you worked in a trance. You needed out. Out of this room, out of this house, out of this town.
But the warm presence kneeling over you wiped those thoughts away.
“Let me see,” Soonyoung murmured, warm hands wrapping around your wrist.
“It hurts,” you whimpered, dropping all the pieces you so carefully collected. He felt warm, real. Solid. That rich smell of night washed back over you, urging you to dive into his bare chest and drown in it.
And you realized—
Soonyoung was out of his circle.
“You—”
“I’ll go back, if that’s what you want,” he whispered. Despite his promise, he nuzzled into your neck, inhaling deeply.
“You could leave the whole time?”
“You need something stronger than salt to keep something like me contained.”
“Like what?”
“Words,” he says, with no hint of amusement. “You do your work somewhere else. Why?”
“Because…”
“Because why? I can help you,” he whispered, pulling your hand to his mouth, waiting for you to pull away. When you didn’t, his tongue flicked out, lapping away your blood before sucking it into his mouth.
“I…” You faltered under his ministrations. Soonyoung’s tongue curled around your knuckle, his teeth teasing just enough to light a fire in your belly.
Realizing you couldn’t answer like this, he released your finger but moved on to licked across your palm before inhaling deeply.
“Because you’re still afraid of me,” Soonyoung sighed, disappointed. He rose to his full height, pulling you along. The movement gave you enough clarity to speak.
“You stare at me.”
He stared at you now. Past your rumpled pajamas and stretched out sweater, beyond the surface fear and annoyance he wouldn’t just go away. Soonyoung looked at you like he saw the very core of your entire soul.
“How could I not?”
You went silent.
“You know why I stare at you?” he pleaded, chest brushing against yours. He still held your hands, your blood making his grip slick and warm. “Because I don’t want to miss those moments when you look back.”
Soonyoung buried his face in your throat, lips tracing over your pulse. Tasting, teasing. “Every night, you cry in your sleep. For me. You beg me to touch you like I do in our dreams and I stay down here despite wanting nothing more than to bury my head between your legs like you need me to.” Instead of his tongue, his nose followed the curve of your shoulder, greedily inhaling your scent like it might evaporate. “I listened to him fuck you and it made me want to destroy the entire house. The entire town.”
With each word, you stepped back, Soonyoung quick to follow, his thigh slottied between your knees. With your eyes shut, it felt like all your shared dreams. You could pretend it was just another night of Soonyoung plaguing your subconscious as your back met the wooden bookcase, arching away from the dig of the shelves. All those useless manuscripts that failed to warn you, kept the secret of what Soonyoung was tightly bound up, were better used like this. For him to show you exactly what he was.
“You called me here. I’m yours. I’m always yours. Every time I’m yours.”
You squirmed in his hold, hips rutting against the muscle of this thigh. A step ahead, he flexed and pressed harder, enough to hurt in the best way. He was already hard. You knew what he looked like — what he felt like — beneath the pair of sweatpants you currently loathed, the draw string tied tight enough to prevent you from pulling them down in the haze of lust.
“The first day you summoned me, you asked me what I was made for.”
Your head tilted back against the bookcase, Soonyoung’s teeth razing into your neck. You wanted him to bite you and he knew it, digging his teeth in just enough to hear you moan before drawing back and moving to a new patch of revealed skin as he tugged down the collar of your sweater. Every rut against his thigh pulled you closer to the sun, you were Icarus and he was melting you into nothing. Maybe this was the only use those books would serve; a backdrop to using Soonyoung’s body like he wanted you to.
“I was made to do this,” he sighed, drawing in a long breath of your scent. “To please you, to serve you. To love you.”
“I—” you choked, hips curling into the muscle of his thigh. He was so close. Close enough to taste and feel and it was far better than any of the dreams. Better than anything before.
“I was made to fill this perfect,” his fingers squeezed your ass for emphasis, “fucking pussy until you can’t take anymore. Until you can’t think of anything else. Not your research, nothing. Just us.”
You were tempted to let him take you. On the floor, against the bookshelf, on the stairs because the bed was too far away. Fucking around the entire house, everything beyond where your bodies join burning into nothing. Every squeeze of his fingers, the raze of his teeth, pure gluttonous temptation to give in.
Wedging a hand between your bodies, twin sighs of relief mingled together. Your knees ached to buckle so you could taste him, the glass still scattered around the floor. The burn of his teeth on your throat answered your desperate plea to do just that.
Nimble fingers shoved your shorts and panties to the floor. If it was anyone else you’d be embarrassed at the sticky cling, but Soonyoung was made for this. He was made for you and only you.
Your mouth caught his roughly, eager to suck at the swell of his bottom lip for a distraction from the unbearable want.
You wanted his hand around your throat, forcing you to watch the mess between your thighs soak between fabric down to his skin. You wanted his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling hard enough your back bowed. But you couldn’t keep your eyes open at the soft pets to your clit.
You needed to touch him too. Scratching at his sides wasn’t enough to curb the potent need to feel all of him unfiltered through sleep. He just needed to give you enough space to do so.
A mangled wait just barely passed between your lips.
Woken from a trance, Soonyoung jumped away. His hair is a mess, chest heaving.
It was enough to send the consequences of whatever this was toppling down on you like a house of cards.
When you didn’t speak, he returned to his circle and faced the wall, back stretching over each ragged breath. He didn’t turn around as you pulled your bottoms back up, now cold and uncomfortable but you saw the way his hands flexed; the tremor he tried to hide. You shuffled away from the wall, only to realize too late that the vase would be a problem.
Or it would have been but the glass once littering on the floor sat back together on the shelf, the vase perfectly mended as if it never fell.
The isolation and darkness of winter break was catching up to you. It had to be. The lack of sleeping or eating as well. Your muddled senses had led you down this path without care for the consequences. and without Soonyoung seducing you, they became much sharper.
The entire night Soonyoung stayed downstairs, most likely fighting the same thoughts you were. He didn’t follow you upstairs. It’d only take a word, but you stayed quiet, tucked between the sheets, door locked as if that could stop him when fine tuned wards couldn’t.
The only proof of what happened was the teeth marks at the base of your throat and the mortification that even hiding in your room with new salt wards and ruins to keep him away, your fingers itched to take advantage of the wetness in your panties and finish what he started.
But for the first time since Soonyoung arrived, your dreams were filled with nothing.
Two days until campus came back to life and you remained hidden in your room. The first floor of the house was a makeshift no man’s land; an illusion of space between you and the demon waiting in the basement. Somehow you knew he hadn’t moved since you fled the other night, he hadn’t so much as made a sound.
His absence in your dreams was almost worse than his presence. You’re still looking for him; searching the house, bumbling through a maze, calling for him on the shores of the beaches you two tangled at before. But he never answered. Like some demented game of hide and seek, he evaded you even though you knew he’s somewhere watching. Waiting for something.
Every morning, you woke up more aggravated than before. Sweaty and confused, frustrated because you were just on the verge of finally catching him before your alarm went off.
Jeonghan’s notes in the demonomicon, and Soonyoung's explanation that night in the ritual room tangle together until you finally have an answer.
Command him to return to hell, and he will.
Overly simple. Embarrassingly obvious you didn’t consider it. A command would get rid of him entirely. Forever.
But even with the knowledge, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.
You wanted him to stay.
Which meant he had to go.
You woke up a sweaty, pitiful mess. Soonyoung remained hidden in your dreams but the seed of want continued to bloom, choking out any other desires you might have. You couldn’t breathe without remembering his scent, couldn’t look in the mirror without imagining how his body would look draped over yours as you both watched your reflections move together.
You wanted him.
You needed him.
It was a slow start. You didn’t remove all your clothes, just pushed your shirt up and your panties to the side. Somehow that would be admitting defeat but not the careful way you retraced Soonyoung’s path. Pinching where he pinched, squeeze at your breasts like with the same force he did. Your hips ground down, desperate for something after so many weeks of torture.
You fucked yourself in jerky strokes, dedicated to pretending it’s as satisfying as when he did it. Three fingers don’t substitute for even one of his.
You didn’t care anymore. If this damned you to hell for all eternity then at least you’d have Soonyoung there to make it worth it.
“Soonyoung,” you whimpered, beckoning him from the basement where you knew he listened.
When you opened your eyes, your demon waited at the foot of the bed.
“Tell me what you need,” he demanded, crawling over you. Soonyoung followed a frustrated tear as it streaked across your cheek only to kiss it away. “Tell me what you need. Please.”
“You.”
There was no fear here, only the relief of his lips on yours. You sighed in relief as your hands found his skin and cataloged every curve and dip. He tried to take off your shirt but you wouldn’t release him, forcing him to rip it into ribbons of fabric instead.
“Dreamed of this,” he moaned, nipping at your chin before descending to your breasts.
Your hips kicked at the sting of his teeth. “I know.”
“You don’t,” he said as he kissed over to your neglected breast, pinching at your nipple. “You can’t.”
“Show me,” you commanded.
Visions flashed in your head: Soonyoung curled on the rug in front of a fire, chin on your stomach as you cried at some silly joke; floating in a deep lake with you tangled around his back, counting the freckles sprinkled over his shoulders from the sun. Fingers intertwined under a full moon.
Distracted by his dreams, you didn’t realize he settled between your legs, the thin pajamas tattered on the floor. His fingers pressed your legs apart. Completely bare. All for him as Soonyoung traced the crease of your thigh with his teeth.
“I’m yours,” he murmured again and again.
“Mine,” you answered.
Soonyoung lapped between your legs like a starved animal, whimpering at the taste of you. His fingers twisted, welcomed by the soaked warmth of your walls. Nothing would ever replace the intoxicating bliss of how perfectly he was made for your body.
“Oh god,” you moaned before wincing from a punishing bite to your thigh, hard enough to draw blood. But Soonyoung sucked away the mess and returned to your clit.
You’re covered in sweat, hot to the touch from his touch and freezing from the chill in the air.
“That’s right,” he moans. “Touch yourself like I do.”
Head falling back, you tweaked your nipples still wet with his spit. His unused hand snaked possessively up your chest, pinning you to the mattress while splaying you on his fingers. You rocked into the dull throb of it.
“Soonyoung, fuck,” you hissed, hand tangling with his. He sucked your clit hard enough to break you.
The rush of your orgasm blasted through every pore. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room to keep you afloat, inky splotches staining your vision. Sweat whimpers turn to pitchy whines as he whispered dulcet praises between each punishing suck to your sensitive clit.
You shoved him to his back, surprised by your own strength until realizing Soonyoung was merely eager to do exactly what you wanted him to do just as you were for him.
His cock shined in the light filtering in through the window, wet with arousal and so hard you’re tempted to skip this and plant yourself on his lap and never leave. You would. Eventually.
You took him into your mouth, sighing at the weight against your tongue, eyes slipping shut. This was a rare occurrence in all the shared dreams. All of them were your demon serving you like he promised, focused on your pleasure at his hand. Now, you wanted to reward him.
Soonyoung might be from hell but his groans sounded like pure heaven. You swallowed down what you could, unafraid of the consequences if it meant hearing him sigh your name again.
When you looked up, Soonyoung was already watching, eyes glued to his cock disappearing between your lips. He stroked your hair gently. You appreciated the sentiment but you didn’t need him to be sweet. You needed him as desperate as you felt.
Soonyoung continued to stare and you stared right back. A demon rendered speechless. He’d done so well, snuffed the clawing ache in your veins temporarily. You wanted to reward him. Show him how much you cared even if he was something otherworldly.
He wanted the moments you looked back and you would give him that in spades.
His cock sat pretty in your hand, glossed in spit and his own need, throbbing with each tight stroke. Every pass allowed you to take him deeper until you choked.
“Angel, fuck, look at you,” he panted.
Yes, you thought. Look at me. Never stop looking at me.
You drew out the next stroke, moaning at the taste of him. It’s all so much better than you imagined it would be but the euphoria didn’t last long enough. Soonyoung pawed at your face, fingers wet against your cheeks, your own arousal smeared against your jaw as he dragged you into a kiss. He knocked your hands away when you attempted to keep stroking him. His mouth tasted like you.
The room filled with desperate pants. Soonyoung pinned you to the bed, wrists caged in one hand, the other titling your chin for more languid kisses. You lit up inside, his glow consuming you as well.
Hours or days passed like that: pathetically rutting against each other, whimpering for more each time the friction was too much. Your ankles linked over his hips, encouraging him to finally make those dreams real but Soonyoung had a millennium of patience on his side.
“You deserve this.” He nipped along your neck, sucked the delicate skin beneath your ear until your pulse sped up.
“Soonyoung,” you whimpered, tears blooming. You thrashed in his hold, nails scratching at his hands frantically, humping down against in hopes he’d give you something. But your strength was no match for a demon’s.
“Say it,” he commanded. “Tell me you deserve this.”
“I—” you break. You can’t. Not with the way he choked the next breath out of you with a press of his cock.
He pinned you in place, golden eyes level with your own. “Say it.”
“I deserve this!”
“That’s right. So fucking smart,” he grunted, finally giving you what you both needed. “You’re perfect. Gonna fuck you until you believe me.”
He drew back slowly, the pull out verging on pain at the idea of being empty for even a moment. But Soonyoung was in full control and rolled back into your tight heat eagerly. You want everything he can give you so bad it hurts.
“Oh my god,” you croaked.
You’re torn between sinking deeper into the mattress and taking, letting Soonyoung ring you out to dry with each thrust. Or forcing him on his back and taking every last drop of pleasure he offered.
“S-soonyoung.”
He ignored the command but freed your hands. You only got a moment to scramble for balance as he pulled you up into his lap, sitting on his heels as he fucked you deep. A hand punishingly tight on your ass. Entirely at his mercy.
You fall into a daze like that, nothing more than a limp ragdoll as Soonyoung wrings another orgasm from your body.
“That’s it,” he cooed against your trembling lips. “Mine. All mine.”
Speech evaded you. All you knew was the feeling of him inside you, the heat he kissed you with. Completely limp, you whimpered.
Yours.
He came like that, trembling and hot in your core, forcing your body harder onto his cock as you promised your soul to him. There’d be bruises on your ass and hips, teeth marks branded into your neck but you didn’t care. You never wanted this to end as he caged you into the bed, both of you limp and sated.
On your back, Soonyoung’s fingers prodded between your thighs, sinking into the mess of your cunt. You couldn’t survive another orgasm so soon but the idea of him stopping silences your concerns. After a few curls, he reveals the dewy pads of his fingers. You’ve already committed yourself to a life of sin. That’s what you tell yourself when you snag his wrist and suck his cum from his fingers, never looking away from him as you swallow. Soonyoung took the taste back with his tongue in your mouth and then with his tongue inside you, collecting his spend before spitting it into your mouth and watching you greedily.
You swallowed and whimpered, “more.”
Soonyoung obliged, lapping at your entrance, leaving wet kisses to your clit that made you twitch. You wanted to pull him off and taste the combined mess. You wanted to soak in the press of his fingers. You wanted him to fuck you until the house collapsed around you two.
He did all those things. Rolled you onto your front and spread your ass, touched you like no one else ever had. He held you against the bookcase in the corner of the room, kissing away the overstimulated tears. Soonyoung balanced you in his lap, whispering praises despite the jerky way you rode him, muscles fatigued.
You lost all sense of self through it.
Soonyoung’s arms wrapped possessively over your naked body, the moon already dipping low outside the window was what you woke up to.
“You never told me what you are,” you said.
“I’m yours, and you're mine.”
“Like soulmates?”
“I don’t think that’s a strong enough word.” Soonyoung pulled you further into his chest, his lips dragging over the pulse of your wrist. “I find you in every lifetime.”
“Have you?” you asked, half asleep. “Found me before?”
It was a joke. A demon and a human? Something without a soul bonded to something as fragile as a mortal? It couldn’t work.
“Always,” he said, rolling you onto your back. Every inch of him burned against you, weighed you down into the mattress as if you’d run away. As if the idea would cross your mind to leave him ever again.
“And?”
“It never stops feeling like the first time even if it always ends the same.”
You wanted to ask him how this ended but the words melted on your tongue as he sheathed himself inside you again, opened your heart to him like a flower in bloom. All you could do was splay beneath him, taking everything he offered, sucking his vows of devotion straight from his lips until you both seized with a cry.
Curled around your back, he memorized your body with his hands, molding you to fit perfectly in the curve of him. In the warmth of his body, you drifted off.
This dream didn’t feel like a dream at all.
It was a memory. It had to be Soonyoung’s, because you only recognized the cottage from the other dreams you shared; but those in those dreams it was merely a stage for his torture. You recognized this place. This was home.
You knew outside the winter had killed off the beautiful flowers he tended to, that up in the attic a cat slept curled up near the bricks of the fireplace rather than chase off any mice. The bed in the corner was barely big enough for the two people who lived here to share. A husband and a wife. The unique little girl from the village who talked to ghosts and everyone vexed in public but begged for help in private. And the boy who burned so bright everyone turned towards him like flowers searching for the last sun before winter.
It was dark outside, the chill of winter creeping in as you tended to the bubbling caldron, stirring just right for the potion to have the effect the mayor’s wife wanted. A simple love potion to stop his affairs meant enough gold pieces so that Soonyoung could afford a new horse.
Humming the incantation, you turned towards the door when your husband arrived. Instead of the dramatic dip and kiss he greeted you with even on the coldest days, Soonyoung opened his bag and began shoving things inside.
“You need to leave.”
It was your demon but not. He lacked the sharp edge of the supernatural you knew him to have. Soonyoung was human and he was your husband. Or he should have been. The Soonyoung you summoned and this Soonyoung blended together. He moved with unnatural speed he didn’t possess before. His shoulders were broader, more intimidating.
You grabbed his arms to stop him from packing but he was too strong.
“What did you do?”
Soonyoung continued shoving valuables in a sack. “They’re on their way here.”
“What did you do?” you cried.
“I’m protecting you.”
Something was wrong with him. You didn’t know what but this wasn’t the Soonyoung that left the cottage this morning for the mills. He was different. He wasn’t yours.
“No,” you shook your head, “this isn’t right! Tell me what yo—”
“We’ll be together,” he smiled, tears streaking down his face to join yours. “I’ll always find you, I promise. Now go!”
“No,” you argued.
“You have to go, they’ll kill you if they find you here.”
“They’ll kill us both! I won’t leave you to die alone.”
But that wasn’t true. If you gave yourself up, they’d let Soonyoung live. His marriage to you was their betrayal. One of their own siding with the woman who kept death around her like an old friend. Soonyoung’s life could be bartered with your own.
Outside, the darkness morphed into torch light, the hum of an angry crowd swelling as they surrounded the house. There was nowhere to run.
“You have been accused of witchcraft!” called the mayor. “Come out at once or we will burn this house to the ground.”
Soonyoung pulled you into his chest, hands framing your face. A gold ring had begun taking over the warm brown you’d grown to love. “I will love you until we are nothing but dust.”
Before you could respond, Soonyoung kissed you like he did the night of your wedding and then marched towards the front door, skin glowing a faint gold. You tried to follow but he was too fast, out the door before you could even take a step.
Then the screaming started.
Clawing at the door, you found it locked. The back one was as well. You couldn’t do anything but try to watch from the soot stained windows as the screaming crescendoed like a boiling kettle.
When it finally stopped, you scrambled for the door once again and opened it to a graveyard.
Blood stained the ground, thick puddles collecting like it rained for days. Lifeless bodies decorated the ground. Some ripped in half, others with their extremities bent at unnatural angles. Skulls indented and bones protruding out.
You didn’t care.
You searched the dead for hours, until the sun hid behind the clouds and cast everything in blues and greys. The mess of bodies clung to your skin and beneath your nails. You had to breathe through your mouth because the metallic scent became too much.
No matter how long you searched, Soonyoung’s body was nowhere to be found.
The memory changed. Soonyoung crouched in a dirty cell, a woman with your face sneering at him. A different life where he arrived at your doorstep and you took him in like a wounded animal without any fear. Lifetimes of your bonded souls flashed by, some where you loved him and others where he was nothing more than a pest. The only constant was you never recognized him but despite that, Soonyoung kept loving every new version of you he met even if they refused to love him in return.
You watched your lives play out over and over before finally settling back in your bed, tucked beneath your lover's body as he stroked your hair, your stomach, your thighs. He committed this version of you to memory while you lived the ones forgotten.
“Why?”
He focused on the dip of your waist, fingers curling perfectly like you were made for him to do so. Soonyoung pulled you closer before whispering, “Because an eternity in hell is worth seeing you again, even if it’s only for a short time.”
“Isn’t it torture? When I don’t recognize you?”
This time he didn’t answer. Your heart ached, having felt what he felt in those memories. Soonyoung didn’t care if you couldn’t love him in return, he only cared to hear your voice. He would love you until time ceased to exist. He needed to know you were happy on Earth, that his pain in hell wasn’t in vain even if it didn’t serve him.
“Please stay,” you croaked.
Soonyoung nuzzled your throat, delaying the obvious truth.
He was never meant to stay.
“You’re the most you here,” he whispered. “Always summoning things you weren’t supposed to.”
Nudging him away, you looked at him. Really looked at him. The scary demon you once believed haunted your existence stared back. A few hours ago you would’ve wilted under the intensity but now you embraced it. Him. The closer you looked, the more human he became. You didn’t want to hide from him anymore, the man who sold his soul for you.
“I’m sorry I didn’t remember,” you said. You needed him to know that even if you didn’t recognize him in this life, you believed him. You wanted to remember him.
“Hear my vow before I go.” He said something else; something in Greek you couldn’t decipher as he pushed your legs apart and rolled into you. Your new memories of your first life together flashed in your head: a secret wedding, making love beneath a full moon, a harvest festival where every other woman in the village watched as you and your husband spun around the room like teenagers drunk for the first time.
You tried to ask him what it meant, but Soonyoung silenced you with a kiss.
When you finally woke up, the sun was high in the sky and the sheets were cold.
Your skin was pristine where the stain of bruises and hickies and bite marks should be.
You knew the house was empty. Nearly a month of Soonyoung’s presence lurking in your mind, weighing down your shoulders. You knew he was gone.
But it didn’t stop you from looking.
The other bedrooms were empty, beds made and ready to welcome home their rightful owners. In the kitchen, the accumulated mess from break disappeared; no dishes, or towels, or stains on the cabinet. Dusty books were all that greeted you in the archives.
You saved the worst for last.
You tried to take the steps slowly, delaying the inevitable knowledge that waits beyond the basement landing. But no matter how much you try to pry the seconds apart and make them last, you’re in the empty ritual room staring at nothing.
The circle was gone. The candles and ruins vanished as well.
Like he never existed at all.
“Soonyoung,” you said, voice cracking.
Nothing.
“Come back.”
Still nothing.
Your demon was gone.
All alone, you sank to your knees, curled on the floor until sleep took you away. Hopefully where he waited for you.
Students were set to return to campus that evening and you weren’t ready for different reasons than a few days ago.
No matter how many times you called for him or followed it with a command to return – whether cursed, spit, or plead – Soonyoung was gone.
You walked the house aimlessly searching, knowing he wasn’t waiting behind a closed door or just up the steps. The dreams you shared didn’t hold him hostage either. There’s no proof he even existed beyond the fading bruises and soreness in your muscles.
The book you brought him with was open in front of you, a circle of salt drawn haphazardly in the corner of your room. If you could summon Soonyoung once you could summon him again. You just needed to concentrate on messing up in the exact same way.
But right as you opened your mouth to being, someone knocked on the door.
Throwing the door wide, you barked. “What?”
“Sorry!” The man jumped back, nearly tumbling down the steps before he caught on the last stair. “I’m Soonyoung, the new grad student. Dr. Credew said we might be able to help each other. He said he emailed you about me.”
You must be hallucinating. This Soonyoung didn’t have the same golden aura as the Soonyoung you knew but he looked the same. Same sharp jaw, fox like eyes.
But it couldn’t be.
“I…” you trailed.
“This is 1520 Orange street, right? Or am I completely lost?” He joked.
“No, this is it. I must have missed the email. The past few weeks have been…Weird.”
The street bustled with the few early student arrivals but was mostly abandoned.
“Your thesis is on ritualized sex, yeah?”
You nodded and he said, “Cool. Mine is on Asmodeus and blood rites.”
As the initial shock wore off, the winter chill creeped beneath your robe and you remember that you’re not wearing much beneath.
“Have we met before?” he asked.
“I—” you choked. “No, I don’t think we have.”
“Sorry, I’m just getting weird deja vu. Really weird,” he said.
“Tell me about it,” you mumbled.
He walked through the house like he’s visited before even though you both know he hasn’t made himself at home in the living room before you excused yourself upstairs to change.
“She walks in beauty, like the night. Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that’s best of dark and bright. Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellow’d to that tender light. Which heaven to gaudy day denies.”
You rooted to the spot on the stairs, limbs locked. “What did you say?”
“Are you a fan?”
“Of what?”
He flashes you the cover of a book. A collection of Byron’s poems you don’t remember leaving on the table but must have. The only person in the house all winter break was you.
“Personally, I think Maid of Athens is his best work.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard that one.”
“Maid of Athens, ere we part. Give, oh, give me back my heart! Or, since that has left my breast, Keep it now, and take the rest! Hear my vow before I go, Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ,” he recites again, flipping through the pages but not reading them. “She Walks in Beauty is another great one but you seem to know it already.”
Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπ.
My life, I love you.
“Would you like some tea?” you asked, mind half gone.
“Tea sounds great. I can do it while you get dressed.”
He ignored your protest, racing into the kitchen and filling the kettle before you were able to stop him.
In your room, you rushed to get dressed only to find the pair of sweatpants your demon wore folded and tucked away in the back of your dresser. You pulled them on, along with a thick sweater and socks before collapsing onto the bed.
Soonyoung had come back. He returned in a form that might be able to love you in the light of day, in front of others, even if this Soonyoung didn’t know it yet. Maybe this was what he meant. This was the way things always ended in every life, he got to have you before sending you off to be with his mortal self.
The whistle of the kettle beckoned you back downstairs to find out.
“Thank you,” you said as he handed you a mug full of tea.
Soonyoung shrugs, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight over his chest. “I like being useful.”
Weeks later, after a successful ritual to raise the dead for Soonyoung’s thesis, when you’re both thoroughly debauched —sweaty and pink between the sheets of your bed, the windows fogged and clothes strewn haphazardly about — you find his tattoo.
Soonyoung dozed on his stomach, one arm wrapped around your middle to pull you closer every time he woke back up. Your fingers traced along the dark ink of a double ouroboros, two snakes intertwined, swallowing their own tails, nestled between his shoulder blades. Every loop around the circuit brought you to the same start.
“It means—”
“Fates. Intertwined,” you cut him off.
Silence hung heavy in the air. Comforting, not suffocating. You’ve got new bruises and teeth marks painted over your skin, ones you knew would last. Soonyoung is covered in ones of his own but you feel the need to add more, just to make sure they’re real.
Sooyoung leaned back from your shoulder, pulled your hand to his mouth, lips grazing your knuckles as he spoke. “Do you believe in soulmates?”
“I think some people are destined to find each other in every life.”
“Me too.”
In the afternoon winter sun, the warm brown of his eyes flashed gold.
✉ pairing: director of hr! lee jihoon x planning and recruitment specialist! f! reader
✉ wc: 8.1K of 16.4K (part two will be out on TUESDAY!)
✉ genre: semi-epistolary (in the form of emails and microsoft teams chats), a character study of lee jihoon, angst, it gets sad before it gets happy, coworkers to ????, etc etc etc
✉ warnings: mentions of alcohol, vaguely suggestive in part 2
✉ a/n: this is part of the that's showbiz, baby! collaboration. i am so so so eternally grateful for all the amazing writers that took a chance on kae and i as we figured out our first ever collab. to the friends i have made, i adore you all so much. i could wax poetic about you all until kingdom come and it would still not be enough. to @haologram, who watched me devolve into a incoherent mess as i wrote this: thank you thank you thank you for giving me the love i needed to keep writing. and most of all, thank you to @studioeisa, who listened to the rantings and ravings of a mad woman six months ago. i love you!
Welcome to The Carat Company. We’re lucky to have poached you from Sebong Corp—they have no idea what they’re missing out on. You seem to have a wealth of knowledge that will set you up for success here.
You will be working very closely with Lee Jihoon, Managing Director of Human Resources (copied), so feel free to direct any questions you may have to him; however, I’ll be available to discuss any other issues you may have as you onboard.
I look forward to seeing the personnel numbers and talent at TCC grow under your capable guidance.
Cheers,
Jeon Wonwoo
Chief Executive Officer
The Carat Company
Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****
Thank you for the warm welcome! I’ll be setting up 1:1s with both you and Mr. Lee to walk through my staffing and hiring plans for this upcoming fiscal year.
Y/N L/N
Planning and Recruitment Specialist
The Carat Company
Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****
Jihoon is fine. See you Monday—I have some time for a quick 9AM. Please block the time off at your earliest convenience.
-LJH
Sent from my iPhone
Jihoon has never been fond of messes.
His office, much like his apartment and the rest of his life, is minimal. Austere. A clean desk is a clean mind, he likes to think. Neatly arranged cables. One mug: white, no logo. His monitors at identical angles. Not a single paperclip out of place.
Order isn’t just habit. It’s armor. Ritual.
Monday mornings are always the same. They have to be.
5:00 AM. Wake up. No snoozing. The second alarm is a concession to humanity, not a need. He’s already up when it chimes.
5:05. Protein bar. Banana. BCAA in a bottle his father gave him two birthdays ago.
5:15. Elevator to the basement gym. The lights always flicker once when he walks in. Nobody else is ever there. Just the rhythmic clank of metal and the breathing that steadies as he shifts from warm-up into motion. Monday is push day—bench press, overhead, incline dumbbell. Same sequence, same reps. Progress measured, logged.
6:30. Shower.
6:45. Dress.
Monday is always the powder-blue button-up. The one his mother bought him when he was promoted to Managing Director of HR at 26—the youngest in Carat Company history. He’d wanted to return it. She’d insisted it was a “soft color,” something to “balance out his personality.” Jihoon wanted to argue, but he’s worn it every Monday since.
7:00. Pull out of his apartment garage in his 2018 silver Honda Civic. The same car he’s had since college. Seungcheol has been trying to convince him to buy something flashier for years. “You’re practically an executive, dude. You deserve something that doesn’t rattle when you hit 80.” Jihoon doesn’t drive above 65. And the Civic has never once failed him.
7:23. Arrive at The Carat Company headquarters. He always parks in B2, Row 3, where the sun doesn’t hit the windshield too hard by mid-afternoon.
7:26. Enter through the back lobby. The building hums at this hour, quiet but awake. Security nods. No badge check. Everyone knows him by now.
7:28. He stops by the lobby café. They don’t ask his order anymore. It’s always a vanilla latte, four pumps of vanilla, exactly 130°F. No more, no less. He’s tested it. 132 is too hot.
7:32. He’s in his office. Alone. Lights off. Laptop humming awake. Forty minutes to himself before the company starts crashing through the doors.
That’s the ritual.
It never fails him.
Until today.
Because today, there is… noise.
There is clattering. And humming. And something that sounds dangerously like a staple gun.
Jihoon steps inside and nearly drops his coffee.
The desk across from his, empty since Mark transferred out in April, is no longer empty. In fact, it's absolutely full. Drowning. Exploding.
There are papers. So many papers. Stacked, scattered, half-stapled in frantic clusters like a college student’s last-minute thesis sprint. There’s a bright pink water bottle sweating condensation onto a leather-bound planner. A ceramic frog (why is it always a frog?) with a missing eye. A chunky knit blanket draped over the back of the desk chair like someone’s been camping here for days. And worst of all—
Worst of all, you're standing on the desk.
Not beside it. Not reaching over it. On it. In sneakers. Pinning what can only be described as an aggressively unprofessional tapestry to the wall with a half-empty box of pushpins at your feet and an expression of utter, unbothered joy on your face.
Jihoon wants to throw up.
He doesn’t say anything at first. He just… stares. Takes a sip of his latte. Regrets it immediately. Too sweet.
You notice him eventually, still kneeling mid-stretch with a final pin between your teeth. “Oh!” you say, hopping down like it’s perfectly normal to greet your manager-slash-office-mate from a tabletop. “Good morning, Mr. Lee!”
“It’s Jihoon,” he replies, voice tight, already regretting the email he sent with that particular instruction.
You smile, oblivious. “Right, sorry. I’m almost done decorating. I just need, like, five more pins. You wouldn’t happen to have–?”
“No.”
A pause. Your smile twitches, not quite fading, but pausing, like maybe you’ve just registered the tone, the disapproval hovering like smog in the pristine office air.
You nod slowly. “Okay. Totally fair. I’ll borrow from Facilities. Or, like… steal. Mark left a stapler in the second drawer.”
Jihoon inhales through his nose.
This was supposed to be a quiet morning. His ritual—his peace—has been hijacked by a whirlwind in platform sneakers and a frog-shaped pencil sharpener.
He walks past you wordlessly, sets his coffee down on the left side of his desk (1.5 inches from the corner, exactly), and sits.
You, of course, keep going.
“I was just finishing up! I know it’s a little early but I get really antsy if I don’t personalize my space on day one, you know? Plus I heard Mark left it kind of bland, so I figured I’d fill the vibe gap. Oh, and I brought coffee! Not for you—you already have one. But for me. Mine’s in the thermos with the stickers. The one that says ‘Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss HR.’ Cute, right?”
Jihoon closes his eyes, prays for this to be some sleep deprivation-fueled nightmare.
(He knows it isn’t, because he’s never deprived of sleep. It’s a part of his ritual—lights out at 9:00 PM on Sunday nights. No exceptions.)
You pull your chair up to your desk. It makes an awful screeching sound against the hardwood floor.
“Excited for our 9 AM?” you chirp, logging into your laptop. “I made an agenda. Printed it out. Color-coded it, actually. I wasn’t sure what your preferred style was, but I guessed neutral tones? There’s a copy on your desk.”
Jihoon looks down. A salmon-colored folder rests atop his inbox tray. It looks garish against his other, far more sensible, manila folders.
He stares at it.
Then at you.
You’re sipping from your water bottle with the confidence of someone who doesn’t know the rules—and, worse, might not care to learn them.
He exhales. Opens his laptop.
9:00 can’t come soon enough.
The boardroom is too bright.
Jihoon hates this room. The lights are motion-activated, and they always flicker on two seconds too late, as though even the building itself doesn’t want to be here at 9 AM on a Monday. He sits down at the far end of the long conference table, opens his laptop, and aligns his pen with the pad in front of him—not to take notes, but because the symmetry soothes him.
You're already there, of course. Seated three chairs down with a thermos of something that smells aggressively like cinnamon and a laptop covered in glittery stickers. One says: “Certified HR Baddie.” Another: “Ask me about my onboarding karaoke night.”
Jihoon does not ask.
Instead, he watches you pull up your slides on the big screen with a flourish, like a magician preparing a reveal.
You click once.
The first slide appears: a bright pink title screen with comic sans font that reads, in bold, centered letters:
✨ Operation Vibe Overhaul ✨
Building Joyful Infrastructure, One Talent at a Time
Jihoon feels the first flicker of dread.
“Okay!” you begin brightly, gesturing like you’re hosting a game show. “So this is my preliminary Q1/Q2 planning proposal, centered on retention, culture, and morale-building initiatives. I based this on some of the programs I piloted back at Sebong—”
You’re still talking, but Jihoon has stopped listening. Not because he doesn’t care. He very much does. But because slide two is now filled with stock images of people clinking glasses at what appears to be a rooftop mixer. One of them is mid-laugh, mouth open too wide. Another’s holding a ukulele.
You’re talking about “optional happy hour cohorts” and “inter-departmental bonding pods.”
He resists the urge to claw at his tie.
Slide four: A color-coded table titled “Vibe Goals By Department.” There are emoji in the row labels. The one for HR says 🐸.
He discretely opens Teams and clicks on his private thread with Wonwoo.
[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to JEON WONWOO | 9:48 AM]
To: Jeon Wonwoo
You did this on purpose, you prick.
From: Jeon Wonwoo
We don’t use that kind of language in the office, Jihoon.
I have no idea what you’re talking about btw. Just got off a call. How’s Y/N settling in? :)
To: Jeon Wonwoo
A) F*** you (censored for your professional needs).
B) A planning slide deck for the next fiscal year does not need this much color. We have slide templates (that I MADE, mind you).
C) I repeat, you did this on purpose, didn’t you?
From: Jeon Wonwoo
Play nice. She’s good for you. Don’t get your tighty-whities in a twist.
To: Jeon Wonwoo
Now who’s using language inappropriate for the office?
From: Jeon Wonwoo
My company, my rules.
To: Jeon Wonwoo
Oh, you basta⌶
A throat clears.
Jihoon freezes. When he looks up, the presentation has ended. A final slide blinks at him in bold orange and pink:
✨ THANK YOU FOR LISTENING ✨
You’re watching him. Kindly. Expectantly.
He slams the laptop shut like he’s been caught watching something scandalous.
“I—I was taking notes,” he lies.
You nod, like you believe him.
He straightens. Adjusts his sleeves. Finds some scrap of dignity on the floor, brushes it off, and stands.
“Good plan,” he says finally, voice flat.
He holds out a hand. You take it. High-five it, actually.
“Go team?” you grin.
“No,” he replies.
“Oh.”
Jihoon is out the door before you can say anything else, footsteps brisk, tie slightly skewed.
Just finished reviewing your retention plan deck. Absolutely love what you’ve put together. Really strong alignment with our broader TCC cultural initiatives, and your proactive approach to employee engagement is exactly what we need this year.
As you’re still new and building connections across the org, I’ve volun-told Jihoon (CC’d) to help you organize and launch the first few events, as he knows the org landscape better than anyone. And he’s got a great eye for logistics, even if he pretends not to.
Looking forward to seeing the plans in action! Let me know if you need support (or help convincing Jihoon to wear a team bonding t-shirt).
Cheers,
Jeon Wonwoo
Chief Executive Officer
The Carat Company
Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****
We’re officially halfway through Q1, and what better way to celebrate than with drinks, snacks, and some mediocre bowling?
WHEN: Friday @ 6PM
WHERE: Lucky Strike Lounge (across the street from the building!)
WHY: Because we deserve it and bonding is sexy
No pressure to bowl. Just show up, say hi, eat some onion rings, and let’s decompress together.
Teams invite has been sent out! RSVP by EOD! There may or may not be color-coded team wristbands.
Y/N L/N
Planning and Recruitment Specialist
The Carat Company
Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****
Jihoon leaves the office every day at exactly 5:00 p.m.
Not 4:59. Not 5:02.
At 4:57, he begins to shut his laptop. At 4:58, he returns any lingering pens to the ceramic cup on the right-hand side of his desk. 4:59, he stands. 5:00, he walks out. No more, no less. The moment the minute hand clicks into place, he shuts his laptop with the finality of a courtroom verdict, slides his planner into his bag, and is out the door before anyone can even think about uttering the words “quick question.”
It’s carved into the bedrock of TCC culture—like the Tuesday team lunch or the eternal mystery of who keeps restocking the fifth-floor snack fridge with individually wrapped pickles (it’s Jisoo, but nobody has proof). The junior staff time their meetings around it. Wonwoo calls it Jihoon’s “corporate sunset.” No one bothers him after it.
No one, of course, except you.
You, who arrive at the most chaotic intervals imaginable.
Some mornings, your coffee mug is already half-drunk and sweating a crescent-shaped watermark into a scatter of documents before Jihoon even walks in the door. Other days, you're stumbling in at 10:37 a.m. with a tote bag sliding off your shoulder and your sunglasses still on, dropping your thermos onto your desk with the force of a meteor.
Jihoon does not deal well with unpredictability.
He glares at you when you're late. You smile back. Sometimes you salute. Once, you handed him a donut and said, "To earn my forgiveness." He took it. Ate it. Still glared.
But it's not the timing of your arrivals that gets under his skin the most—it’s your exits.
Or, rather, your lack thereof.
Because you don’t leave at five. Sometimes you leave at six. Sometimes seven. Once, he overheard in the breakroom that you left at 8:15 the night prior and had a minor existential crisis in the parking garage.
And because you don’t leave at five, you tend to… linger.
Which means that at 5:00 p.m.—the precise moment Jihoon’s routine is winding down, when the laptop is sliding shut and his brain is exhaling—your voice inevitably cuts through the still air like a dart aimed straight at his temple.
“Hey, you’re not coming to the happy hour?”
Jihoon freezes. You’re leaning against the doorframe to your office, holding a stack of flyers and a bag of plastic leis. Why you’ve chosen a tropical theme for a February bowling night is beyond him. He doesn’t ask. He never does.
“No,” he replies, not even turning around. “My work day ends at 5.”
You blink. “Right, but it’s not work?”
“It’s after hours.” He pulls out his phone, calmly opens the event invite, and selects RSVP: No.
You squint. “Thanks for RSVP-ing, I guess. We’ll miss you!”
He finally looks at you, expression flat. “Good night, Y/N.”
You raise your hand in mock salute. “See you bright and early, Jihoon.”
He doesn’t say anything as he walks past you. But he hears it—that slight shuffle as you cross the office back to your desk, humming something upbeat under your breath. You’ll probably stay another hour organizing name tags or printing out conversation starter cards for people who will absolutely ignore them.
Jihoon presses the elevator button twice, even though once is enough.
He hates how loud the silence feels when the doors close behind him.
Y/N L/N
Planning and Recruitment Specialist
The Carat Company
Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****
Jihoon stares at the email longer than he should.
He rereads the line again, and again:
“There’s a difference between fear and respect.”
It’s stupid, he tells himself. A throwaway comment. A joke. You make those all the time: half-sarcastic, half-sweet, always smiling when you say them, like your words aren’t meant to leave a mark.
But this one does.
Because Jihoon knows what fear looks like. He sees it every time he steps into a room and someone closes their laptop a little too quickly. Every time an intern flinches when he passes behind their desk. Every time someone thanks him a little too formally for a perfectly normal piece of feedback.
It’s not news. It’s just not something people usually say to his face.
Fear, he’s learned, is efficient. It keeps people from overstepping. From asking too many questions. From getting too close. And Jihoon has spent most of his career relying on that distance like a scaffold—like armor.
He is not warm. He is not easy. He does not charm. He doesn’t try to.
But still, somewhere in the corner of his chest, something twists.
Because he’d always assumed that his precision, his preparedness, the way he catches mistakes before they happen, that those things inspired confidence. Stability. Trust.
Respect.
Not fear.
He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms, glaring at the far wall of his office as if it’s responsible for any of this. There’s a framed certificate there, something corporate and meaningless. He hasn’t looked at it in years.
Maybe he shouldn’t care what you think. You—with your stupid ceramic frog and your cursed tapestry and your way of being everywhere at once, dragging noise and neon in your wake. You’re not the first to misunderstand him.
But the worst part is this: he knows you weren’t trying to hurt him. That line came from somewhere honest. Somewhere careless.
You didn’t say it to wound.
Which is what makes it land all the harder.
His jaw tightens.
Eventually, he drags the cursor over your email and clicks “archive.”
But the words stay.
The meeting is supposed to be about performance review frameworks, going through slides that Jihoon already reviewed last night and flagged in a spreadsheet with more color-coding than is probably necessary.
Wonwoo’s got the slide deck open, half a croissant in his hand, and one socked foot tucked under him like he’s forgotten he’s the CEO of a billion-won company. Jihoon sits stiff-backed across the table, tablet balanced on his knee, stylus poised. He hasn’t taken a single note.
Not because he doesn’t care, but because he hasn’t heard a word.
The words are back.
People fear you. That’s not respect.
They loop through his head like a bad lyric, like a virus he didn’t know he’d downloaded.
Jihoon shifts in his chair. His spine’s too straight. His tie feels too tight, though he hasn’t loosened it yet.
Wonwoo must notice—he’s perceptive like that, always has been—because he squints at Jihoon over the lip of his coffee mug and asks, “Penny for your thoughts?”
Jihoon turns his head, slow and deliberate, and looks him dead in the eye.
This is the man who trusted him five years ago with the top HR seat—26, green but razor-sharp, no tolerance for fluff or sentiment. Jihoon never asked why he got the offer over people twice his age. He just said yes.
Now, he says: “Am I feared or respected?”
Wonwoo chokes on his coffee.
The laugh comes a second later—abrupt, bright, so loud it echoes off the glass walls. He leans back in his chair and throws his head toward the ceiling like he needs the whole room to hear it.
“What the fuck are you talking about, Jihoon?”
Jihoon crosses his arms.
It’s immediate. Reflexive. And as soon as he does it, he hates himself a little. He feels like a petulant five-year-old whose mom just said he couldn’t have another grape juice.
Wonwoo grins, delighted. “She got under your skin, didn’t she?”
Jihoon doesn’t respond. Mostly because he can’t. He drops his gaze resolutely to the conference table, then to the condensation ring his coffee cup is leaving, then anywhere but Wonwoo’s face.
“Oh my god,” Wonwoo wheezes. “She absolutely did. Fuuuuck, good on her. Honestly, it’s about time someone unwound you, you uptight little wind-up toy—”
“I am not wound up,” Jihoon mutters.
“Oh, please. Jihoon. When’s the last time you laughed? Like, actually laughed? Or smiled? Not one of those mouth-twitches you give when Seungcheol says something vaguely charming in all-hands. I mean a real one.”
Jihoon stays silent, chooses to continue his staring match with Wonwoo’s socks.
Wonwoo raises an eyebrow and continues. “You are clinically incapable of relaxing. You once rescheduled a wisdom teeth removal because it conflicted with quarterly audits.”
“They were impacted,” Jihoon says, as if that’s a defense.
“Jihoon,” Wonwoo sighs.
Jihoon doesn’t answer.Instead, he glares pointedly at the framed photo on the shelf behind Wonwoo’s desk—Wonwoo, grinning at a park picnic, surrounded by people who obviously adore him. His family. Friends. Staff.
Wonwoo’s well-liked. Has always been well-liked.
He knows people’s names. Remembers if they have loved ones. Sometimes even remembers the loved ones’ names. He walks into a room and the air loosens.
Jihoon walks into a room and someone minimizes a spreadsheet.
He grits his teeth. Wonwoo notices.
“Jihoon.”
He blinks. Wonwoo’s staring at him now, half-amused, half-exasperated.
“Why does it matter so much?”
Jihoon opens his mouth. Then closes it again.
He doesn’t have an answer. Not one he can say out loud, anyway.
Not that he feels the tiniest sting every time someone calls him cold. Not that he sometimes wonders what it would be like if someone laughed at something he said on purpose.
He presses his lips into a thin line.
Wonwoo leans back and shakes his head, smiling like he knows exactly what Jihoon isn’t saying.
The Employee Retention team needs some help with some minor logistics for our upcoming Spring Gala. If you have some free time and would like to volunteer, you’ll have my everlasting gratitude (and free catered lunch for all planning meetings. Who doesn’t love catered lunch?)
Teams invite has been sent out to the whole team. If you can’t make it, please RSVP no.
Y/N L/N
Planning and Recruitment Specialist
The Carat Company
Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****
Almost immediately, a Teams message pings in the corner of his screen.
[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to JEON WONWOO | 2:02 PM]
From: Jeon Wonwoo
If you want to be respected, you know what you should do.
To: Jeon Wonwoo
Is this a suggestion or an order?
From: Jeon Wonwoo
Would you listen to either?
He doesn’t respond.
He just stares at the calendar invite. Opens it. Closes it. Opens it again.
He gets up. Makes tea. Returns. Refreshes the invite.
It sits there. Mocking him.
He has exactly three hours of work to do and spends most of it half-distracted, clicking over to the meeting window and then away again, like he’s circling a shark tank.
When he finally presses RSVP—one quick click, not even a keystroke—your head snaps up like you’ve been electrocuted.
“You—you want to help plan the gala?”
The incredulity in your voice rings out across the shared office like a fire alarm. Jihoon winces. He doesn't turn around. Not right away.
He stays frozen mid-motion, phone still in one hand, the other hovering near his keyboard like he’s considering taking it all back. Pretending it was a misclick. A calendar sync error. An accident.
He doesn’t look at you until he has no choice.
His eyes flicker to the screen, then to you.
And his ears, traitorous, are already flushing pink.
“I RSVP’d to your meeting,” he says, flatly. Like it’s a legal obligation, like someone strong-armed him into it in a back hallway under fluorescent lights.
You blink.
“Sorry, I just—I didn’t expect—”
“You asked for volunteers,” Jihoon says, already shifting his weight back toward his desk.
Your mouth opens, then closes. A grin threatens. He can see it, feel it, like heat pressing against his skin. Jihoon sighs and turns fully back to his desk, chair scraping as he sits.
“Don’t make this a thing,” he mutters.
You don’t say anything.
But when he glances sideways, the edge of your smile is still there—tugging at the corner of your cheek, small and real.
He turns back to his monitor and opens a spreadsheet at random.
He’s late to the gala planning meeting. Only by three minutes, but still. Late.
Jihoon hates being late; it disrupts his internal clock, throws off the way he likes to move through a room: silently, efficiently, unseen until he speaks. He adjusts the cuff of his shirt as he reaches the door, steels himself for the usual reaction—the way people hush like he’s a reprimand made of skin and bones, how chairs stiffen, how someone inevitably fumbles with a laptop or closes a browser window with a guilty click.
He pushes the door to Conference Room C open.
And nothing happens.
The conversation continues as if he hasn’t entered. Samuel is talking about caterers. You’re flipping through a binder of vendor estimates, a pen tapping absently against your lip. The screen at the head of the room still glows with a pastel color-coded calendar, and someone (he thinks it’s Eunji from PR) is pouring a second cup of coffee.
Then you glance up. See him. And smile.
“Hey, Jihoon,” you say like it’s just another greeting. Like he’s just another person walking into a room.
Samuel turns, lifts his chin. “You made it,” he says, with the kind of easy camaraderie Jihoon always assumed was reserved for people who laughed together in elevators.
When Jihoon slips into the open seat next to you, Samuel claps him once on the back, casual and friendly, like it’s nothing.
Like it’s normal.
Jihoon sits very still for the next ten minutes. Something quiet and unfamiliar hums under his ribs.
He opens his laptop and stares at the agenda. The numbers swim a little. Everyone’s still talking.
And no one is afraid of him.
It feels… strange.
It feels nice.
Thirty minutes later, the conversation is flowing and Jihoon still feels very, very strange.
“Fireworks are too expensive,” someone says, half-joking. “But what if we did, like, cold sparklers? Just to make the photo ops more fun.”
Jihoon’s been half-listening—half-disassociating, if he’s being honest—because the florist rep was fifteen minutes late and the air-conditioning is loud and someone’s catering mocktail samples in the corner like this is a tasting menu for a royal wedding.
Jihoon doesn’t even look up from his screen. “Sure,” he says dryly. “And maybe we’ll dig a moat while we’re at it. Hire a few swans. Build a drawbridge. Very on-brand.”
He doesn’t mean to be funny.
But you laugh. Loud. Bright.
The kind of laugh that fills a room and then folds into something gentler, just for him.
Jihoon’s head lifts, startled. Your hand is pressed to your chest, your eyes wide like you didn’t expect it either.
“Did you just make a joke?” you ask.
He blinks.
“No.”
You grin. “You did. Oh my god.”
Jihoon looks back at his screen, but something is buzzing under his skin now, like electricity arcing too close to water.
It’s nothing.
It’s a laugh.
But he remembers the sound for the rest of the day.
On Friday, Jihoon stumbles into the breakroom for his mid-morning tea after what has to be the longest hiring call he’s ever been on.
He has thirty-two minutes between meetings, and someone left a post-it on his desk saying the break room kettle is working again. He enters expecting silence.
Instead, Jihyo is there. He’s never really talked to her, he realizes with a start. A hi there, a “hope you’re doing well,” there, but never a full conversation. He regrets that a bit now.
She’s standing with her back to him, shoulders slightly hunched, stirring something golden into a mug. Her phone buzzes next to her elbow. She glances at it and smiles, small and distracted.
Jihoon remembers with a start that she has a boyfriend serving in the army (He makes a mental note to thank Wonwoo and his iron-clad memory of all of his employees).
Jihoon nods once in her direction. She doesn’t notice. He clears his throat. “Your boyfriend doing okay?”
Her spoon clinks against the rim.
She turns slowly, brows raised. He expects suspicion, defensiveness, maybe a polite smile with an escape plan behind it.
But then her face breaks open. Softens.
“Yeah,” she says. “He is. Thanks for asking.”
She reaches into her tote bag without thinking and pulls out a glass jar. No label. Just honey, thick and gold and unbranded. She holds it out to him.
Jihoon hesitates.
She tilts it toward him. “Try it with green tea,” she says. “Secret’s in the citrus trees.”
He takes it.
The jar is warm from her bag, the weight of it unfamiliar in his hand.
“Thanks,” he says.
She shrugs, already turning back to her phone. “You’re welcome, Jihoon.”
When he returns to your office with a steaming mug of green tea, he places the honey on the corner of his desk like it might bite.
You glance up from your laptop. “Oh,” you say. “You got the good stuff.”
“The what?”
“The honey,” you say, smiling. “The break room hierarchy’s best-kept secret.”
He stares at the jar again. “You knew about this?”
You shrug. “Not my secret to tell.”
He lets out a breath. It’s meant to be a huff of disbelief, but it comes out as something else. Softer. Almost amused.
A laugh, maybe.
When he looks up, you’re staring at him like you’ve heard something rare. Something worth holding on to.
Your eyes are wide. Not in fear.
Just surprise.
He turns back to his keyboard. The smile stays longer than it should.
That night, he drives home in silence. No music. No radio.
When he gets in, he doesn’t even take his shoes off before calling his mom.
“Jihoon-ah,” she answers, warm and surprised. “You’re calling early. Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, automatically.
She hums like she doesn’t believe him. There’s the soft sound of her adjusting something on the stove. Then—
“You sound lighter today.”
Jihoon blinks at the ceiling. “Lighter?”
“Not so tired. I can hear it in your voice.”
He doesn't respond.
“And your face looks different in the last few pictures you sent me,” she adds. “You look…” Her voice softens. “Happy. Did something happen at work?”
Jihoon feels the back of his neck go warm. Then the heat crawls up—slow, creeping—to the tips of his ears. He presses a palm over one, like he can stop the sensation by hiding it.
“No,” he says quickly. “Just a good week.”
“Hm,” she says. A knowing noise. “If it’s someone, you can tell me.”
“There’s no one.”
“But maybe,” she says gently, “there could be?”
He doesn’t answer.
She doesn’t press.
But the silence stretches like taffy between them, and Jihoon finds himself staring out the window of his apartment. The light is pale and soft. There’s a gala planning document still open on his laptop. And a Teams chat with you, left unread for the last hour, still blinking at the bottom of the screen.
And when he hangs up, he opens that chat window again.
You’ve sent a link. A mood board for centerpieces.
He stares at it for a long time.
Then, slowly, he smiles.
[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to Y/N L/N | 2:34 PM]
From: Lee Jihoon
Are you just as bored as I am?
To: Lee Jihoon
gasp! a teams message! is this what the inner circle feels like
From: Lee Jihoon
Yes, yes, you are now one of my elite employees.
To: Lee Jihoon
Lee Jihoon, chronic grump, did you just use a MEME?
From: Lee Jihoon
I am not a grump. I am just selective with who I grace with my laughter and my favor.
To: Lee Jihoon
so you’re saying I’ve been… favored 👀
From: Lee Jihoon
Don’t let it go to your head.
To: Lee Jihoon
Too late. Printing it on a mug as we speak.
From: Lee Jihoon
If that mug ends up in our shared kitchen, I’m filing an HR complaint.
To: Lee Jihoon
Who would you file it to? Yourself?
From: Lee Jihoon
Exactly. And I’d rule against you. With extreme prejudice.
To: Lee Jihoon
so much for elite employee status 😔
From: Lee Jihoon
You’ve never been more elite.
Jihoon doesn’t hear the question at first.
He’s still staring at your last message and trying to figure out what possessed him to send it. His cursor hovers over the message bubble, as if he can unsend it just by glaring hard enough. Across the room, you’re biting back a grin, your chin propped in one hand as you squint at the shared screen. Your knee bounces under the table, just visible beneath the edge of the conference table. You’re pleased with yourself. You know exactly what you’ve done.
He knows you do. And still. Still. It doesn’t stop the corner of his mouth from twitching upward.
He’s so focused on not smiling that he doesn’t hear the question.
“…Jihoon?” someone tries again.
Wonwoo clears his throat pointedly from two seats down. It’s theatrical, the kind of fake cough that sounds suspiciously like Don’t make me say your name again.
Jihoon blinks and sits up straighter.
“Sorry,” he says, briskly. “Could you repeat the question?”
Across the room, you don’t look at him.
But your shoulders shake with barely-contained laughter.
Jihoon sighs through his nose. Wonders how many more meetings he’s going to survive like this.
(Not many, he suspects.)
The meeting wraps with the rustling of papers and the awkward scrape of chairs against laminate floors. Jihoon shuts his laptop with a satisfying snap and stands, already mapping out the most efficient route back to his office—quiet hallways, minimal small talk, absolutely no—
“Elite employee, huh?”
Your voice is too close. It curls around the back of his neck, bright with amusement and something else he can’t name.
He glances to his left. You’re beside him now, walking in step, a shit-eating grin plastered across your face like you invented the concept.
You nudge him lightly with your shoulder. “Think I’ll get a raise in my next performance review?”
Jihoon exhales, too sharp to be a laugh, too soft to be a scoff. “Shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no weight behind it.
You keep walking beside him, unbothered.
You don’t say anything else. And neither does he.
You fall into that strange not-quite-silence you’ve started to share in recent weeks: companionable, teasing, comfortable in a way that makes the back of his throat feel tight. There’s the clack of your shoes beside his, the whisper of air conditioning overhead, the faint buzz of an email notification from someone else’s phone.
And then it happens.
Your pinky brushes his.
Just barely. A graze. A glancing touch that might’ve been accidental—should’ve been accidental. But it lingers for a breath too long.
The sensation is immediate. Sharp. Bright. Like static.
Jihoon’s spine goes ramrod straight. His hand doesn’t pull away. Instead, betraying every single instinct that’s ever kept him in control, his fingers twitch.
Just once. A small flex.
His skin still burns.
You don’t look at him. You don’t say a word. But when the two of you walk back into your shared office, the air between you feels different. Charged. Like something has shifted. Like something is about to break open.
Jihoon sits down. Doesn’t speak.
And across the room, you smile to yourself.
It takes him three full minutes to remember his log-in.
Please join me in thanking Jihoon for restocking the snack cabinets this morning! The chocolate-covered almonds are already gone (guilty 😅), and the sparkling waters were a hit.
Sometimes the little things make a big difference, and I just wanted to shout out the quiet effort behind keeping this office running smoothly. Thanks, Jihoon!
Best,
Y/N L/N
Planning and Recruitment Specialist
The Carat Company
Office: 010-****-**** | Direct: 010-****-****
[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to Y/N L/N | 9:18 AM]
From: Lee Jihoon
That email was unnecessary.
To: Lee Jihoon
you deserve to be recognized for all the work you do for this team, jihoon.
[💬 Microsoft Teams – Direct Message to JEON WONWOO | 9:22 AM]
From: Jeon Wonwoo
You like her, don’t you?
To: Jeon Wonwoo
Kindly fuck off.
From: Jeon Wonwoo
Language, Jihoon. ….So you do like her.
It happens on a Wednesday.
There’s nothing special about the day; no meaningful glances, no slow-motion sequence where you toss your hair back in golden light or say something profound that punches him square in the gut.
No. It’s Wednesday. The sky is gray. He’s wearing the same charcoal sweater he always wears when it’s under 35°F. You’re not even in the office.
That’s the problem.
He realizes it when he sits down at his desk with his usual morning tea, stares at the wall across from him, and feels… off.
The tapestry is there. Crooked, colorful, stitched with tiny stars and a cat wearing a top hat. It’s awful. Loud.
And yet.
His eyes drift down. To the mug. That damn ceramic frog.
It’s hideous.
It’s perfect.
Jihoon exhales slowly, leans back in his chair, and lets the silence fill the space between him and the humming vent above. It’s too quiet today. No clack of your boots down the hall. No breathless rush as you slide into your seat with a thermos and an apology. No “Morning, Jihoon,” sung like a threat and a gift all at once.
And worst of all, God help him, he misses your laugh.
The one that sneaks up on him. Loud and delighted and entirely unfiltered, like you forgot who you were laughing in front of.
Jihoon stares at his screen.
He’s opened Outlook without meaning to.
Your calendar status reads: “WFH – doctor’s appt in the afternoon.”
He tells himself that’s why he notices.
It isn’t.
He scrolls back up. Opens a new email. Types your name. Stares at the blinking cursor in the message body.
And then he deletes the draft. Again.
He sits back in his chair and rubs a hand over his mouth. Doesn’t even realize he’s smiling.
Oh, shit, he thinks.
He likes you.
He likes you, and he likes your stupid colorful Powerpoint Presentations, and he likes your tapestry with the stitched cat and the crooked stars, and maybe he even likes that you always ask him to help plan things he claims to hate.
Worst of all, maybe he likes the way you make the office feel like something softer. Something warmer. Something that doesn’t need a policy document or a title in bold to have meaning.
Jihoon lets his hand drop to his lap.
And it curls, almost unconsciously—like it remembers the brush of your pinky against his, still seared into his skin.
What do you think about the navy-and-gold color palette for the Spring Gala? I found a local vendor that does some decent floral arrangements—simple, not too flashy.
Might balance out the... sequins you insisted on.
-Jihoon
This email has not been sent yet. Send during the recipient's work hours?
What color dress are you wearing to the gala?
(Not because I want to match my tie. Obviously.)
Just for logistics. For planning. Cohesion. Visual unity.
I’ll stop typing now.
This email has not been sent yet. Send during the recipient's work hours?
✧✎ synopsis: post-graduate, your life sucks especially hard. two jobs, a lazy roommate, and an imperceptible social life have dulled you to grey. nothing seems like it's going to change. until your roommate decides to let her plug crash at your place, and you're bribed into a strange adventure that challenges everything you thought you were.
pairing: fem!reader x vernon
chapter word count: 25k
full length word count: 186k
genres/tropes: drug dealer!vernon, reader is a post-grad w/ a flop degree lol, inclusion of OCs, gay!soonyoung for the lol, appearances from other svt characters, opposites attract, romance, teasinggg, tensionnn, unrequited love, angst, adventure, smut, relationship drama, sprinkling of comedy, another excruciating slowburn bc what else? + reader is a tad dramatic/sensitive but that's why i love her :]
(!) warnings: drugs (IE: weed, molly, coke, whippets, alcohol), mention of guns, mention of death/overdose, intense language, an instance of non-consensual touching to the reader by a side character, some toxic & possessive behaviour, degrading, aggression, mentions of physical abuse/harm, dips into grief and loss, fractured family dynamics on vernon's part.
✧✎ a/n: the first chapter is here!
as always, the patience and grace from everyone has been super appreciated! i have never had so much fun writing a fic. through the sad and the bad, the mad and the rad, i absorbed every moment! and i hope those that give this fic a chance enjoy it just as much <3
vernon in this fic is the same vernon from my wonwoo series, HER! but you do not need to read HER to understand ghost ride!
what to note:
there are seven parts in the series
releases are weekly, ~12am EST, sunday!
inspo playlist!
if at any point you want on or off the taglist, comment/inbox/msg me!
additionally, the chapters/parts are lengthy. the first six parts are between 24-27k while the finale/ending is 30k+!
✎ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07
PS: please note that i block contentless blogs who like my posts!
THIS WEEK: Let's Help The Sameer Project!
leave a comment or make a reblog stating something you enjoyed abt the chapter! at the end of the week, i will tally all legitimate comments/reblogs and make a donation to said organization.
IE: this chapter gets 15 comments, 25 reblogs - i donate 40$! pls note that i am a uni student living away from home so i will vary my donations accordingly to my financial situation at the time <3
18 MONTHS AGO.
“Hey, move your hands.”
You were staring down the narrow hallway, focused on the single, sad window at the very end. Nighttime was gradually descending outside.
A dark shade of prussian blue tinted the atmosphere and caused the dull, white walls to seem brighter than they actually were. Beyond the window, you could see into an apartment flat—specifically a cozy kitchenette that had rosy orange tiles—where two girls were cooking on the stove. They danced around each other, jumping, weaving, and twirling. You squinted at their lips and the lyrics they seemingly mouthed. Their smiles were so easygoing, like melting butter slipping around inside a hot, waxy pan.
“Hey—yoo hoo—can you move your hands?”
With teeth gnawing down on your inner cheek, you stared harder at their expressions, and particularly, their lips, using all your concentration to conceive what it was they were singing along to so frivolously.
Around the moment they started snapping their fingers, it hit you.
‘Cause you’re my lady, I’m your fool
It makes me crazy when you act so cruel
Come on, baby, let’s not fight
We’ll go dancing, everything will be alright
“Hey, Miss Lala Land! Move your fuckin’ hands off the pass! These plates have to go here! Get the freakin’ cotton out of your ears.”
“Oh—oh! Shoot—I’m so sorry!”
In an instant, you had ripped your hands from the metal counter, letting the cook place down a tray of steaming plates. The way he was scowling at you—red in the face, sweaty forehead pinched together, nose crinkled—pulled out all that delirium from your brain as though someone were coiling up a string. He adjusted the blue kaleidoscope-patterned bandana covering his hair, the scowl now seeming ironed to his skin.
“You’re gonna get axed doing shit like that.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“Get this order out,” he croaked, tossing his hand up like you were some pest. “Table twelve. Try not to get distracted by a soup spoon.”
“Uh, yes. Right away.”
Hoisting up the weighted, warm tray so it could partly balance on your shoulder, you side-hipped through the swinging doors and into the packed dining area that bustled with conversation. Your table was somewhere in the middle. It was occupied by three older men, still dressed in their work attire. All-black shirts smeared with dust, heavy corduroy pants, sunglasses in the spiked hair, and construction boots that were beginning to unlace.
They were from the scaffolding expansion project down the street.
You were familiar with them. Unfortunately.
“Awe, there she is!” One of them guffawed at you.
Lowering the tray to rest halfway on the table, you began passing out their plates as quick as you could, keening to keep conversation short.
“Here I am,” you chuckled, though the syllables audibly shook.
“You’re a bit late, there, aren’t you?” Another man taunted, scratching against his ear with the sunglasses. “Just you back there?”
“Uh, nope.” Your laugh was full of anxious breath. “It’s a busy night. The kitchen’s just a bit backed up is all. I’m very sorry for the wait.”
“Woah, woah—I didn’t order a fuckin’ steak.”
“Oh, uh. My bad. That was supposed to go to…” you paused, staring around the table. Your mind decided right then was the perfect moment to become literal mush—applesauce—in your skull. “I could have sworn that—uh—wait, I’m sorry. Maybe there was a mistake—”
As the man brought his large, beer-filled mug to press against his chapped lips, he started snickering. In seconds, all you heard was their uproarious laughter, and you were suddenly thrust into being the humiliating stump of an ineffective joke that pushed tears to nettle like beestings behind your eyes. The man wiped his mouth of foam and alcohol. “Got you, didn’t I?” He spat out, reeling. “Steak’s mine. That look on your face—are you on your last straw? They gonna throw you out?”
“I-I guess they won’t be anymore.” You stapled on a smile that couldn’t have looked more pathetic, all in an attempt to ride along with their proud little skit. Your lips felt sewn, warbling with emotion. “Lucky me.”
“Yeah, damn right. Lucky you!”
“Well, enjoy your food… need any refills?” The question was dragged from between your teeth in utmost reluctance.
“Nah, we’re settled.” Thank the lord. “Later, though. We might need you later. We go through these things like chips,” he said, raising up his golden mug with the condensation streaming down it.
At times this job was a viper, waiting to execute the perfect killing bite. For every polite, well-mannered table that actually treated you like a human rather than a minimum wage worker doormat, there was always another table that speared your guts. Sometimes it felt like a dice roll, other times, a very cruel, purposeful plot patched together by the universe’s own needle and thread. With fists clenched up and the tears lacquering your eyes, you were gunning for the doorway into the backroom.
“Hey, can I grab you quick?!”
Your toe pressed hard into the scuffed linoleum floor.
Dread slammed into you. Edging your head to the left, there was a small, circular table, occupied by just a single person—a young man. He already had a half-emptied plate. From your distant inspection, it looked like the ravioli. He wasn’t your table.
But you still swallowed your emotional bile and tended to him.
“Sorry. What’s the problem?”
“Oh, there’s no problem,” he clarified, smiling. His cordial, relaxed tone was a breath of fresh air that you wanted to whiff like fresh lavender. “My waiter—he was supposed to grab me a refill on the seltzer. It’s just been, like, twenty minutes or so since I asked. Was just wondering if you had the time.”
“The seltzer?” You repeated, eyes widening.
“It’s cranberry.”
He continued to stare at you, meanwhile you just stood there, dumbly, looking at his emptied glass. Your mind was fried. “Uh, I’m sorry. Okay. Yes! The cranberry seltzer! I can get you some more of that, for sorry—I mean—for sure.” You wanted someone to come put you out of your misery. Whack you straight in the head with a chair.
But the stranger seemed pleased to wait. He didn’t even bother to make an unfunny sneer, or exhale a shaming laugh. In fact, his gaze was sympathetic, and you found yourself dreaming into the deep, sensitive hues of forestry brown that inhabited his eyes, with long, plentiful lashes to shade them. His skin was very tanned and his dark hair shiny like gloss. It was an undercut, with the longer tresses combed backward. Spilt across his cheeks and nose was a constellation of freckles. He looked beautifully polka-dotted.
“Thank you,” he said.
You blinked at him. “What?”
He tilted his head, grinned softly, “for the seltzer.”
“Oh, yes! I’m gonna go grab it!”
When you returned to his table, he leaned back in his seat, allowing you to replace the empty glass with a brand new one that fizzled in the scent of carbonated cranberries. It wasn’t until he smiled for the umpteenth time that you realized he had magnificent dimples, and that one of them was pierced with a small silver ball. You shouldn’t scour your eyes all over him like a paint roller, but it was rare you waited on such kind, endearing faces.
“Appreciate it, thanks.”
“No problem.” You hovered for a second despite the urgent need to check your other tables—the tables you were actually supposed to be caring for—although your body was unwilling to move.
It seemed you were rooted to the floor, drawn into the safe, calm feeling of the stranger’s presence as though it were some invisible aura haloing around you. But you didn’t want to get in trouble. Again. So, you opted to leave and let the stranger enjoy his ravioli.
“Hey,” he called.
You stopped on a dime, returning to his side.
“Those guys, do they come here often?” He cocked his head backward at table twelve, which seated the obnoxious construction workers, still laughing, still gouging their mouthes with food.
Fiddling with the empty glass, you nodded. “Yes. At least once a week. There’s a huge group of them working to expand the townhouse units down the street. Most are pretty nice. They come with their wives, occasionally. Others… they suck.” Remembering you were still on the clock, you hastily fumbled to defend your choice wording. “But they’re customers at the end of the day!”
“It must be hard, dealing with that.”
“Uh, yeah. It gets rowdy sometimes. I’m still trying to adjust here.”
“You’re new?”
“Relatively,” you responded, staring down at the glass. “Just trying to make some extra money. Uni fees and all that. I’m sure you get it.”
He sipped from his seltzer, wiped the edge of his mouth, and then relaxed back into the chair with a comfy smile. “I’m not a student, actually.”
Squeezing the glass, your eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh—you mean you’re a graduate now.”
He shook his head. “No. I never went to school.” Your mouth lowered, and you were in the midst of scrambling to reorient yourself such that you didn’t appear so ignorant, but then he said, “do you walk home?”
You swallowed. “I bus.”
“Oh, so you’re far?”
“Not that far. But far enough to bus.”
“Alone?” His dense brow raised in concern while his lustrous eyes flecked with intrigue. He then jabbed an orange ravioli onto his fork.
“Um… well… sometimes. Most times. Not always.”
“Forty-one to Alta Heights?”
“Ha, yeah. It’s popular. Usually packed.”
“I've seen.” He shrugged, readying the ravioli before his mouth, but pausing briefly. “You’re sweet. Just gotta hold your ground a little more, you know?” He started chewing, and then forked another ravioli, running it around the brightly coloured sauce.
You didn’t speak.
Someone whisked by you quick, tapping your back and leaving behind a hissed whisper that crawled its way into your ear like a bug.
“He’s my table. Beat it.”
With a sigh, you did as you were told.
It wasn’t until you left the restaurant for the night that you realized it was raining. Not hard rain, but delicate drops. The kind that tickled while still persisting to wet the dark streets until they glimmered reflections of the neon store signs. You had only a casual, lightweight jacket—more a windbreaker than anything—and it didn’t even have a hood. After zipping it up, you adjusted the bag strewn over your shoulder. The strap was rough, thick fabric with a colourful pattern, but the leather itself was a simplistic cinnamon. It had only two pockets. One big and one small.
Since middle school, you had this bag.
You graduated university last year, and you still had it.
Something about that fact was comforting.
As you were waiting to cross the street for the bus stop, a voice called for you. When you turned, he was there.
Leaned against a lamp post, huffing on a cigarette. His jacket looked much warmer than yours. It was fleecy, unzipped, and checkered with various greens. When he brushed his dark hair back, you swore the strands glittered like they were pure satin. The light showering him made all his freckles visible. You had this sinking feeling. You would never see him again.
“Home?” He questioned.
You were silent for a moment, pondering, while your tongue pushed against your bottom teeth. “No. I’m going somewhere… but I can’t say where or what, really. But if you know, then it’s obvious, and—”
“Well, Tyler Durden better hurry before he misses the bus.”
His eyes gleamed at you.
Yours were positively gleaming back.
“I’m off. Night.” He flicked the stumpy cigarette onto the ground, then stepped on it once, blending the paper into the slick cement.
For some reason, you couldn’t even formulate a friendly goodbye or goodnight in response, rather your brain, charred like a burnt marshmallow, could only project utter blankness as the stranger walked away. Nonetheless, you stood there, observing his back, until a very strong gust of wind whipped through the crisp air, sweeping up his fleece jacket for no more than a second.
And that’s when you saw nothing apart from a catatonic glimpse—the handle to a Glock sticking out his pants. Your mouth opened. The wind settled and his jacket fluttered back down.
Even worse was yet to come.
You had missed the stupid bus.
12 MONTHS AGO.
“No way. That’s so gross—actually, that’s disgusting. Wait—and did she… she did! Of course she would. We need to like, schedule an intervention or something… yeah… just tell her there’s booze.”
There was a burnt piece of toast staring up at you, half-smeared in peanut butter that you had piously scraped the container to knife out. Ruby was supposed to fetch groceries the other day, but she coincidentally went drinking with her friends instead and now you were about to eat the saddest toast in history. While reaching into the fridge for some juice, you shot your roommate a sharp glance from across the room.
Sat criss-crossed on the couch, dressed in her smallest tank top and shorts, glistening hair thrown into a lopsided bun, while she ate her unfinished pint of ice cream and blabbered at her phone. It wasn’t meant to be a scornful, judgy look, although it was hard to control your intention at eight in the morning on a grumbling stomach and little to no sleep. You took the juice and toast into your bedroom, deciding to sit at the cluttered desk you had pressed up against the window. There wasn’t much to marvel except the grey complex parking lot and its surrounding wooden fence, although it was better than hearing about Ruby’s friend vomiting on herself.
For the past year, she had been your roommate.
She didn’t attend your university.
In fact, you had never seen Ruby a day in your life until you happened across her profile on one of those housing websites, where people posted listings for sublets, available rooms, and lease takeovers.
Ruby (she/her), 24, looking for a roommate!
Hey all,
I have a room available in a 2 bedroom, 1 bath apartment.
See attached pictures!
A little about me…
I’m a full-time waitress at Mr. York’s
I love a good night out!
Very easygoing roomie :)
Tell me some stuff about you as well if you’re interested!
After reading further into the ad, you knew there was no pondering the situation—the cost for rent and utilities was reasonable, and while the place wasn’t in tip-top modernized condition, it would suffice just fine. Ruby was pleasant and cooperative in her messages. The few times you had video-called, you were relieved to see she wasn’t a catfish of some sort—she was a glimmery haired, red-streaked brunette with olive skin inked by the occasional tattoo. Her striking hazel eyes could be summer ponds doused in sunlight. She even offered to help get you a waitressing job at Mr. York’s. It was true—she did seem easygoing—and within a month you were moved in.
There was a knock at your door.
“Yeah?” You shouted.
Ruby poked her head into the room, the phone lowered to her neck. “Hey, uh—wow, it smells like peanut butter in here—some friends and I are going out tomorrow night. This great Mexican food truck only has a week left at Cedar Point Park and we have to try it.” She lifted her trimmed eyebrows, reddish, thin, and neat. “You can bring a friend if you want to. What about Diana? Would she be interested?”
Ruby always suggested you could bring a friend.
And for some reason, that friend was always Diana, even despite the fact you two hadn’t spoken since you graduated university.
“Uh, think I’ll pass,” you answered, smiling. “Work. I hope you guys have fun, though. Hey—you’re not going to the conference?”
She proceeded to shrug, scratching at the gem piercing stabbed right above her cupid’s bow. “No. I mean, it’s not mandatory. They’ll just ask someone else. It’s corporate bore for a week.” The company she was employed under hosted several Humanitarian conferences throughout the year. Ruby passed on most of them. “I’ll bring you back food, okay?”
While you had your qualms about Ruby as a roommate—and there were a large number of them—she was still compassionate and constantly attempting to include you in her adventures. However, sometimes those adventures lasted until the faint purples of twilight, and contained potent enough liquor to thoroughly disinfect an amputated leg, and twisted manically throughout the city streets akin to a labyrinth. That just wasn’t your shtick.
Working two jobs to pay off your student loans, support your future, and find independence was your shtick, and it engulfed your life to a degree that Ruby probably noted as concerning.
After breakfast, you slipped into a bright red uniform shirt and grabbed your metal pin nameplate for work at Common Cents, an aged convenience store sat on a semi-populated street corner. You had gotten a job there shortly after the hostess gig at Mr. York’s, and you were able to make it fit, working strictly morning shifts in order to maintain waitressing during the evenings. The walk to Common Cents wasn’t long, fifteen minutes or so, and by the time you arrived at the corner store with your cinnamon shoulder-strung bag and the early glints of warm sunshine stinging your eyes, you noticed a long, coiled hose leading around to the back alley.
That’s where you found Soonyoung, blasting the brick wall with a sloppy stream of cold water, while soap suds bubbled under his feet.
Picking up a window-scraping brush from the ground, you approached him, tapping the bristles softly against his shoulder. He always wore headphones. You thought he was going deaf. But he fiercely disagreed.
“Hey—what are you doing?”
Soonyoung partially removed the headset from his ear. “What?”
You smiled, deciding to poke his leg with the damp brush again. “I said, what are you doing? Did you even open up the store? It’s almost nine.”
“Oh, uh—,” Soonyoung reached into a large pocket on his knee-length black shorts that seemed one size too big for him, pausing the music from his phone, “—well, I got most of it off. But the wall got graffitied.”
“Really?” Stabbing the long brush into the ground like a cane, you examined the brick, realizing there were streaks of the design left behind, though Soonyoung’s dutiful scrubbing and hosing had nearly removed it.
“Yeah. Mixed up some chemical shit into the water bucket over there. Rubbed the damn wall so hard, my arm felt like spaghetti.” He then started spraying the foamy residue at his feet until it fizzled away.
“So, the store’s not open?”
“It is,” Soonyoung nodded. “That’s where I got all this stuff from.”
“You can’t leave the store open with no one inside!”
He waved his hand through the air dismissively, adjusting the backwards black cap that he preferred wearing to hide his often smushed hair, which was a very distinct platinum blonde colour. “Relax, alright?”
“Soonyoung.”
“It’s fine. You won’t get fired. I won’t get fired. This isn’t the first time I’ve scraped doodles off the wall and it probably won’t be the last, either.” He took the brush from you, letting it stand in the plaster bucket, while water from the hose continued running all across the pavement. “You gotta stop worrying all the damn time. Roll out your shoulders for once.”
Sighing, you heeded his advice, feeling something crack.
It was too early to be this stressed.
“What was the graffiti?”
“That octopus shit.”
“Again? Why do they like the wall so much?”
Rubbing at his sun-bleached eyebrow, Soonyoung shrugged. “Don’t know. Honestly, like—I don’t even hate graffiti—I have no problems with it, actually. Until I’ve gotta be the one to clean that shit up. Then I start having problems. Patsy flipped her shit when she saw the first squid.”
“Octopus.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Yeah, well, she was angry as hell. But I still had to clean it.”
This was the third time the back wall had been tagged since you became a clerk at the corner store. An octopus, then a stuffy conglomeration of large bright letters you could hardly discern, and now, another octopus.
Foolishly, you had made a comment to your boss, Patsy, that the big block letters and the octopus were done by the same artist. She almost spat at the fact you used the term artist to describe their “inconsiderate and shallow manner of expressing themselves” in Patsy’s language, and then you received a very thorough, lengthy biopsy of the graffiti that suggested they were painted by two totally different “hopeless delinquents” (again, in Patsy’s language).
Similar to Soonyoung, you didn’t particularly care about the graffiti.
If anything, you were curious.
“Okay, I’ll leave you to it.” You took a few steps around the puddles beginning to develop in the cracked pavement. “I—I’m gonna go inside. I’ll get the register set up. Do we need to refill the scratch tickets at all?”
But when you turned around, Soonyoung already had his thick headset back on, the hose returned to waterboarding the wall. “What?!” He shouted upon noticing you staring at him.
You merely shook your head. “Nothing.”
Working the corner store every morning to afternoon was quite boring compared to Mr. York’s. Good boring, though. No shuffling around on your aching feet for nearly eight hours, or balancing heavy trays of hot, expensive food from table to table while expectant diners observed your every move. You mostly sat at the corner store, flicking through pages to laminated magazines while a fan small enough to fit on the counter blew air into your face. On occasion there were questionable customers.
A few altercations over lottery tickets or cigarettes.
But, so far, it hadn’t been anything you couldn’t handle.
Soonyoung came inside, the hose coiled up and looped through his arm while he handled the plaster bucket and window-scraping brush hurriedly toppling past the counter to the storage closet where you heard him throw all the supplies onto the floor. You did like Soonyoung, even if you weren’t particularly great friends. Just coworkers. When you first met him, his blonde hair was finely buzzed and dyed with purple-patterned stars, fingernails brushed in navy blue polish steadily chipping, and ears clustered with numerous piercings that either dangled or glittered.
He appeared similar to some of the flashy models you flipped past in the magazines, advertising jewelry or very bizarre fashion items that never seemed wearable beyond the glossy page you would be fiddling with. He was hired by the previous manager of Common Cents—otherwise Patsy would have taken one look at his self-expression and likely fainted.
Now, he came to work more toned-down.
“Alright, here’s some boxes of Mountain Brewers soda. Fridges have to be restocked.” The boy maneuvered a stacked dolly in front of the counter as you leaned closer into the fan’s breeze. “I’ll man the register and get those Encore tickets sorted. I bet that biker dude is gonna come by soon.”
“I’m usually register,” you said, flattening out your lips.
Soonyoung lifted up his backward cap, fingers dragging through the limp platinum fronds underneath. “Yeah, well, you didn’t just scrub a freaky looking octopus off a brick wall for thirty minutes. Cut me some slack.”
“I helped the last time.”
“Well, this isn’t last time.”
He was kind of right. You felt stupid for making the comment.
With a huff, you started pushing the weighted dolly toward the fridges against the wall while Soonyoung claimed your position at the counter, immediately aiming the fan at himself. As you mindlessly organized the different flavoured sodas, you thought about Ruby’s invite to try the Mexican food truck at the park down by the river. They probably had nice crispy molotes with fresh sour cream—those were your favourite, and it had felt like ages since you last ate one. At the time, you were still friends with Diana. You two had made a habit to try all different types of street food from the international market close to your university, and you distinctly remembered the way your tastebuds marveled in excitement from all the unique flavours. Moving a cherry soda into the fridge, you sighed.
You just didn’t know Ruby’s friends that well. You would have to meet them after work at Mr. York’s, when you would be fully exhausted and dragging your poor feet like cinder blocks.
Life honestly just sucked sometimes.
There was really no other way to put it.
“I’m sorry—excuse me, sorry—can I get through?”
It had been a rough night. Though the restaurant brought in the most money on Fridays, and you understood that was a good thing, the crowd that came with it was headache inducing—the kind that made you want to tear off your apron and throw it on the ground, then proceed to stomp on it until the fabric became one with the floor. You took an aspirin before your shift despite knowing how little it would actually help. But you were a wishful thinker from time to time. Unfortunately for you, the world didn’t oblige.
“My bus is going to come soon. Please. I need through.”
One table, a party of ten celebrating this posh businesswoman’s birthday, had you scrambling in between the dining room and kitchen like a cat running after a frolicky mouse. Except there was no tasty reward on your end. You swore, that woman and her sleek, ironed bob that whipped ever so dramatically whenever she turned her head had taken utmost pleasure in ordering you around. At one point you considered dropping the platter of peony champagne glasses onto her lap, just to ruin her corporate-looking pantsuit that she probably had some underpaid assistant dry clean for her.
To make matters worse, they stayed late.
Chatting and drinking up a storm.
Hearing their laughter as you skulked in the restaurant shadows, angrily polishing the tables, waiting for them to leave, was the sound of money fluttering down from the sky. When they did choose to depart, the businesswoman made sure to robotically twist her enhanced pillow lips into a fake smile that never quite reached her eyes as she waved at you.
Now, they were all cluttered up just outside the restaurant, wrapped in their luxury furs and suedes and cashmeres, puffing from cigarettes. Time didn’t move for worriless people like them.
But for the bus that was approaching the stop across the street, funneling ample exhaust into the October nighttime air—your only ticket to getting home unless you hailed a taxi or paid for a lift—time was most definitely moving. In fact, it felt sped up. A stream of water without debris. After another barge through the crowd who couldn’t care less about your mundane, underprivileged issues, cigarette smoke and floral perfumes swarming your senses like hostile bees, you at last erupted onto the street, beginning to run across while fishing out the bus pass from your bag.
Yes, it was slightly stupid to charge onto the road without looking.
That was made quite apparent.
“Hey, you crazy fucking girl! Watch what the fuck you’re doing!”
A man was leaned out the window to an SUV that was darker than night itself, though celestially shining, like it had never been touched.
He wasn’t even the driver.
Just a reasonably pissed-off passenger.
“Sorry!” You squeaked aloud, catching nothing more than the blurred details to his bewildered snarl and pale skin. “The bus! That’s all!”
A stroke of luck was in your hands tonight, like capturing a falling star from the constellated sky—the bus had stopped to let you on—and while it was undeniably uncomfortable to walk down the aisle, past the half-second glances from strangers who almost watched you become a literal human pancake, you collapsed into an open seat with relief. Once you shouldered off the weathered bag and untangled your earbuds, you listened to music from your phone, head rested against the bus window despite all the little bumps and thumps in the road. It didn’t matter at that point.
You forgot that Ruby wouldn’t be home. She was likely at some club by now, stuffed off flavourful street tacos and her favourite tostadas, dancing away with all her rambunctious friends, sweating, cramping, and tired, but probably happier than you’d ever be.
The apartment was dark and quiet when you entered. Dirty dishes full in the sink. Ruby’s makeup scattered all across the washroom countertop. The ceiling fan above the coffee table still whirring faintly. With what little energy could be mustered, you managed to get your teeth brushed and your pyjamas on. Then, you were faceplanting into bed, giving the sheets a few measly, weak tugs such that they hardly covered you. At least the weekend was here. You could relax. Ruby tended to come home at the ungodliest hours. Most times, you never even heard her, unless she bumped into something particularly hard through the shapeless black night.
But you were much too exhausted to care.
“Yeah, whatever! Go shove it, asshole! I’m calling the cops next time!”
“I bet you will! Raging bitch!”
“Get the fuck out of here!”
You thought you might need a crowbar to pry open your eyes, they were so crusted with deep, almost death-teetering sleep. Just outside your window, however, the shouting was loud enough to somehow rattle you awake, bit by bit, until you were sitting up in bed and swirling around your tongue to introduce some moisture to your dry mouth. Stumbling toward the curtains, you peeked through just a thin sliver, the intense brightness taking a moment to adjust to while you leaned across your desk.
There was one couple down the hall that had gotten into some very bitter spats in the past—if couple was even the right word—and it seemed that still Saturday mornings were no exception to their feuding. She was in her usual bathrobe and slippers, arms folded tight across the chest, as she glared at the clumsily dressed man hopping into his car, tossing out one more venomous-sounding profanity before burning rubber out the parking lot. Give it two weeks. He would be right back. And she’d let him.
It didn’t take long for your stomach to realize you were awake.
Hungry, you stepped into the kitchen, immediately opening the fridge to see if Ruby had stored any leftovers from the food truck inside, though you were quite disappointed to realize there was nothing. Hopelessly pushing aside old containers and produce, you huffed out a large sigh.
You supposed that meant burnt peanut butter toast. In an attempt to palate the idea, you poured a glass of juice and began walking into the living room, thinking you might watch television.
But that’s not what happened at all.
Because someone was sitting on your couch.
Someone who was not Ruby, nor a friend you could recognize.
It was a man, with his legs spread out like he paid rent, poking a fork into a white takeout box of Mexican food. In that moment, you could only stand there, stupefied, wondering if it was more appropriate to scream, run into Ruby’s room crying, or pinch yourself.
He glanced up at you, raising his fork speared with something colourful, before shoving the utensil in his mouth. “Mornin’.”
You said nothing in response.
Instead, you set your juice on the counter, went straight to Ruby’s room, entering without a single knock—very ignorant to the fact she had probably come home at four in the morning and was nowhere near prepared to wake up at that exact second—and immediately started shaking her. The girl’s body was heavy and limp like a corpse, except she was warm.
“Ruby, wake up,” you whisper-shouted with unprecedented urgency. “Wake up, wake up, wake up. Please wake up.” When she still refused to stir, you lightly slapped her face a few times. “Please, Ruby. I need you to wake up. There’s a random freaking guy on our couch and—”
“W-What? What are you doing? What time is it?”
You nearly gasped in relief when your roommate started mumbling and groaning. The sheets were partly wrapped around her like a vampire using their cape to shield themselves from burning sunlight, to which you started pulling them off, not caring that she was half-dressed or smelling like club sweat mixed with alcohol. Ruby scratched at her messy bedhead.
“I don’t know the time—it’s eight-something—but there’s a guy out there, Ruby! A literal man! He’s eating my Mexican food. He’s—”
“Girl, what?” She squinted at you, rubbing some lipstick off her teeth that she never managed to clean. “Are you talking about Vernon?”
“Who’s Vernon?”
“Probably the guy on our couch eating Mexican food.”
“And—you—are you—he’s a friend of yours?”
Grumbling, Ruby got to her feet, picking up a pair of shorts left in a lump on the carpet to wear. She slapped at her nightstand, finding the glasses she was looking for—and her hazel eyes immediately grew in size—admittedly allowing you to see all the annoyance they harboured.
Chewing nervously on your fingernail, you followed Ruby past the kitchen and back into the living room, where her friend—Vernon—was playing something on the TV while sipping from your juice.
She paused, huffed, and then gestured at him wildly. “This is Vernon!”
You folded your arms. “How was I supposed to know!”
“Because I texted you!”
“Well, I just—I haven’t even looked at my phone yet!”
“You haven’t?”
“No.”
Ruby rubbed something off her cheek. It was too early for her to be arguing with you, and she seemed to realize that as she picked at her tight shorts and sighed. “Okay, okay. That’s fine. Whatever. But now you know.”
Taking a few steps closer to her, keeping your voice hushed, you murmured, “why is he here? He’s—” you paused, glimpsing around her shoulder to see that so-called Vernon was still watching the television, blissfully not giving a damn about the evident conversation concerning him a mere few feet away, “—he’s eating my leftovers! And drinking my juice!”
“He’s a vulture. Like most men.” She shrugged.
“Why is he still here?”
“I ran into him last night. We got to talking. He’s gonna be in the city for a while. He’s got some stuff to deal with. I told him it was okay if he crashed here every now and then. It’s no big deal. You won’t even notice.”
“Uh, Ruby—” you gagged at her, “—I am noticing. I am very, very much so noticing! That’s a big choice to make—without me, I should add—and I just—I don’t think that—I don’t know him! He’s a stranger!”
“Well, take this as an opportunity to make a friend. Start chatting,” she responded while beginning to yawn, still half-asleep. “I’m going back to bed. I’ll get you some good grub another time, alright?”
And then your roommate dared to leave, groggily swinging her way back toward the shadowy bedroom that she soon isolated herself inside. You were left to stare at the unbothered stranger—the guy—some random man—who was sipping at your favourite flavour of pink Very Berry juice after eating the cold but still delicious molotes that were supposed to be your breakfast.
The situation was so unforeseen, you couldn’t even be sure if you were mad. You felt something earthing around in your gut like worms.
He turned to look at you, pushing out his bottom lip. “Damn. Sorry you got yelled at.” Your eyebrow twitched—you sensed it—a tiny muscle spasm. “Want the last sip?” He held out the nearly emptied glass.
Vernon didn’t appear like any of Ruby’s friends that you had briefly met though seldom engaged with over the months. No, he was much different, in such a stark, almost disorientating way, somewhat akin to vertigo as your gaze narrowed and you tried to make his face stop swaying.
“No, I don’t want the last sip,” you said, nettled.
He smirked at you. “Didn’t want you to have it anyway.”
It was eight-something in the morning and you were aflame.
He tipped the rest of the juice into his mouth, then slapped the empty glass onto the coffee table, proceeding to relax and extend his arm against the back of the couch. Swiftly, he glanced over your figure. “Nice pyjamas you got there.”
Looking down at the shirt you were wearing, your stomach wrinkled up like a dried-out fruit—it was an old t-shirt, to be fair—not really intended to be seen by anyone other than family and your roommate. After all, it was gifted to you by your grandma a few years ago, a sort of grace for staying an entire week with her at the retirement home, where strolls through the courtyard, dusty boardgames, and outdated television reruns were the only entertainment. The shirt’s colour was cloudy white besides an image in the centre of an animated purple pony trotting through a field. Find Your Wild! was the exclamation curving along a rainbow. Unbeknownst to your grandma, you had stopped liking ponies when you were twelve.
Quite frankly, it was not the shirt you wanted a man who looked and sounded like Vernon to see you wearing.
There was an edge about him. His forearms crawled in tattoos, darkly needled, clean, and interspersed with what you interpreted to be care, even if it was half-hearted. When you saw the metal piercing dug through his eyebrow and the shiny ring around his soft-looking bottom lip, you thought of your boss at Common Cents, Patsy, who had made an off-handed comment about a face-studded girl after she left the convenience store: such pretty features ruined by all that metal! Except, you didn’t think it ruined his features. He was fortunate to have such lustrous, coppery eyes and long, wisped lashes, thick enough to paint a canvas. It made you frustrated.
Why do guys always get what they don’t deserve!
His hair was sooty black, shiny, like flints ground into a fine powder, curtained at his forehead. Ruby had never mentioned him. Maybe they were exes. Maybe something worse.
“Thanks…” you finally came to mutter. You wanted him gone, but you weren’t sure how to say it. “How long are you staying?”
Vernon crossed his arms, shrugged. “Dunno. For a while.”
“Okay… well… do you have a timeframe?”
He proceeded to flash you a lazy smile that was slight teeth but hundred-percent cockiness. “Yeah—it’s a while.”
You were on the cusp of releasing fumes like a broken gas canister as you began hugging yourself tight. “I’m going to my room,” you grumbled, proceeding to slam the door shut and jump back into bed.
Vernon shouldn’t be here. That was all you could be certain of.
Ruby slept for two more hours before officially waking up. You heard the washroom door close, and that weird thumping sound the old water pipes made whenever the shower started, as you continued to roll around in bed, distraught with frustration. You were mad at Ruby for making such a decision without you. You were mad she had basically just allowed this random man a free pass into your apartment whenever he pleased, even if he was her friend. You were mad that a relaxing Saturday morning was ultimately spoiled by a smug and inconsiderate stranger.
She joined him in the living room after showering. Even with your head swathed underneath the covers, their laughter still found its way to you in irritable fashion, like a baby who wouldn’t stop shaking their rattler.
He did end up leaving around lunch time.
In fact, you watched him discreetly from your window. Vernon strolled into the parking lot and got into an older style of vanilla Camry that you remembered your mother owning back when you were in primary school.
That was your cue.
Marching into the living room, you saw Ruby cleaning up small, thin translucent papers from the coffee table. There was a heavy stench in the air, tart and burning and likely the reason for the pronounced redness watering your roommate’s eyes. She tucked the papers into a plastic bag.
“Ruby—did you both smoke? Did he just get into a car? And drive away? High?” You pestered the girl with questions. “What’s going on?”
“I smoked,” she clarified, tucking a crimson streak of hair behind her ear, smiling at you. “He didn’t smoke. But he gave me the nugget.”
Sighing, you collapsed next to her on the couch cushions. “I’m not okay with this,” you said, staring at the television.
You rarely made your grievances known to Ruby. She was always so mellow about everything that you thought you should be that way, too. But you weren’t. It was impossible.
“It’s not gonna be what you think it is,” Ruby attempted to reassure you, thumbing over a scab on her knee. “He’s not some weirdo who’s gonna be couch-potatoing here every day. Vernon’s a lot more competent than that. He’ll drop by from time to time. That’s probably it. No worries.”
Staring at her earnestly, your head shook. “Well, I am worrying. I don’t know him, Ruby! I mean, I just wish you had waited to confide in me first…” picking at a loose thread from the sofa, your mind was racing with a plethora of thoughts that felt too jumbled for articulation. “I don’t think you’ve ever brought him up before. Can I least know how you guys are friends? Can I know anything about him that will make me feel better?”
“We used to work together at Putting Edge—the mini-put golf course place.” Okay, that didn’t seem so bad. You were on board with that. He has, or had, a job. Ruby began itching her face. “Then he started dealing to me. Like, weed and stuff. Oh—and the molly. I don’t know where he was getting that shit from, but it was heavenly.” She let herself sink back into the cushions, eyes fluttering shut.
Meanwhile you were sitting up straighter than a board. “What?”
“He’s chill.”
“No—wait—he’s a drug dealer?!” You were off the couch, nearly clambering over the coffee table, to begin pacing the room that you swore had started melting like saltwater taffy left in the sweltering heat. “Ruby, I honestly don’t mean to be crass but—” you shook your hands at her deflated-looking body, “—what the fuck! What the fucking fuck! No! We can’t!”
She raised her expression at you, piqued by your uncharacteristic use of language. Cursing was always heavily shamed in your family. Even as an adult, the guilt that accompanied swearing felt like a hot cattle brand.
Ruby sat criss-crossed, tilting her head. “Relax, babe.”
“No, no. I can’t!” You were still pacing, fretting. “We cannot have a drug dealer under our roof, Ruby!” The worry was whisper-shouted, as though your walls were already wire-tapped from just his presence.
“He’s not dealing at our doorstep.”
“That doesn’t matter!”
“Okay, I don’t want to invalidate your feelings or anything,” she started with a drawl in her voice that already felt very invalidating, “but you don’t know him. And that’s not to make a point. He’s not an idiot. He’s been doing this a while and he knows how to keep the trouble to himself.”
“I just don’t know if I can get behind this.”
“Come sit with me,” Ruby gestured, patting the cushion beside her, and with cumbersome steps, it was now your turn to sink into the sofa. She grabbed onto your arm, squeezing it softly. “Look, if I’m not worried, you shouldn’t be either.” That wasn’t saying much. Ruby was never worried. If an axe-murderer shattered through the window right that second, she’d probably just blink at him and continue on with her conceding. “He won’t be here all the time. I’ll tell him to be mindful. He’s good that way.”
You wanted to believe her. Behind those reddened eyes and their traces of greenish-gold, there had to be some legitimate, concrete truth to her words. Agonizing was your speciality. It was quite exhausting.
“Why is he here?” Letting your head fall onto her shoulder, you started toying with the drawstring on your pyjama shorts, wondering how you were supposed to be okay with it all. “Did he ever tell you that?”
“A little bit. Something about money he’s owed.”
You grimaced. “Sounds awful already.”
Ruby laughed, nuzzling your head affectionately. “He’ll be gone before you even know it. Trust me. Boys like that always are.”
18 MONTHS AGO.
“Ah—you’ve got to be kidding me!”
Watching the bus you needed to get home steamroll away down the glassy street as you stood, frozen, was quite disheartening—the one final gut punch in your very long night of weariness—and you had felt it like you were a boxer inside the ring. Unfortunately, you weren’t that close with any of the cooks or servers. At least not to a point you were comfortable enough asking them for a ride home. You assumed they had mostly singled you out as a bit ditzy, uncoordinated, and probably undeserving. Which was right.
So, what were your options, you tried to reason.
An expensive lift, a damn near hour walk (alone, at night, in the rain), or—your head suddenly snapped to find him—just a dim flicker of smudgy green under the street lights about to disappear at the corner. You started chasing after him, though it was more of a hurried and chaotic shuffle as you tried not to slip on the watery cement, your bag rustling against your side until you managed to catch up with him. He stopped, narrowing his brow at you in concern, while you breathed out heavily and smiled all crooked, wiping some hairs flat against the crest of your dewed forehead.
“Uh—hello, again—I know this is really weird, and I totally didn’t mean to chase after you down the street like a lunatic, but, um, I missed my bus,” you said while persisting to smile at him, exactly like a lunatic.
“That sucks,” he answered, shrugging.
Oh gosh! He hates me! You immediately thought.
“Yeah, I don’t think I stood a chance, really.” Honestly—what were you doing? How come you had decided this stranger was your best ticket home, when you didn’t even know if he had a car? Worse than that, he had a gun stuffed under his jacket that you had clearly seen with your own two eyes. He could be a murderer! A sadist!
“What are you gonna do?” He asked you, tilting his head slightly.
Your stomach dropped. “I’m not sure, actually.”
For a moment, he didn’t bother responding, only continued to stare at you, his soft brown eyes filled with patience that made you breathe slower and flesh out your fingers. Like a magnet, he was pulling something out. “Uh, you don’t happen to have a car, do you?”
He nodded. “I do.”
“Really?” You sounded more relieved than should be appropriate.
“It’s parked around the corner.”
“Well, I know that you don’t know me, and I don’t know you, and that I may be the stupidest girl alive for asking this, but is there any chance I could have a ride home? And you can say no! I don’t want to pressure you.”
“I don’t think you chased me down the street just to hear no.”
You gave him a tiny, avoidant smile. “I guess not…”
After another beat of silence—and the itchy sensation of heat molting up your neck as he stared into you with such gentle eyes— he ended up waving his hand, inviting you to follow him. Yes, he had a gun. Yes, you were being ineffably stupid. Your head cared, but your gut didn’t.
“This is your car?”
“Yeah, the white one.” He pulled out his fob to unlock the doors, then proceeded to open the passenger’s side for you. After getting treated like dirt all day at the restaurant, the small act of chivalry was essentially next to royalty. Once he was inside the car, brushing the dampness from his rust-coloured hair, he pulled out a phone. “What’s your address?”
“Uh, 2269 Roxbury.”
“Ah, I see, you live by the old DMV.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s the building with the Bickersons.”
You laughed. “Who?”
“If you’ve ever heard two people having a screaming match out in the parking lot, that’s probably them. They’ve got toxic down to an art. I like to call them the Bickersons. They’re never not arguing.”
As he pulled out into the late-night traffic, partly rolling down his window to let in a fresh breeze, as fresh as it could be in a city, you couldn’t help but make a surprised expression. “Yeah, that sounds right. How do you know them?”
Predictably, he shrugged a shoulder. “We go back.”
“I don’t know what that means. You used to live there?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Is your seatbelt on?”
“Of course.”
He threw you a smile that made your entire chest tighten. “Good. I like a girl who follows the rules of the road.”
You merely giggled at him, too shy to say anything else.
It was strange. As far back as you could remember, you had never been particularly lucky with boys. Part of it was dampened interest. Your friends always babbled about their crushes every lunch period—he held the door open for me! We talked outside the portables! He laughed at my story! He sat behind me during the assembly!—and you would always nibble on your sandwich, nodding, agreeing, but never quite understanding their infatuations. Until the definitive moment came where you did have a crush, and it was shoved right back into your face like a pie tin swirled in whipped cream.
It left you feeling robbed and unwanted.
As though there was something about yourself you weren’t seeing despite the fact everyone else apparently could. But now you were in the passenger’s seat of a very pretty boy’s car, getting a ride home, extrapolating the gesture to great lengths beyond what it probably, most likely was—a mere kindness—though his eyes were just so deep with a type of tenderness that had never cared to gaze upon you until now. Yet, he was nameless.
So were you.
“Okay, it’s right here,” you said, pointing to the tiny apartment building that appeared held together from brick and glue.
He seemed to know, anyway.
“I think you’ve been here before,” you laughed.
“Maybe.”
While undoing your seatbelt and patting around in the car to ensure you hadn’t dropped anything, your wandering gaze stilled on a very large duffle bag in the backseat with a notably large lock through it. You paused. “Um… I’m guessing it wouldn’t make me feel any better to know what’s inside there… it’s not a body… is it?”
“No,” he answered, briefly biting his lip. “It’s not.”
Again, he exited the car to open the door for you. Gripping tightly to your bag, you carefully lifted yourself out, attempting not to step in the big gleaming puddle holding all the moonlight.
“Thank you for the ride.”
He leaned against his car, smiling. “Sure.”
Gosh—you should leave—you should zip straight into that apartment and distract yourself with anything that seemed fit, even if it was fixing the loose screw on the fridge handle. You should immediately work to unstitch this boy from your memory because you knew he wasn’t going to stick around. He was like a ghost. Present just enough for you to accept that he existed, but once he was gone, you would start to believe it was all a figment of your imagination. The wind was cold and you were shuddering.
“Um… do you have a name?”
“Yeah. Do you?”
There you went again, giggling at him all schoolgirly. “Yeah.”
He shrugged. “Well, that settles that.”
“But, I-I mean, what is it?” You looked at him swathed in the glow of the mysterious blue moonlight, patterned like cobwebs, as he was already beginning to feel more and more distant, similar to the sensation of a shiver disappearing down your arm. “I guess we won’t ever talk again.”
“I don’t think so.”
"You should come by the restaurant. If you want."
"Maybe."
“Hm. Well, thanks again. Goodnight!” Giving him a parting smile, you began walking up the concrete path to the apartment, feeling his eyes trace your every movement such that you were overly worried about stumbling, or falling, or scuffing your shoe. You saw his beautifully freckled face and adorable dimples flash in your mind and completely missed the placement of the door handle. You groaned.
What was meant to be would be.
12 MONTHS AGO.
“I guess I just don’t know how to put my foot down… I guess I also don’t know how to tell if I’m overreacting or not… I mean, am I just spineless or something? Or am I shaped like a doormat?” You sunk further into the countertop, shoulders hunching as you huffed, “a spineless doormat?”
“Uh… dunno… you haven’t told me the whole spill,” Soonyoung muttered, his attention split between your moping and the dusty, opaque panel he was supposed to unscrew from the ceiling to change the dead fluorescent light. He gestured with his hand. “Pass me the screwdriver.”
After sticking up the tool for your co-worker to grab, you begrudgingly tore another hunk from the cheap fruit bar you were pretending was breakfast. It had the flavour of dehydrated mango and figs. Not a healthy fig either, that squished pinkly in your mouth.
“Well… I won’t drag it out,” you said, swallowing, and proceeded to maintain conversation with Soonyoung’s colourful sneakers. “Ruby has given this friend of her’s permission to crash at our place whenever he feels like it. It’s only been two weeks, and I think he’s ruining my life.”
“Mmhm.” A screw popped out, which Soonyoung stored in his shorts pocket. “Ruined your life, huh? What’s wrong with him?”
Further peeling back the wrapper of the fruit bar, you shook your head. “Gosh—what isn’t wrong with him?” You were about to take another bite, but felt something more important lurch to the tip of your tongue. “First of all, he’s a drug dealer, okay. Like, an actual drug dealer. He gives Ruby weed and ecstasy!” If the store weren’t completely empty, then you might have been more clandestine about the revelation, but seeing as it was just you talking to Soonyoung, you weren’t particularly monitoring your vocal distress.
“Sick,” Soonyoung answered, undoing another screw.
“No!” You barked, glaring at the flashy red and purple colourway on his perfect, non-scuffed sneakers. “It’s not. It’s a crime! And I’m letting myself be associated!” The fruit bar touched your lips, but you ripped it away again. “He steals stuff from our fridge and pantry! He enters our apartment at random hours of the day! Heck—the worst part—the absolute worst part, Soonyoung, is when he and Ruby… I don’t know… they get frisky or something… and I can hear it through the wall! It’s torture! I already don't get enough sleep!”
“Shit—fuck—okay, the panel is loose. Can I pass it down?”
“One sec—okay—ew! There are bugs all over it!”
Soonyoung wrinkled his bleached eyebrows. “Dead bugs.” He started working on taking out the burnt fluorescent tube. “What do y’mean frisky?” The boy laughed. “Are they play fighting?”
“No…” you grimaced, picking up the yellow bar and staring into it sadly while attempting to block the memory from the night before—Ruby’s weird little squeaky laughs that blended into moans, the odd thump here and there, the thick stench of burning weed somehow permeating your walls. “I don’t know what it is. I don’t ask. Ruby’s neck has about ten hickies on it.”
“Oh,” Soonyoung sang, “they’re fucking, huh?”
“I don’t know,” you pouted.
“Sounds like it to me. Trade.” He extended the hollow fluorescent tube, swapping it for the new shiny one that you pulled from its cardboard casing. “I will admit, that sounds rough. What’s this dude look like?”
Handling the dead bulb, you couldn’t help but think how satisfying it would be to crack it right over Vernon’s head as the cold glass nipped your fingers. A guy with his entitlement had probably never been ridiculed before.
You sighed, setting the light aside. “It doesn’t matter.”
Soonyoung suddenly grunted, “why won’t it go in?”
“Be careful. Please.”
He took a step back, and something crinkled. “Shit, sorry.”
You shrugged, staring at your crushed fruit bar that somehow felt akin to a very poignant metaphor mirroring your uncontrolled, dull life. Now that the light was fixed, Soonyoung had begun to reattach the panel, pulling out the tiny screws from his shorts.
“Seriously,” he mouthed very incoherently around the miniature screw driver he was biting, “I wanna know what this dude looks like.”
“Mm…” you hummed in apprehension, smudging a fist into your cheek as you unenthusiastically muttered, “dark hair, tattoos, face piercings… lashes that are way too long for his own good. He has a little twang to his voice. Smug smile. Ruby said he’s half-Korean, half-White.”
After attaching the panel back in place, Soonyoung was jumping off the counter, landing onto the tiled floor with a smooth thud. He adjusted his backward cap and pulled at the waist to his large carpenter shorts. “I rescind my sympathy. He’s hot.”
Your hand curled into a fist and you pounded the counter. “He’s not! He’s such an—such a—” crinkling up your warm, prickling face, you merely grumbled like a petulant child who was told no ice cream before dinner, “—he’s making living there impossible! For way too many reasons!”
Soonyoung grabbed the fruit bar he had stepped on, taking an unbothered bite. “Then you need to talk to Ruby some more.”
“I have.”
“Yeah, well, seems like some shit got lost in translation. Look, I think you should—” he made a sour expression while swallowing, “—I think you should—wow—this actually tastes like shit. Why were you even eating this?” He coughed into his elbow while reading the ingredients crossly.
“I don’t know…” you sighed, “because it only cost seventy-cents. Because I didn’t want breakfast this morning. Because that’s all I deserve.”
“Uh—well, look—you should talk to Ruby again. And be firm about it. Don’t walk back anything. I’d say you could spend a night at my place or something if it gets that bad, but, realistically, my flat’s no better than what you’ve got going on. I’m in a weird situationship with this dude I met at the club. He’s kinda boring and his stamina could use some work. But he makes the best hashbrowns I’ve ever had the morning after.”
Ruffling your fingers against your scalp, you turned even gloomier than you were ten minutes ago. “So, I’m screwed? Is that it?”
“Nah,” Soonyoung shook his head, smirking. “If anything, you should be taking advantage of this. The universe serves you Mr. Bad Boy from every Wattpad girl’s best dream and you’re hitting the snooze button.”
“That would never happen,” you practically gagged.
“Just saying.” He shrugged, taking another bite from the chewy fruit bar that only preluded his annoyance. You couldn’t help but smile a little as he hissed, “seriously, what the fuck is wrong with whoever made this?”
Soonyoung could attempt to convince you all he wanted. No matter how he decorated your shitty situation, it would be like tinselling up a dead tree with half its branches ungracefully snapped off. His boy-crazy optimism wouldn’t change the truth, nor could your feelings be warped. You watched him throw the half-eaten dehydrated fruit bar into the trash can before clapping off his hands, like he was ridding himself of dirt.
Burnt peanut butter toast seemed delicious right then.
“Ruby! You home?!”
Removing the keys from the door, you waited for Ruby’s response, although the only sound you heard was a dripping kitchen faucet and that nearly imperceptible rattling from the old light above the stovetop. It was a Friday night. Typically, Ruby would make plans. After toeing off your beaten-up, dirty-laced runners, you lifted your bag onto the counter and removed the tupperware that had held your lunch. Her door was shut, with no shadows or even the dullest glow lambent from underneath.
Maybe she was asleep. The texts you sent earlier weren’t even read.
Carefully, you peeked into the room, just managing to decipher her vallied silhouette hidden by the bedsheets.
She rarely phoned nights in.
You thought she could be sick. Poor Ruby. The last time she was ill, the girl borderlined on comatose for an entire week, her garbage stuffed with a mountain of crumpled, snotty tissues while her nightstand became a pharmaceutical empire for differing cough, cold, and flu medications. Bar hopping across the cityscape and consistently being crushed against strangers at the club probably never helped her much. Getting sick was inevitable.
Before bed, you decided to take a hot shower.
Sleeping came much easier when you weren’t caked in the sweat, grease, and unshakeable guilt sprinkled on you by some very condescending staff (and customers). You flicked the hallway light on, your slippers tiredly rubbing against the hardwood as you approached the uncooperative closet door to dig out a fresh, fuzzy towel. Once you moaned a gigantic yawn, your hand had done nothing apart from feather the washroom door handle.
However, it was already being opened for you.
Foggy light spilled into your eyes and steam that smelt something like beaches and fresh-scooped coconut breathed across your face. In the moment, you almost screamed. Could a towel be used in self-defence?
“Tryin’ to peep on me, Pyjamas?”
Gosh—no. What was he doing here? Ruby usually texted you when Vernon was over—that was a rule she had promised to upkeep. But there he was, clean from your shower, rubbing at his damp, fluffed black hair with a towel he had probably swiped from your pantry. Of course, it seemed engrained into his genetics to make some egotistical comment that would undoubtedly fluster you—not because of him—but because of his audacity.
“Peep on you? What do you—what are you doing here?”
Vernon slid past you into the living room where he turned on the central light. You proceeded to watch him leave the towel messily folded over the couch (you immediately scowled) while he picked up a knapsack. “Showerin’,” he shrugged.
“No, that’s not—” your words folded up like origami, “—you—I mean—Ruby didn’t say you were here! She’s supposed to text me!”
The boy grabbed something small off the coffee table, shoving it inside the bag. Glancing up, he shrugged, again, in a way that irritated you so strongly. “Not really my issue.” He then grabbed something else that looked similar to a wallet, which he pressed down into his back pocket.
“Is she sick?” You asked, knowing it could be reasoned. If Vernon had stopped by to look after her, you were willing to be more forgiving.
Vernon reached for his black jacket. “Nah.” He sniffed.
“She’s supposed to text me,” you blurrily repeated, trapped in a tunnel of thoughts that only continued to twist more hectically.
“Yeah, you said that already,” the boy answered, poking his arms through the baggy sleeves before giving the material an adjusting flap. “I’m out, PJ’s—tell her she owes me two-hundred for the ecstasy.”
“What?”
The inconspicuous bag dangled off his right shoulder as he gripped you with his scorched brown eyes. “Two-hundred,” Vernon said slower, almost as though he were mocking you. “Your roommate. She owes me.”
“Is that what happened?”
“You can ask her when she wakes up.”
He was making his way to the door.
Your fist clenched into the towel. The question was burning your tongue like a stinging mouthful of sharp salt. There was absolutely no confidence behind your warbling, weak voice, but, somehow, you still found the steel to ask him: “why does it have to be Ruby?” You paused, swallowing the frog in your throat. “Why can’t you stay with someone else?”
Vernon looked back, raising his eyebrow. “Why can’t you?”
“I live here.”
He snickered, biting his inner cheek. “Yeah? Then maybe don’t live with someone who’s out poppin’ weird shit on her tongue every weekend.”
You wanted to throw something at him. You wanted to leap across the room and smother that twinkly smirk from his glinting lip. Instead, he left without another word or glance, taking his ambiguous knapsack and infuriating attitude with him. There was no hot water left for your shower. The coldness peppered into you like chipped ice.
It made you want to cry.
“No, I don’t think he understands. If I get the job, I’m handing in my two weeks the day of. And I don’t even know if it will be two weeks depending on when they’d want me to start. It’s not like I haven’t spoken about it before. He’s got an idea, at least.”
It was horribly miraculous that you had spent over a year at Mr. York’s and somehow you still sucked at befriending your coworkers.
Ruby used to work there before you did, and she warned you that their social culture was quite… snotty. Almost high schoolish. The waitresses were all split up into cliques that you had been meandering around the exterior of for months. While you were washing down the tabletops with a soapy rag, you couldn’t stop yourself from eavesdropping a conversation between Tara and Lara at the bar counter. You used to think they were sisters, as they had the same pin-straight dark hair, faint poshness of a London accent, and long, almost spindly ballerina legs that were quite useful for efficiently walking orders from the kitchen. But they weren’t sisters.
Just deceivingly similar.
Tara was organizing money in the till as Lara listened.
“It’s the perfect job.”
“It really is.”
“No—honestly—even the view is beautiful. If you get the assistant position, you have your own space that’s connected to her office. The window is right out over the coastline. I saw it. The water’s like a billowing silk sheet. I’m telling you Lara, it was gorgeous. There’s even a tiny bakery on her floor, too. You can smell the pastries. Just faintly, though. Like a buttery, crispy, flaky dream. A Paris café. I’ve never needed a job more.”
You were attempting to investigate the conversation so intensely from your peripheral vision that your eyeballs felt like rolling out. Lara leaned backward against the counter on her elbows. She tilted her head in a stretch such that her long, glossed hair flowed watery all over the marble. “If you leave, I’m leaving.”
Tara gasped, smacking her friend with a stack of twenty’s. “No! Lara you absolutely can’t! I’m telling you, something will pop up. Be patient.”
“We get treated like dirt here.”
“You make no attempt to have them like you. You’re too pouty. That businesswoman tips like a goldmine if you get on her good side.”
“Her raggedy purse dog crapped on my shoe!” Lara cried, straightening up and collecting her luscious hair into a ponytail. “It took every fibre of my being to not clobber her right then and there!”
Tara laughed, “that was quite funny. You nearly got fired.”
Once you had cleaned the last tabletop, you dropped the rag back into the warm bucket. Before you could disappear into the kitchen, Tara seemed to notice you wriggling away and called out, “don’t forget to stack the chairs!” Lara was supposed to do that. She never really did anything.
“I will! I’m going to dump the water first!”
You despised picking up her slack. But you liked Tara, even if you two weren’t close. And to make an enemy of Lara meant Tara would most likely hate you, too. The two girls were nearly joined at the hip.
Coming back into the dining room, you stopped at the counter where Tara was closing up the till. “What’s this job you’re talking about?”
She seemed a bit surprised that you had decided to speak to her, as her dark, thin eyebrows lifted higher than usual up her creaseless, almost doll skin forehead. The waitressing cliques usually kept separated. You weren’t even in a clique, yet you got bossed around by them like a little sister.
Tara cleared her throat. “Oh, it’s an assistant position. It’s not officially open yet. Won’t be until next year. Around summer. I have an on-site connection who told me the news, so I can start my practicing my interview skills early. You’ve seen it, haven’t you? That beautiful glass architecture building along the coastline? Catherine Love works there.”
Your nose wrinkled. “Catherine… Love? Who’s that?”
Lara was in the midst of absentmindedly braiding her hair when she flicked her bored eyes at you. “It’s not her real name. It’s an alias.”
“Oh…” you blinked.
“She organizes art exhibitions—the best you’ll ever see—not just in the city, but across a few different countries. I think I first learned about her when I still lived down in Farringdon… she set up this cherry blossom exhibition outside the London Roman Amphitheatre that is just burned into my brain like magic. She does art herself. But not like she used to. Anyway, her old assistant is apparently jetting off to live in Athens. So—” Tara’s eyes physically sparkled akin to a midnight sky, “—she obviously needs a new one!”
You smiled. “That sounds amazing. I’m not familiar with her.”
“If you have time, she’s setting up a smaller exhibit in January, I believe. A Winter Wonderland type thing. Although I can’t remember the location. She has an official website you could check.”
Admittedly, it had been a while since you last attended any type of art exhibition. Perhaps only once as a teenager—most likely forced by your mother who was desperate to get you involved with any sort of culture other than the misery building in your bedroom—and a few more times once you reached adulthood during university. Diana had quite a large interest in art.
You remembered a gigantic book she had thrown onto your lap upon paying a visit to her dorm for the first time. The cover was solid and textured, meanwhile the pages were thick and laminated, each displaying a revolutionary painting from a different time period. Diana’s finger had shot all over the pages as she beamed on about their individualistic beauty, her words getting helplessly tangled in excitement that made you excited as well.
Now that you were thinking hard about it, Diana had probably mentioned Catherine Love before. Time had merely faded the memory.
“Maybe I’ll go,” you told Tara, smiling. “Thanks.”
You had no idea where Diana was or what she was doing now.
But maybe she would go, too.
“Oh—hey! We’re eating! Care to join?” Ruby waved at you from the sofa with a plate seated in her lap. “I left out some stuff on the counter for making a wrap. Figure we should try to get rid of our produce.”
You had not willingly left your bedroom, that was certain.
It was your bladder responsible for pushing you out the door, as it felt like an overfilled water balloon on the brink of bursting. Ruby had been gracious enough to text you that Vernon would stop by during the evening, and thus, you decided that leaving your room would not be an option unless things got dire. Peeing yourself seemed pretty dire. And not totally worth it.
She must have been confused as to why you hurried past her for the washroom down the corridor. Collapsing onto the toilet, your face then buried into your hands. Relief first, agony second. Going back to your room meant encountering Ruby and Vernon again—if running past them wordlessly wasn’t already embarrassing enough—how come this stupid apartment didn’t have an underground candlelit tunnel for your leisure?
Cleaning your hands at the sink, you spent an almost concerningly long time massaging the liquid soap into your skin, even squeezing the suds between your palms to make that wet, popping sound you used to love during childhood bath times. Obviously, you were prolonging the inevitable. You were prolonging him.
He had come by the apartment a few more times since the shower incident last week, though you hadn’t particularly seen him because you were at work. Ruby would still text you. It was nice she was paying more attention to the established rule, but sometimes you’d rather not know at all.
Once you trudged back into the living room, Ruby worried her brows at you. “Are you feeling okay? Did you just throw up?”
“No,” you sighed, deciding to spare the unnecessary details.
Ruby asked another question, but you were too busy staring him down like a rattlesnake through your lashes—the way his toned, tattooed arms folded behind his head while he leaned against the arm of the couch, an ankle resting across his knee, his very knowing, intense smirk probing you as he likely scanned his brain for a stupid comment to make—no, you hadn’t heard a word from Ruby’s mouth.
She grabbed your hand and tugged it. “Are you daydreaming or something?”
You pulled your hand back and spluttered, “what—no. I’m not daydreaming. Sorry, I didn’t catch what you asked.”
She seemed skeptical. “Uh, I asked if you were going to eat.”
“Maybe later.”
Ruby shook her head. “C’mon, I haven’t seen you eat all day!”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Low appetite? You could be getting sick.”
“Ruby, I’m fine. Seriously. Just tired.”
“What if I make it for you?” She was almost imploring at that point, even removing the plate from her lap so she could stand. “Here—sit.” Ruby guided you onto the indented cushion she had been warming. “I’ll make it for you. I think we like all the same toppings, anyway. Just no mushrooms.”
“You don’t have to do this,” you called to your roommate, but she was already behind the kitchen counter, back to the cutting board.
That left you on the sofa with Vernon, who was unsurprisingly engulfing more than half the space by lying horizontally. In fact, you were quite surprised he hadn’t said anything yet, not even an utterance of the irritating nickname he coined for you—Pyjamas—which made you start to believe he didn’t even know your actual name. But he didn’t seem to care that you were there, instead reading something off his cracked phone. You looked down. Well, you weren’t wearing the unicorn shirt. It was a plain white t-shirt with an old spaghetti sauce stain that never came out, with flannel-patterned bottoms. Maybe it was too hard to make fun of.
Ruby came back into the living room, handing you a plate.
“Thanks…”
“No problem,” she said with a smile, then proceeded to shove aside Vernon’s legs so she could take the middle cushion. He simply moved them back onto her lap, to which you noticed her hand squeeze along his calf. Were they… dating? Ruby had said they never dated.
Their hook-ups were always meaningless and completely unattached. Your stomach squelched with an uncomfortable feeling you couldn’t place while tearing a bite from the spinach wrap. It tasted mismatched, thrown together. Which it was. But you still appreciated that your typically lazy roommate had even offered.
She tucked some loose hairs behind her ear. “Any progress?”
Vernon was still examining his phone, seemingly texting with a single hand while he kept his other arm trapped behind his head. “Define… progress…” he murmured, distracted. “This dude’s spellin’ sucks ass.”
Ruby laughed, “so does yours.”
“Hey—” he dropped the phone for a second, rubbing his eye, “—I never finished high school, alright? At least I’ve got a fuckin’ excuse.”
You slowly chewed another bite from the wrap. This conversation didn’t seem like it would involve you in any capacity, but you stayed seated, listening, while pulling out a leaf of dark spinach.
“So, no progress is what I’m hearing.”
“None.”
“Why don’t you move onto someone else?” Ruby leaned forward as she asked the question, reaching for a cherry red sucker you hadn’t seen on the coffee table. She ripped the wrapper off and stuck it in her mouth.
“Don’t have nothin’ on them either.” Vernon shrugged.
Oh—you realized—it must be something to do with the entire reason he was even here in the first place. Ruby had only explained it to you once, although you subconsciously missed half her spiel since the sole thing your mind could do was blare an alarm bell that Vernon might get you all arrested. He needed money from people. That was all you remembered.
Ruby sunk back into the cushions, twisting the end of the sucker so it flicked against her teeth. “Hm… what was her name again?”
Vernon sighed, “I told you—don’t remember.”
“But you call her something?”
“Yeah—Basu—it’s her last name.”
At that moment, you nearly choked on a poorly sliced piece of red onion. Ruby turned to you abruptly, rubbing your shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Basu?” Wiping your mouth, you squinted at Vernon from across the couch. “You’re trying to find a girl with the last name Basu?”
He nodded.
“Diana Basu?”
Ruby’s eyes widened. “Oh—your friend?”
Vernon pushed himself further up the couch. He glanced at his phone again, and then back at you, before rubbing across his furrowed brow.
Ruby grabbed onto Vernon’s leg and shook it. “Ring a bell?”
“I think that was her name,” he muttered, still not completely sold on the suggestion, although it had definitely ticked something. “I mean, I’ve never been great on names, but I feel like that’s familiar. This dude told me he worked with a Basu… just didn’t feel right. How do you know her?”
“We were close in university,” you answered tentatively.
“You sure her name was Diana Basu?”
“I’m sure,” you confirmed. “I’d never forget it.”
“Why don’t you let it marinate?” Ruby offered, wiping some stickiness off her lip. “Don’t need it all sorted right now.”
“Guess so,” Vernon agreed.
It was honestly hurtful to wrap your mind around, and it made your head start to throb. Diana owed Vernon drug money? Your Diana? While you two had stopped keeping up with each other after university, that couldn’t have felt any further from your memories of the docile, sweet girl.
Rising up from the sofa, Vernon pulled his jacket off the coffee table and started getting dressed. He was so strange—disappearing at random hours to go do god knows what—and for a moment you were almost curious about him. Still, you refused the feeling to simmer. As if you would ever entangle yourself with his illegal manners.
Pigs could fly first.
“M’kay,” Ruby mumbled, licking at the sucker. “See you later.”
Vernon grabbed onto her jaw with a tattooed hand, then leaning down to unabashedly steal a deep, thorough kiss from her mouth that had you freezing into the sofa like a layer of winter frost. He flashed Ruby a flirtatious smirk, looking her body up and down with those molten, honey-brown eyes that he was gifted with. “Cherry tastes good on you,” he said.
Ruby giggled as she melted back into the sofa. “You’re an ass,” the girl quipped, folding up her legs. “Go get a parking ticket or something.”
“That’s next on my schedule,” Vernon joked, shouldering open the apartment door. “How’d you know? You check my phone when I wasn’t lookin’?” He tsked his teeth and shook his head. “Bad girl, aren’t you?”
Ruby threw a pillow at him, her cheeks reddening. “Get out!”
You weren’t sure if it was even appropriate for you to comment on what just happened between them. But you suddenly lost what little appetite you had in the first place, now settling the plate onto the coffee table and giving it a sad push away from you. Did Ruby really like him? You swallowed thickly. Did Vernon like Ruby?
Again, your head throbbed.
Sulking off the couch with a frustrated grumble, you didn’t know why you were asking yourself those questions, anyway. You should have never come outside your room and just squirmed around in bed while singing a song to distract from the fact your bladder might explode.
Sitting at your desk, you were flipping through the pages to a special edition art magazine that Tara had given you after work. She wanted it back, as it was apparently a relic from her childhood days in Farringdon, so you made sure to secure it very gently inside your cinnamon bag, checking on its condition habitually during the bus ride home.
It was late at night. You knew you should get ready for bed. But you had just uncovered the esteemed 2005 Cherry Blossom Collaboration with the London Roman Amphitheatre that Tara had fawned over. She said the magazine photos were splendid, although nothing could compare to witnessing the exhibition in person. You supposed nostalgia was also a factor in her fondness. Nonetheless, you agreed—the exhibition was held during the peak of springtime, each photograph lush with handmade faux cherry blossoms.
You read that the petals were made using discarded bottles that an artist recovered from London’s parks throughout his lifetime. He melted the glass down, tinted it, and had everything stretched and warped into petals.
Tiny lights were tangled through the blossoms. In the photos, they added a homely touch of softness and warmth to the pink-stained glass that you beheld, hypnotized by the spectacle. Visitors to the exhibit could walk underneath the delicate archway the cherry blossoms formed, where other sculptures and art pieces unique to springtime were displayed. You flipped to the next page, seeing that the artwork was featured in more detail alongside thoughtful, reflective excerpts from the artists.
At night, the amphitheatre reminded me of an opened clam. The small light fixtures filled the pink glass with life, such that the petals became real, and velvet, just as one would imagine a fresh petal to feel like between their fingers. At a distance, there was a visible glow that faded up to reach the dark and ashy London sky. The exhibit was a shining pearl. My pearl. My idea finally abloom. –Catherine Love, April 2005.
Your head had dropped so close to examine the magazine that you were practically breathing the ink off the paper. No wonder Tara wanted the assistant position—it seemed she would be working under someone intelligent, and passionate, and born to be a creative. Beginning to yawn, you flipped to yet another page, impossibly tired but desperate to see more.
Until there was a hard knock at the apartment door. It frightened you more than you’d like to admit (you nearly flung the magazine off the desk and quite literally screamed). Ruby wasn’t home.
She told you she was attempting to cram in as much clubbing and bar hopping as she could before it got too cold out, even though that dilemma had never really stopped Ruby in the past.
After throwing on a zip-up sweater from the back of your desk chair, you took the magazine with you while speeding into the living room and unattractively squinting through the clouded peep hole to see who it was. He suddenly knocked again, more aggressive and impatient, the door rattling under your fingertips. You flinched.
Vernon.
Holding your breath, you looked for the second time.
A shiver ran down your body.
He was staring straight at you. “I know you’re fuckin’ googlin’ at me through the damn hole,” he muttered, brushing a hand along his loose fronds of hair. “There’s somethin’ I need, alright? Open up.” His tone was all bristly. He seemed agitated.
You didn’t want to respond.
Unfortunately, you still unlocked the door for a reason you could not compute, coming face to face with Vernon.
“Ruby’s not here,” you said while folding your arms.
He laughed stoutly, “yeah, I know that.”
“So, what are you—hey! What—where are you going?”
Vernon had easily and quickly slipped past you into the apartment like he was an eel. Gawking, you whipped around, proceeding to watch him shift through the kitchen and enter Ruby’s room. With your mouth still agape, you begrudgingly followed the boy, keeping the magazine tucked against your side as you further observed in shock while he started pulling open the drawers on her dresser, haphazardly picking up clothes to look underneath. You fumbled at first, the words disintegrating on your tongue.
“Y-You can’t do that!” It was a very pathetic attempt to defend your roommate. “Why are you going through Ruby’s things! This is crazy!”
The boy ignored you, instead squatting down to his knees in order to rifle between the bottom compartments. You might as well have been talking to an imaginary friend. He was clearly fixated on finding something.
“Vernon!”
Again, he laughed at you, but it wasn’t frivolous in nature, rather you heard that it was more irritation. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”
Baffled, your eyes bulged out at him. “Tell her what?!”
He stood up, sifting amongst random items on her dresser. “The two-hundred for the ecstasy. Where’s that, huh? I don’t fuckin’ have it.”
“The ecstasy? I did tell her! She told me she was getting it!”
Vernon snickered derisively, biting at his lip ring as though he were stopping himself from making a distasteful remark. Sliding open Ruby’s closet door, he pulled a painted shoe box off the top shelf and tossed it onto her unkempt bed. He was about to open it, but you suddenly snapped the magazine overtop the lid, causing him to withdraw his hand.
“It’s not yours,” you glared, your heart thundering in claps.
“C’mon.” He raised a dark brow at you. “Be serious, Pyjamas.”
“I am being serious.”
“Where’s my two-hundred then? Hm?”
“She’ll give it to you. But you can’t look through her things!”
He smiled, his eyes turning crescent-shaped as he rubbed something invisible from the tip of his perfect nose, acting twitchy as he grunted, “listen, why don’t you go back to your room, alright? Go back to readin’ your fancy little art magazine or whatever the fuck that is. ‘Cause the truth is, I don’t have time for this. And I know you know how to mind your own damn business. N’right now, that would make my life so much fuckin’ easier. Trust.”
The fact he wasn’t taking you seriously was infuriating—that ridiculing glaze in his eye, the way he was pinching his forehead—you were going to scream. In the moment, however, Vernon had all the flare, and confidence, and just the right amount of displeased impatience with your objecting that inside, you became immediately burnt out.
Removing the magazine from the lid, you watched defeatedly while Vernon opened the shoe box, then digging through some photographs and small mementos before unveiling a thin, black pouch. He unzipped it. Cash was sliding into his hand a second later.
“There.” He flicked the bills into a neat stack. “See how much easier that went when you weren’t tryin’ to hop all over my dick?” Placing the lid back on, Vernon returned the old shoe box to Ruby’s closet.
Within the next minute, he was gone. You stopped to sit on the edge of Ruby’s bed, listening to the apartment door shut in the distance, feeling absolutely disheartened at your lack of bite. How could you let Vernon violate her things? How could you recoil so spinelessly after being shown the slightest arrogance?
Ruby probably wouldn’t even care.
But you did. You cared too much. And you didn’t know why.
“Hey! I think I saw Ruby out there.”
Tara brushed past you, her hand briefly touching your shoulder blade to get your attention. The kitchen was quite loud—constant communicating between the cooks, meticulous expediting at the pass, timers dinging, food sizzling, cutlery and plates clashing—enough to make your head rattle. It was certainly no place to be daydreaming (as you had unfortunately learned in the past), and Tara’s slight touch had you jolting.
“Wait—who’s out there?”
She turned around for no less than a second and shouted, “Ruby!”
“Really?!”
Before she disappeared into the washroom at the end of the corridor, she shouted again, “and a friend! At least, I think a friend.”
Ruby had lots of friends. Although, you didn’t spend much time mentally carding through the possibilities when you were slid a tray of fresh-prepped balsamic salads by an especially impatient cook. Striding back into the clustered dining area, you couldn’t help but attempt to pick out your roommate and her noticeable crimson streaks of hair from the crowd. There was too much going on for you to do a decent enough job.
“Okay, I’ve got your salads!” You chimed to the table—three thin middle-aged ladies in spandex dresses who all had very oddly shiny skin—and handed them their bowls.
With all your tables in check, you decided to walk the room out of curiosity. Mr. York’s was a classic and longstanding restaurant in the city that managed to fill its dining area every night of the week. While the popularity was excellent for business, your feet devotedly loathed it, and so did your people-pleasing attitude that would leave you mentally burnt to a crisp. As you strode past the two-person tables against the street-view windows, someone had plucked at the sleeve to your black dress shirt.
“Excuse me, miss? Can I bother you for a second? So, I asked the waitress to get me a water. And I asked her for lots and lots of ice. But look at this—like, a quarter of the ice is gone now! Miss, I think this might be a conspiracy theory. I would love to speak to your—”
You wrapped an arm around Ruby’s shoulders and proceeded to muffle her sly, smiling mouth with your hand. She pinched your side, which always made you giggle. “Oh, shut up. What are you doing here?”
Ruby pursed her lip. “I can’t stop by to see old coworkers?”
The seat across from Ruby was empty. Tara said she was dining with a friend, but you supposed it was someone who had stopped by to talk to her. Or perhaps Tara mixed Ruby up with another streaked red head.
“It’s unlike you to do stuff alone.”
“Oh—I’m not alone, actually. I was hanging out with Vernon. He said he was hungry and I kinda was, too. I felt like going out so I suggested this place. He told me he’s never been! Now, I’m making him!”
Immediately, your smile dropped. “Oh… uh… where is he?”
Ruby flicked her head to look out the windows. The streets were dark and the weather was drizzly as October drew to a close, prompting the numerous shuffling of people adorned in jackets and thick, patterned raincoats. But following Ruby’s pointed finger, you spotted Vernon underneath a dull-glowing street lamp, holding his cracked phone to an ear while he blabbed his mouth. You saw him heartily laugh—crow’s feet wrinkling the skin beside his eyes while flashing his white teeth through the misty weather—almost doubling over right there on the street without a care in the world, oblivious to those who turned their heads in curiosity.
“Who’s he talking to?”
Readjusting the fabric to one of her favourite sheer black tops, Ruby shrugged. “He mentioned a name but I can’t remember… Won-something.”
“Hm… well, uh, I should get back to work.”
Since he stormed Ruby’s bedroom and stole the ecstasy money the week before, you had royally given up being angry about the entire situation—about him. As you anticipated, Ruby didn’t care. She was quite forgetful unless you were on top of her like moss on a tree stump. It didn’t feel very good to table your frustration, your discomfort, your morals. But at the same time, it was exhausting to care so much in the stifling smoke of everyone else’s blatant disregard—the more you breathed it in, the more tired you became, until you found yourself hopelessly deflated.
Ruby said goodbye, and you returned to another table of yours since they had flagged you down to order dessert. You ran into Tara again while waiting at the pass for two chocolate raspberry souffles, where she was also awaiting an order.
Ever since you showed mutual interest in Caroline Love, Tara seemed to enjoy talking with you more—not that you two were suddenly best friends or anything—although it felt nice to be included.
“Have you given it any thought?” Tara asked, subtly feeding herself dark chocolate-covered blueberries she often kept in a pocket on her apron, specifically for snacking. “Going to her Winter Wonderland?”
“Uh.” You crossed a leg and shrugged. “I’m still undecided.”
“I really think you should go.”
“Are you going?”
Tara laughed, her faded London accent suddenly becoming particularly thick as she shouted, “of course! It’s going to be gorgeous.”
“I just—admission tickets are probably pricey.”
“Well, yes, obviously.”
“I guess I could go…” you sighed, staring down at the floor.
Tara’s order was presented onto the pass beside your two warm souffles. She quickly lifted her tray, flitting a smile toward you.
Back in the dining room, you served your customers dessert and took their menus for the night. It seemed they were on a date—you could tell—from the girl’s silk makeup, slim black dress, and those beautiful pearl earrings you were slightly jealous of, to the man’s fine-pressed clothes and smitten smile that hadn’t left his lips since you first tended to them. They thanked you sweetly, and in return you wished them a beautiful night. You hadn’t been on a real date, ever.
Honestly, it wasn’t something that adamantly bothered you until working at Mr. York’s. Never before had you waited on such a plethora of doting couples, always hand-in-hand, sharing testaments of love over intimate candlelight, and it was starting to wear on you to a very lonely degree.
Adjusting the menus in your hands, you looked across the restaurant, spotting Ruby and Vernon (who had finally come inside) at their table by the windows. It seemed that Lara was their waitress, though you couldn’t tell if she was taking down orders on her notepad or simply talking.
Truthfully, Lara wasn’t that great at waitressing. She was short-tempered most of the time, hardly tended to her tables, and was quite lethargic. The fact she hadn’t been fired nor reprimanded merely testified to how well everyone else around her covered up the slack. But something was different tonight. As you attempted to shift closer without making your apparent interest too obvious, you caught glimpses of Lara’s unorthodox behaviour—the chippy voice, her animated expressions, how often she tousled that effortlessly satin ponytail she had come to perfect—and there could only be one explanation: Vernon was right there, smiling her up.
For some reason, you wanted to start kicking and screaming.
He was all relaxed, one arm limply hanging around the back of the chair, his body language open and clearly implying mutual investment. The way he brushed behind his ear, encouraged her with a tilt from his head, a lick at his teeth—you wanted to throw the menus on the ground. Burn them.
But the urge was alive for less than a second.
Just enough for you to feel it, and then stand in peculiarity as you wondered why everything was so dizzy. Why wasn’t it enough that he had infected your homelife? Why must he trickle into everything else?
Ruby saw you. She waved.
Embarrassed that you were caught lurking, you turned around on a dime, though it was to no surprise that you collided against another server who grouchily shook their head and practically elbowed you aside. You squatted down to pick up a menu that had dropped to the floor. Without looking back, you charged straight to the kitchen.
It was a long, dreadful, exhausting night.
You weren’t a hateful person by any means.
But there was something so vitriolic about catching glimpses of Lara across the dining area, putting on a theatrical performance and exemplifying unusually magnificent customer service, that rendered you speechless. She checked the table more than she checked her phone, which you always thought was impossible, and every time she would glue herself to Vernon like he was smeared in honey. It unfortunately distracted you from being good at your job. After delivering an order to the incorrect table, forgetting to bring the bill to another, and nearly tossing over Tara as you barrelled through the kitchen doors in frustration, you wanted nothing more than to tear the infrastructure down to rubble.
“Hey!” Ruby gestured you over later in the night, when most people started leaving as the restaurant winded down to close. “Need a ride home?”
“Um, from who?”
Your roommate chuckled. “Vernon! Obviously.”
In an instant, you shot Ruby a look that could incinerate paint off walls, a look that was more like a scream, while she continued to smile at you, utterly missing your nonverbal plea. She felt like a school teacher trying to coax two misbehaving students who couldn’t tolerate each other into being friends, although, Vernon didn’t really exude the vibe that he couldn’t stand you. Instead, you probably seemed like some unditchable obstacle.
“I still have to help in the kitchen. I have to clean. I won’t be able to go home for a while.” There—a perfect excuse! “I’d feel bad for the wait.”
“That’s no big deal!” Ruby exclaimed. Your chest withered. “I’m gonna be heading out, actually. I’m meeting some friends for a movie! But I know Vernon is okay with waiting, right?” She looked to her friend.
Vernon kinked his neck, shrugging. “I’m in no rush.”
“See!” Ruby beamed, her hazel eyes glistening. “Then you don’t have to worry about missing the bus. And the commute will be much shorter. Besides, Vernon is also gonna drive home Lara.”
You nearly fell to your knees, ill. “Lara?”
“Uh, yeah. Aren’t you friends?”
“Lara always rides home with Tara.”
Ruby shrugged. “Vernon’s good at throwing a wrenches into things—” she smirked across the table, “—guess they’re gonna hang.”
“More like a word that rhymes,” he said, grinning.
“I-I—um—Ruby, I really don’t know—”
She grabbed your hand, cradling it. “Please? The wait honestly isn’t a big deal. You work so hard. Don’t feel guilty about accepting help!”
Guilty? You weren’t guilty! You were horrified about spending even ten minutes in a car with Mr. Felony and Princess Lazy, who had been eyeing each other the entire night and were following nothing but their blinding primal urges to have unabashed intercourse. As if you wanted to be shackled between them! You would rather get sprayed by oily gutter water in the street, waiting for the bus, than have to sit in the back of his stupid car!
“Oh, um… okay. I guess you’re right.”
Ruby pushed up from her seat, blanketing you in a hug. Smelling the richness of her jasmine fragrance and getting a near mouthful of hair, you opted to stand still as stone, letting her squeeze you until your bones rigidly pressed back. She then flung on a small purse with designer print, giving your cheek an affectionate brush while ruffling Vernon’s hair before she left.
You had never felt so defeated. You wanted to wilt.
“I’ll be outside,” Vernon mumbled.
Usually, you cleaned with determination—determination to not miss the bus and reach home by a reasonable hour—but tonight was quite the exception. You cleaned slow. You walked slow. You went about the nightly list of closing chores with the will of a teenage boy at his first job. On the other hand, Lara was whipping by. She polished her tables hard, mopped the floors vigorously—she even offered to throw out some of the leaky trash bags that Tara was supposed to handle—which had made you suspect her body was stolen and the Lara before you was her evil but productive doppelganger.
Even Tara seemed astonished.
By the time you finished your tasks, Lara and Vernon were still outside, waiting. They hadn’t forgotten about you, though you hoped for it. They were chatting underneath the street lamp. Lara had her hair down, occasionally casting a hand through the long, shimmering brown tresses while she fluttered her smoky cat eyes at the boy.
Your fingernails were digging into the shoulder strap of your bag, peeling at the fabric until it bunched. “Okay. I’m ready,” you announced, monotone as ever, grey like slate.
Lara got into the passenger seat while Vernon walked around to the driver’s side. He chuckled at you before opening the door. “Took you long enough, Pyjamas. Cleanin’ the ceiling tiles while you’re at it?”
You chose not to say anything. Vernon didn’t care, anyway.
He played some music. But you weren’t listening. He and Lara spoke back and forth, giggling and laughing. But you weren’t listening. He gave her something from his glove compartment that she ate. But you weren’t listening. At a stop light, you tried opening the window to feel some semblance of a breeze on your perspiring face—it was a window you had to manually roll down, with a lever that could be cranked—though it kept jamming even when you fiddled with the lock. For some reason, you kept pushing against the handle, so desperate to breathe in cold wind and not the old marijuana stench left to fade into the dated upholstery.
Vernon heard the thumping. “Hey—Pyjamas—ease up on the fuckin’ window, yeah? That shit doesn’t work. It’s gonna break again.”
“I need the window down.”
“Lara can open her window. The breeze’ll go back.”
Of course, Lara shook her head. “It’ll mess up my hair.” She then turned around to pout at you. “Hey, you’ll get dropped off soon, alright?”
You ignored her, instead sticking your nose so close to the glass that your warm, anxious breaths were fogging up the surface.
“Did you just call her Pyjamas?”
“Mmhm.”
“Okay…” Lara laughed. “Why?”
Vernon shrugged, smiling. “Doesn’t matter.”
“So, where do you live in the city? Although, I get the suspicion you’re not from here. Otherwise I would have known. I keep very persistent tabs on all the hot guys. It’s been getting… bleak… until now.”
“Has it?”
“Mmhm.”
“Lucky you.”
“So, no place?”
“Nope.”
“Well, you’ll get to see my studio. It’s quite nice.”
“Hm.”
“What?”
“Dunno. Who says we’ll make it inside?”
The very second Vernon stopped the car along the curb to your apartment building, you nearly flung yourself out the door. In fact, you swore the wheels were still moving when you threw off your seatbelt and touched your shoe to the wet grit outside. He cursed at you, but, again, you weren’t listening. You didn’t thank him. You didn’t say goodbye. It felt like escaping a trap purposed solely to engender your misery. Never would you sit in that vanilla Camry again.
When your last straw finally broke, it actually felt like your fifth or sixth last straw. In fact, the last straw should have been the first straw, if anything—when you walked into your living room at the start of October to see a strange, tattooed boy sitting on the sofa, forking split molotes into his mouth—that’s when you should have put your foot down. But you didn’t. You never did.
You let your feelings become diminished and redirected.
As much as Ruby attempted to amicably butter up her friend like he was a damn bread roll, the parts you saw of him vouched for the opposite, and there was no hiding the most blatant fact of all—that he was a drug dealer—which had been your plight since the very beginning. Honestly, you wouldn’t have really cared if it was just the low-hanging stuff. Smoking weed was probably more common than cigarettes nowadays. Even you had tried a joint back in high school, outside on your friend’s porch during the dead of winter with her questionably older boyfriend, while her parents were out for dinner. That would have been acceptable. Except, it wasn’t just that.
Ketamine, ecstasy, cocaine—weird relaxants and other variants of hallucinogens you had never heard before—Vernon wasn’t exactly water under the bridge. He was quite literally a criminal, and with how much he was frequenting your apartment—you were probably a criminal, too.
You had looked down at the text from Ruby while on the bus.
She had invited some friends to the apartment for a get-together. To accurately translate the message: some friends—at least twelve people; a get-together—there’s alcohol involved, and most likely drugs, and you’re probably going to come home to someone whose hooked up their shitty music to our living room speaker such that no one will be able to form a coherent thought because the sound is so insufferably loud. Oh—and there’s guaranteed someone making out in the corner with a spicy side of genital groping that no sober person particularly wants to see. The text stared up at you for the entire ride home, until your vision fell out of focus and the screen blurred.
Indeed, it was the last straw. You knew it, even before you entered the apartment. A deep scarlet colour glowed at you from under the door, rippling like a bloodied beach tide, while you stood there with the key, debating if it was worth it.
“Oh—shit. Sorry.”
The door suddenly popped open. You recognized him despite the fact it had been months since Ruby introduced you for the first and only time outside a sandwich shop—long, brown side-swept curls, a big septum piercing, thin like a rake—where he had walked outside with nothing but a single twelve-inch baguette in his hand. In the moment, he didn’t recognize you back, although you might attribute that to the fat blunt tucked behind his ear and his incredibly spacey expression you had seen on Ruby before.
He simply bumped around you, stumbling every few steps or so, on his way toward the mail room. Of course, someone always had to hot-box in the stupid mail room. It was no wonder your letters and flyers reeked.
Catching the door with a hand, you stood in the threshold.
Those red lights that Ruby had bordered around the living room ceiling for occasional parties had transformed the apartment into a seedy, saturated hell. People drinking in the kitchen, people rolling up on the couch—you didn’t even want to imagine what was happening in Ruby’s bedroom, or your own for that matter—it was a suffocating, congested nightmare with overplayed club music and wafting, smouldering smells. This was supposed to be your home. You were supposed to have a say in how your home was treated. You were supposed to feel safe, at ease, comfortable.
Somehow, it was none of those things.
You wondered if it ever had been.
Ruby was nowhere in sight, but, through the thick red haze, you were able to patch him down like sewing machine. Vernon was obviously no novice to sex and the art of attraction—one tempting flash from those dark golden eyes was pretty much all he needed to seal the deal—which likely explained why Lara was being pressed against the closet doors. They were down the corridor that led to the washroom. It was literal tunnel vision into their synchronized spit-swapping, tonguing, and teething, to the point where everything else but them soaked away into red tides. You almost couldn’t breathe, fixating on Vernon’s hand that slipped underneath Lara’s short skirt, prompting the girl to twitch and exhale a moan across his lips.
What was that feeling?
What was that horrible, reverberating, all-consuming feeling?
Jealousy?
No—your mind had practically screamed it as though it were a shot of pure electricity—no, no, no! You slammed the door shut, fixed the strap to your bag that was sliding off your shoulder, and marched outside the apartment. The weather was damn cold. When you sat at the curb, huffing, the warmth from your breath turned into disappearing, translucent cotton.
But you were so angry that the temperature hardly bothered you.
There was enough of a fire in your gut to keep your skin burning for hours. It felt like there was straight steam inside you, the kind that shoots in boatloads from hot geysers, and that one little pinprick would make you explode. Wearing nothing but very thin dress pants, an even thinner black button-up shirt, and scuffed tennis shoes, you sat on the curb and stared up at the night sky in such a desperate, pleading way—as though you were going to start begging for something—you didn’t know what.
When your neck became too tired of craning, your face buried into your hands, nuzzling into them with a hope that maybe if you pushed hard enough, you would fall through an unbeknownst time loop, where you could wake back up in the lost familiarity of your childhood bedroom. Your dad always sizzled fresh eggs on a frying pan in the mornings while your mother ironed out wrinkles from your pastel-coloured school clothes. You could start over. You could choose to be a different person. You would know better.
However long you sat there, it didn’t seem like much.
It wasn’t until the palms were pulled from your tearful eyes that you realized how numb you were. Your toes hardly wriggled, and your fingertips were stiff. Suckling in a big, wet breath, you gasped at the frigid air suddenly hitting your throat, dry like chalk—oh, gosh—it had been way too long. You might just freeze to that very spot on the curb and have to be thawed off it with a hair dryer.
“Jeez—little cold to be watchin’ the stars, don’t’chya think?”
Unwillfully, turning your head, you saw Vernon. You figured he must have come outside to finish that stumpy blunt he just flicked some orange ash from. Probably warm in his grey hoodie, with his usual black jacket thrown overtop it. Maturely, or maybe not so maturely, you decided to ignore him, shifting your focus to regaining the twitches in your toes so you wouldn’t have to see the bruises on his neck. Your nose crinkled.
“Ou, silent treatment,” Vernon lilted. “That’s a first.”
Whatever, you thought, focusing even harder on your toes.
“You still pissed at me for takin’ Ruby’s money? That was just business shit, Pyjamas. Nothin’ that concerns you.” He took a deep puff from the blunt—the smoke wandered into the peripheral of your vision. “Anyway, she’s lookin’ for you. You got her all concerned n’shit. Maybe go say hi.”
Finally—you were starting to feel it now—you could see your toes wriggling underneath the shoes, and though your legs were tingling, they could move, and that was all you really cared about. Grasping onto your bag, you pulled yourself up. Shoot—you had stumbled a little. Nonetheless, you were quick to straighten out your button-up shirt and dust the grit off those cheap dress pants that you once pulled from a half-emptied clearance bin. They had ripped along the inner seam a few times. Ruby sewed them.
Except, you didn’t go back up the pathway to the apartment.
Inside? That hellhole? As if.
For some reason, you turned away from Vernon, clutching tight to your cinnamon bag while hobbling stiffly down the sidewalk.
You heard him laugh at you. It sounded so childish, unfettered.
Nothing like his personality.
“Where the fuck are you goin’, huh?”
No answer. He didn’t deserve to know.
“You seriously that fuckin’ mad at me?”
The wind dried out your lips, making them cracked.
His laugh hit the crisp midnight air again. “Y'know what? You’re weird as fuck, Pyjamas. Weirder than me. Jesus Christ.” He coughed a few times, the smokiness in his throat sounding raw, then stayed silent for a moment. “And you’ve got dirt on your ass.”
At last, you whipped around. “Don’t stare at my ass!”
Vernon smirked, wiping his nose. “Figured you should know.”
“I don’t care! You’re awful!”
“Awful?”
“Yes, awful!” Closing your fists, eyes pricking with tears, the anger was beginning to warm you back up. “You came into my life and ruined it!”
“No offense, Pyjamas—” he put the blunt to his lips, hollowed in, and swiftly exhaled, “—not sure there was much to ruin.”
“Who do you think you are?!”
Vernon shrugged. “Nobody.”
“Gosh—I can’t believe—I wish that were true! I honestly wish it were! Because then I wouldn’t have you infesting my home! I wouldn’t have to smell weed all the time! Or see your car in the parking lot! I wouldn’t have to stuff my head under a pillow whenever you and Ruby decide to—to—to—whatever it is that you do! I wouldn’t have to worry about our food disappearing, or whether or not I’m gonna open the door to you using up all our hot water, or if I have to stay in my room for the next four hours while you and Ruby turn the living room into a smoke shop!” Wiping some very unattractive mucus from your nose, you choked back a whimper and rubbed at your eyes. “I mean, my life already sucks enough without you throwing a wrench into everything! At this point I’m gonna end up in jail because of you! You’re a drug dealer! You practically robbed us!”
“Hey, hey, hey—” Vernon immediately flicked his blunt to the cement, stamping over it with his sneaker as he approached you, attempting to quiet down the tears and unhinged blubbering, “—scream it fuckin’ louder, yeah? Don’t think they heard your ass down at the police precinct.”
Your head wrung back and forth. “I want you to leave!”
He scoffed, “wouldn’t that be nice?”
“If you won’t, then I will!” Again, you stalked down the sidewalk, dramatically turning away from him like an actress in a drama flick.
“And go where?”
“I don’t know!”
“You’re an idiot.”
Damn it. For the second time, he had gotten you to stop. It was embarrassing enough to have him see you so metaphorically undressed—nose running, lips cracked, eyes swollen from frozen tears, emotions bumbling all over the place like a golf ball stuck on an antenna—and now he was toying you. It was pathetic. But it was too hard not to care.
“I’m an idiot?” Your hand slapped against your bag. “Thanks.”
Vernon nodded. “Well, you are.”
“This is what I’m talking about! You—”
“How about you just shut up for a second?” He stepped closer, shortening the space in between you, though it was cautious. “I didn’t know you were so damn capable of runnin’ your mouth. But it’s cold as fuck out here, my dick’s gonna fall off, and if I can’t get you back inside, then Ruby will probably lick me real good.” He sighed, huddling into his jacket. “Just take a moment, alright? That’s the problem with you quiet chicks—never say anything your entire damn life—then one day it’s a big cluster fuck of anger and suddenly you can’t tell what’s even supposed to deserve it.”
“I—”
“Ah, ah—” Vernon held a finger to his lips, effectively cutting you off from a remark that burned to get out, “—just be quiet. For a minute.”
What was he even talking about? What did that even mean? Was it suddenly a crime to be expressive, emotional? Did he have a secret kink for silencing a woman in mental peril? You stood there, hands clenched into weighted fists, nails scratching at your palms, while your head blazed with a torrent of sentiments, some years old, some new, that had never moved anywhere but between caverns in your mind. They all echoed at once. Howling.
Vernon smiled. “Wow. A minute. Feelin’ better?”
“No,” you muttered, hugging yourself.
“Eh. You’re not shoutin’ anymore. Must have done some good.”
Looking off to the side, you rubbed your nose. The skin felt ice cold—you were ice cold—getting nipped to stone by the needling wind.
“Come inside.” He extended his hand.
You stared at the gesture blankly, swallowed. “No.”
The boy shook his head, laughing, “what the fuck is wrong with you? Seriously? You’d rather freeze? Become a human popsicle?”
“I told you already.”
“Told me what?”
Sniffling, you stared at his shoes. “I want you to leave.”
“Right, Pyjamas. You want me to leave.”
“Yes. A drug dealer can’t stay with us.”
He put on stupid, fake frown that you wanted to physically detach from his face. “That’s all I am to you?” Maybe without his soft lips, and his sharp teeth, and that silver tongue, you could tolerate him.
“Whatever.”
“Come inside.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Ruby will turn me inside out like a glove.”
“Good.”
Vernon sighed, rolling his head in a circle to crack his neck. The moonlight splashed across each hickey that Lara had sucked into his skin, small little dark blotches, almost like the tattoos that quilted his arms. His face would glint when the light struck his metal piercings the right way, looking like little stars.
“M’kay—how ‘bout this,” Vernon huffed. “Let me make you a proposition. ‘Cause I can’t stand out here much longer.”
Huddling further into your own flesh, you shrugged.
“You gonna hear me out?”
“… I guess.”
His eyes twinkled. “You know why I’m here, right? I need some money. A couple people aren’t payin’ and I’m part of a system that doesn’t need fuckery like that.” Vernon paused, gazing at you. “If you can help me find your old friend Diana Basu, I’ll leave. I’ll look for another place to crash. I know it’s her that owes me.”
You said nothing, but kept your lips tight.
“I don’t need an answer from you now. Think on it.”
A shaky breath escaped your mouth, turning to a cloud.
Vernon swayed his head toward the apartment. “Let’s go.”
“I just—I’m not going in there with all those people.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so that’s the issue.”
“It’s part of it.”
“M’kay. I can fix that. But you have to come with me first.”
“Uh, come with you where?”
“Parkin’ lot.”
Hesitantly, you started following Vernon to the back of the building, into the picket-fence enclosed lot where a few cars were parked. He approached his Camry, opening the door to climb inside and ignite the engine while you stood idly, teeth chattering, body parts numbing.
Then, he was opening the passenger side door. “Alright, PJ's. I got the heat blastin’ and everything. Now, get in before my dick falls off.”
You swore you would never sit in his car again. It particularly made the situation worse to know that he had likely drilled Lara in the backseat the night he drove you home from Mr. York’s. But admittedly, you were on the cusp of developing frostbite. Biting the bullet and clenching your teeth, you lowered slowly into the passenger seat, feeling the strong-gusting heat from the fans as you sat the cinnamon bag on your lap. The interior didn’t smell like weed as you expected. The car smelled dry-cleaned and slightly sweet.
Suddenly, he was tossing something on you. At first, you thought it was a blanket, but when you straightened it out, it was a heavy black jacket.
“There.” He smiled. “That’s my old bomber. Courtesy of the backseat.” Looking toward the building, he licked his lips. “Alright, give me ten minutes. Don’t talk to any strangers while I’m gone.” He proceeded to wink at you before shutting the door, to which you refused to smile at.
Even if you didn’t want to, there was a sense of curiosity prickling you, urging you to look around—the glove compartment, under the sun visors, the knapsack kept in the backseat—despite the fact you would most certainly find something concerning. You settled for adjusting the jacket against you and relaxing into the slippery leather, inhaling a deep breath. It was strange. In the front seat, Vernon’s car felt oddly familiar. You assumed you were thinking of your mother’s car that she used to drive you to primary school in, except it was silver. Maybe that was it, though you weren’t sure.
Getting bored, you nuzzled further into the jacket.
It smelled… good.
Really good. The kind of good that made your stomach flutter. The collar’s fleecy interior was pressing against your nose and it seemed to maintain the faint traces of Vernon’s cologne—an amber-like musk with some distant richness in the notes—it was making your head spin as you kept breathing it in. Your heart skipped a beat. Your mind started wandering.
“Okay, you’re one lucky fuckin’ girl, you know that?” From thin air, the boy was suddenly throwing open the car door and climbing inside, causing you to jolt and realize your limbs weren’t dead weight.
“You scared the crap out of me!”
“Oh, shit. My bad.”
“You really got all those people to leave?”
Vernon nodded. “Yes sir.”
“How?”
“Who cares? I did it.”
You stared at him, eyes narrowing.
Vernon grinned. “C’mon! Give daddy some sugar, here.” He dialed the heat slightly, and you pushed down his bomber jacket. “I did you a big fuckin’ favour and all I get is your disdain. What a fuckin’ world.”
“First of all, I’m not giving you any sugar—”
“Yeah, yeah—it’s a joke,” he said, rubbing his browbone. “Your sugar is probably salt. And not to rush you or anything, but I told Lara I’d give her a ride home. You’re standin’ in the way of my good deed.”
“How many good deeds can one man handle?” You bit sarcastically, hating that you were just another dumb girl in his front seat.
“I love pushin’ the limits, you know?”
Funnily enough, you still smiled at him, though it was fairly limp and didn’t quite spread across your lips all the way. You were exhausted.
Emotionally and physically.
As you were getting out from the warm car, Vernon leaned over the console and gestured at something. You looked down, and a flood of sheer embarrassment waded around you upon realizing you were taking his bomber jacket.
“My limits stop here. That shit was expensive, huh?”
“Oh—uh—sorry. I didn’t mean to,” you stammered.
“It’s whatever.” He shrugged, accepting the bomber and tossing it back into the darkness. “Promise you’ll think about my proposition, yeah?”
You sighed, watching a stranger walk to their car. "Okay.”
“Cool. Nighty night, PJ’s.”
11 MONTHS AGO.
“I don’t know, I feel like I’m in such a weird spot… I don’t want to help him, I don’t want to get involved… but on the other hand, if I do help him, he’ll be out of my life, you know? Gone with the wind. It’s been bouncing around in my brain all week. I just don’t know what’s right.”
“Here, move. I’m gonna spray this part.” Soonyoung grabbed at the sleeve to your red shirt, guiding you away from the brick wall.
The back of Common Cents got tagged again—another octopus—and Soonyoung figured it was best to scrub everything off before Patsy realized. A big, soaked sponge was being squelched in your rubber-gloved hand as you watched Soonyoung blast the wall with water from the hose, whorls of cerulean and mossy green streaming across the cement. It was colder out now, your nose starting to run and fingers feeling brittle underneath the blue rubber.
“So…” you mumbled, moving back to the wall where you continued to wash off the paint, “what do you think I should do?”
“Why am I the person you’re talking to about this?” Soonyoung asked as he joined you with his window-scraping brush. “Why not Ruby?”
“I don’t know, she’s not impartial.”
“And I am? Wouldn’t it be better to ask someone who knows him?”
“Ah—” you grumbled, shaking your head while half-heartedly pushing the sponge into the wall, “—I just can’t bring it up to her.”
“Why?”
Biting at your lip, you sighed, “because… I spent all this time talking so much crap about him, complaining about him—if I do it, I’m worried she’ll think something weird—and if I don’t do it, then…” an image of Diana flashed in your mind, scalding you with guilt that felt uncomfortably palpable. “Then… I’m just suffering. And it’s my own fault.”
“So do it.”
You looked at Soonyoung, who had changed his favourite black baseball cap for a beanie, as he rigorously brushed the wall. “Really?”
“Y-Yes,” he grunted, breathing out heavy. “Now, can you put in some fucking elbow grease over there? Wall’s never gonna get clean.”
“Oh, right, sorry.”
“Why would you be worried about Ruby thinking you like him?”
The sponge paused against the wall. “That’s not what I said!”
Soonyoung laughed, “that’s what you implied. Is it not?”
“Well, yes…” you mumbled, squeezing your fingers into the large sponge and watching the soap ooze out, “but I don’t! I just hate the fact I'm gonna get teased about it!”
“If you don’t like him, then don’t worry.” He smiled at you from over his shoulder, though you opted to remain silent, focusing on scrubbing down the octopus’ big yellow eye which looked similar to a golden amulet.
“Ah! Fuck! That scared the fuck out of me! Stop laughing, Vernon!”
You rolled over in bed, taking a mushy pillow from the plethora arranged against the headboard and covering the side of your face with it, attempting to block the noise. Just barely, you could see out your window into the complex parking lot, where someone was tossing out a shiny bag of trash late at night. Ruby screamed for the second time, causing you to press the pillow even tighter against your ear—she had never been good at horror movies—and you hoped for your sake they were only going to watch one.
Vernon came over earlier in the evening, although you avoided him. Ever since your… episode… the week before, and his interesting preposition, you had given yourself much time to think—early mornings, sluggish afternoons, restless nights—you wrestled between shame and realism. Shame: you got all snotty-nosed and glossy-faced and essentially threw an adult tantrum. Realism: you had a choice to make that felt equivalent to performing a bench press and having the bar collapse dead onto your chest. You rolled over again, adjusting the mangled bedsheets.
What help could you legitimately offer him?
Like you knew anything about Diana nowadays. She was the one who detached herself from your life, slowly cutting herself out bit by bit like a paper snowflake, until one day, her contact became nothing but absent digits in your phone. If anything, he probably knew more than you at this point.
“Vernon! Don’t!”
You stared at the base of your door, examining the faint stretch of pale light that creeped underneath and the fidgety shadows that rippled through it. Something crashed in the living room, and then you could hear your roommate giggling while admonishing Vernon. There was probably a bowl of spilt Cheetos all over the stupid carpet. Your stomach grumbled—you could eat Cheetos, even carpet ones, dressed in bits of fuzz—as you had been hiding in your room ever since Vernon arrived. Sometimes Ruby would slip you things underneath the door if she felt you were hiding for too long, like salted seaweed packs, or granola bars. Tonight, there was nothing.
Around half an hour later, you heard the front door slam.
Vernon was leaving.
Gosh—you needed to just rip the bandage off—squirming around in bed while your stomach pinched itself with anxiety wasn’t going to get you anywhere. Nearly tripping over the bedsheets caught around your ankles, you hopped toward the window and leaned awkwardly over the desk to half-push it open. There he was, casually tossing his car keys from hand to hand.
Where was he going so late at night? Where did he ever go?
At the last second, you felt intense doubt, your fingers remaining on the window’s flecking edge, trembling between shutting or opening. He was at his car now, just about to pull open the door and disappear into the city.
“Hey! Wait!” You yelled, cringing at how your voice echoed around the parking lot, sounding much louder than you’d ever want it to be.
Vernon paused, quirking his head at you.
Hot with nerves, you waved him over, and slid the window fully up.
“Peepin’ on me again, Pyjamas?”
“What? No—I’ve been in bed for—I heard you were—”
“Hey—s’no big deal—I like when a girl hollers at me.” He stared you down with a toothy-gummy smile that made your brain turn to cotton. “Good to see you not sittin’ at the curb formin’ icicles under your nose.”
Shaking your head and shimmying out of the odd shiver against your neck, you chose to ignore his last comment, trying not to lose every word you practiced and the exact tonality you’d say it with. “Um, so… did you guys spill something on the carpet? I mean, I heard this crash, and then Ruby, like, yelped or something. It’s fine if you did. It wasn’t fruit punch… was it?”
“Nah.” Vernon shook his head. “Dumb girl kicked over the chips.”
“Oh… that’s it?”
He nodded, pressing his lips together and furrowing his dark, sharp brow at you in question, as though he knew that wasn’t what you actually intended to speak with him about. You glanced down at your desk, spread out with messily ripped open envelopes of credit, heating, hydro, and internet bills. Sighing, you sucked up what little courage lived inside you.
“Uh, I’ve given your proposition some thought…”
“Have you?”
“Yeah…”
“Well?” Vernon shrugged, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket, which you realized right then was the black bomber. “The verdict is?”
“… I’ll help you.” There—you had choked it out—even if you almost needed pliers to physically jerk the words from your throat. Vernon smiled again, and there was a transient sparkle in his honeyed eyes that didn’t make him seem so distant as he once felt. But you couldn’t be naïve about him, not at all.
“Cool,” Vernon said simply, extending his hand. “Night.”
You thought he was going to shake yours, and you got very confused as his fingers oddly scraped against your warm palm for a brief second, and then you realized he’d just dapped you up. The boy turned to walk away, back to his car. Your mind twisted in on itself.
That was it?
“Uh, Vernon?”
“What?”
“Well… I don’t know… we’re just going to leave it at that? I mean, don’t you think we should at least exchange numbers or something? We’re gonna have to figure out how this should all work, right?”
“Eh, I’ve got too many numbers in my phone.”
You blinked at him; lips parted. “Uh… how do you suppose we—”
“What’s a place you like goin’ to?” He asked.
“A place I like going to?” You repeated. “Why? That doesn’t really—”
“Alright, just tell me, Pyjamas,” Vernon rushed you, his breath becoming a misted web in the frigid air. “I can’t afford to spend all night talkin’ to you through a damn window while I freeze to death.”
Stumbling over your words, you answered, “I guess—I would have to pick—um… well… I haven’t been there in a while, but I like going to that big fountain at Herongate… the one with the globe? I used to sit there between my shifts sometimes to eat my lunch, and—”
“Okay—this Saturday, 6-pm, I’ll meet you there—sound good?”
“This Saturday?”
Vernon started backing up, pulling out his keys. “This Saturday.”
“At six?”
“Yes, at six. Need me to write it down for you?”
“N-No… I’ll remember.”
A moment later and Vernon was in his car, getting the engine warmed up. Not wanting to weirdly stare at him through the window, you shut it completely, then immediately ran to your calendar with a red pen to scribble down the arrangement. This Saturday. 6-pm. Herongate. Vernon. It’s not that you were going to forget.
In fact, you didn’t really know why you wrote it, just that it felt kind of… good… to back up from your calendar and see something in red ink that wasn’t a due date or a work schedule.
This Saturday. 6-pm. Herongate. Vernon.
This Saturday. 6-pm. Herongate. Vernon.
This Saturday. 6-pm. Herongate. Vernon.
You repeated it endlessly in your head until you fell asleep.
Herongate was a smaller sized mall that was only a bright ground floor with one strip of stores going down the edges. It wasn’t very exciting—and maybe that was why you liked it—despite the fact you hadn’t been in months. But the mall was just big enough to have everything you could want: Claire’s and Hot Topic were right beside each other like mismatched twins, and then Cinnabon was only three stores down. Perfect.
You sat at the edge of the fountain, looking back on the big, chrome globe that slowly spun in a circle on its axis, observing a very shiny North and South America rotate past you. This was once your favourite place to sit in between jobs, usually with a packed lunch to eat as you attempted to name as many countries as possible. At one point, you had gotten pretty good—you could identify almost every little nook and cranny of Europe—until work became too much, too quickly, and it was suddenly easier to drag yourself home between shifts rather than doing something you like.
Ruby was napping when you left the apartment.
Still, you were unsure of how to break the news about Vernon to your roommate without seeming a little… hypocritical. After all your vehement complaining, moaning, and protesting that Ruby had been subject to, confessing that you were going to spare a hand in helping him might not translate in the way you would intend, nuance and all.
But at that moment, Ruby became the least of your worries.
It was almost twenty-past-six. Vernon was nowhere in sight.
You scanned your phone for the umpteenth time, thinking how much easier this might be if Vernon actually gave you his number instead of being all evasive. I’ve got too many numbers—you should have punched him right in his lip when he said that—too many numbers and no sense of time.
Anxiously bobbing your foot, you wondered how long would be too long to wait. Were you already past a non-disclosed threshold tied to your self-respect and now you were just sitting there idly, looking dazed, stupid, and desperate? Crushing your hands together, you squinted at the globe.
A dark blob then appeared to reflect in the chrome, distorted.
“You weren’t too hard to find.”
He was met with your glare that merely bounced off him. “Why are you so late? It’s almost six-thirty! I swore you said six o’clock, did you not?”
“Doesn’t matter what I said—” the boy shrugged, coming to sit beside you at the fountain, “—look what I have, Pyjamas.” He placed something down on the ledge, which you realized was a neatly packed container of sushi. “This girl that I deal to—her mom makes the best homemade sushi I’ve ever ate in my fuckin’ life. Don’t even charge her no more. This is all I need.” He shimmied off his jacket, licking his lips.
“Oh, well… it looks good,” you were hesitant to comment as you still wanted to press the issue of his tardiness. Vernon was undoing the clasps to the container, fishing out chopsticks from the side. “But… you know… I just wish I knew you were going to be late. I thought you weren’t coming.”
He proceeded to tear open a soy sauce packet with his teeth, letting the contents spill into an empty compartment of the container. “Mm… of course I was comin’,” Vernon rambled as though he were only half-listening, instead focusing on laying down some fresh ginger with his chopsticks before dipping the sushi in the runny sauce. “Just some shit I had to do first.” You watched, bemused, while the boy poked the rice and wrapped crab into his mouth, beginning to nod his head in evident approval. After a big swallow that made you wonder if he even chewed it, Vernon grinned. “Good as fuck.”
You sighed, tucking a leg in close to yourself, figuring that maybe it was best to let him eat. A growing boy needs his nutrients, as they say.
“There’s another pair of chopsticks in here,” Vernon mumbled, wiping a small drip of sauce from his lip. “Got crab, salmon, and yam.”
“Uh… that’s yours. Thank you, though.”
“You sure?” He asked, already pinching up another piece. “Don’t think too hard about it, Pyjamas. It’s all gonna be gone in the next five minutes.” When you didn’t say anything, Vernon simply laughed, picking the container up in his hand like he was hiding it. “Suit yourself.”
“Okay—uh—wait! I’ll have a piece…”
The meal you ate before leaving was a frozen power bowl spun in the microwave for five minutes that lacked any distinct flavour but your own sadness. Homemade sushi with fresh ginger and soy sauce seemed like eating sunshine, even if it came from a random girl Vernon was selling drugs to.
You grabbed the extra pair of chopsticks and picked up a piece, dipping it carefully in the sauce before slowly fitting it into your mouth so you wouldn’t choke—you could imagine that to be pretty embarrassing—and promptly pass out in the water fountain, which would suck even more. Having the fresh tastes and complimentary flavours alive on your tongue was nearly enough to make you leap up and start singing as though you were the lead member in a flash mob.
It got you thinking. “Have you ever seen a flash mob?”
Vernon crinkled his nose. “What the hell is that?”
You laughed while picking up some salmon, “a flash mob?”
“Mm—oh! Is that when you get flashed?” Vernon inquired, his eyes turning bright. “Like, when girls fuckin’ rip open their tops and show you their titties? Is it that kinda thing?” He brushed off his cheek, smiling.
Watching a mother usher her two little children past the fountain with added vigor and a disturbed wrinkle in her forehead, you couldn’t help but bend over and laugh. “No. No, no, no—gosh no! It’s, like, a pre-coordinated thing. It happens in public spaces. One person gets up and starts a performance, then another joins, and another, until you’ve got a big group making a spectacle. But they’re all in on it. It doesn’t have to be singing or dancing. There was one where everybody started taking off their pants on a subway. Believe it or not, my sixth-grade teacher showed us that video.”
“Takin’ their pants off?” Vernon sounded intrigued behind the sushi he just shoved into his mouth. “On a subway? Shit’s already weird enough down there. But if I saw everyone takin’ their pants off, I’d probably join.”
“But you’re not part of the mob.”
“So?”
“Uh… sure.” You didn’t know how to challenge his point.
“I like my idea better.”
Deciding to let Vernon have the rest, you set the chopsticks down and wiped off your mouth, smiling. “What? Girls lifting up their shirts?”
“Yeah. Sounds fun, doesn’t it?”
With a roll of the eyes, you folded one leg over your knee and interlocked your fingers around it. “We have different versions of fun.”
Vernon smirked, closing the container. “You asked me, PJ’s.”
“All right, whatever,” you huffed, glancing around from person to person and store to store. “Anyway, now that we’ve both got some decent food in our systems, I think we should discuss what—”
“Holy shit—I knew I smelt something!” The boy was suddenly to his feet, squinting past the splashing fountain and into the distance, acting much too thrilled for your liking. “Cinnabon?! PJ’s, why didn’t you tell me they had a Cinnabon here!” He grabbed his jacket, tossing it back on.
“Well, uh, I didn’t think it was necessarily that important—”
He shook his head adamantly, then pulling out a wallet from his pocket. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve had a cinnamon bun. The only thing I’ll be able to think about is a warm, sticky, cinnamony, gooey heaven…” Vernon picked through the folds in his wallet. “Damn—I don’t even have a fiver on me! Uh…” he started patting down his pants pockets, only to pull out dryer lint. “Fuck, guess I’m gonna have to freestyle.”
You had no idea what he meant by that. Huffing, you decided to stay by the water fountain, chin sitting heavy in your palm, as Vernon wandered off down the mall for his esteemed cinnamon bun. A productive conversation between the two of you seemed impossible when the boy was so flighty. Next thing you knew, he’d probably get distracted by a dime in the fountain and tumble straight in. You aimlessly flicked around on your phone until he came back, napkin in hand, with his glazed prize propped on it.
Raising your eyebrows, you marveled at him. “How did you manage to pull that off? Did you beg someone in line?”
“No,” he said while sitting back down.
“Five-finger discount?”
“No.”
Now, you were just confused. “You took it from a little kid?”
“Jeez, what’s your fuckin’ problem?” Vernon scorned, licking at his thumb blotched with some confectionary icing. “I’m a drug dealer, not fuckin’ Ebeneezer Scrooge. Nah, just a lady workin’ there. You throw a couple compliments, get the giggle-train goin’, ask for a free sample—not rocket science or anything—just simple economics.”
You stared at him, unimpressed. “Are you always like this?”
He took a bite from the cinnamon bun, grinning. “Like whafft?”
“Ugh, never mind.” You were eager to dismiss whatever unkind thoughts had infiltrated your mind. “I mean, you had your sushi, you’ve got a cinnamon bun. I think we should talk about how we’re gonna plan this out. My work schedule is pretty packed. I’m honestly limited to weekends.”
Vernon wiped his chin, nodding. “Well, there’s twenty-four hours in a day.” He ripped off another piece of the pastry with his teeth and you couldn’t deny that it smelt so perfectly sweet and deliciously sugared that your nose twitched. “Fuck—you know what? I should have got a drink.”
“Your days might be twenty-four hours. Mine are certainly not.”
“Weekends are kinda shit for me,” Vernon said.
“I don’t have much wriggle room. What are you doing on weekends that requires your attention the entire day?” You retorted, folding your arms.
Vernon shrugged. “In case I don’t wanna do anything.”
“What?”
“I don’t like doin’ anything on weekends in case I don’t wanna do anything,” he clarified like it enhanced your understanding even marginally.
“You don’t want to do anything on weekends…” you paused, lifting an eyebrow, “just in case you don’t want to do anything? Is that right?”
“Mm,” Vernon nodded, brushing glaze from his lip ring, “and if I want to do something, then I’ll already have the weekend available ‘cause I didn’t commit to any plans. I need the space y’know? I figured you’d get it.”
Opening your mouth, you stuttered, “I-I don’t get it, actually—"
“Fuck, I’m thirsty as hell now,” the boy complained after crushing up his napkin. “Any place in here that makes smoothies? Strawberry banana type shit? Mango sunshine?” He stood up again, swiveling his head around in observation, while you tucked your face into your hands and whined. Gosh—this boy was like a prairie dog! Always fidgeting, always distracted, always testing your patience.
“Vernon!” You snapped at him. “Can you focus!”
“I’m thirsty.”
“Please?” Grabbing onto the sleeve of his jacket, you tugged the material hard, urging him to sit back down before your head exploded. “If we don’t manage to get this sorted in the next five minutes, I’m gonna start screaming. You’re free to do whatever you want once I’m gone.”
He didn’t seem particularly fond about it, but Vernon did sit, though he leaned forward with elbows on his knees like he was waiting for the first opportunity to get distracted and bolt. Were men always like that? Or was it just Vernon? Maybe you were one of those people who just completely and utterly lacked any sentiment of patience for them. It seemed like it.
“So,” you cleared your throat, “I think weekends is our best bet. It’s our only bet, actually. I get the vibe you’re not a morning person, so maybe we do afternoons. But if we pick a time, you actually have to follow it.”
“Okay, okay, listen, Pyjamas.” Vernon straightened up, directing his hand at you. “All this shit is fine n’ dandy, but we really can’t coordinate a goddamn thing until we know where Basu is. That’s where we start. And since my leads are dried out, I look to you. She’s your girl. Call her.”
Immediately, you scoffed at him in disbelief, “call her?”
“Mm.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“No, no. Respectfully, that’s not how this is going to work.”
“Why not?”
You laughed, fingernails scraping against your scalp. “Be-because—it just—it won’t work like that. Diana and I… it’s complicated, okay? We haven’t talked since our graduation, over a year ago, and… I’ve tried…”
“Ou,” Vernon winced, biting his lip. “She ghosted you, huh?”
Rolling out your shoulders and attempting to put some conviction and strength in your posture, you shook your head. That was exactly the truth, but hearing him say it felt cruel. “She—essentially—well, yeah.”
He shrugged. “Eh, worse things have happened. Why don’t you just try callin’ her again? Maybe she’s over it now. She might want to talk.”
“It’s not that easy,” you sighed.
“You haven’t even tried.”
Clenching your fist, your heartbeat started fluttering. “What makes you think she wants me in her life at this point? She’s clearly a different person now, I mean, if she’s doing drugs, avoiding payments, all that. I’m not saying I judge her—I don’t—but it’s clear that the version I have of her in my head doesn’t exist any longer. We’re starting from scratch. I think you probably know more about her than I do.”
Vernon shoved his hands in his pockets, stretched out his legs. “Barely. And that shit was quick. She hardly talked or looked at me, really. Just took her shit and left. Always wore a big sweater with the hood half-draped over her face, so I never got to see much of her.”
Your stomach curdled. That sounded absolutely nothing like the Diana from your memories. But there had to be something more.
“How did you start dealing to her?” You asked.
Vernon leaned over, scratching his studded eyebrow. “Uh… if I’m honest I can’t really remember… I might’ve run into her at a party and we got to talkin’ or whatever. But I would always meet her in the same place to drop off her shit—it was a parkin’ lot behind this dingy Thai restaurant, late at night—she wouldn’t even get in the car. She always had cash on her. But the last two times, she slipped. I told her NBD, y’know? She never gave me the vibe she would stiff me. But then I never heard from the chick again.”
You thought back on your time with Diana in university. There had been a couple late nights where you two would find yourselves wandering the empty streets, kicking the rocks at your feet, watching newspapers and stray plastic bags drift by, talking about anything that leapt to mind. Most occasions would steer you into small takeout restaurants across town that you had never even heard of, ready to scourge their menus and take advantage of their cheap prices as needy, broke students. You could only remember one Thai restaurant. They had beautifully painted artwork of a red-whiskered dragon on their window that Diana had stopped to look at.
“Well...” you swallowed thickly. “I might know where the Thai restaurant is… but I’d have to do some research. Though, I’m not really sure how that will help us… I guess it wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”
Vernon smiled. “That’s great.”
“But I have to add—it’ll be really hard for us to do this effectively if we can’t text each other. If you’re worried that I’m going to be obsessively blowing up your phone every hour with a lead, I promise, I won’t be.”
“M’kay, guess you’re right,” he agreed despite seeming apprehensive. Vernon handed you his phone to type in your number.
The screen was sectioned into shards from a gigantic crack in the corner, and the keyboard twitched sensitively under your fingertips. “Isn’t this lovely?” You sighed. “Did you use this to deflect a bullet or something?”
The boy laughed, shaking some loose, dust-black hairs from his forehead. “Nah, dropped it out the car window last year.”
“Why is there no case on it?” You said with ample judgement.
Vernon snatched his phone back. “I don’t got one.”
“Well, I can see that.”
He merely grunted at you in response while you sat on the ledge, giggling to yourself. It was a bit funny to tease him—he deserved it, after all—for his tardiness and constant distractions. Vernon slotted the bare phone into his back pocket and straightened out his jacket. You wondered where he would go now. Probably off to flirt his way into a free smoothie. They'd let him behind the counter and he'd make it himself, for all you could surmise.
Picking up the empty sushi container, he nodded at you. “Alright. Nice talk, PJ’s. Glad we could make some headway.”
You nodded back, hands pinched between your knees. “Later…” you smiled coyly, tossing a thought around in your mind like a rubber ball. “Uh... if you keep going past Cinnabon, there’s a Mango-nificent”
“'Kay, cool,” Vernon said, waving you off. "Thanks, Miss."
glimpse: waiting for jungkook to love again doesn't guarantee you a permanent romantic spot in his life, even if you've been in love with him the longest.
alternatively, you promised yourself to keep confessing to jungkook, your brother's best friend, every year until you turn twenty-eight.
[ fluff, angst, Drastic Yearning that it's painful to watch, tangled with the take five universe yippeeee, slippery slopes, mentions of cheating (there's none in actuality), jungkook's a bit mean :(, lots of self-deprecation n the concept of having to deserve love, mentions of surgery (appendectomy if we r being specific), homage to agust d's 28 (i fucking love u yoongi i miss u), arguments, redemption ]
notes: bring back men who YEARN!!! 😑😑
as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!
There's a step in your childhood home's staircase that Jungkook always trips on.
Your dad, and even your brother, Yoongi, repeatedly vow to fix it whenever they hear the all too familiar sound of Jungkook tripping on it. The way he’d wince because of it every single time is comedic, if not extremely endearing, because Jungkook would always clamp his hand down on his mouth as to not disturb anyone.
Doing his very best each time, Jungkook would have to clutch the banister as he waits for the pain to subside. He wants to groan loudly with everything that he has, but he can’t risk putting your dad in trouble with your mom by yelling at him to stop hurting Jungkook from delaying the repair of the step.
He even wants to collapse in pain sometimes (Jungkook’s not joking when he says that he almost wiped out so hard to the point that he only saw white and started tasting colors), but he tries not to, because if he falls and makes a commotion, he knows you’d immediately stand up and forfeit the already limited computer-borrowing hours you have because of Yoongi.
“I’d fix the step for you, y’know?” you mutter under your breath as you try to keep your laughter at bay, once again serving as the crutch to your brother’s best friend who’d completely entertain the possibility that your family has it out for him, if not for all the warmth that you give him. “If only Yoongi would lend me his computer for more than an hour and I didn’t have a ton of requirements, I could really hack it out with a single video.”
“Of course you will,” Jungkook snorts under his breath, his inability to feel embarrassment over being critically profiled by your one (1) wooden step (because he’s just gotten hurt so repeatedly that it’s nothing new for him) being overtaken by his raging ability to feel shy, just because it always has to be you to pick him up.
It can’t be anyone else at this point.
It can’t be your brother, because all Yoongi would do is attempt to fix the step with his stock knowledge (to which there is none), and Jungkook knows he would be in further danger if his friend takes a crack at it. It can’t be your parents either, because your mom is a little too wired to the point that she’d want to replace the whole staircase if she sees a mismatched, temporary fix, and your dad is a little too lax to the point that he’s the type to ask Jungkook what color he tastes as his version of a pain scale.
It has to be you, because although everyone in the house has seen Jungkook at his worst at all his various points of life, you’re yet to lose your faith in him.
It’s not to say that your family has already lost respect for him (not even by a long shot), but Jungkook figures that it can’t be that bad letting you in because amongst everyone, the lowest point you know him by is him just being extremely upset over his girlfriend breaking up with him and that’s it.
While your parents know about him sleeping over in your house meant he fought with his very own and couldn’t stand staying in his room for another second, or how Yoongi knows that Jungkook’s strapped for cash because the latter keeps pacing in their dorm trying to panic-clean as he waits for callbacks from part-time jobs he applied for — the only low that Jungkook lets you see is him being distraught over his first love.
Jungkook doesn’t get idolized that much. He’s not a prized son like how your brother is, and neither is he known in college for being smart. He’s not actually a superlative like how he knows you think of him, and the realization of your crush on him makes Jungkook feel conflicted whether it rains or pours.
He doesn’t like you like that, but that’s never stopped you before.
You know about Sora and how first loves have this intoxicating, vice-like grip on everyone, along with the fact that even glancing at an upset Jungkook makes you upset, but that’s never hindered you before.
He wants to let you down as gently as he could, because the last thing he ever wants to do is make his best friend’s sister develop a complex from being rejected. Jungkook knows he’s handsome (read: he’s attempting to be humble), and kind, and maybe even charming on a good day; above all, he’s realistic.
He doesn’t want you to depend on him— he thinks definitively as you glare at him through the rear-view mirror from the backseat, because you mistakenly assumed that the extra can of coffee in the cup holder was for you instead of Sora whom he was tasked to pick up right after you, and Yoongi had to correct you with a snicker.
Jungkook doesn’t want you to depend on him— he thinks hesitantly as he hears you shriek from the bottom of the staircase.
“Shit! God, that fucking-…” you seethe, attempting to keep yourself stable in all fours right after tripping on Jungkook’s cursed step. It’s never hurt any of you before except him, and now that it finally does, you don’t get how he could’ve kept quiet all this time.
Jungkook rushes down and Yoongi comes after, the latter cussing under his breath as he heads back to his room to retrieve his first-aid kit and (hopefully) patch you up with what he’s learning in pre-med.
“What happened? Don’t tell me you were trying to break in your heels again,” Jungkook chastises you as he gets you to sit upright, the frustrated and pained tears cornering from your eyes immediately making him apologetic with his approach.
“I wasn’t! You sound just like Yoongi,” you spit, keeping in a sniffle with your arms across your chest, looking away to hide your tears because you don’t want Jungkook to see just how badly you’re torn over your ankles and knees burning.
He deflates at that, pinching his nosebridge as he tries to calm himself down with the sound of Yoongi bounding down the stairs with a first-aid kit and his notes like it’s some return-demonstration, except he can actually practice on you.
“I’m sorry. I just thought you were doing something-…” Jungkook apologizes, the word stupid being cut off from his lips, not only because Yoongi’s shooing him away, but because he can’t bring himself to stomach the gaze you have directed at him.
Jungkook does back away, with very little coaxing, as he disappears when Yoongi starts asking you if you’re in pain anywhere else with the most serious, professional voice you’ve ever heard him pull.
While your brother fixes your ankle up at the bottom of the stairs, Jungkook soon appears behind you with your dad’s toolbox and the most unreadable look to his face.
While Yoongi dashes to his room again to look for his camera to take a picture of the work he did on your ankle alone so he can reference it later, Jungkook washes his hands in the kitchen sink before patting a damp, clean towel to your knees.
Jungkook’s not in pre-med, and he doesn’t live in your house either.
What he is, is your brother’s best friend who’s extremely apologetic.
"Thanks. Love you," you mumble out of habit, meaning the words sincerely even if they leave your mouth every time someone does something remotely sweet towards you.
You still mean them nonetheless, and the prospect of repeating your sentiments doesn’t seem so bad when it’s him.
You’re eighteen when you first confess to Jungkook.
"I'm just patching your knee up...?" he trails off in confusion, later laughing when he finally sees the shake of your head that lets him know that you, too, felt embarrassed.
You still mean them regardless, even if you feel like taking them back.
You’re eighteen when Jungkook fixes the step in the staircase of your childhood home, not because it always trips him, but because you did that one time.
( ♡ )
Jungkook has a habit of coming over unannounced.
In between all your parents' insisting that your house is also his for him to run to anytime, to your brother realizing that being friends with Jungkook meant having to see him in unhealthy doses because he has no other choice, Jungkook effectively integrated himself to the quilt of your life.
He's a lived-in, well-loved shirt that's cut up and fashioned into a granny square, along with a hundred other versions of him that you've had the privilege of seeing; it's actually ironic because Jungkook's left a lot of his items, of himself, both in your childhood house and your shared apartment with your brother, and he's never batted an eye once about their whereabouts.
Jungkook doesn't question why your parents posted a picture of your old beloved dog wearing a shirt of his from elementary to Facebook, but he does save the picture immediately and make it his wallpaper.
He doesn't question either why Yoongi's cap collection is growing and why he keeps insisting that he bought it himself (even if Jungkook can still place the faint smell of his shampoo on it), but he does make sure every now and then to actually gift him one in exchange for the uncountable favors your brother's done for him.
Most importantly, Jungkook doesn't question you either when he sees his hairtie on your wrist when you open the door for him.
He knows not to bring up anything about your crush over him (not unless it's you starting the conversation about Your Feelings For Him, which practically happens only once a year), or how he really hates it when his hairties go missing. Even Yoongi isn't spared from his annoyance, because in Jungkook's defense, your brother's too rich to go steal from the godsend, usually-expensive ten-pack that he managed to buy on sale.
Jungkook doesn't point out the red elastic on your wrist. He ignores the starry-gazed look you only have for him, except now, your eyes are only narrowed and hollow over his sudden appearance.
That's the only thing he can't shake off.
"Is your brother home?" he asks his original intention for his visit, shifting his weight from one foot to another because of the lackluster, blank gaze you have on that keeps piercing him. "You okay?"
"Won't be home for another hour."
Jungkook laughs at your curt reply, eyes widening in sarcasm as he shakes his head, the snort that leaves him catching him off-guard too. He can’t place why he’s annoyed over the possibility of you being any less than delighted to see him, and truly, he’s trying not to sound like a narcissist; he’s only ever really cared about his image when you were concerned.
"That was a lot of attitude."
You and Jungkook don't really fight. You don't fight with each other because there's barely anything that you disagree about, but when you do fight with him (not if), it's unlike any of the fights you have with Yoongi.
You don't fight with Jungkook as if he's your brother, because he's not.
You don't fight with him either as if he's only your brother's friend, because you don't want him to be.
With Jungkook, there's guilt that settles in your bones when you don't reconcile before you go to sleep. There's an unspeakable force that actually makes you doubt yourself, when usually, you'd know to your gut that you were in the right every single time you fought with Yoongi.
With Jungkook, you don't get an unspoken promise that you'll just forget about whatever happened.
It's him, after all.
"Hey, woah. What's wrong with you?" Jungkook reacts with a frown when you refuse to grace him with a reply, following you into the apartment with a firm grasp on your forearm.
It's not the first time you've ever turned your back on because you didn't want to talk, and it's not the first time either that he's had to physically chase after you. Jungkook's been through this before: he's been through it as the occasional referee between you and Yoongi on your heated fights growing up. He knows how quickly you could shut yourself off, but he didn't know it would feel this weird being at the receiving end of it.
He didn't know it would feel this jarring.
"Nothing. Let me go," you mutter, jerking your arm away from him that only makes Jungkook huff.
He's supposed to be understanding, that much he knows. He's supposed to be the older, mature one between you both, but there's just something about you being short with him that makes Jungkook feel rewired, for better and for worse.
"So something is wrong with you," he insists, rolling his eyes when he follows you even into the kitchen, the two of you knowing well that you're just passively opening the fridge (and a hundred other cupboards) so you could lose him.
"Can you leave me alone?"
"You opened the door for me, sweetheart," Jungkook sarcastically hums, the smile on his face even more insufferable than your furrowed brows that have not loosened even once since seeing him.
"Because you're clearly here for Yoongi," you remind, the edge of your voice slamming harder than the last drawer against its base. Jungkook would wince about it if only he hadn’t spent the better part of your entire interaction loathing the way you talk to him, making his ears ring.
"Can't I be here for you too?" he offers, the sincerity coming across as half-baked pity into your system.
Jungkook didn't even look sure with his own question.
The roll of your eyes makes Jungkook even more annoyed, his irritation bordering on anger that he can't even place. He didn't even get this worked up over his fights with your brother, and the two of them have even went so close as to getting physical multiple times.
"What was that for?"
"You're clearly lying," you mutter, settling for folding your clothes angrily right in front of him. You’re not even fazed that you’re just three sleep shirts away from folding your own underwear in front of him because it’s the least of your concerns.
Now, the only thing you can think about is how Jungkook’s beyond clueless. For all you know, he doesn’t even care about why you’re acting the way you were because simply (and realistically, in your case) put, Jungkook just wants you to remain the same. He just wants you to remain as the mainstay, familiar figure everywhere he goes who makes him feel better just by giving him a default, love-sick glance and nothing less.
You’re not a dog waiting around for him by the front door.
You think you’re more of a mutt waiting to be seen at the porch when nobody else inside wants to do his tricks.
"What are we even talking about right now?" Jungkook nudges the laundry basket away with his foot, the scowl you give him making him shrink momentarily. "You're the one who's starting something and I literally just got here."
"I'm not starting anything."
"Then why won't you tell me what's wrong, huh?"
The simple and seemingly mundane question makes you dart up, unceremoniously dropping the same shirt you’ve been pretending to fold in the neatest, tightest rectangle as possible.
You should be relieved at the prompt because it meant you didn’t have to bring it up out of nowhere. You should be happy at the cue because whatever you’ll answer, it would mean that Jungkook asked for it.
You should be anything but the way you’re feeling now with the words scratching your throat from the inside, because with your feelings out in the open (even more than what you’ve already given time and time again), you feel even more tense.
"Why didn't you tell me you and Sora were back together?"
Jungkook expected everything but the simple, one-dimension question. He didn’t anticipate for you to ask something that he could give you an answer to but refuse to. He just sits beside you, eerily still with the dumbest look on his face that keeps pleading you to just drop this even if you barely even started, his wide eyes blinking with confusion.
"I didn't-..." he clears his throat, looking down on his lap briefly because looking at you the whole time, as he composes his words, would mean his defeat. He didn’t know exactly why or how he’d be losing by looking at you directly as he professes the truth, but all he knows for sure is that however he does it, you’d never be the winner. “I didn't think I had to tell you, Y/N," he laughs uneasily. "I know you're not exactly the biggest fan of her."
"Neither is Yoongi, but he still got to know," you chuckle dryly, the shrug of your shoulder being far too lax that it convinces neither of you that you were really okay with it.
"Because he's my best friend," Jungkook exasperates, the tired sigh that leaves his lips making you buckle by the knees despite being seated.
You never wanted to disappoint him. You never wanted to be looked down upon, most especially by Jungkook, because every little detail adds up into your head like an overtired piggy bank you don’t ever want to let go of, even if keeping it close to you means it would lose its value.
You’re keeping score, even if Jungkook never did. You’re more wired than he’ll ever be, and just the slightest slip of his attitude (even the tiniest upset sigh from his lips or a clench of his jaw) makes it known to you that he wouldn’t understand how it feels to be pathetically reliant over the slightest chance at love.
"Am I not?" you snap. "Will I just be Yoongi's little sister to you forever?"
"Stop putting words in my mouth. You know that's not what I meant," he spits defensively, brows knitting in genuine disdain because he can’t even think how a vile thought has ever crossed your mind.
"Then finish the sentence, Jungkook," you goad. “If I'm not your best friend, and if I'm not your best friend's sister either, what exactly am I?"
Jungkook sharply sucks in a breath, screwing his eyes shut as you mess with every last bit of his inhibition. He never liked fighting with you, and whenever you actually did, he’d be ridden with guilt even before said fight is concluded. He doesn’t like hurting you that way because Jungkook knows, truly, that he’d be more capable of inflicting it on you than you ever could for him.
Or so he thinks.
He knows he does it every time (even if he shoves the fact deep to the back of his memory) that he comes around. He knows he does every time he gives you either a carefree laugh or a sorry hand on the small of your back every time you confess.
He even knows he’s hurting you now.
"I didn't tell you because I know you would disapprove."
"When has that ever stopped you?" you scoff, the soft, lived-in quality of the hairtie on your person suddenly making your wrist itch. ”If I never saw her story, that's just it then? If I never asked Yoongi, you wouldn't tell me?"
"Why's it such a big deal?" Jungkook throws his head back in disbelief, briefly recalling the way he looked happy, content, in the picture Sora shared from last night. “Why does it matter so badly to you whether I get back with Sora or not?"
"Because you matter badly to me!" you exclaim, digging your nails into the palms of your hands to stop them from flailing and finding their way to Jungkook’s arms to hold him still, not because he’s thinking about leaving, but because you don’t want to leave and you want to be reminded of it. ”Are we not best friends, Jungkook? A-are we— are we just people who see each other practically everyday?" you swallow the lump in your throat. “When I see you, I tell you about how my day went. I tell you about what I'm thinking. I... I've never withheld anything from you.”
There was never a time you’ve hidden anything from Jungkook. He’d been the witness of everything, both significant and pointless, in your life. He’s your best friend. He’s your Jungkook, whether or not in the way you want him to be.
The only thing is that Jungkook can’t say the same for you.
"That's you, then," he rasps thickly, exhaling with his teeth grinding together from how tight his jaw is clenching. "Do you see me snooping about who you're with? Do you see me hounding you about your boyfriends and-..."
"I don't tell you shit because I don't have any of that," you interrupt. “What I only have is you and you know that!”
You’re barely getting into the thick of it when the front door opens and your brother appears like a lifeline for Jungkook and the complete opposite of it for you, the stupid, hopeful smile on his face with the accompanying words of "I bought chicken!" making everything in your chest seem forgotten.
You're twenty-two when Jungkook tells you that not only does he still not see you as a woman he’s in love with, but he also doesn’t see you as his best friend. You’re twenty-two when you throw a tantrum in the middle of dinner, ripping off Jungkook’s hairtie from your wrist and tossing it in the trash, right after he cuts up your favorite boneless chicken for you in front of your brother.
Back then, you were nineteen when Jungkook gave you the first slice of his birthday cake, even if you spent a month saving up for the expensive, heavy-duty hard drive for his gift and even longer writing up the letter that was saved as the only document in the device, only for him to spend less than five minutes to scan your letter and move on with cutting the cake that’s not even in the flavor that you liked.
You were twenty when Jungkook replaced your flat tire for you because you didn’t want to anger Yoongi who only warmed up to lend you his new car after incessant begging for three months. You were twenty when you held up the umbrella so the rain wouldn’t soak him and get into his eyes while he saved your life, the words “thank you, love you” slipping out of you from habit, only for Jungkook to loosen his hold on the wrench for the briefest second before resuming.
You were twenty-one when he gave you his shirt to wear after coming home drunk to your shared apartment with Yoongi, because surely, your brother seeing you in his best friend’s clothing would be far less concerning than seeing you practically blackout wasted. You were only twenty-one when you wore his shirt backwards and inside-out (because Jungkook refused to even look in your direction at the time), clutching to him tightly while letting it slip: “It should be me, not Sora,” you muttered, while Jungkook only tucked you into the couch and answered Sora on the phone, telling her that she has to babysit you for the night.
The only thing you have is Jungkook and he insists that he doesn’t know it.
He insists that the both of you are neither lovers or friends, but instead, something less and far worse.
You’re twenty-two when Jungkook tells you that he doesn’t get why he and Sora and the state of their relationship matter so greatly to you, and you’re also only twenty-two when you first block Jungkook’s number for just a few hours so he wouldn’t bother you when he’s on his way home.
You’re twenty-two when you realize that Jungkook didn’t even leave you a message in the first place.
( ♡ )
Little by little, everything’s looking up for your family.
For starters, your mom’s no longer accidentally misusing emojis and abbreviations whenever she texts in the family group chat. You don’t have to be choking over air when she texts KYS after you tell her that you had a bad day (she thinks it means Keep Your Smile), and Yoongi doesn’t have to wince when she sends a tombstone emoji after telling her that he had a difficult time with one of his patients (she thinks it’s a gray cathedral window, and it’s her way of telling him to look outside and take a breather).
Your dad’s also looking into being more of a handyman in the house, now that they’re practically empty nesters most weeks of the month and Jungkook fixing your step that one (1) time sparked something in him.
Yoongi’s even happier doing his residency, enough for him to not collapse face-down on your coach and talk to you through muffled yelling about who should order what.
Everyone who’s most important to you have things looking up for them and oddly enough, contrary to your own belief, it gives you a little hope. You don’t feel bitter seeing life treat them a little lighter (even if it’s still less than what they deserve) even if you think you’re the only one who’s not moving forward.
You never harbored any deep resentment for Yoongi being the smarter child. He’s the one who’s even more volatile between the two of you whenever someone even just so attempt to point out how you were falling short to him by just being fine. You weren’t incredible by any means, and you didn’t want to start being excellent now when everyone’s already complacent with the way you are.
It’s either you’re seen or you’re not, there’s no in-between. You’re either Yoongi’s pretty sister whom nobody knows what degree she’s even taking, or you’re nobody at all.
You’re either a best friend or something far less significant. You’re either a mainstay cast member who got to be that in the first place by repeating the same overtired lines on the same skit that had been relevant once and recycled ever since, or you’re a fleeting extra who worked her whole life only to be recognized by something downright insignificant and even insulting.
You’re either Yoongi’s little sister that gets to hang around with Jungkook, or you’re someone who’s known Jungkook for a long time and just happen to love him ever since — whatever it is, you wouldn’t be recognized the way you want to be.
You’re yet to maximize the freedom of your youth and the sheer realization that you don’t plan on being as booked and busy as your brother, but by whatever cosmic power and due diligence of being the youngest child, you opt out of partying with your friends from university to instead get groceries with Yoongi and Jungkook.
You willingly choose to do the mundane, not because you already know you’re mundane, but because you realize that the sooner you practice yourself going through the motions of life beyond what’s serving as your unparalleled distraction, the sooner you’ll accept that you’re not destined for greatness.
You know you’re not destined for greatness, but you know that you’re destined for something that’s a little better (even if you don’t know what) when you don’t check your phone and are fully enthralled just walking past the new products in the toiletry aisle.
You know you’re not destined for excellence, but you know that you’re destined for something that’s slightly brighter than the life you’re already living when you don’t ask Yoongi impatiently if he must really smell every fruit that he puts into the cart.
You know you’re not destined for anything remotely important, but you believe with everything in you that it’s not entirely wrong for you to be hopeful that you might be, when you come out of the grocery store, about fifty reusable bags in hand, just to see white pouring.
"It's the first snow," you gasp in surprise, the awe in your gaze able to be spotted from a mile away, but Jungkook wouldn’t know the distance because he’s already far too close to you now, a giddy laugh automatically rolling from his lips.
"I know.”
"You know what they say about that, right?" you giggle, your expectant gaze turning to him without any malice; just pure, unbridled hope like the past years and the past winters haven’t hurt either of you.
"I do," he affirms, laughing as he readjusts the other fifty reusable bags filled with all the groceries Yoongi’s gotten on a whim as the both of you wait for him to go around with the car.
You’re not meant for greatness, but Jungkook equates to it, and you’ve never wanted to strive to be something you’re not so badly in your life.
"Jungkook?" you ask softly, head tilting in deep thought as you paid no attention to the snowflakes grazing your cheeks and onto the ground, gaze only focused wholly on him and nothing else.
"Yeah?" he hums. Jungkook’s lips part at the way you look at him; like he’s some higher power on an altar that has forsaken you over and over again by not making his existence known when you need him the most, yet you’re a devotee who’s never lost faith, not even once, because you confuse your pain for hope. "I know, sweetheart. I know what you mean."
You stay silent at that, even when Yoongi arrives conveniently and takes the load out of your arms and gets you your favorite coffee and gives you the liberty to pick the music for the drive back home.
You stay silent in thought of the first snow and the first and only Jungkook in your life, but only until your brother interrupts your thoughts.
Jungkook’s been the only one to occupy your existence on every first snow you’ve seen and committed to heart, but along with that, he’s also every other natural calamity.
He’s every other freak occurrence, and he’s every other reminder that seasons never stay no matter how slowly you flip the calendar and realize all the other pages you tore out in the hope that it’ll be the piece wherein you get to cross out and marks as his and yours day alone.
"Hey, you mind if Jungkook and his girlfriend crash on the couch outside?" Yoongi asks, lingering by your doorframe as he tries not to grimace at the sight of all your sweatshirts piled at what’s supposed to be the chair to your study desk. “Sora's car battery died and all the shops are closed for the night."
“Oh,” you whisper. You didn’t know that the last time you’ve ever uttered Sora’s name willingly, which was just a year ago, would only be one of the several firsts of the many times that she and Jungkook would find their way back to each other. “They're back together. Again.”
Yoongi sighs, not in disappointment (he never would), but in understanding. “It's okay if you don't want them to. I can just make up an excuse."
You can see the exhaustion wearing down on your brother from medical school and somehow juggling you and everything in between. You can see the eldest child who’s meant for greatness and has just finished doing his grocery shopping and doesn’t have any time to referee any complaints you may have for your impending visitors.
You only see him and the tiredness that you deem is warranted for someone as great as him, and not the exhaustion you’ve accumulated for being anything less.
"It's okay. This is your place anyway."
"You pay half the rent too."
"But he's your friend,” you reason weakly, sitting by the edge of your bed as you’re no longer interested in resting at its very comfort.
"You're the one who loves him,” Yoongi mutters lowly (but loud and clear for you to hear), making you roll your eyes at the reminder.
It’s the first time he’s ever spoken of it to you, but neither of you flinch at the fact. He’s brought it up randomly on the first snow of the year but you don’t have it in you to address the raging fluctuations of what comes with loving Jungkook unrequitedly.
"He and Sora can sleep over. Just don't give them my room," you concede, sighing as you stand up with a newfound will, albeit concerning.
"What? Where will you sleep then?" he furrows his brows, eyes following you around your room as you fish out a backpack and just start throwing things in haphazardly.
"I'll just sleep over at a friend's. I.. I don't want to be here when they are," you answer briefly, the dimness in your gaze enough to make Yoongi back off.
It’s enough to make your brother let you go scot-free, but never enough to make Jungkook understand.
He’s perplexed, knocking at your door for minutes on end until he decides to open it slowly, only to see that you weren't there to begin with. Jungkook’s not even perplexed, probably, because perplexed would mean that he’d harbor some degree of amusement and he isn’t feeling that in the slightest — all he’s feeling is just pure, overflowing panic.
While Sora is in the bathroom, Jungkook practically crashes his entire weight as he opens Yoongi's door, even if he knows that the poor guy must be either studying or sleeping already.
"Yoongi. Yoongi wake up. Yoongi," he hisses, chest caving in as he shakes your brother awake. “Y/N’s missing. She's not in her room. We need to find her."
"The fuck?" Yoongi could only sleepily whisper, groggily rubbing his eyes. "She's at a friend's."
"Why?" Jungkook almost spits in confusion, eyes narrowed at the possible thought process.
Yoongi rolls his eyes, collapsing back into his pillow after having his shoulders basically rearranged by Jungkook’s sheer panic alone. "Beats me."
"Do you know this friend?"
"Relax. She's twenty-three."
"Do you know this friend?" Jungkook repeats, each word becoming more enunciated than the last. He’s getting angry by the sound of it (if Yoongi could pick it up correctly), the apparent ‘carelessness’ of your own family member irking him.
"I don't know. She doesn't like being hogged so I didn't ask," he groans. “Taehyung, probably? He lives nearby."
"What?" Jungkook grits, his hand almost collaring Yoongi’s shirt if not for his fist closing in on itself to remind himself that Yoongi’s the only way for him to get answers. “Your sister is sleeping over at a guy's house? By herself? Are you insane? Why would you let her?!"
"They're friends...?" Yoongi offers slowly but surely, his tone taking on the most obvious route to Jungkook’s otherwise unbelieving state. "God, Jungkook, can you let me sleep? I really don't want to talk about my sister's sex life with you right now."
"So she's having sex with her friend?!" Jungkook practically whisper-yells to his ear, the tremble to his breathing making Yoongi shake for the briefest second.
"What? No! No— I don't know...? Fuck! Just shut up and turn off the lights again. I have an early day tomorrow."
You’re twenty-three when Jungkook sends you a lengthy text about how it’s beyond disappointing that you’re being irresponsible, followed by the multiple, desperate messages for you to text him your location so he could pick you up so you could be safe at home.
You’re twenty-three when Jungkook loses sleep over you, despite Sora sleeping beside him in the living room of your shared apartment with your brother, his red, swollen, and fatigued eyes only settled on your contact photo that he took of you in his phone.
You’re twenty-three when you admit to Jungkook in your own way, once again, that you love him, and you’re also twenty-three when he lets you down in the best way he knows how.
You’re twenty-three when you spend the night of the first snow at a friend’s house to escape the existence of Jungkook and Sora in your very own home, along with the ghost of the weight that comes with settling for never knowing him at all so you wouldn’t be hurt like this — only to come back the next morning, seeing him holding his girlfriend in his arms.
( ♡ )
You were twenty-four when Jungkook gifted you a gold bracelet.
Normally, Jungkook wouldn’t even think twice about jewelry because for as long as he wore it, all he needed to make sure was that it didn’t turn his skin green and smell weird after being splashed under hard water (which is practically all of the running water in his place) for two seconds.
Granted that it was your graduation and just like every other overeager loved one, Jungkook was assumed (by your parents and Yoongi and every friend you’ve had in university that has an inkling about your dynamic), wrongly, to just buy a name-brand item and call it a day after writing a sincere letter for you.
You know he’s not well-off. You know that he rarely ever splurges on himself and so you didn’t expect for him to go out of his way to get you something. Unlike you, Jungkook isn’t big on giving gifts, and although that’s never been a problem for you before, it always has been to him.
He doesn’t exactly feel patronized when Yoongi gives him his “neglected things” that just turn out to be the brand-new, expensive items Jungkook only ever looked up fondly and as a pipe dream (he swears he’s seen this scene before in Bride Wars); it’s more of a haunting, raring feeling in him to get even and give something that’s more than his service.
Jungkook may tend to your mom’s garden with his green thumb and teach your dad how to use power tools without crying and even cook meals for Yoongi when he’s too tired to even lift his head up, but he didn’t just want to only be of service to you. There’s no amount of him driving you around and parallel parking in the most difficult spots, or even just being the constant figure in your living room that hums (and makes you feel less insane and alone) as you talk to yourself about your exam reviewers for a course that you’re barely passing could ever be enough.
Jungkook wanted to get you something real. Something tangible that you couldn’t only think back on like a distant, foggy memory every three years when a random thought crosses your mind about his good nature.
You were twenty-four when Jungkook gifted you a solid gold (none of that hollowed-out shit; read: ditching the aforementioned meant another solid two weeks of extreme budgeting) bracelet and a heartfelt letter on your graduation.
You were twenty-four when he dressed up in his best polo and gave you his gift with nothing but nervousness for you to actually love it, and you were only twenty-four when you hugged him the tightest that you’ve ever did, kissing his cheek in pure excitement.
You were only twenty-four too, when you realize that Jungkook’s a friend who perhaps really just wanted to give you something memorable and expensive on your special day and nothing more; because if he was more and he wanted to be more, then he would’ve stuck around for the afterparty.
If he wanted to be more and not any less than what you already were, then he wouldn’t have excused himself when you bounded towards him with the bracelet on your wrist and too much of your courage waiting at the back of your throat.
If Jungkook wanted to be more, then he would’ve let his lips graze your cheek for a millisecond longer right after you look up at him: “Thank you, love you.”
If he wanted to be more with you by loving you back, then Jungkook would’ve let his hand linger on your back for just another second more with more firmness instead of gentleness, because you’ve had enough of the latter; he wouldn’t have left, and he wouldn’t have reminded you of your place either: “Don’t make bad decisions tonight.”
You were twenty-four when you started to be resigned with Jungkook, yet you don’t know at what age would you grow to be sick of him.
You can’t tell when you’re going to move past his rejections due to the maturity you’ve always thought you harbored, enough to be the driving force to just settle for however you can keep Jungkook in your life and not ruin the friendship.
You can’t tell when you’re supposed to stop growing and stop being level-headed about your yearly confessions that in the long run, have never hurt Jungkook.
You don’t know if you’re ever going to yearn to be volatile and unforgiving; you don’t know when the weight of Jungkook telling you over and over again that he doesn’t see you that way will finally settle in your bones, permanently, instead of coming and going like a holiday that you grew to both anticipate and dread.
Jungkook’s not a shifty, aloof distant relative that you only get to see once or twice in a decade when an old relative from your extended family dies.
He’s not an overly proud alumnus you see in campus grounds every two weeks chatting up professors who are tired of seeing him.
He’s not anything specific in your life besides definitively being your brother’s best friend and your own, but only from a distance. You and Jungkook were close enough to hang out without Yoongi present, but the availability of the other was something you weren’t even eagerly seeking anymore just like the old times.
It’s you who’s adding to the space that Jungkook established himself, and you thought for the longest time that you’re fine with it; that for as long as you don’t get too emotional (read: resentful) seeing the gold bracelet on your wrist, then that would mean you and him are at the perfect distance away from each other until your inevitable, yearly confession happens.
Jungkook, too, thought that he’d been okay with the added space (or whatever it meant) despite seeing you almost every two days at this point, because he thought that you being less attached would make it balanced.
You know to yourself utterly and completely that knowing Jungkook more doesn’t lead to loving him less; it’s only what you hope to happen otherwise.
It’s what he also pleads to himself when he sees you tonight, sitting at the chairs by the parking lot of the hospital.
“Y/N?” he immediately asks out loud, barely shifting the gear to park when he walks (read: runs) to you with a gasp, eyes wide and concerned. “What are you doing here? Are you okay?”
“What are you doing here?” you return the question, unable to process why out of all the times, it just had to be now when you see Jungkook unplanned; it couldn’t have been at the subway yesterday or even at the convenience store this morning.
Out of all the times that he’d see you accidentally (heaven knows the two of you see each other far too much), it just had to be when you were clutching your abdomen, writhing and sweating in pain.
“I borrowed Yoongi’s car so I took it to the carwash and-…” Jungkook trails off for a preliminary answer, shaking his head to physically reboot himself. “Sorry, I really can’t care about Yoongi’s car right now. What the hell are you doing here?” he repeats, running his palm over your sweaty forehead that’s simultaneously warm and freezing, the lack of any ease in your face making him panic.
“It’s n— fuck, that hurts,” you seethe, growing breathless as your eyelids fall heavy.
“Y/N, hey, hey. What’s happening? Where does it hurt?” Jungkook asks firmly this time, worry etching on to his face as his hands unconsciously tremble as he tries to survey you the best he could yet he can’t even think straight with your whole body contorted in pain.
You gasp at a particularly sharp burning sensation, pointing to the right of your abdomen with your index finger barely even outstretched in pain.
Jungkook screws his eyes shut, throwing his head back as he paces in tiny circles, holding your clammy hand as he tries to not faint on the spot. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Holy fuck I don’t know what that’s called b-but you’re in pain and— a-and how did you even get here? Did you drive?”
The nod you give him makes him even more lightheaded.
“Why the fuck would you drive here? Are you insane? Y-you should’ve called me!”
“Kook, now’s not the-…” you wince, the pained gasp that leaves your eyes rolling to the back of your head being the last straw for Jungkook before carrying you bridal style into the emergency room, that realistically was just a few steps away from you, but more-on felt like a thousand yards.
The pain felt like torture for you, and seeing your pain felt like a living, breathing, writhing version of hell for Jungkook as he tried to get everything under control.
He trembled while filling out your information and waiting outside of the surgery ward. He shook when he called Yoongi to go downstairs and informed him about what happened.
Jungkook was nothing short of miserable waiting for you to be okay, but nobody told him that it wouldn’t get any better once he finally sees you awake.
He doesn’t believe you even when you’re up and are raring to go home. He doesn’t crack a smile when you tell him that you’re okay and he was just being dramatic.
He doesn’t let up the slightest bit when you try and be back to how you normally are with him, when just hours ago, Jungkook prayed to a god he only partially believed in and even offered himself to just for the betterment of your condition.
You swear up and down that you’re okay, but it’s not enough for him.
“Are you that upset seeing me in a hospital bed?” you mutter, the roll of your eyes only making you dizzy for a split second instead of a full minute this time.
“Think about it, genius,” Jungkook grumbles, crossing his arms on his chest but not before pushing your vegetables closer to you on your plate, gathering the leftovers of your pudding from the edge of your cup with a spoon.
“I’m not going to apologize,” you mutter, looking away from him and your tray and instead on a poorly-dubbed children’s show on the TV, just to shield yourself from the confrontation that you weren’t looking for.
The thing about Jungkook is that he didn’t pick a time or a place to get into anything with you, whether good or bad.
The thing is, Jungkook’s goodness and concern for you have never not went hand-in-hand with his overbearingness that friends shouldn’t have in the first place.
“Good. You shouldn’t,” he stubbornly punctuates.
“Then why are you mad at me?”
“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at myself,” he groans, sneaking a glance at his watch which reminds him that he had paged a nurse ten minutes ago and that he needs to follow up. “What did I do to make you think that you can’t call me when there’s an emergency? Do you know how dangerous it was for you to drive at that state?”
Jungkook’s voice wavers at the question, not expecting you to answer with the way your jaw’s clenched and you’re still refusing to look at him.
“I-I get it. I’m trying to get it. Your parents aren’t in the city and you didn’t want them to fly out this late, I get it. Yoongi’s busy being a resident a-and you didn’t want to worry him, I get it a little bit,” Jungkook sniffles. “But you not calling me when you’re in pain? When you need someone to drive you to the ER? When you just need someone to be there with you, no questions asked?” he scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t get it, Y/N. I don’t get it at all.”
“You really don’t get it,” you concede, gaze flitting over to him. Jungkook’s sat on an uncomfortable chair with his legs spread, still dressed in last night’s clothes and torment, the furrow in his brows inerasable. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”
Jungkook tolerates your mouth. He tolerates a lot of your words and sentiments and occasional callousness when you were emotional despite being mature, but this just cuts it.
He doesn’t tolerate you now.
“How will you ever be a burden? You were having an emergency and the first thing in your mind is that you don’t want to inconvenience me?” he spits. “It’s not like it’s traffic, o-or you eating my takeouts, Y/N. It’s you being in danger, don’t you get that? That’s not an inconvenience!” he laughs without any amusement. “If you still think it is no matter what I say, then you should’ve inconvenienced me. You should’ve bothered me. You should’ve known that I would’ve went out of my way just for you to consider inconveniencing me.”
“Well I don’t want to, okay? I don’t want to bother you, Jungkook!”
“What the hell do I have going on in my life that’s enough for me to not come to you when you need me?”
“You have everything going on!” you exclaim, throwing your head back on your pillow, inadvertently making yourself wince and make Jungkook apologetic. “Y-you have a job, you have Sora, you have-…”
“Wrong,” he tuts, sighing heavily as he adjusts your head on the pillow, grabbing one of his own from his chair to secure you from the sides. “I can have nothing or everything and I’ll still come to you.”
You purse your lips, ignoring the way his touch is more firm than it is gentle.
“You don’t have to come to me if you’re already with me,” you confess in your own words, the sigh that leaves you taking everything not to round up to a pitiful, watery smile that sums up your anticipated rejection.
“Sweetheart,” Jungkook answers simply, in his own way.
You’re twenty-five when you feel yourself surrender little by little.
"Okay," you roll your eyes, the snort that erupts from you making his brows raise in curiosity.
"Okay?" he echoes. "You're okay with it?"
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?"
"I don't know— I-... I mean I know this isn't the first time you confessed and this isn't my first time either turning you down, but-..." Jungkook trails uneasily, shaking his head softly as he tries to regain his bearings. ”…I don't know either why I asked if you're okay."
“My appendix did get removed a few hours ago, so that’s why,” you smile playfully, going back to your meal like nothing had happened.
Like Jungkook hadn’t lost his mind hours ago, and like you hadn’t confessed just minutes ago while you were laying in your hospital bed.
You’re twenty-five when you let yourself feel the hurt.
( ♡ )
It only occurs to you when you’re twenty-six, that Jungkook’s seen all your hardships, whereas the only suffering that you had to see him endure was the price of having Sora as his first love.
Every other difficulty and every other misstep Jungkook’s had in his life are only either retold to you or assumed by your conscience. Besides his turbulent on and off relationship with the only girlfriend he’s ever had, everything that wasn’t the good and the easy about him wasn’t known to you.
It’s as if despite having the privilege to grow alongside you, Jungkook deliberately went out of his way to ensure that you never see him vulnerable if it wasn’t for love. You realize at your age belatedly that you’ve lived this long and have never seen him feel so deeply for anything that wasn’t the matters of his heart.
You only know the big chunks and the bits and pieces of your closest friend’s childhood, but never to the extent that your brother knew him. You’ve questioned the lacking details about him over and over again, but in hindsight, you realize that you didn’t ask enough.
You never asked for any clarification as stubbornly as they expected you to, not because you were coincidentally proving Jungkook right that you were better off not knowing the seemingly unimportant details of his life, but because you were already content with what he gave you.
You took what Jungkook could only give you, but he can’t say the same now.
You’re twenty-six when you hear from Yoongi that Jungkook and Sora have broken up, for good this time, because she cheated on him and it had become his last straw.
You’re twenty-six when Jungkook learns that he only knows the hardships of your life and barely ever its triumphs (whatever the hell that meant in your book and not his), because when he sees you making out with Taehyung in your old childhood bedroom while your brother’s in the middle of throwing a party downstairs, he realizes that everything seemingly favorable in your life was only retold to him.
He should be relieved (right?) to see you at home instead of finding out through Yoongi that you were sleeping over at a friend’s he didn’t know, but none of the solace ever comes to his system. It doesn’t help that the guy who scrambles off you if the same guy that you had ran to all those years ago (Jungkook only knows after keeping tabs on Taehyung for literal years, it seems like).
It doesn’t help that you’re more angry at him than you are embarrassed of the entire situation.
"Do your parents know?"
"Know what?" you scrunch your nose, entirely lost to what Jungkook’s trying to get at.
"What you're doing," he details with narrowed eyes. “Who you're doing."
"What the fuck?" you spit with vitriol, in genuine disbelief whereas Jungkook remains stoic from where he stood. ”I’m twenty-six. I have my own place now. What are you talking about?"
Jungkook shakes his head at the reminder that you’ve moved out weeks ago from your shared apartment with Yoongi and he only got to know when he crashed at your (former) place after a particularly rough day, only to be genuinely confused at the sight of Just Yoongi At The Door, your own brother perplexed that Jungkook didn’t even know you moved out by then.
“I’m talking about how you're acting out like a teenager, getting it on with-..."
"Acting out?" you parrot.
"Yeah, that's what I said,” he grits, the sarcastic laugh that leaves his lips making your ears ring.
"What would I be acting out against? I'm not some teenager rebelling against curfew or-..."
"I thought you liked me, Y/N,” Jungkook enunciates word for word, making you stop dead in your tracks.
You weren’t planning on confessing tonight.
You weren’t even thinking of digging up your unresolved feelings for Jungkook because you didn’t want to be the bigger person about it; for once, you wanted to be the more vulnerable and volatile friend between the two of you.
"What kind of person keeps confessing to her brother's best friend every single year, yet still make out with another best friend of her brother's as if nothing she said was true?"
The ache that your chest molds around is far too big of a statue, concrete and rooted in its desire to let the pain seep into you.
"But you don't like me, Jungkook. That's the thing.”
"And you think that changes everything?" he asks, voice cracking at the edges. “What if— w-what if I lied awhile ago, huh? What if I-... what if I lied about not liking you, yet you're still out here letting Taehyung put hickeys on you? What then?"
You screw your eyes shut in utter disbelief of the possibilities that Jungkook springs onto you out of nowhere, tears pricking painfully.
“But did you lie?"
"That's not what I'm-..."
"Did you or did you not lie, Jungkook? That's what I'm asking first," you interrupt, fists balled in utter despair because if you don’t do something, anything to ground you, then you’d faint right in front of him and nurse the hurt like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.
"I didn't," Jungkook whispers, eyes steeling as he regains his composure. "B-but that still doesn’t-…”
"No. It changes everything," you swallow the lump in your throat. “I can have this stupid, teenage crush on you and still be hurt. I can be stupid by ignoring all your past rejections and still get tired," you waver. “I can look stupid liking you from afar, only for you to reject me year after year, and still do whatever that I want to do with Taehyung.”
"If I lied and told you that I liked you back, and we become this... w-we become this fantasy of yours that you never let go of," Jungkook argues, exhaling heavily. "What then, Y/N? If you could do this now, what else are you capable of doing if we end up together?" he gnaws on his bottom lip. ”What can you tell me that would make me trust that I can be your boyfriend without you doing whatever the hell you want?"
"You're asking me that?" you whisper in disbelief, vision spinning on the weight that Jungkook demands from you. “You're asking me to convince you that I won't cheat on you, even if you told me again and again that you'd never want to be with me?"
“Yoongi told you, didn’t he?” Jungkook replies, meeting your eyes but not where you stood, the stubbornness in his gaze making you bow your head in surrender.
"My god, Jungkook. You're fucking insane.”
He buckles by the knees at that, pointing to himself weakly as his eyes widen. "I am? I'm the one who's-...?" he pauses, jaw clenching angrily. ”I’m the one who's confused, Y/N. I'm the one who can't tell how I'd stand in your life if I give in-..."
Give in, like it's pity.
Give in, like it's charity for the needy and returning your feelings would be the one final thing that cements Jungkook’s goodness.
Give in, like you didn’t spend the better part of your life pining after him without any promise because you weren’t afraid to be seen trying; you weren’t afraid to be in love with him.
"Then I won't confuse you anymore! I'll make it easy for the both of us," you burst, pushing past him in your fit of anger. “You don't have to think about being cheated on. You don't— y-you don't have to think about the image of me making out with Taehyung behind your back while you're.. y-you're fucking conjuring this life with me in the future when you don't even want to be with me now."
Give in, like you were never the one for him in the first place.
"I'll stop,” you whisper.
"I didn't tell you to,” Jungkook grits, shaking his head in disbelief as his eyes track your direction towards the door.
"I don't need you to."
( ♡ )
You dream of getting over Jungkook on a random day.
The concept of it comes to you randomly after countless nights of losing sleep over your big fight with Jungkook that had instilled a rift in your friendship for months. You haven’t gotten over him (specifically on a random day that you so badly craved to prove that unlearning the ways of being attentive to him can happen in an as insignificant of a day as Wednesday), but you atleast attained your silent plea of being the one who’s more vulnerable.
Of being the one who’s pined after, not necessarily because Jungkook was completely in the wrong and there’s no basis for his fears, but because you wanted to know what it felt like being yearned for.
You didn’t have to be brave for the two of you because you were no longer grasping at straws to keep Jungkook whenever and however you can.
The only reason you dream of getting over Jungkook on a random day was because you want the feeling of the love you have for him to leave you when you're folding your clothes and you can ignore the fact that his shirts keep washing up into your basket despite not having stepped foot in your new place.
You want to get over him on a random day when you feel unsure of it the most, because only then would you prove to yourself that something as real and as tangible as your yearning is just as fundamental as learning to live without him in your life.
You want to get over Jungkook on a random day, even when you don’t want to, because the only way out for you is through.
You want to get over him but you can’t; you want to get over him even when he confesses his love for you at a time that you’ve stepped out of the middle, which was the only place you’ve been trying to coax him into to remind you that your yearning’s alive.
You’re twenty-seven when Jungkook first confesses to you.
“I’m in love with you and you don’t have to do anything about it,” he whispers, clutching a bouquet of your favorite flowers by your front door, left hand still trembling as he clutches the handwritten note of your address given by your brother who had promised to cut him off forever if he didn’t make things right with you. Jungkook isn’t doing this to get even with you, however — he’s doing this out of sheer longing. “And you don’t have to be in love with me for me to do everything about it.”
.
.
.
You’re twenty-seven, and you still know that Yoongi’s meant for greatness.
You know that he’s meant for greatness when he’s only a few years older than you and yet he’s already in the finishing steps of opening his own clinic, the technicalities of it amusing you because at his age, Yoongi’s acclaimed for his skill and his drive.
At your age, the hallmarks that you live with are that you’re going to join the family business (read: inserting yourself in Yoongi’s clinic) and make use of yourself to make up for the fact that you’re not particularly excellent at anything, and that finally, this is the second to the last year you’re going to be allowing yourself to confess your love to Jungkook.
Just because you allowed yourself to all those years ago, however, didn’t mean you were actually going to do it any longer.
You were freshly twenty-six when you and Jungkook had the fight that inexplicably changed your lives forever, more than growing up and witnessing each other change had ever did — you’re three months away from turning twenty-eight, and Jungkook’s never been more riddled with fear of loving you, but he does it anyway.
He’s more scared of losing you than he is with loving you, yet he knows he can’t forsake either in his pursuit.
Jungkook knows that he’s not meant for greatness, but you equate it, and he’s never wanted to strive to be something he’s not so badly in his life. He runs to you at full speed and he doesn’t care about the impact nor about the possibility that it wouldn’t bring him anywhere.
“You're not Sora," he utters when he sees you zoning out, gaze fixated on the first snow that falls right outside of the window of the clinic that’s still yet to be completed, hallowed out enough for his voice and his sentiment to echo throughout the walls. “And I don't want Sora."
"Nobody wakes up and just realizes that they don't love someone anymore, Jungkook," you murmur, following the way the bits of white patter against the ground helplessly because they have no choice but to fall.
Jungkook’s been nothing short of pathetic with his longing the entire year.
Even between him working as your brother’s contractor and even helping out the labor yet not ever running late from driving you to and from your place with homemade meals in hand, to him pulling his weight by being of service to you, by being anything that you asked and didn’t ask him to be — Jungkook, admittedly, can’t fill in the gaps of what longing for him in the past had instilled in you: doubt.
"I did,” Jungkook answers. “It happens."
"You spent the better part of your youth being in love with her," you remind him with a gentle roll of your eyes, ignoring the way he comes closer to give you his hard hat that you’ve always insisted on ditching out of stubbornness. “That doesn't just happen out of nowhere."
It’s daunting that you can talk about yours and Jungkook’s past out in the open.
It’s new.
"It happened because it wasn't out of nowhere," he clarifies. “I’ve been on and off with her in the first place because I— we, couldn't let go of the comfortable option which was each other."
“Just stop talking,” you murmur weakly, the lilt of your voice similar to the random days that creep up to you and remind you of the shade of the past, of Sora, that looms over you out of nowhere. "I... I-I must've had this conversation with you over and over again, Jungkook," you frown. "You're going to get back with each other like always."
"We're not," he corrects you, standing in front of you so closely that you could feel his warmth cling to your skin. “Sora and I are completely through."
"Whatever you say," you mutter, throwing your hands weakly, ready to call it a night when Jungkook grabs ahold of you firmly, undoubtedly, his eyes swimming in concern.
"Do you want time to prove it?" he tilts his head. "We could wait around for a lifetime and you'll believe me by then."
"I think I've done enough waiting,” you chuckle, drawing a laugh out of him.
You’re turning twenty-eight in three months, and Jungkook’s confessed his love for you more times than you’ve ever did for him in your lifetime; he’ll still love you under the weight of your shoe.
"You're meant for happiness, Y/N. You don't have to wait,” Jungkook murmurs. “And I need to work on being meant for you, so I have to wait."
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