— synopsis: in a small town, you're bound to hit a few dead ends when you're not exactly the demographic being catered to. when jihoon finally gets a bite at a radio station nine miles out, he's astonished to see a woman in the booth - and the best in the game, at that.**
– genre: coworkers to lovers ; angst, fluff, eventually suggestive/smut.
— pairing: apprentice!lee jihoon x experienced radio host!fem!reader.
– word count: 11k out of ??
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warnings: swearing, mentions of underage drinking/smoking (weed), food/eating, mentions of impaling oneself to get out of radio duties and stitches.
— what to listen to: good girls go bad - cobra starship, leighton meester ; jumpin' jumpin' - destiny's child ; hanging by a moment - lifehouse ; my first love - avant, keke wyatt ; never let you go - third eye blind ; (you drive me) crazy - britney spears ; forever and ever, amen - randy travis ; so gone - monica ; sweet and low - agustana ; who's crying now - journey ; kids - mgmt ; crushcrushcrush - paramore.
– author's note: **the synopsis was developed before i rewrote this entire thing in two days.** welcome back to haologram & a special thank you to my beloved @studiosvt for yet another amazing collab. i know this is a part one, and this is genuinely just them growing up together but i promise the end result is worth it (even if it's not published for a bit as i get to other projects but it will be finished!) as usual, no beta, we die like men! enjoy! <3
part i. | part ii. | part iii.
"NOW PLAYING GOOD GIRLS GO BAD BY COBRA STARSHIP FEATURING LEIGHTON MEESTER, THIS IS 109.6 RUBY FM. HAPPY HOLIDAYS FROM Y/N HONG AND JIHOON LEE!"
Your voice is distinct through his car radio, and he feels his jaw tight as he tries his best to maneuver the snowy roads. It's the end of December in Minnesota, and you'd think Lake Ruby wouldn't be as snowed in as the Twin Cities — good thing we don't get paid for thinking.
You and Jihoon were relatively new to each other once more — you'd been surprisingly reunited halfway through 2009. He had just graduated college, you'd been out for two years and making a name for yourself in the radio world. Thus far, you've done just that; you made your mark, you had been all over any major radio show event in the last year, you had met countless stars and posed for dozens of cameras. Your latest conquest?
Taking on dying stations and bringing their spark back.
You'd been stationed in Lake Ruby, an hour and a half southeast of Minneapolis. You were becoming bigger than you realized, though, and eventually you needed someone that could help out when you weren't available. Someone reliable and someone who understood the ins and outs of getting the local people their news and Top 40 jams.
That's where Jihoon comes in.
The two of you, despite aforementioned reunion, hadn't exactly grown up together — he was born in St. Cloud to two kindergarten teachers and spent a majority of his elementary school years weaving in and out of the trailer park he called home. He salted tires early in the morning and walked dogs late at night for pocket money, he picked up beer cans tossed around the park and neighboring areas to get cash at Midway Iron. He was a good student and an even better clarinet player, often spending evenings sitting by the local high school's band hall to hear the crash of cymbals and deep baritone of the golden tuba. If he was lucky, he'd catch the choir girls warming up before their bus took off into Minneapolis for competitions.
He wouldn't meet you until his sixth grade year when luck struck both his parents and they got better paying jobs in Bemidji — two and a half hours north of his hometown, and the place you called home. His family packed up everything they could fit into the back of his father's 1995 Chevy G20 and they left — the trailer park disappearing in the rear view and giving Jihoon a stomach ache. He had to start all over, and meet all new people — but his family had moved just at the end of 1998, so he hadn't been too well acquainted with his teachers or his schedule anyhow. You were an eighth grader when he got to the local middle school, and he remembers exactly what you looked like, too, the day that he met you.
You were a bit taller than he was then, and you'd convinced your mother to let you dye your hair a honey blonde with caramel lowlights. You had a permanent zigzag part and wore it in a half-up do with two ponytails that swung when you walked, and you had a purple windbreaker on that he would soon learn to be your favorite piece of your wardrobe — along with several pairs of dark wash Jordache jeans that had no back pockets so you'd eventually clip your Motorola I1000 Plus (a gift from your parents on your fourteenth birthday) to your waistband. You were always all smiles, you wore Victoria's Secret Sweet Talk lipgloss and swapped your tubes with your friends every week — your favorite was the shimmery gold. You also wore metallic silver polish on your fingernails, and he remembers the distinct smell of ethyl acetate every time he walked past the girls' bathroom on the second floor — sometimes even catching a glimpse of you and your friends sitting on the sinks and painting your nails during lunch.
He met you fully when you slammed into him in your rush to get to Home Economics, somehow bursting his clarinet case open and catching the lower joint with your foot. You'd crouched quickly, picking it up (as well as his extra reeds) and grabbing his case before anything else could tumble out with a worried look, "sorry! Are you okay?"
He'd mumbled a yeah, taking his things back from you as your fingers carefully held the case open for him to put them back. You closed it, peering down at him through your lashes that had been smoothly swiped with brown mascara — and he remembers how hot his cheeks and ears felt at the fact that you were now in front of him. He'd seen you, he'd heard you laugh, but he'd mostly heard you speak — strongly and confidently — every morning over the school's PA system during homeroom. You ran the school's radio club, Aurora FM, and that was what you were most known for — even if to Jihoon, you were just a nice girl with a pretty smile for the time being.
He'd know better in due time.
That was your only interaction in middle school. You'd moved onto ninth grade the next year, and he joined the radio club that year. He stayed behind the scenes, quietly gathering information, distributing intel, writing scripts. He'd occasionally fill in if Soonyoung, the president that year, was running late and needed someone to fill his spot. He tried his best — he led the Pledge of Allegiance that he didn't really care for, he congratulated people for their birthdays, he read out the lunch menu and talked about what the school extracurricular teams were getting up to come the following weekend.
Everyone said he was a natural. Smooth, steady, but he wasn't all that sure. He liked hanging back. He liked keeping to himself, not having too many people know who he was or wanting to socialize with him. Nonetheless, he made friends and eventually was made the Vice President of the radio club by the end of the year because Soonyoung wanted him to be President but he didn't want to do the morning announcements unless he absolutely had to. So, VP it was.
His eighth grade year was uneventful. He was the band's first chair clarinet player, he was a straight-A student, he was always saved a seat at a lunch table in the corner closest to the staircase that led up to the library in case he and his friends wanted an escape. Sometimes he went outside with Mingyu and Seokmin, kicked the soccer ball around that Mingyu brought from home — that kept getting confiscated because it was against the rules — but he tended to keep to himself anyhow.
Middle school ended and he left his Vice President position to his good friend Hansol — feeding into the local high school and reuniting with Soonyoung, who was in his sophomore year…
And you, in your junior year. He vividly remembers arriving on his first day, too — he'd been lucky enough that Soonyoung kept in contact and told him that he was guaranteed a spot in the high school's radio club when he came in. He'd told him to meet up with him at the library before getting his schedule so he could get his passes for the year, only to walk into the radio room to see you and Soonyoung yelling at each other. You were both fully teasing, but there were two guys he did not recognize watching the entire ordeal with bitten back grins.
You were still dying your hair honey blonde with caramel lowlights, but it was much longer and even slightly curling in several places. You had sparkly clips everywhere, and your purple windbreaker was draped over the thigh of one of the guys that was sitting back in the desk chairs. You had soft taupe shadow light brushed over your eyelids with gold glitter on the center, your lashes now coated with black mascara and your waterline lined with dark brown. Your lips donned a frosty berry color…the same color stamped onto the cheeks and lips of the boy with your jacket over his thigh.
You had a boyfriend.
"Yah! Can't you see we have company!?" Soonyoung had yelled out when Jihoon's silver clarinet case caught his eye. He'd turned quickly, his hair now sporting frosted tips as he easily embraced Jihoon in a tight hug — and he was barely able to look over Soonyoung's shoulder to see you peering at him, almost like you knew him. Your zigzag part was gone, replaced with a straight one.
Soonyoung had let him go when Jihoon murmured that he couldn't breathe, only to grab his hand and pull him forward, "this is Y/N! You know Y/N, right? We went to middle school together!"
You tilted your head at him, "you're…I bumped into you once, right? You were the new kid back in '98."
Jihoon introduced himself quietly, watching the way his name shaped your lips as you repeated it to yourself. You then turned on your heel, introducing the men sitting in the desk chairs. The lankier guy with long hair was Jeonghan Yoon, treasurer of the radio club — and the boy sitting next to him with the thick brows and stamps of your lipstick was Seungcheol Choi, the secretary.
And the band's first chair clarinet player. And the junior varsity's soccer team captain.
"…and he's also my boyfriend! He's so good that Coach Lowe thinks he could go pro." You'd been all smiles saying that, the boy blushing all the way up to his ears as you slid into his lap. He buried his face into your shoulder, his eyes full of stars as he peeked at the hoop earrings swinging from your lobes, only paired with a small gold S earring snugly tucked into a tragus piercing you'd gotten at some point. He and Jeonghan both also coolly introduced themselves to Jihoon, and eventually the room was full of more people — including Mingyu and Seokmin, who he had managed to coax into joining the club with him. They all started at the bottom again, and Jihoon quickly took initiative — asking all the right questions and Seungcheol had been visibly impressed.
You had also been impressed. You were Vice President of the club, having joined a year before Seungcheol, Jeonghan and Soonyoung even arrived at the high school. Jihoon found it a little endearing how enamored Seungcheol was with you, but even more that the entire radio club liked you far more than they did the actual president — a senior that arrived late, that you gave a mildly annoyed glare at, that smelled like her boyfriend's AXE body spray and the faint ganja smoke. Her letterman jacket boasted the last name LOWE, and she introduced herself to the freshman with low, red eyes as Kathleen.
Freshman year was rather uneventful — he spent his time doing everything he did in middle school, but this time…he was also noticing more about you. You had a car, a 1991 GMC Syclone that often sat you and Seungcheol in the cab. You'd sneak him out for lunch with you, you'd drive around town with him — Jihoon saw the two of you on dates a few times, at the local ice cream parlor where Seungcheol would kiss your temple and wipe the corners of your lips of chocolate with his thumb. He was head over heels for you, Jihoon could see it entirely.
Another thing was that Jihoon often heard you humming Jumpin' Jumpin' by Destiny's Child in the mornings while you made last minute touches to the script while Seungcheol talked numbers and events with Jeonghan. He listened to the stations you'd put on the staticky radio, frowning inwardly as you fiddled with the antenna until Seungcheol eventually gave the radio a quick hit and the music would come out clearly. You liked anything, really — but listened mostly to rock, R&B and the occasional Top 40 station.
The songs that you sang along to the most that year were Hanging By A Moment by Lifehouse, My First Love by Avant & KeKe Wyatt, and Never Let You Go by Third Eye Blind. Sometimes you'd sing (You Drive Me) Crazy by Britney Spears at Seungcheol, making his cheeks tinge bright red as you slowly got louder to embarrass him — only for him to yank you close to him and kiss you all over and get you both told off by faculty.
The radio club was also often at any and every school event, including dances and sports competitions — which meant the eight of you (sometimes seven…if Kathleen was off getting stoned with her boyfriend and their friends instead of tagging along like she was supposed to) were often lumped together. It was on those nights that Jihoon got some one-on-one time with you — seeing as his father's '95 G20 could fit most of you. Kathleen's absence often made it easier, with someone having to sit in someone else's lap so she could have a seat to herself.
That was typically when you and he got conversations in. You'd drive fifteen minutes out to his two-story home (that his parents could now comfortably afford on their new salaries) right before events and greet them warmly. Sometimes you brought freshly baked goods from your own mother, who ran the best bakery in Bemidji; sometimes you'd bring flowers for his mother. You'd be invited in for a drink, or a quick bite — and Jihoon would often stay ducked behind the cracked door of his bedroom that felt too big for him. He'd hear his mother cover for him, saying he was finishing up homework or doing some sort of chore for her — when in reality, he'd confided in her that you made him a little nervous. She'd gotten that warm look in her eye, like she usually does when she knows something is a half-truth, but she went along with it anyway.
Then the two of you would sit in the front and tweak the radio here and there, with two cans of Crush grape soda that his mother had slid your way. You told him once that it was your favorite, the medicinal taste of the grape nowhere to be found in that twelve-ounce can and reminding you of summers with your cousins in Emerald Isle…and he asked his mother to keep a six-pack in stock.
It went untouched unless you were borrowing the van.
He also didn't do much of the talking on the drive back to the school. You talked, and you talked a lot — and quite fast. He'd seen Seungcheol stare at you attentively in order to catch all the little details you'd slip into your stories because you also loved to backtrack later in the week and beat the dead horse. But with Jihoon…the talking seemed to be to fill the silence. He responded carefully, and you seemingly enjoyed his company — but that didn't stop him from shying away from you at all and any opportunity.
"You don't like me much, do you?" You had asked him the night of the junior prom later that year, and you were wearing a beautiful butter yellow dress that made your skin glow, the skirt stopping just below your knees. He blinked at you, holding the camera he'd been given by one of the Yearbook girls to help out.
"I never said that?"
"It kind of feels like it. You never really talk to me."
Jihoon must've looked taken aback, but you didn't have much time to respond before Seungcheol carefully whisked you away. The last few radio club meets were canceled by Kathleen, and she signed off a week before school let out because she graduated. Mornings were silent, but there was an email thread going back and forth detailing summer events until several of the public library computers and even Soonyoung's personal home one got hit with the ILOVEYOU malware.
Eventually, school let out for summer and radio club meetings were held at your house — and the first was missing a certain Seungcheol Choi. Your eyes were teary as you carefully scribbled across the cool chalkboard wall your parents let you have, talking business until Soonyoung carefully asked where Seungcheol was.
"Moved to Maine to live with his grandmother because his parents thought he and Y/N were spending too much time together," Jeonghan had replied in a low whisper, but loud enough that your shoulders tensed. Mingyu and Seokmin offered soft apologies, but you just ignored them and kept talking about the summer events. At some point, your voice was far too thick to be intelligible and Jeonghan carefully led you out of your bedroom while Jihoon looked around the room. There was a box with Seungcheol's name and new home address printed on a shipping label, and he dared to peek in — and felt his heart sink at a two-year anniversary present that seemingly went unopened.
Happy two year anniversary, baby! I burned a CD for you, it's in the scrapbook. The tracklist is written on the back but our song is on there! I'll be a radio show host soon, just you wait, and I'll play our song on the radio all the time. For now, I love you. And I can't wait for many more years with you.
Your girl, Y/N <3
Your song with Seungcheol was one he heard over and over that summer. It was a country song from 1987 — Forever and Ever, Amen by Randy Travis. Your Syclone only fit two people, and it still smelled like Seungcheol's cologne according to Jeonghan — so he was in charge of wheels for the summer, driving the group around in a 1993 Audi S4 Avant his father had officially gifted him at the end of the school year. The trunk hauled a bulk of soundboards, amps, microphones and in the backseat — usually piled on top of Mingyu and Seokmin's laps — were coolers and snack bags. Jihoon's mother often piled a french baguette with all the fixings, slicing it into five and wrapping it up individually for each of the club members.
You weren't yourself for a while, either. Summer came and went, and payphones were your best friend. You'd ask around for quarters, often landing on Jihoon before scoring one and sauntering off to see if Seungcheol would be by the phone. He often was, and you only seemed more and more heartbroken as the calls got shorter and shorter. He knew Seungcheol was in tears on the other end if you were rapidly wiping at your eyes and tugging at the skin around them.
Your honey blonde highlights were replaced by chocolate brown box dye a week before school started. You held the last summer radio meeting at Jeonghan's house, because he had recently gotten a computer in his family room. The five of you huddled around for a while as you set up the projects you'd all done so the yearbook would have them for the upcoming school year. Eventually, Mingyu and Seokmin walked home — living only ten minutes from Jeonghan's house. Jeonghan's mother was gracious enough to keep you and Jihoon for dinner, and you saved the project on your thumb drive before hiking your bag over your shoulder.
"May I use your phone to call my parents?" He had asked Mrs. Yoon quietly, before you gave a quick whistle, your keys jingling as Jeonghan hugged you quickly. You gestured at the door, "I can take you home."
It was then, a week before his sophomore year of high school and your senior year, that he was really and truly alone with you in a space you dominated. Your Syclone smelled like expensive cologne, and had a sweatshirt draped over the passenger seat. Seungcheol's penmanship was scribbled all over your glove compartment in silver Sharpie, and a Polaroid of you both was resting over your speedometer. You were smiling the widest he'd ever seen, and it was backdated two years.
"It was hard," you suddenly spoke as you turned the engine over and pulled out of the Yoons' driveway, and he glanced up at you from where he'd been staring at the photo. "The break-up. His parents never really liked me, but apparently I was distracting him. As if he wasn't a straight-A student and in so many extracurriculars…but whatever."
Jihoon opened his mouth, intending an apology to tumble out…
"You changed your hair."
You blinked, glancing at yourself in the rear view mirror as you rolled up at a stop sign, your chipped silver fingernails carding through it.
"Yeah. I needed a change."
"You've had highlights as long as I've known you."
You raked your eyes over his face, tilting your head as you flicked on your turn signal, "so you think it's bad?"
"No," he shook his head, nibbling on his lip as you pulled out into the main street. Your hands were calm at ten and two, chunky rings adorning your fingers, "but it's not what you're used to, is it?"
"I think change is good," he admitted, "not seeing Seungcheol at the beginning of the summer was weird, but I know that ultimately…if he could've stayed, he would've. Moving to Bemidji was weird but I'm here now and my parents like it. Going to a new school, moving into a house for the first time…it was hard for me but it was good. It's the same with hair. I can assume highlights are expensive."
You snorted then, "I got them for free. My older sister is my hairdresser….she was mad when I went in with the box dye. Tossed it out and gave me…whatever this is."
"I'd say it's chocolate brown."
"Then it's chocolate brown."
"I never got to answer your question at the junior prom. About disliking you."
You hummed, braking lightly at a stoplight and turning to look at him, "yeah. What's the verdict?"
"It's not that I don't like you, I'm just…you make me a little nervous." He picked at a woven bracelet Seokmin had given him at the beginning of summer. "I appreciate you from a distance."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why do I make you nervous?"
"Everyone likes you so much," he shrugs, seeing the corner store down the block from his house appear out of the corner of his eye. "You're very nice and approachable and that means you have constant eyes on you. I don't like to be perceived all that much."
"And yet, you went out for the radio club?" He could hear the smile in your voice, only giving you another shrug in response before sucking his teeth.
"I like the behind the scenes. Confidence is…a little lost on me."
"So you never want to be the President?"
"I'd sooner impale myself on a sword slathered in cyanide."
You'd laughed then — and a real laugh, one he hadn't heard since the end of the school year. Your eyes were hidden by the thickness of your lashes, your shimmery lips spread across your teeth as you shoved his shoulder lightly.
"You're gonna read the announcements on Monday morning."
"I will literally not show up if that's the case."
You sucked your teeth, pulling up to his house just as a familiar song came on the radio. You pursed your lips as the sound of the dobro came through your speakers, quickly turning the volume dial all the way down. Sighing, you turned in your seat slightly, "you can't let fear keep you from being great, Jihoon."
"It's not fear. It's…just common sense. You are built for greatness. Not me, I'm your Average Joe." He stated simply, unbuckling his seatbelt before giving you a quick once over. "I'll see you on Monday. Thank you for the ride."
"No problem."
"Drive safe."
He slipped out of the car, carefully shutting your door and following the cobblestone walkway to his front door. He stilled on the front step, turning on his heel and bounding back to your car. Your window was down as you rustled around for something, your eyes flickering up when he spoke again.
"Hey, Y/N?"
"Yes?"
"I like your hair."
Monday came fast — and his schedule was waiting in your hand when he arrived to the radio room in the library. You were comparing them with Mingyu's and Seokmin's, and Soonyoung was talking shop with Jeonghan at the computer in the back of the room. You were officially a senior and the President of the club, with Jeonghan as your Vice. Seungcheol was a presence that still lingered around you — your ear still donned the gold S earring, you fiddled with the radio before looking around, almost as if waiting for him to come hit it. You did it yourself, lingering at it as Forever and Ever, Amen bled through before you turned it off.
Soonyoung was upped to Secretary, and Jihoon, Seokmin and Mingyu shared any other major responsibilities. You'd closed the radio club to any new members, having told Jeonghan that you wanted your last year with it to be one for the books. Your schedule let you out early, half past one in the afternoon, and you made Jeonghan promise to take them all home after school instead of making them walk. He'd scrunched his nose, plucking a twenty from the money clip shoved in the silver treasury box.
"For gas money," he said as he cracked his gum and shoved it into the pocket of his letterman jacket.
Or…Seungcheol's, rather. His surname was in bold blue letters across the back, a soccer patch ironed onto the sleeve. It had another patch, one seemingly custom made — a set of cherries, with your initial on one and his own on the other.
You grimaced at it, turning away before giving Jihoon his schedule, "you're taking Calculus as a sophomore?"
"I like math." He mumbled, not bothering to mention how he'd been spending the hours before summer meetings studying so he could test out of math before his senior year. Your schedule reflected the same course at the same time as him, "you're taking it first period?"
"We should sit together. Dr. Wade is an ass," you shrugged, pulling your bag over your shoulder before giving him a soft smile. "You sure you won't give the morning announcements? C'mon, Ji. For your good buddy Y/N?"
"Yeah, Hoonie." Mingyu teased from his seat across the room, and Jihoon sighed, rolling his eyes as he moved to step in front of the PA system microphone. He cleared his throat, turning fobs and dials, reaching for the silver triangle that generations past had stolen from the band room downstairs.
"Where's the script?" He muttered, searching for the brass beater as you took the sheet off the printer, still warm. He flipped it, scanning it quickly before flicking the microphone on and playing a three-note count on the triangle, "good morning, Aurora Falls. Today is Monday, August 14th, 2000. Happy birthday to Coach Lowe and Principal Barnaby, and thank you to Principal Barnaby for sixteen years of service with Aurora Falls Independent District. These are your morning announcements, brought you to by Y/N Hong, Jeonghan Yoon, Soonyoung Kwon, Seokmin Lee, Mingyu Kim and Jihoon Lee. Please stand for the Pledge of Allegiance."
You smiled proudly next to him, your hip resting against the counter as he read off the pledge and a few other announcements — the weather forecast, updated lunch menu, when tickets for the Fall Ball would be going on sale and new positions for the sports teams…
And he skipped over Seungcheol's name on the new roster.
You nodded inwardly, listening to him try to keep a bored tone out of his voice as he spoke on and on; he noted the way your thumbnail, painted with a fresh coat of silver polish, ran over his name.
Seungcheol Choi — AF BEARS VARSITY SOCCER JUNIOR CAPTAIN.
The three others dispersed after you took over the rest of the announcements, thanking Jihoon with a squeeze of your fingers against his shoulder.
"Let's walk together," you nudged him with your elbow, your eyes twinkling under the fluorescent lights that gave him headaches. He silently agreed, falling into lockstep with you as you led the both of you out of the radio room. He kept his grip tight on his clarinet case as people talked to you while walking past, before one of the senior football players sidled up to you. A quarterback, he thinks, sporting a letterman jacket like the one Seungcheol used to — last name LOWE, first name Declan.
An offspring of Coach Lowe's, much like Kathleen.
And a disappointment of a leader, just like his sister.
Jihoon has seen the way he plays ball and it's dirty. He's a shit throw and a ball hog, but let the record show that it's not like he hasn' t been called on his bad habits several times — both on and off of the playing field.
"Hey, radio star," he had a smoother drawl than Kathleen, one that reminded him of his grandparents in Tennessee as he threw his arm over your shoulders. You scowled, shoving him off, "get away from me, ugh! As if!"
Jihoon bit back his snort at the Clueless reference, silently opting to skirt around to the other side where he looped his arm with yours. The senior's friends teased him, "oh come on, babe! I'm Captain this year, that's gotta count for something."
"Put it on a resume, I don't care."
"Seungcheol's gone, babe. Face the music."
Jihoon felt you tense then, your hand holding his arm tightening slightly as you looked over your shoulder, "Shelby dumped you, babe. Face the music that no one wants your sorry ass."
After that, Jihoon doesn't remember who hit first. All he really remembers is the way his chest felt suddenly hot when the word bitch reached his ears, and the way his clarinet case clattered across the hall. He also remembers the soft scent of your shampoo wafting up his nose when you pulled him off the floor, and the sudden realization that there was a bleeding quarterback clutching his nose in the middle of the hallway.
Jihoon doesn't even think he was tall enough then to hit Declan that easily.
Jihoon also remembers the three-day suspension he was given. Not because he felt bad for what he did, because he didn't — but because his mother would not let him rest. She scolded him the entire drive to the urgent care, in the waiting room to get his eyebrow stitched up, on the drive home, and even all throughout dinner. He couldn't count on all his fingers and toes how many times his mother told him that we don't hit other people, Jihoon Lee.
"He was harassing her and called her a bitch. I think one fight won't kill him." Jihoon had muttered over his bowl of soup that night, his father glancing up at his mother. Jihoon swirled his spoon through the hot broth, the steam wafting up into his face when there was a knock at the door. His father dismissed him to open it, and he hadn't bothered looking through the peephole before opening it — seeing you, Jeonghan, Soonyoung, Seokmin and Mingyu all standing on his front porch.
"Jihoon is not allowed friends over," his father had spoken up behind him, but you held up a stack of papers.
"Just bringing his schoolwork, Mr. Lee." You replied, but your eyes never left the three stitched points across his left brow. Your fingers were holding the paperwork tight, and he took it from you — watching you awkwardly shove your hands into your pockets as his mother skirted behind him.
"You fought that boy over her?"
"I didn't fight anyone over anybody. And if it was her, I wasn't going to tell you. Thanks, guys."
"Let them join us for dinner."
And for dinner, the five of you joined. They huddled around the dining table, filling all the chairs and Jihoon giving his up for you to sit. He ate alone in the kitchen, making quick work of soup and rice before hearing you offer to move plates to the kitchen. He wanted to step out, but you managed to make it back to the kitchen before he could.
"You didn't have to do that today, Jihoon." You started, running a shaky hand through your mussed hair. Your eyes were a bit swollen, the whites pink from what he assumed to be tears. "You could've been seriously hurt."
"He was being a jerk to you," he replied simply, his thumb fiddling with the tab on his can of soda. He flicked it, "he called you a bitch. And you got tense when he mentioned Seungcheol. I couldn't stand there and do nothing."
"For someone who doesn't talk much, you sure think a lot."
"For someone who talks a lot, you make a lot of excuses. He was a jerk. I hit him. It's over with and I'll be back at school in three days. I should be glad he didn't beat the tar out of me." Jihoon shrugged, but you trilled your lips, "and don't worry. I know you can fend for yourself, it was just..an instinct reaction. One I didn't know I had and one I likely won't ever tap into again, but I'm glad it was for you. If that's of any consolation."
Jihoon also remembers how tightly you hugged him then — how he lightly patted your back as he saw his parents peek into the kitchen with wide eyes. His own screamed that he was just as taken aback, and eventually, he saw you and the rest of the group out of his home. He waved as the five of you piled into Jeonghan's car, and his mother made a quiet comment about you that stuck with him for the rest of the year as she watched through the window.
"She's gonna go far, that girl."
Suspension came and went, and the school year rolled on without much more to be worried about. His clarinet practices ran late sometimes, he started learning how to drive with his father, he went to radio club in the mornings and spent his weekends studying and practicing. Winter break came around and you showed up at his house with a gift on Christmas Day, inviting his family to your mother's New Year's Eve party.
"My mom is always looking for more friends," you'd smiled lightly, the cold wind biting at your skin under your thin coat. It was only then that he learned your mother was raising you alone, and promised he'd get his parents to drive out to your house for the New Year. They did just that, and the radio club was huddled together in the basement of your house and eating while the adults got tipsy upstairs. You kept stealing rice cakes out of Jihoon's bowl, who couldn't stop himself from pinching at the almond cookies Seokmin had brought down in a napkin — until Jeonghan came downstairs with his puffer still on and slightly overstuffed.
"….What do you have, Jeonghan?" You'd asked slowly, blindly stealing a piece of fish cake out of Jihoon's bowl before he pulled it away, "get your own!"
"Only children never share," Mingyu turned his nose up at him, offering his own bowl as the two of you both stuck your tongues out at him — only for Jeonghan to clear his throat and open his puffer jacket to reveal a bottle of homemade makgeolli just as Soonyoung made his way down the stairs with the familiar clink of yet another bottle. They looked at each other, a soft snicker falling from their lips as they both wormed down the stairs and joined the group in the middle of the basement.
"Not only are you late," you smacked the back of Soonyoung's head as you took the clear bottle from his hand, "but you steal from my mother's stash? Have some shame…you could've brought cups."
"We can just share from the bottles!" Jeonghan argued, only for Mingyu to pipe up, "that's indirect kissing. And I'm not kissing any of you boneheads, that's reserved for Nina Jang."
"Nina Jang is never going to look your way," Soonyoung snorted, uncapping the glass bottle and taking a smooth sniff. "Plus, she's seventeen. You're not even sixteen until April."
"Nina Jang would kiss Mingyu," Jihoon piped up, shoving one of the cookies from Seokmin's napkin into his cheek and grabbing his soda off the coffee table in front of him. "But jokes on him, she's also kissing that senior boy, what's his name?"
"Jaehyun Kim," you spoke around a hot dumpling in your mouth, fanning at your face as Jeonghan scrunched his nose at you, "fuck off, it's hot!"
"She is not kissing Jaehyun Kim," Mingyu scoffed, only for Jihoon to shrug and tilt his can at him, "she is so. I saw them behind the bleachers last week."
"Where are you that you know all this stuff anyway, Jihoon?" Jeonghan asked casually, taking a sip of the bottle confidently. Seokmin's eyes were nervous as he offered it, Jeonghan's soft voice assuring he doesn't have to drink any if he doesn't want to as Soonyoung takes the bottle.
"Clarinet practice. And I like to listen to the choir practice sometimes, and you're lazy so I end up scripting the announcements in the mornings. You'd be surprised how early people get to school to make out," Jihoon grimaced, taking the last sip of his can before crushing it and tossing it into the recycling bin a few inches from the door. Mingyu had a pout on his lips, making Jihoon coo as you steal yet another dumpling off the tray in the middle, "it's not the end of the world. You can still kiss Nina Jang."
"Ugh, yeah, but I want my first kiss to be special," Mingyu groaned, sinking down in his spot on the couch. Jihoon glanced over at you, watching the way your shoulders shook with silent laughter as Jeonghan shoved you lightly.
"Quit that, just because you and Seungcheollie—"
"I told you that in confidence, Jeonghan Yoon!"
"Told him what in confidence?" Soonyoung hung his head over the arm rest of the brown leather recliner, eyes curious. Jihoon also eyed Jeonghan's blushy face as he fiddled with his bracelet, one he'd seen matching with Seungcheol during last year's club meetings. You rolled your eyes, "that Seungcheol and I had our first kiss and his mom caught us and yelled so loud we fell out of the tree we climbed."
"You can climb a tree?" Mingyu interrupted, and Soonyoung held the bottle of makgeolli out to Jihoon. You slightly turned to face Mingyu, your fingers wrapping around the neck of it and pulling it towards you, "I can do lots of things. Not that you can do half the stuff I can—"
"Can so."
"I've kissed Nina Jang, you haven't. So I've got you beat in your biggest goal, anyway."
"Let it be clear that she kissed Nina Jang as a dare," Jeonghan said as you took a sip of the rice wine in front of them all, their eyes wide at the idea of a girl kissing another girl. "It's not a big deal, you'll see worse things in college."
"You're don't even want to go to college, Han," you rolled your eyes, wiping your thumb across your lip of stray liquid. Jeonghan snorted, "probably not, but you'd invite me to all the parties anyway. You love me!"
The night goes on with everyone slowly beginning to overshare things about their lives — Seokmin's first kiss with a girl who moved back to Minneapolis over the summer, Jeonghan's first kiss with Seungcheol of all people (and how he introduced you and Seungcheol the very next day,) how you moved to and grew up in Bemidji after being born in Emerald Isle. Eventually, the bottles of makgeolli made their rounds to every hand in the room — and the taste was sweet and thick in the back of Jihoon's mouth. It was an hour to midnight as Jeonghan shoved you closer to Jihoon to fit on the couch, the television staticky around an old VHS tape of The Little Mermaid and Seokmin was singing along — both beautifully and slightly slurred from the alcohol.
"What about you?" Jeonghan leaned over your lap, his cheeks rosy from the heat of the basement and alcohol in his system. Jihoon raised a brow, his own face probably not faring any better as he gave him a questioning look. "Have you kissed anyone, Jihoon?"
"I'm sixteen?"
"Yeah, that's not my question. Have you kissed anyone?"
"No, I'm sixteen."
"I had just turned fifteen when I had my first kiss with Seungcheol," you piped up next to him, "and he was fifteen a few weeks later. I don't think it's that crazy to not have kissed anyone by this point. It's silly, anyway."
Jeonghan didn't seem all that convinced, but let the topic go as Seokmin switched out the tape with The Devil's Advocate, "no way are we watching a scary movie on New Year's Eve."
"It's not that scary," you argued, trying to steady your words as you carefully stacked plates up to take back up to the kitchen sink. "It's just…it's a movie. Don't pussy out, Jeonghan. Jihoon, help me go upstairs."
"Can you bring me back a soda? I'm all out, gorgeous," Soonyoung held up his empty orange Crush can, with Jihoon snorting as he took the plates out of your hands before pushing ahead of you up the stairs. Jeonghan was still heard arguing with Seokmin as you opened the door behind him, easily sliding back in front of him. The party with the adults was in full swing, and Jihoon felt suddenly uneasy at the smell of rice wine on his lips as he slipped past his parents — his mother's sharp eyes catching him. He held up the plates and she nodded, turning back to her conversation with who he was introduced to be the pastor at your church.
"You've really never kissed anyone?" You asked quietly as the two of you ducked into the quieter kitchen, with lots of food still left. You glanced out the kitchen doorway before shoving a handful of cookies into a napkin and then into your pocket, making Jihoon snort as he turned the water on lightly to rinse off the plates.
"Why is that so surprising?"
"I guess it's really not, it's just…interesting. You're not curious?"
"It's just a kiss. I'll get to it eventually. Maybe tonight, maybe in three months, maybe in two years. Who knows?" He shrugs, and you roll your long sleeves up to wash the plates. The two of you move in tandem, and eventually you're making him keep watch as you sneak another bottle of makgeolli under your shirt and into the waistband of your jeans. He has a thick slice of triple chocolate cake and a stupid can of orange Crush soda for Soonyoung, and he makes for distraction as you quickly worm your way back to the basement. His mother makes him also take a water bottle, but he makes it back to the basement with no issues…
Until he almost slammed into you at the top of the stairs after closing the door behind himself. The makgeolli bottle in your hand is open, the cold liquid spilling over your fingers as you hiss. You're watching the way Mingyu and Soonyoung are wrestling on the ground in front of the television and getting increasingly louder, shaking your wet hand as you wrinkle your nose at him over your shoulder.
"Shit, sorry—"
"Did you just say shit?"
"I'm not a baby, you know." Jihoon muttered, making you snicker inwardly as he crouched to see Jeonghan holding a twenty in his hand and yelling that whoever won got it, "Soonyoung's gonna win."
"Nah, Mingyu is."
"I'll bet you ten bucks Soonyoung wins."
"I don't have ten bucks, but I'll bet…here, I'll bet you a kiss."
Jihoon rolled his eyes, opting to take a seat on the step and pick off pieces of the cake with his fork. You slid a random fast food straw out of your sleeve, pulling the paper off with your teeth and slipping it into the bottle to sip from when Seokmin called that Soonyoung won. Mingyu was scowling as he shoved him off, and Soonyoung happily plucked the bill out of Jeonghan's hand.
"All Mingyu does is disappoint me," you mumbled, almost too close to Jihoon's neck because he jerked away from you. You winced in apology, but Jihoon pointed with his fork, "now you owe me a kiss."
"Ugh, yeah."
"Saying ugh when you bet that instead of money is kind of insane on your part."
"I'm not saying ugh like gross, I'm saying ugh like…I didn't think I'd lose."
Jihoon laughed aloud, catching the attention of the boys down the stairs. You waved at a beady eyed Jeonghan, turning to Jihoon, "I can kiss you at midnight."
Jihoon shook his head, steadily rising to his feet before turning his nose up, "I'll cash that kiss in when I feel like it."
The night went on, and the six of you rang in the New Year with a tight group hug.
Jihoon and his parents went home at two in the morning, and the promise of a kiss was not out of his mind as he managed to mask the tipsy sway of his body with the excuse of fatigue.
His sophomore year went on without much else to worry about. You became increasingly less available, opting to retake your standardized tests several times for better scores and spending hours at study sessions with Jeonghan. Mingyu and Seokmin ended up in relationships by the end of the year — Mingyu with the Nina Jang, and Seokmin with a sweet girl in the choir. Both girls were curious about radio club, and were easily coaxed in by your cheeky smile and bright personality.
Then, graduation season came for you. Your free time became shorter and shorter, your voice on the morning announcements was missed every so often. Jihoon couldn't remember the smell of your shampoo by the time prom rolled around, and even though he was at the event for the sake of the club, everything was too much of a blur for him to focus. He kept to himself in the corner, watching the way his friends canoodled in the corner with their new girlfriends — only for Jeonghan to tug him aside gently.
"I'm moving this summer," Jeonghan said as quietly as he could with the DJ blaring music, and Jihoon's eyes went wide with surprise. He spotted you across the room, holding a clear cup of punch as you sang along to So Gone by Monica with your friends — your dress was a soft purple, handmade by your mother with a halter neck and sequins shaped like butterflies all over the tulle overlay. You seemed to sense his eyes, because you glanced over just as Jeonghan murmured more, "Y/N doesn't know and I don't want you to tell her. She and I asked Soonyoung to give you the Vice President role for the radio club. You'll be President by your senior year if everything works out."
Instead of going to anyone's house after prom for after parties (read: to get stoned in someone's basement and sneak vodka from someone's parents' liquor cabinet,) you piled everyone into the bed of your truck and drove steadily down to an ice cream parlor that's old as dirt. The owners knew everyone in town, and easily scooped hefty portions of chocolate, vanilla, strawberry and homemade butter pecan ice cream into small waffle bowls for everyone.
They were at your graduation two days later, your gold cap marking you as the valedictorian of the Aurora Falls High School class of 2003. Your speech mentioned all of them, and your eyes scanned all over the entire stadium as you smiled brightly — stopping suddenly when they reached Jeonghan, widening so much that your lashes touched your eyebrows. Jihoon glanced over, seeing Seungcheol inching into the seat with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
It wasn't about Jihoon, but something in his chest ached as the speech continued to flow out of your mouth — rehearsed, timed, perfect.
Jihoon didn't see you after, much less the rest of the summer if you weren't being driven around by Seungcheol in a pick-up truck he didn't recognize. It had a bench seat, it was bright red with white detailing, and even had balloons tied to the mirrors during the end of the summer to signal your birthday, and his shortly after.
And eventually, that red pick-up truck drove you out to California with all your things packed in boxes. Jihoon learned from sparse meetings with Jeonghan while he packed up his bedroom that Seungcheol had put in double the work to graduate early and follow you wherever you went. Jeonghan and his family were moving back to New York, following his mother's residency program — but Jeonghan left an address, asking for letters.
Jihoon sent them. He received them, and in his final letter to Jeonghan went a ticket to his graduation.
And when Jihoon graduated two years later, donning the same gold cap you had, Jeonghan was in the stands with Soonyoung. You weren't there, and Jihoon had done his best to forget about you — even if he swore he heard your voice on the radio a few times. He kept his achievements quiet, he made his parents proud and he left Minnesota in his rear view, having packed his father's '95 G20 and moving out east. Rutgers welcomed him, as did several beautiful girls — and his first kiss.
His first everything, actually. Her name was Britney, much like the Louisiana pop star, and even in 2005 — she sported honey blonde hair with caramel lowlights that had a zigzag part and was held back into two messy, spiky space buns at the nape of her neck. Her lips were plump and glossy, her eyes were bright, her voice smooth…
But she wasn't you.
Eventually, that relationship developed more. He fell in love with her, entirely; even when honey blonde and zigzag parts turned to jet black and pin straight, even when he took her to her sorority's semi-formals and held her hand during every weekend they managed to drive out to New York City from campus. They were fully dating by the end of his sophomore year of college — talking marriage, a potential kid or two, but a big, big house. Oceanside, per Britney's request; somewhere warm, per Jihoon's…
Until she went home to Florida for the summer and called him two weeks in and asked to break up. He had been back in Minnesota, working alongside his mother for a summer camp program when he got the call — hearing the loud music blaring in the back, and he simply agreed. She'd seemed peeved that he agreed so easily, but she wound up not returning to Rutgers in the fall — leaving Jihoon to cope with the heartbreak in some sort of twisted peace.
He stayed in touch with his friends — Soonyoung was across the country in Seattle, Mingyu ended up at Tufts in Massachusets, and Seokmin was just an hour drive into New York at The Julliard School. Jeonghan was taking community college courses while working in Manhattan, bussing tables and, unbeknownst to Jihoon, keeping the secret that you were graduating and he was going to fly across the country to see it happen.
Jeonghan was also home to the secret that halfway through college, you and Seungcheol had amicably split — him to pursue potentially going pro for soccer, you for the love of radio and how unsure you were at the idea of having a family and settling down before you could get a chance to achieve star potential. You had been eagerly interning at several radio stations, earning praise as a pupil and even networking to build connections in the sports world so you could still be close to Seungcheol — he was your best friend. He was your twin flame, just as hard working as you were…
And he was dating Jeonghan. Long-distance, behind closed doors and the phone bill was a bitch, but they were dating and you were the one who egged them on. You spent your time interning, studying, getting cups of coffee and not bothering to bite your tongue at misogynistic remarks. You stuck up for the underdog, you slowly made a name for yourself and Jihoon stuck to what he knew best — working behind the scenes. Scripts, catalogues, internships to keep his mind off the ache in his chest from his breakup and keep the whole operation afloat.
He heard your voice for the first time on ROCK 105.3 in San Diego — clean, clear, crisp and confident. He'd flown out for an internship opportunity, and was sat in the back of a car sent to pick him up at the airport. It was March 11th, 2009 and he even remembers the way his skin prickled at the smooth, soft tone of your voice that still had that
"That was Journey's Who's Crying Now on ROCK 105.3's 3PM hour of commercial free music. I'm your host, Y/N Hong and up next is Sweet and Low by Augustana. Enjoy your Friday, freaks. Keep on rockin'."
Jihoon attempted to nonchalantly dial up Jeonghan, who knew he would be in San Diego and was cat sitting for him, "I heard Y/N on the radio."
"No shit? What station?"
"San Diego's ROCK 105.3. I can't believe one of us actually made it to radio."
"You know Y/N. She stops at nothing."
He didn't get a chance to hear you again before he went back home, but not even a week later — he heard you speaking in the Communications Hall of his campus. He followed the sound — only to see your face projected on the wall of the Social Responsibility and Community Wellness course he took last semester. He peeked in, seeing the ROCK 105.3 sign in the background of your web camera. You were smiling brightly, and he saw a flash of honey blonde hair and caramel lowlights when Professor Calla asked if you have any upcoming projects.
"Yes! This is an offer extended only to senior broadcast journalism students, so if you hear something about it, it's confirmed by me. I recently partnered with a few radio stations across the country, going even back to my home, the North Star State of Minnesota, to bring life back to some radio stations that have seen better days. The program is called Caller Number Nine, and each station will get six weeks with me to see if I can successfully bring up ratings, re-engaging local audiences and even holding events to get the people to tune back in. That being said, the only requirements are that you are a senior broadcast journalism student that is eligible to graduate, willing to relocate, and that you are lucky enough to be Caller Number Nine. Professor Calla will give you a paper and send you an email with all the information necessary as well as all the stations that are up to be static shocked! Good luck, future radio stars."
Jihoon waited exactly fifteen minutes for class to let out before worming his way into the lecture hall. He'd been one of Professor Calla's favorite students the semester prior, and even had her personal email in case he ever needed anything — it didn't take more than a quick hello for her to begin rambling about the Caller Number Nine program and handed him a piece of paper.
There were stations all over the country on it — but his eyes zeroed in on Lake Ruby's long-dying radio station, 109.6 RUBY FM. He'd listened to it on trips down to Wisconsin to visit his cousins during the summer and get a Culver's scoop every day for a week — but he hadn't done that since he moved out of St. Cloud and he hadn't heard much about Lake Ruby since.
Lake Ruby was the fifth stop on the hit list, and the program offered all-inclusive housing and a permanent spot at the radio station once the goals were achieved — and you'd be hosting the first call from San Diego on June 15th, 2009. It would be a long distance call, and there was a chance he wouldn't even have a chance to get on his phone — the call slot was at noon in Pacific Standard Time.
Which meant it was at three o'clock his time.
And his graduation was the same day at one in the afternoon…
He could try.
Weeks passed, graduation came and his nerves were absolutely shot.
It wasn't about you.
It was about getting a job. Getting to help bring back something that meant something to him, about making his family proud and achieving his dream.
"You're gonna call the radio station, aren't you?" Jeonghan said the moment he spotted Jihoon fiddling with his phone in the car. Jeonghan, Seokmin and Mingyu had all come down and Soonyoung managed to get a last minute flight out — barely landing in Newark Liberty an hour before the event. Mingyu had picked him up and the older man got dressed in the car — even brushing his teeth a second time with the complimentary water bottle from the airport and swallowing his toothpaste.
It seemed Jihoon wasn't the only one with the idea to call the radio station — amongst his peers, everyone was buzzing with excitement. The ceremony seemed to go on forever, and lunches with family and friends were even longer. He rushedly collected his diploma, thanking a few of the professors up on the stage and even giving a quick salute to his guests in the stands — but by the time they sat down to lunch at a diner Jihoon loved to frequent during late night study sessions, his internal clock started ticking like a bomb.
He could feel sweat start to slowly bead at his hairline as he watched the clock hands move closer to three. The number was already sitting on the tiny screen of his Blackberry, and he could see several other people he'd been in those same broadcasting courses with nibbling their lips and bouncing their legs under their tables.
"You're gonna get it," Jeonghan soothed, patting Jihoon's knee under the table. His parents had been filled in by Mingyu, and they'd been skeptical — but upon hearing that it was you running this contest, they gave soft smiles and wished their son good luck; opting to zero in on thick sandwiches and pickles stacked high on their plates.
Jihoon, much like the time he punched Declan Lowe, cannot remember much of anything. He remembers hearing your voice, he remembers hearing caller number nine, and he remembers the surprise in your laughter when everyone at the table yelled at his name is Jihoon Lee.
Time seemed to move almost too fast for Jihoon after that.
You'd had the winners to your raffle fly out to San Diego for promotions in the last week of June, giving out assignments and letting everyone get better acquainted with each other. Your schedule was put out by that point, too — and Lake Ruby was the fifth stop on the list. You started in Ashland, Oregon in July, only to travel out to Washington, Colorado before your stop in Nebraska was set to end on Christmas Eve that year.
The reunion was also something that seemed to hit you just as hard as it hit him — but you were better at masking it than he was. You were all smiles — but the honey blonde hair was lost once more. It was a chocolate brown again, and he ignored the blush creeping up his neck as he let you pull him into a warm hug. You hugged him far longer than any of the other winners, eventually explaining that you and he were long time friends.
Jihoon wonders how far that friend title can go when you hadn't spoken in years, but he smiles and agrees for appearances.
He spent the summer in Lake Ruby — getting acquainted with the townspeople, easing into the internship at the station. He grew close with the older gentleman running it, his eyes clouded by cataracts and fumbling with the audio consoles and his microphone. His name is Gus, a Greek man who grew up in Lake Ruby after moving across the ocean from one of the Athenian sub-cities. He told Jihoon stories about his yia-yia, who raised him alone after their big move, and often brought big batches of spanakorizo or pastourmadopita made by his wife to share with him. Jihoon eventually met said wife — a small woman named Beryl with many things to say to him, particularly that she had a nice granddaughter around his age.
As for the locale that actually housed 109.6 RUBY FM, Jihoon made it his mission to clean the place up — fixing up overcrowded file cabinets, offering music suggestions more popular with the younger crowd of the town, even going as far as repainting the station inside and out. He bought a nice couch, new chairs, microphones, headsets; he even decorated the lobby area with signed posters and a huge lava lamp in the corner, changing the bright fluorescent ceiling bulbs to softer yellow ones.
And now, he's late. He's running late on your very first day with him, and Good Girls Go Bad is playing in the speakers of his car as he finally pulls into the station. Your car is covered in snow, a 2010 Audi A6 in sparkly cherry red. Your license plate still says California as he skirts past it, forgoing his scarf as he punches in the code to the front door. Warm air hits his face as he shuts it behind him, the sound of MGMT's Kids now bleeding into the end of Good Girls Go Bad.
He can see you through the window — you're in your element. You're easily making conversation with Gus, your coat the same deep purple as that beloved windbreaker he knew to be your favorite. Your hair is still chocolate brown, but there's a zigzag part and Gus is laughing at whatever you're saying while you smile inwardly, holding a half-eaten lokma in your fingers as he skirts into the room after swiping his badge.
"Nice of you to join us, boy." Gus's voice is deep as he acknowledges Jihoon. He winces, earning your eyes as he shucks his coat off, "I'm sorry I'm late."
"Don't be sorry, be better," Gus says gently, before offering the plate of lokma to him. "Help yourself. Beryl said you need to eat more."
"I eat so much with you guys," Jihoon mumbles, plucking a piece off anyway and shoving it into his cheek. "What else did I miss?"
"My arrival," you snort, licking your fingers of honey and cinnamon before clearing your throat. "It's Christmas, Jihoon. You could've been on time."
"Have you seen the roads? You're lucky I'm even alive."
"Hi, Y/N. How are you? I've missed you."
He tongues his cheek, and Gus snickers inwardly as he slips into the backroom, "you two get reacquainted. I've gotta call my Beryl and let her know I'll be on my way soon."
Your eyes are expectant, making him sigh, "hi, Y/N. How are you? I missed you."
You beam, "hi! I'm good and I missed you, too! Christmas Eve in Nebraska was a shitshow, but that's neither here nor there. Are you ready to work?"
"Hi, Jihoon. How are you?"
"I know you're late."
"We've been reunited for seven minutes and you're already pissing me off."
You roll your eyes, pressing the very same button that flashes the bright red ON AIR sign on, "Y/N Hong coming at you live, thank you for tuning in to our 6PM commercial free hour! The temperature outside is twenty-three degrees Fahrenheit, let's be sure to bundle up! Happy holidays from your folks here at 109.6 RUBY FM, and this is Crushcrushcrush by Paramore!"
He's unimpressed, "Y/N."
"Jihoon."
"Ask me how I am."
"You're late," you repeat, and Jihoon tries not to let his eyes zero in on the glossy plum color on your lips. "So prove to me that you deserve this opportunity, and get to work."
He pouts, "I've done so much already—"
"And I love what you've done with the place, baby," you interrupt, smoothly sliding your coat off your shoulders and the click of your heels catches his attention as you walk to the hook by the door to hang it up. Your shampoo is the same and he feels his chest tight at the soft tobacco and vanilla scent floating off you as you walk back to your seat. "Prove you've got what it takes. Announce the next segment in fifteen minutes."
"You want me to impale myself on a sword slathered in cyanide." He slumps in his chair next to yours, only to feel you grab the arm of it and yank him closer to you. Your perfume is stronger now, and he glances at your ear to see that same S earring snug in your tragus.
"I want you to be great." You murmur, your hand tight around his chair as he glances at you. "Not the Average Joe. That's not what you're made for and it's not what I'll let you be, either. Friends don't let friends be mediocre."
Friends don't let friends be mediocre.
But friends don't lean in almost too close in a radio station in Lake Ruby, and friends don't almost kiss on Christmas Day 2009.
내 사랑, 생일 축하해 🤍 나 원래 오글거리는 말 잘 못하는 거 알지? 근데 진짜 너 없었으면 나 어땠을까 싶어. 지난 몇 년이 나한테는 정말 힘들고 지치는 시간들이었거든. 근데 너를 만나고 내 세상이 정말 많이 변했어. 어떻게 이렇게 밝고 따뜻한 사람이 있을까 싶을 정도로... 내 인생에서 가장 어두웠던 시간에 네가 내 빛이 되어준 것 같아. 올해는 정말 누구보다 행복하게 보내야 돼. 너는 내가 아는 사람 중에 가장 용기 있고 다정하니까. i will really spend the rest of my life repaying you, happy birthday ( ^▽^)_∠※☆
genre/warnings/wc. gn!reader. suggestive, angst, vague historical + war au. one allusion to off-screen sex so mdni. in the same universe as push and pull (royal!yjh x general!reader). unbeta’d, mistakes my own. 0.9k.
note. for @kmgswrld, in response to jeonghan + an izumi shikibu tanka. thank you so much for waiting!! part of anchors.
Against all odds, spring arrives quietly.
Jeonghan watches the plum blossoms overhead flutter with the wind. The stars peek through from beyond the little flowers; their stillness contrasts with the swaying branches.
A part of him dreads the thaw—there is already a meeting scheduled at dawn tomorrow, to discuss their next plans. More intel from spies, more poring over maps and strategies, more little wooden pieces on the table. As though they did not represent real men who might not live to see the cherry blossoms, much less their families.
“I should have known I’d find you here, Your Highness.”
Jeonghan swivels around, meeting your eyes. “Big day tomorrow, general.”
You click your tongue. “Not quite; we are deciding on the big day tomorrow.”
“Hm.” He pats the space beside him. “Sit with me.” In the low light, he catches you purse your lips for a moment before acquiescing, settling down a respectable distance away from where his hand had been. Jeonghan huffs. “No one is watching.”
“Indeed.” You remain where you are.
“So straitlaced, my general is.”
“It has kept our men alive so far.” You lift your hand, taking a quick swig off your flask. Jeonghan grins.
“And yet, you drink.”
You scowl, swigging again. “I am a general, not a monk.”
Jeonghan snakes his hand around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. You inhale sharply; one hand braces your fall against his chest. The flask drops to the ground beside you, empty.
“I know very well that you are no monk.” You shiver when his breath hits the shell of your ear. Jeonghan dips his chin to nose the spot just under your jaw. A featherlight kiss against your pulse, and he hears your shaky exhale. The faint smell of alcohol clings to you, combined with sweat and a musk that drives him mad.
When you are pressed up against him like this, he is so very easily lost.
“Darling…” he sighs against your skin. He pulls you closer, onto his lap—and for all your heated debates and protests while on duty, you are surprisingly pliant in his arms, all but melting when he finally pulls away from your neck to catch your mouth with his own.
“I told you—not to call me that…” You sigh against his lips with barely any heat. Jeonghan simply hums.
His hands trail along your body, pressing against your clothes to imagine the heat of your skin beneath. He grunts as your hands trail up, curling around his nape, pulling the hairs on the back of his head until he reluctantly gets the message.
“We can’t,” you murmur. You’re panting softly, mouth kiss-swollen, pupils blown in a way he knows mirrors his own. Even now, when discouraging him, your fingers toy with his hair, soft as a lover.
“Not even somewhere private? My bed misses you, you know.” You huff a small laugh at that.
“Don’t foist your sentimentalities on your furniture, Your Highness. Besides,” your expression sobers, “We must prepare for battle soon.”
“Are our assignations truly over, then?” He keeps his voice light, though something in him cracks all the same.
Your hand stops carding through his hair. “Your Highness, I…”
“We did agree it would only be for the winter.”
He catches the split second your composure cracks, your eyes betraying your devastation before you don again the façade of your persona. “Indeed.”
As though the world had also decided to let the moment fade, Jeonghan hears, more clearly, the sounds from the camp. The wild merriment was a needed morale boost—something to bridge the cold anxiety of winter vigilance and the inevitable clash its thawing would bring.
“I take my leave, then.” You bow shortly. You begin to stand, picking up the flask while arranging your clothes so no one would be the wiser.
“Wait,” Jeonghan says, standing, before he can stop himself. He clamps a hand down your wrist. You halt. “Will you still not call me by my name?”
There is a war behind your gaze. You lips purse, then part, then purse once more.
He tugs you back to him, and you return his passion equally, betraying yourself, cupping his face with your hand.
“Please?” He breathes against your lips. You part from him, resting your forehead against his.
“Jeonghan,” you murmur finally. “I am sorry it had to be this way.” He shakes his head.
“Do you remember what I said before we rode to war?” He whispers.
“You said you will…” You swallow. “You will come out of this war with me or not at all.”
“Indeed. That has not changed.” He cups the hand on his face with his own, clasping it gently between his own, feeling your rough callouses against his fingers.
He thinks of the plum blossoms again. Tomorrow, he will be able to see them in all their crimson glory. If he were a poet, he would find some metaphor in how they bloomed even in the cold. Even the way they sometimes stain the white landscape in deep red seems an apt metaphor.
The only color war interests itself in is blood red. Yet when he bleeds, he feels himself stained with a different battle entirely.
“My general,” he sighs. Jeonghan lets his mouth rest around those words. He has been sharpened and cut by them, defeated and made victorious. My as in allegiance. My as in an oath. My as in devotion. General as in his right hand. General as in his sword. General as in the one he could have in battle, but never in peace.
Jeonghan knows—he may detest war, but in his heart of hearts he thanks it for being the only time he could keep you.
He kisses the inside of your wrist before releasing you. “I will see you at dawn.” Your smile does not reach your eyes, even as you bow shortly and walk away.
note. plum blossoms (ume) predate cherry blossoms (sakura) as the flower of prestige in ancient japan. where sakura represents transience (mono no aware), plum blossoms were known for resilience, as they bloom through the cold of winter to herald early spring. they can be white, pink, magenta, deep red, etc. ume blooms before sakura, hence the reference that soldiers may die before they see the latter. that said, in the heian period (when the tanka inspiring this would have been from), the sakura would gradually begin to be more popular.
anyway thank you for waiting so very patiently for me <3 i will be working on the next anchor drabbles too; work has finally eased up a teeny tiny bit
please like and reblog original fics to show love and support to the authors/creators 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
•break ( @sailorsoons ) witch!joshua x cursed!reader
You’ve suffered your entire life after a single magical accident when you were thirteen. Joshua has been your biggest comfort and anchor, but he also becomes your deepest regret.
— 18.2k words,[ a/f/s]; mature content ahead! oh my god im not tryna spoil anything but the plot twist in this story is insaneeee a must read for sure.
• honeydukes lover ( @http-mianhae ) hufflepuff!joshua x slytherin!reader; hogwarts au
The first time they met was when she reached for a chocolate frog which he helped her reach and after that, they’ve been seeing each other everywhere. A story of how a Slytherin became undyingly soft for a Hufflepuff
— 16.7k words, [a/f]; this fic is so good you don’t understand i love the harry potter svt crossover, his crush on her is soo cute!! it’s a shame that there is no pt.2 as the author hasn’t been active in over two years but a good read all the same! pinky promise it’s still worth it.
•we both ( @studioeisa ) exes!joshua x reader
you're stuck in a car with a beautiful boy, your glorious history, and eight hours of road. what else is there to do but talk about the deepest of truths?
—12.3k words, [f/slight a]; one of the only fics that genuinely brought my to tears (frm someone who doesnt cry frm media consumption lol) so funny and kind of fluffy at the same time, i don’t wanna spoil anything but that beach scene FUHHHHHH, they are very bad at being exes bai
• let me back in ( @jinxedmuse ) fwb except they’re not rly friends
reader and joshua are in a confusing relationship. a constant tug of war over who can get each other more in love, and more heart broken.
— word count unavailable, [a/f/c]; mature content ahead! characters are written extremely well, so angsty but the end gets me everytime i reread this
• too nice ( @mochacoda ) coworkers/neighbours to lovers
Joshua Hong is nice. Too nice. He’s the kind of nice that makes people think twice about their relationship to him, wondering if they might be special. The answer is, no. Problem is, he's your coworker and your neighbor.
—10k words, [f]; big fan of authors who use konglish esp. in joshua fics, it's so fitting haha, anyway joshua reallyy lives up to his gentleman nickname here, he's so perfect hello
• flaws and all ( @mvnscloud ) est. relationship
joshua isn’t just someone who stays with you when it rains, he’s the one who helps you plant a garden after.
—2.3k words, [h+c/slight a]; he's so understanding and gentle and the way he helps her through her trauma is so perfect he's like kind but firm and it's so kfhakhfdjanfk
• how to be a latin lover ( @haologram ) ta!joshua x chaebol!reader
the dreadful semester has started — meaning your summer vacation has come to end, and so has your summer fling…or has it?
— 26.8k wc, [f/a], mature content ahead! mc is so real in this icl.. everyone and their mom knows how much i love uni au’s especially when the male lead is a TA ugh it’s just so attractive, joshua’s so soft spoken i was lowk getting my heart torn reading this
• all the petty scenes and all the pretty things ( @starlightkyeom )
where your best friend organizes a weekend away for all your single friends on valentine's and you have to deal with his very annoying roommate
— 20.8k wc, [f/s] mature content ahead! we love a good enemiesish to lover scenario, aftercare yesyesyes, sprinkle of domesticness?? idk they’re cute
• tell me that you love me i + ii ( @wheeboo ) musician!joshua x deaf!reader
in which you and joshua are simply different in more ways than one, yet only seem to find a common ground in struggling to chase your dreams. so why does life keep throwing you two at each other, despite your different worlds, and why does it feel so terrifyingly right?
— 37k wc, [f/a], reminded me so much of this one kdrama but i can’t remember the name of it.. so adorable because joshua hong the man you are..he’s so gentle and patient i’m gonna cry, the dynamic was really good and the plot was supa well written i love
• acts of service ( @eomayas ) est. relationship
joshua takes care of you without you having to ask
— unavailable wordcount, [f], cute little drabble, he is soo husband material i’m crying he’s so soft and the pet names and i’m genuinely melting.
• 11:59pm ( @xinganhao ) loverboy!joshua x reader
there's only one thing that joshua wants for his birthday: to kiss you at the stroke of midnight, come the 31st. with a little help from his friends, this might just be the year that he finally succeeds.
— 1.7k wc + smau, [f], adorable awe the photo of joshua is so cute, he is SUCH a loverboy, this one’s just pure tooth rotting fluff okay bai i need him this american man is everything you need in a boyfriend husband
• hit & run - first inning ( @minisugakoobies ) baseball!au
New job, new city, new you! In dire need of a reset, you make a career change and move to the same town where your recently wed bff lives with her triple-A baseball-playing husband. Things are looking up until life throws you a curveball in the form of one of his teammates, Joshua Hong - the wedding night home run who ghosted you the morning after. What happens when the feelings you thought you’d left behind come running back? Will Joshua steal your heart, like stealing bases in a hit and run?
— 9.8k wc, [f/s/a], mature content ahead! god forbid a girl love a slow burn, we stan slow burns in this house yes im so excited for this, i believe this is an ongoing multipart :3
• new traditions ( @studioeisa ) fianće!joshua x reader
it's christmas day and joshua still loves you.
— 1.9k wc, [f], short and sweet, the last line got me in my feels ugh he’s so perfect this one’s just domestic and fluffy we love ‘our place’ (shoutout ikea we love ikea)
• the most beautiful man in the world ( @heartepub )
in which you consistently have your ugliest foot forward next to your heartbreakingly handsome neighbour.
— 1.7k wc, [f], another short one but this one’s too funny not to include, the ending makes me smile every time. + i love 3 + 1 formatting. i won’t lie i got second hand embarrassment for mc, but joshua thinks it’s cute so who cares what i think!
• a night to remember ( @wheeboo ) 1920’s au
in which a handsome stranger at the bar catches your attention.
— 2.9k wc, [f], hello beabadoobee reference!! also i got great gatsby-ish vibes from this, super young and beautiful by lana del rey coded. joshua’s smooth asf in this, we love 1920’s au, we love joshua.
when i was supposed to go to a party tn but instead i’m trying to lock in and pump out one more fic rec before my break is over and i disappear again so lets all love me kay ~(>_<~)
— synopsis: your field of expertise is physics, not psychology and definitely not the misery of breakups...but kim mingyu's field of expertise? you, you, always you — and the art of context clues.
– genre: exes to ??? ; angst, fluff, slightly suggestive.
— pairing: psychology major!kim mingyu x physics major!fem!reader
– word count: 10k
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warnings: swearing, mentions of food and eating, breakups. hardly suggestive but a mention of non-descriptive oral.
— what to listen to: something in the way - jorja smith ; something in the orange - zach bryan ; when you're gone - avril lavigne ; dear my light - dawn.
– author’s note: [special thanks to @/saradika here on tumblr for these lovely snowflake dividers!] 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 @kmgswrld! yuasa, you came to me at a very odd point in my life that i was not expecting, but i have grown very fond of interacting with you. i hope you know that you are very loved and very important, and i dedicate my last mingyu fic of 2025 to you! happy haolidays, yuasa! i love you!
"SURELY, YOU MUST BE JOKING."
Your professor seems unimpressed as she looks at you with a raised brow. You're holding a mandatory tutoring form in your hand, the paper still warm from the printer. Her eyes are serious as she taps it with the end of her pen, "Mingyu is available Tuesdays and Thursdays. He's your best bet, Miss Y/N."
"I'd rather drop the damn class," you blurt, frustration festering in your stomach as you run your hand through your hair, squeezing your eyes shut, "I don't mean that, I'm sorry. I'm very grateful you let me take a spot in your classroom."
"Y/N, it's tutoring and it's only for Chapter 12. It's not the end of the world, and you need a little help. It happens, nothing to be embarrassed by." She speaks gently, before holding a card out to you between her fingers. Mingyu's name and phone number is printed across it in navy blue ink, stark against the white card stock.
"The tutoring isn't the problem," you mumble inwardly as you take the card, but you don't need it. You've had Mingyu's phone number memorized since you were teenagers, and it's still saved in your phone all these years later.
And six months after your breakup.
You don't even know why you did it. You don't know why you pulled the plug, you just remember the shit excuses falling from your lips as the burning summer sun beat down on your back. You left for vacation with your family the next day, crying your eyes out the entire time and holing yourself up in the hotel room for hours until it was time to go back home.
And there was no Mingyu to run to.
It's too serious, you had said. We're moving too fast, you argued.
You'd been together for nearly three years. You'd been good friends since you were kids, and he was the very first person that wasn't your family that got your phone number when you got your first phone back in freshman year of high school. He was the first everything — first love, first kiss, first boyfriend.
You had intended for him to be the last, too. The only, even.
Kim Mingyu is The One.
Or was, rather.
You don't know what he's up to these days. You sit awkwardly in the back of the lecture hall, sandwiched between two of the soccer players and hoping they'll hide you. They never have paper and are always taking your pens, but you'd rather that than ever make eye contact with Mingyu again.
Because you know you're weak. You're weak when it comes to him, you'll fold like a house of cards and break down right in front of him. You'd apologize over and over and it would be of no use because, well, you have pride…even if he's worn it thin with his gentle affection, showing you that you don't need to deprive yourself of things you want or love for the sake of holding your head too high.
Him included, but that's the past, now.
What's worse is that you know he's exactly the same, if not weaker. He's just as soft hearted, just as easy to break as you are — but he's Mingyu. He knows you, and he knows that somewhere, in the depths of you, there is that fear. Fear of being seen as just his girlfriend, fear of being perceived as something you're not — weak, docile, whatever makes you feel less than a person.
Mingyu himself has never made you feel that way, and he's swiftly turned his back on anyone in his life that has tried to do that to you. He held you in high standards, higher regards — you were smart and capable, studious and working on a strict schedule to keep your life working smoothly. No dates during the week. No distractions. You were a person, a daughter, a student before you were his girlfriend.
You were his friend before you were his girlfriend.
And now, you're nothing.
Well, not nothing. Nothing besides two people who once knew each other, almost at a molecular level — that now sit fifty feet away from one another every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from two to four since the beginning of the semester.
Mentor and mentee, apparently. Tutor and student, Jedi and Padawan.
"Thanks, Dr. Lee. I'll…be sure to reach out to Mingyu by the end of the week."
"No need, I've emailed him already. He'll be reaching out to you shortly to discuss your schedules. Have a good day, Y/N. Keep working hard."
You smile tightly, the paper crumpling slightly under your fingers as you nod before turning on your heel and making your way out of the lecture hall. You can feel your throat tight, tears starting to sting your eyes, but you blink them back as they try to blur your vision. You skirt around groups of people, couples walking together, wanting to feel the chill of the fall air settling into your your bones as the tears start dripping down your cheeks.
You're grateful you don't feel the buzz of your phone in your pocket as you barrel down the steps of the front hall.
NEW! 2 Messages From: Mingyu 💘
[4:32 PM] Dr. Lee emailed me. 6-8 on Thursday works @ your place or mine. If mine, don't be late.
[4:32 PM] And…you should've told me first. I would've helped you without her interference.
Mingyu's apartment is warm when you arrive the following Thursday. Seokmin opens the door; being yet another counterpart of Mingyu's that you'd befriended during high school and one of his roommates, he knew all about your history. He shook his head silently, giving you a one-armed hug as he let you slip inside the living room. He took your coat as you toed your shoes off, he offered water that you declined, gesturing at the Yeti Rambler bottle in your hand…before pointing you in the direction of Mingyu's room.
"He got back maybe an hour ago. Good luck, rockstar." He ruffled your hair, before taking a seat on the couch and picking his laptop back up. You swallowed hard, taking a deep breath as you rocked on your heels, closing your eyes and making your way down the hall. You hadn't been to this apartment yet, they'd moved when you left for vacation and were settled by the time you got back.
You're sure his bedroom walls have seen many tears since then.
Maybe a girl or two.
You hoped not.
You raise your hand to knock, only for your soft taps to push the door open. He doesn't look up, nibbling on his lip as he punches numbers into his calculator. He's surrounded by open books, notepads, pens that have long run dry. His room still smells faintly of his cologne from earlier in the morning, the scent permeated into the walls and everything within them.
He's still dressed from wherever he came from — jean jacket resting nicely on his shoulders, sunglasses perched on his head before he runs his hand through his hair and takes them off. He tosses them onto his bed, the honeyed slope of his neck illuminated by the lamp on his desk and you think you're going to throw up.
You knock harder, his eyes immediately moving to the door and spotting you.
"I didn't hear you the first time, sorry."
You press your lips into a thin line, nodding your head as you push the door open. Your grip on your bottle is tight as you step in silently, and he stands up, slotting bookmarks into his pages and closing the textbooks, sliding them elsewhere and clearing the space for you to fit into it. You swallow again, your throat unbearably dry as he moves past you, closing the door. His cologne floats up your nose as he grabs a folded stool from behind it, and you reach your hand out to take it.
He shakes his head, "take the chair. Better for your back."
"My back is fine," your voice is almost too soft for him to hear, but he only rolls his eyes as he rolls it closer to you, pointing at the seat like you're a child. You chew on your cheek as you tentatively pull the chair to you, sitting on the edge of it and pulling your backpack off. You settle your bottle between your legs as he keeps moving around, and you see the textbook that was currently weighing your bag down in his hand.
"She said you are having trouble with…." He scrolls on his laptop, clicking around before pulling up Dr. Lee's email containing your tutoring form, "chapter twelve."
He glances at you, a brow raised as you force yourself to stare at the jar of pens on his desk. A mason jar covered in Sanrio stickers — you'd given it to him for an anniversary. There was a special sticker you'd had custom made by someone on Etsy: Chococat and Badtz-Maru hugging, and a stamp of I love you, bug! in your handwriting pasted by the artist.
You and him.
"Chapter twelve." He repeats, and you nod silently, moving to pull your backpack off and pull out a new deck of flashcards. "It's just vocabulary. I know the material."
"If you don't know the vocabulary, you can't fully understand the material."
"Mingyu, I'm not stupid. The chapter is just about forming interpersonal relationships and attraction and love. It's not rocket science."
"First of all, I never said or insinuated that you're stupid, so watch your tone." He speaks lowly, and you feel your cheeks hot as he perches on the edge of the stool. He's almost too close to you, but not enough that you can justify scooting back. "Second of all, if it were rocket science, you wouldn't need my help. You would've figured it out."
"I don't need your help—"
"You're wasting time. Do you want to pass the chapter test or do you want to keep bickering?"
"What, you have plans?" You roll your eyes, your nail moving to break the plastic wrap around the deck of flashcards as he nods, "yes."
You feel your heart sink slightly, but you shrug as you tear into the deck and crumple the wrapper in your hand. You tuck it into the trash can under his desk before fishing a notebook out of your backpack. You glance at the jar of pens again, but opt to dig into your bag for one instead. You click the end, "where are we starting?"
He shrugs, "write down what you struggle with the most and give me the page. I'll have something for you next week. Focus on the chapter units rather than what's in them when you're doing most to least, and we'll talk about the contents in person."
"This could've been an email." You scoff, and he nods, "it could have, but it's not. So just write it down and I'll come up with a plan. Your test is next Friday, so we can do…"
He peers at the calender above his desk, humming as he drums his fingers against the page he's open to — Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love.
"We can do Tuesday. We might be able to do Thursday but I'll have to see how the week progresses. If push comes to shove I can see you on…Wednesday, but it'll either be really late or really early and that's my last resort." He nods, and you glance at the calendar. He's got things marked off, a few birthdays scribbled in…
You look at the date — Thursday, the twenty-first. There's a diagonal line across it, with TA 6-8 on the top and S :) 8:30 on the bottom.
He's seeing someone else.
You know he is, because he used to mark off your dates that way, too. Well, yours usually had a scribbled heart, but you're sure it won't be long before a smile becomes a heart.
"I'll just text you." You mumble, shoving your things back into your backpack and hurriedly pulling it over your shoulder. Your stomach hurts as you glance at the jar of pens again, feeling your nose burn as you push out of the chair, and you hear him sigh as you grab his doorknob.
"Y/N, what is the problem?" He asks softly, and you let out a humorless laugh as you pull the door open.
"I'll see you later, Gyu." The nickname falls from your lips as you shake your head, a tear slipping down your face as you practically bolt down the hall. Seokmin is in the kitchen, and you call a stout goodbye before grabbing your shoes and slink out the front door.
You don't know that Mingyu immediately walks out of his bedroom with tears in his eyes, looking for Seokmin. He just sighs, pulling Mingyu into a hug as he holds your water bottle in his hand — a water bottle he had given you, now covered with more Chococat and Badtz-Maru stickers and a faded customer sticker of his name on the edge.
You only feel the stabbing pain of gravel digging into your socked feet as you hold your high tops in your hand, sprinting out of his apartment complex and down the road to yours. Your vision is blurry and your breathing is choppy but you don't care, and the buzz of your phone is once more unfelt in your pocket.
NEW! 2 Messages From: Mingyu 💘
[6:49 PM] You left your water bottle here. I'll leave it with Seokmin in case you come back to pick it up tonight.
[6:57 PM] And for the record, S is Seungcheol. See you on Tuesday.
THE WEEKEND FLEW BY, AND YOU ARE CURRENTLY SITTING ON THE STEPS OF MINGYU'S COMPLEX — TEN MINUTES BEFORE YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO MEET HIM.
You had emailed him your list, and CC'd Dr. Lee so you could hold yourself accountable.
I was instructed to rank the Ch. 12 Social Psych subunits from most understood to least. I've CC'd Dr. Lee in case she would like to weigh in with any suggestions.
I spent the weekend reviewing key terms and am confident with the vocabulary, as well as most of the review questions in the back of the textbook. Thank you for your time.
Y/N L/N
Senior | Applied Physics
Department of Physics and Astronomy
010-0406-1997
Mingyu did not reply to your email, his Outlook status set as Offline.
You hadn't texted him back or bothered to return for your bottle of water either, despite the slight comfort of knowing that S wasn't a girl. You were too embarrassed, and now you were too early to knock and ask to be let in. You were too early to face him, and a part of you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You glanced at your watch, having set a timer for it to beep at five minutes to six — and you sigh, glumly resting your cheek in your palm and closing your eyes.
"Why are you down here? It's cold."
Mingyu's voice startles you, and you jump, your hand flying to your chest as you open your eyes wide to see him holding two bags of groceries. Seokmin is behind him, brows raised as you quickly stood up, careful not to stumble.
"Well, clearly neither of you were home."
"I texted you that we kept the spare under the doormat?"
You feel your cheeks hot, "yeah, well. It's your house, not mine."
He rolls his eyes, motioning for you to head up the stairs. You scramble up, making yourself useful and unlocking the door for them. You step out of their way, clearing your throat as they set everything down and Seokmin stops Mingyu from going back downstairs, a stern look in his eyes as he ducks out the front door.
"I…can go, if you guys are going to have dinner. Don't let me keep you." You blindly set their spare key on the table behind you, but Mingyu shakes his head as he unpacks things. Bread, eggs, a gallon of milk, "you can go get settled. I'll be right there, it's Seokmin's turn anyway."
Your hands clench at your sides as you toe your shoes off, carefully placing them on the rack before bowing your head and making your way to his bedroom. Your heart clenches as you slowly open his door, hearing Seokmin coming back up and asking whether you'd be staying for dinner just as you slide into the room.
"I'm not sure," Mingyu replies, and you close the door behind you.
More rustling is heard as you settle in the chair, setting the stool out for him and opening your textbook. You glance at his calendar, nothing else added but you…
And your anniversary, scratched out.
If you looked any closer, you would've seen the hearts doodled around your name in pink pen. Three year anniversary, gone. Like the wind.
You tongued your cheek, a pout threatening its way onto your lips as your throat started to burn. You cleared it, shakily digging your items out of your bag and splaying everything out. You opened your textbook, you carefully stacked your unfinished flashcards (because you attempted to spend the weekend studying, but every swirl of your pen reminded you of him.)
Him, him, every single time. Every click.
Everything.
"It's going to be fine," you murmured to yourself, pulling your journal out and flipping to a fresh page.
The mason jar of pens isn't where it was on Thursday.
In fact, it's nowhere to be seen.
You still, your thumb still clicking your pen as your eyes move around the room. Superman figurines despite your insistence that Mingyu could so be a Nightwing. Photo frames holding pictures of his sister and his family, of him and Seokmin, of him and Wonwoo and Seokmin…
One singular photo of you and him — seven years old, missing your front teeth and popsicles melting down your hands. His green, yours red, and the frame read the pet names you'd adopted for one another — bug and baby.
He was bug. At six feet, two inches...Kim Mingyu was your bug.
It was funny to think about.
You don't see any of the trinkets you'd gotten him over the years, but you see a small box tucked into the corner of his bedroom. The tape is peeled up, like he's opened and closed it — and it's hid under his bedside table. You glance at the door, hearing Mingyu and Seokmin banging around in the kitchen. Your phone buzzes on the desk, and you grab it as you slowly scoot the chair back, making room to stand up.
NEW! Message From: Mingyu 💘
[6:12 PM] I'll be right there, I'm just giving Seokmin instructions. Sorry for the wait.
You only give him a thumbs up, tossing your phone on the table quickly and making your way over to the box. You stay alert, only peeking in carefully and seeing everything.
Three small, thick photo albums detailing your relationship and some of your years growing up together. A small crate of figurines — another custom Chococat and Badtz-Maru, a handful of Smiskis you'd given him when you didn't get the one you wanted in your blind boxes, and a bunch of paper stars and miscellaneous origami you'd folded up and given him during your old study sessions. There's another box, covered in faded lipstick marks from you, the lid slightly off center and you know it holds all the love letters you'd given him over the years.
You know he still holds onto the very first one you'd ever given him, when you were both sixteen and juniors in high school. He'd had it framed in his last apartment, and kept it on his dresser. Said he read it every morning.
Kim Mingyu!
Today is our first day of school and I'm writing this in Econ (you're sitting three seats away because you were late, bug!) You look kinda cute…I guess.
Okay, not 'I guess.'
But it's always just been you and me, right? Us, together. Thank you for being my best friend and not making fun of me when I make mistakes. I also appreciate that you tell me I'm cool :) I hope you still think I'm super duper cool when you're marrying me in six years time.
Actually, no. I'd say…nine years. We'll be out of grad school by then, and who knows…I could be getting a doctorate. Dr. L/N-Kim, eh? Pretty cute, right?
Dr. Y/N L/N-Kim and Kim Mingyu, Esq.
We're gonna be soooo cool and our kids are gonna think we're soooo gross.
Anyway, I'm not yoinking your last name. I would've earned the degree, not you :P but…I love you. And I hope you're in my life even then, even if nothing moves further between us. I know you won't make it weird if you don't feel the same way, too, which makes it easier. You always make my life easier, but you don't let me win and that's the fun of it all, isn't it? A cushion that softens the blow of a still hard fall.
Anyway, I hope junior year rocks. And I hope you know you suck for being late and sitting so far away. Don't be late tomorrow! I can feel you staring at me (timestamp: 12:22PM.) I snuck my headphones in, and I'm listening to I'm Gonna Win by Foreigner because I promise you, you're not getting that valedictorian spot. It's mine, Kim.
I'll see you after school, bug. Don't read this around your friends! I mean it! >:(
Love you, bug. XOXO.
Y/N <3
P.S.: [✔︎] check here if you like me too. do a back flip if you don't :D
A blue pen had checked the box by the time the two of you were walking home together. It was a very nonchalant affair, because you both understood that dating was out of the question until you were both done with the little rivalry you had. Unfortunately, you were both tied — and your graduating class had two Valedictorians, and the very first tie in your high school's history. A picture of you both was displayed in the main hallway of that building now, with a school news article titled Best Friends take Number 1 Spot Together: Future Physicist Y/N L/N & Prospective Lawyer Kim Mingyu.
Mingyu wasn't studying law anymore, and the two of you started dating in August — and he officially made you his girlfriend in November of that year. He changed his major and was thriving in the Psychology department, barreling towards that doctorate — one you also swore you'd get, and you stand by it.
You just aren't sure if Mingyu still stands by you.
And you feel foolish to want to hope that he does, despite the six months of silence, distance and heartbreak — the only communication between the two of you being his purple pen grading your essays and in-class exams…much softer than the red pen he uses for everyone else.
Dr. Lee had to know there was something there.
She had to know.
You see more things in the box — the tie he wore to prom, the cuff links you'd given him for your first anniversary during your sophomore year of college. A tube of lipstick in his favorite shade that you used to keep at his apartment, a first-aid kit in a glittery pink case that was half-filled, a gold spoon you had bought at a market and gotten your names engraved into. You had a matching one, tucked in the silverware drawer of your kitchen that you didn't let anyone else touch, much less use.
The mason jar that once held his pens, now gently tucked into another corner of it. It's stuffed with a printed strip and pink yarn, and you see the comic peering at you through the glass — Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson.
It's the Valentine's strip, dated February 14th, 1986 — Susie calls Calvin a baloney brain, and it's the classic, cliché of two kids being mean to one another because they like the other, but you loved it. You'd referenced the comic strip in passing on your first Valentine's Day together, then wound up printing the strip for him, laminating it and gave it to him with his gifts. You'd punched a hole in it and looped a piece of yarn through it, once hot pink and now light, bleached from three years of sun.
You don't know you're holding your breath, tears wetting your lashes — until you hear Mingyu's footsteps approaching quietly, and you force yourself off the ground and back into the chair. You wipe haphazardly at your face, sniffling as he knocks gently, opening the door. You don't look at him, letting your eyes zero in on the pad of sticky notes. There's numbers scribbled around it, math you understood but couldn't pin to an origin.
Your stomach grumbles as he walks past you, and you curse yourself for running low on time and not being able to get anything for dinner.
"Snacks in the bottom cabinet." He taps the desk as he moves around, and you clear your throat as you nod, not moving. He holds his textbook in his hand as he turns back to you, furrowing his brow as he leans over and opens the cabinet, "get something."
"I'm good."
"Your stomach growled."
"I'm just uneasy."
"Cut the shit." He rolls his eyes, grabbing a bag of Goldfish and tossing it in your lap before closing it, "you can have dinner with me and Seok. He's going to make way too much, I know it."
"He always does."
"He means well."
"I know."
His eyes linger on your face, and if he notices your wet lashes, he doesn't say anything.
But you note the way his fingers flex at his side, the way he tongues his cheek and forces himself to look away.
"Let's start with 12.4, yeah? Compliance, Conformity and Obedience."
"No."
"Very funny."
"I seriously cannot believe you're trying to argue this. This isn't an argument!" Mingyu sighs as you pace his bedroom, and you gape at him as you run a hand through your hair.
Seokmin had come in forty minutes prior to the heated conversation with plates, and you and Mingyu ate in silence. Your plates sit on the desk, empty, as you pace his bedroom, your words falling from your mouth as you hit the back of your hand to your palm to emphasize your point.
"There is a difference in obedience brought forth by respect, and one brought forth by fear. It won't have the same connotations or the same results, it will only result in social discomfort."
"I'm not saying there isn't! I'm agreeing with you! But that's not the point!"
"Then what does social loafing have to do with obedience!?"
"Baby, you're taking this all out of context. You're trying to break it down like numbers and that's not how this works," he sighs, rubbing his face. "Social loafing is tied into obedience because it is a form of social influence. Compliance, conformity, all of it, it's influential. You want me to give you answers about who designates positions on power and what makes who an authority figure and I just don't have that context for you."
Your heart is in your throat at the pet name, your breath hitched as you look at him. He crosses his arms, eyes expectant as your own prick with tears. You blink them back, checking your watch to see it's half past eight.
"Okay, cool. Influence." You nod, grabbing your pen and scribbling it into your jumbled notes. You run a hand over your face, "it's late. I should get going."
"It's only eight-thirty."
"Yeah. I overstayed as it is."
He raises a brow as you pack up your journal, reaching for the flashcards you'd half-finished.
"What's this?"
"Key terminology."
"How many do you have left?"
"Uhm, I got halfway before I went to bed." You shrug as he flips through the cards, "vocab on the front, definition and example on the back. They're sectioned off by unit in color, but I jumped around to what I found more interesting and just started working my way around."
"Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love," he nods, holding up the butter yellow flashcard. Your hand tightens around your beg as he flips the card over, his eyes scanning over the diagram you'd doodled with examples. "Companionate love is you and Seokmin?"
"Yes? He's my friend?" You roll your eyes as he nods, biting back his smile as he continues to scan over it.
"Do you agree with Sternberg's theory?" He asks, flicking the card as you nibble on your lip.
"It makes sense."
"It says that healthy relationships must all have commitment, intimacy and passion."
"That's true."
"Well, not when you take into consideration what else is said about the contributing factors. Passion and intimacy for romantic love, but commitment and intimacy for companionate. Do you think that your friendships could have passion, and your romantic relationships couldn't, and still be healthy?" He tilts his head at you, and you clear your throat as you open your mouth to dodge the question, "don't give me bullshit. Use your brain. Explain your thoughts."
You close your mouth, your fingernails digging into your backpack as you swallow hard.
"I think that…context is important." You admit, knowing that the shit-eating grin spreading on his lips will bring back the topic of obedience and your insistence for answers he couldn't give you. "I agree that healthy relationships must all have commitment, intimacy and passion because it's not always romantic. Context is important, because you can take into consideration all the verbiage used."
You step closer, taking the card out of his hand and pointing with your pinky finger, "empty love could be a dead marriage, or two parents who stay together for their kids, or a friendship that only remains because of the history rather than caring at all about each other's lives past what they've lived together."
"And companionate love?"
"Me and Seokmin, you and Seokmin. Our friendship is intimate, because we share vulnerabilities and we are interested in each other's lives. Our friendship is also commitment, because we hang out often and passion doesn't always have to mean…I guess, being hot for one another. It can just be passionate as a noun, passionate as…an adjective rather than a verb."
"What about you and me?" He asks, tilting his head when you realize how close you are to him. Your arm is brushing his shoulder and you're slid between his legs, the denim of his jeans stretched across thick thighs and brushing against the back of your own. You peer at him through your lashes, "what about you and me?"
"Where do we fall on this diagram? Where did we use to fall on this diagram, and where could we be in the future?"
"Is this an appropriate question?"
"Call it real-life application to scholarly subjects."
You tongue your cheek at his quick wit, and you glance at the card.
You were once companionate.
You were also once romantic, even consummate — intimate, passionate, committed.
"I don't think we fall into any of them." You admit slowly, flicking the card. "I think…maybe, at one point, we could've been consummate in a romantic style."
"John Lee has a theory about love, too. He came up with it in '76," he starts, and you peer at him through your lashes as he takes the card back, tracing your penmanship. "It's called the Color Wheel Model of Love, and it originated with three 'colors,' that were meant to be the primaries like red, blue and yellow. He presented Eros, for eroticism. Ludus, for non-committal, and Storge, for natural nurturing."
"Right."
"He later proposed that the primary colors could be combined to create a sort of secondary color. Eros and Ludus would make Mania, so obsession. Pragma was Ludus and Storge, representing realistic love, and Agape was Eros and Storge in the presentation of selfless love."
You raise a brow, "do you just have love theories memorized?"
"My favorite is Elaine Hatfield's, and I use it to argue Sternberg's."
"Let's hear it."
"Hatfield's 1988 theory states that there is two types of love. Compassionate, and passionate." He shrugs, clicking his tongue as he leans back slightly on the stool, "in my opinion, it disproves that all healthy relationships should have commitment, intimacy and passion. It's not passion that they should all have, but compassion. Passion as a noun, and adjective, what say you…it is inherently romantic. It's sexual, it's biological and intense. I can also add that Zick Rubin proposed in 1970 that romantic love is defined by three key characteristics, and one of those is feelings of exclusivity and absorption. So, no. Not all healthy relationships need to contain all three, but subgenres. It's not passion, it's compassion. It's not love, it's respect. It's….context."
You cheeks warm at how his words settle in your stomach, foolishly setting off a flutter and your eyes avoid his as you glance at the card.
"Then where would you put us? Past, present, future."
He whistles, "in all theories?"
"All theories."
"Past, present, or future?"
"Start with past."
"In Rubin's, love. In Lee '76, we were once Storge, and in '77, we became Pragma. In Sternberg, consummate. In Hazan and Shaver's Attachment Theory circa 1987, secure attachment. In Hatfield, compassionate when we were younger, and passionate when we got older." He nods slowly, pressing his lips into a thin line.
You hadn't talked about the break-up, and you've gotten confirmation that he hadn't, either — Seokmin had texted you over the weekend telling you so. You hadn't responded, hoping the idea of Mingyu being hurt would slip from your mind. You couldn't stand thinking of it, much less being the reason behind it.
"What about present?"
"Me or you?"
"…Well, you can't speak for me, can you?"
He chuckles, "true. I think…there is a tertiary color to Lee's theory. I've just made it up on my own, it's nothing set in stone and nothing to write home about…but it's there, somewhere."
"What color?"
"Solum."
You let your tongue peek out to wet your lips, "what secondaries?"
"Mania, and Agape. An obsession and yet, selfless. I've let you be."
"And what does solum mean?"
"It's Latin for lonely."
You tuck your hands in the back pockets of your jeans, and he trills his lips before sucking his teeth. "As for the future?"
"Uh huh?"
"I think Sternberg might have my ass in the bag."
"How so?"
"I think…empty love." He nods, "maybe fatuous love, if the passion was compassion…because you cannot have that passion without connection."
Your heart sinks in your chest, and he looks at you with a soft smile, "so you see how context is important?"
"You're a shithead."
"And you want to argue the fundamentals of the brain. Study law, not physics."
He shrugs, holding the card back out to you. You take it gingerly, biting your tongue as you tuck it back into the spot in the stack where it belonged, but you couldn't bring yourself to let it go.
"I disagree with you, actually." You say suddenly, "I don't think that all of this shit matters when it comes to you and me. The context around our lives is enough to show that none of it is true, anyway."
"Okay," he nods, wrapping his fingers around the edge of the stool as he tilts his head at you, "how so?"
"It's not about psychology, or 'theories', or prosocial whatever the fuck." You roll your eyes, and he snorts as you pace once more. Three steps away, turn, three steps back. "It's about context."
"That's what I said."
"Said, not proved."
"And you're going to prove it?"
You huff, rounding the edge of his bed and pulling the box of collectibles out from under his night table. His eyes widen, his shoulders stiff as you set the box on his bed, opening the cardboard flaps before reaching in and pulling out the mason jar.
"Exhibit A of Y/N's Context Theory." You hold it up, before your fingernail taps the Chococat and Badtz-Maru sticker. "I got this custom made for you. I chose all these stickers, I gave you this jar with pudding in it that I made out of love for you, consummate love, 'I want to get in your pants' love. In turn, you showed your appreciation by re-purposing the cup and putting your pens in it. Where are the pens? Why is it in the box?"
He shifts, "because I—"
"Because you don't love me anymore. So to use it would be to contribute to your ideation of empty love between us." You interrupt him, and set the jar on desk with a gentle clink. You pull out the cuff links and tie, "exhibit B. I had my initials embroidered into this tie for our prom night. I had these cuff links specially made, and now they're sitting in a box. If there's no one else, why aren't you wearing them?"
"Well, I—"
"Because you don't love me anymore."
His brows furrow, but you keep going — the Smiskis, the origami, the Calvin and Hobbes Valentine's Day comic strip, even flipping through the photo albums and detailing the context behind every photo that you randomly landed on…
And finally, you pull out the box of letters. It's heavy from all the folded papers, and you pull it open to display the different colored pages of stationery. Some Sanrio, some notebook paper, some even from his sketchbook from high school when he used to draw in his free time. You pull one out, "you hide these. There is years of history here, of emotion, of commitment, of passion. You used to have my first letter to you framed on your dresser."
"You left me." He says softly, his eyes scanning across almost all the memories he'd collected of you both throughout the years. He glances back up at you, "you left. Why would I frame it? To keep hurting myself? To miss you when I knew you weren't missing me?"
"Anyone else would've fought for me."
"Anyone else wouldn't know you the way I do."
He's standing now, sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans as as you huff, tears burning in the back of your eyes. He tilts his head at you, "you left."
"I know I did."
"Why?" His voice is gentle, leaning slightly closer. "And don't say things were moving too fast or that they were too serious. Don't say I was too much. Give me a real reason."
"That is a real reason." You grouse, running a hand over your face, "we're young. We're too young. Life is…fickle, at this age. You could find someone else. Want something new…yearn to explore."
He laughs humorlessly, sitting on the stool again as he shakes his head.
"I've been in love with you since I was six years old. Why would I suddenly up and decide you're not what I want?"
"You said you wanted to be a lawyer since you found out what it was, and now you're studying psychology. You can change your mind, so don't act coy."
"Not about you," he shakes his head, "never about you. It's always going to be you for me."
"How can you be so sure? Because of a love letter I wrote when I was sixteen?"
"Because you're the only person in my life that has ever had altruistic motives, and only when we were sixteen did you realize that it was always going to be you and me."
You blink as he shrugs, "everything you've ever done for me has made me who I am. You've molded me, guided me, helped me even when it didn't benefit you. You are the reason I am who I am, that I'm confident in my decisions, that I carry myself the way I do. You are everything I am, and this conversation is what we call central route persuasion. You want to say that I can change my mind about a career choice, and I can. You want to say that anyone else could've fought for you, and they could've. But I know you, and I know that you left because you were in your own head. And you don't want anyone in your way when you're like that, including me. You'll say things you don't mean and cut ties just to come right back and apologize later. Sometimes it's too late, sometimes it's too soon…"
He trails off, glancing at all the items you've taken out of the box. His eyes land on the custom figurine of Chococat and Badtz-Maru hugging, made of thick clay and glossed with resin — and he clicks his tongue.
"But it's always the right time with me. I know you. I know you're smart and capable and the sweetest person ever, and I know you didn't mean it. I never thought it would go that far, but like I said…it's you. I've known you my entire life. Even when I thought I'd be a lawyer and when you said you wanted to try for a doctorate. Even when you used to shove dirt in my face in preschool. Even when you try to argue things that are second nature to human beings like it can be avoided, when we're all different…but even then, you don't change. You don't change. You're always going to be Y/N and I'm always going to know your next move because I was made to love you. I don't know if there's psychology behind that but that's my life, my purpose. That's what I was born to do. If loving you, being yours completely…if being who I am meant to be in your life were a job, I'd be rich. But I already am, I always have been. The moment I met you, I had everything I could've ever wanted, needed, and you know that."
You don't realize you're crying until you sniffle, blowing a breath out through your lips. The photo albums are sprawled open on his bed, showing various pictures at different times in your life — junior prom in your matching pink dress and tie, your first date in your hometown's oldest ice cream parlor (where you accidentally spilled your milkshake and Mingyu gave you his, only to use what you now know as the foot-in-door technique to get a kiss out of it. You hadn't cared. It was sweet and cute and his lips were soft from years of stealing your lip balm.)
"So argue with me all you want, but that will never change." He shakes his head, gently gathering the things you'd taken out and putting some of them on his desk. He moves his pens back into the mason jar, he slots the photo albums between two bookends that held Women Who Run With The Wolves by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés, All About Love by Bell Hooks…
A handmade journal you'd given him for his eighteenth birthday, made from recycled paper you'd dried yourself and an oil cloth cover, baby blue with a bird's eye pattern. The twine was dyed cobalt blue, staining your fingers for weeks but tied into cute bows and you'd written him yet another love letter — because it was before you knew whether or not you'd be going to the same universities.
You'd asked him to write down something for you every day. That you'd read them when you came home for breaks or for summer vacation, that you'd miss him if he went somewhere else but you hoped in your heart that you both got into SNU so you could 'keep loving him, even if you'd still love him with kilometers of distance between you.'
"What if—"
"No what ifs, Y/N."
He moves around, arranging things silently as you watch, letting the tears drip down your cheeks. He sets the Smiski figurines on his floating shelves, he moves his pictures around, displaying you and him closer to the front. He takes Chococat and Badtz-Maru and puts them on his night stand, he slides the box of love letters into his drawer and pulls out a picture frame — gold, oval-shaped, and holding your very first love letter to him. Folded over and over, creases wearing through your penmanship but standing the test of time.
The blue check mark mocks you as you glance at it.
"There's no what ifs with you and me." He says gently, taking the now empty box and carefully peeling the tape off the bottom. He crumples it, tossing it into his trash can and breaking the box down fully. He slots it along his recycling bin, before looking over at you. "And I know you know that."
You huff, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes and letting more hot tears coat your skin. They slip beneath the strap of your worn leather watch — a gift from Mingyu. They stream down the side of your face and drip onto your shirt — once Mingyu's. They slip down your neck, meeting the thin gold chain of the necklace that held a small initial — a letter M, and next to it, a gold signet ring he'd given you for your birthday many years ago. It didn't fit anymore, but it was yours. And it was his, and he was yours.
He is yours.
Always has been. Always will be.
"But what if—"
"Shut up." His hands are warm against your cheeks, squishing them gently as he swipes his thumbs under your eyes, "just shut up."
"I'm sor—"
"Shh."
He pulls you into his chest, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as you wrap your arms around him tightly. His hand is soothing on your back, sliding up and down as he rests his cheek on the top of your head. Your chest is warm as you let your eyes close, and Mingyu presses a tentative kiss on your hairline before pulling away.
"Just come back when you're ready. I'll be here." He whispers, squeezing the back of your neck lightly. "No apologies, no questions, just come home."
Seokmin ends up knocking on the door before you can say anything else, and offers you a lift home because Soonyoung asked him to go over and you both live in the same complex.
He doesn't question the embrace.
He knows. He has to know.
You quickly grab your stuff as Seokmin says he'll wait for you in the car, grabbing your empty plates off the desk and shutting the door behind him. Mingyu busies himself putting things away, clicking around his laptop and pulling a pen out of the mason jar and dragging it across the calendar.
"Thursday at six?" He asks over his shoulder, tapping the scratched out date. You barely glance up, "not for a study session, no."
"I can try for Wednesday, but I have a lab until seven-thirty."
"Didn't ask for Wednesday night."
"Y/N, work with me here."
You roll your eyes, pulling your bag over your shoulder and sidling up next to him. Tonguing your cheek, you tap the scratched square with your fingernail, "scratching it out doesn't make it go away."
"Easier not to see it."
"You always did like to plan ahead."
You take the pen from him, uncapping it and moving to the Notes at the bottom of the page.
Thurs. 28th: Y/N ♡ 5:30.
"I'll be here. I want you in the pink button up with the white pants you wore on your birthday last year." You mumble, shoving the pen back in the mason jar and making your way back to the door. He doesn't move, his eyes glued to the note. Your hand is wrapped around the doorknob, but you sigh, walking back to him and cupping his jaw gently. He spares you a glimpse, and you give him a pointed look, "pink button up—"
"White pants, I got it."
"Just making sure."
You pat his cheek, your own warming as he leans into it. His eyes are staring right into you, "not my jeans?"
"I'll kill you."
"What about the tan chinos? You love those."
"Do you hate me?"
He's closer now, carefully caging you in against his desk as he peers at you through his lashes, "you know I don't."
"You called me baby earlier."
"You called me a shithead."
You press your lips to his, the soft scent of his cologne filling your nose as he pulls you close, his arms wrapped around your waist as he kisses you back carefully. Your fingers slip down his face, gripping the collar of his SNU sweatshirt as he lets the kiss grow eager, licking into your mouth and sliding his hands to your hips, sitting you on the edge of his desk and wedging himself between your knees.
"I love you," you mutter into his mouth, earning a whine as he buried his face in your neck. His grip on your hips loosened, sliding down your thighs and squeezing almost painfully, "I love you, Mingyu."
"Again."
"I love you."
"One more."
"I love you, I love you, I love you," you press your lips to his cheek, his temple, his eyebrow. "I'll see you on Thursday. Pink shirt, white pants, okay?"
"Are you sure I can't sell you on the tan chinos?" He mumbles against your neck, kissing the skin faintly before he presses his forehead to yours. You shake your head, a smile tugging on the corners of your lips, "or the jeans, sorry."
"Lame," he mumbles, "I miss you. I love you."
"Even when I argue with the fundamentals of the brain?"
"Even when you snoop through my things."
"Box said my name."
"So does my heart, but you're not equipped to cut it out of my chest, are you?" He raises a brow, and you tongue your cheek as he grins, "are you, Dr. L/N?"
"Dr. L/N-Kim is not equipped, no. She's a physicist," you feign a grimace as you nod, patting his shoulder as his cheeks tinge pink, "not a medical doctor. Sorry if you thought cardiothoracic surgery was her specialty."
"Can't you stay?" He mumbles against your lips, and you shake your head, "if I say something cynical, how likely are you to be mad?"
"If you say some shit like distance makes the-"
"Distance does make the heart grow fonder."
"That's not even psychologically correct."
"No," you nip at his lower lip, earning a pout as you kiss the spot gently. "I don't hate you and it may not be psychologically proven, but…it is scientific theory that quantum entanglement exists. Particles, in this case, you and me…they interact, and their states are linked so much that you can't tell one apart from the other. Observing one means you automatically know the state of the other."
"You're so annoying."
"And yet, we are entangled."
He rolls his eyes, slotting his lips with yours momentarily before pressing his forehead against yours, "don't leave me again. I almost died and then you'd be shit out of luck for a cool boyfriend that loves you."
"Cool?"
"You broke my heart, you can cut me some slack and say I'm cool."
You grin, "Seokmin's waiting on me."
"Y/N."
"Don't like that one."
"Baby."
"Mmh, I love that one." You nod, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips as he pulls at your belt loops. "Overall, I'm sorry. I do get kind of lost in my own head and I always think the solution is to be alone but it only really makes it worse. You'd think I'd stop doing it but it's…a bad habit. What does psychology say about that?"
"That humans are creatures of habit, and we fall into loops." His fingers tuck under your shirt, shaking his head as you give him a warning look. He settles them against your skin, rubbing circles into it, "and we break bad habits by actively engaging in the things that we're avoiding by using those bad habits. So instead of holing yourself away, next time…just talk to me."
"I'm very bad at that."
"I know, but I'll never shut you down. You know that."
"You love me, right? Even if I have bad habits and I won't take your last name?"
"I'll take yours," he shrugs, squeezing your hips under his hands. "I love you, you know that. I love you, I'm in love with you, I love hearing you talk about quantum mechanics like it's the easiest thing in the world."
"It is."
"Everything's easy for you."
"Including you?"
"Alright," he rolls his eyes, scoffing as his ears tinge pink, "Seokmin's waiting for you."
"You were just trying to get me to stay over!"
"No, I merely asked if you couldn't. And I never said we'd sleep together if you could."
You only smile, running your hands up his arms and squeezing his biceps, "I'll see you on Thursday."
"Can I make a request on wardrobe, too?"
"No," you press a kiss to his forehead, "I'll wear what I want and you'll tell me I look pretty before I talk your ear off about string theory over dinner."
"Wasn't it proven false?"
"Not yet, but it's theoretical physics. It's meant to be challenged."
"…Maybe I am easy for you."
"I love you," you pat his shoulders with a laugh, before he pouts. "I'll see you on Thursday, Mingyu."
"Bug."
"I'll see you on Thursday, bug."
"Don't be late, baby."
THURSDAY CAME AND WENT, AND SO DID YOUR CHAPTER TEST.
You weren't sure how you did. You didn't know how to ask Mingyu, either — watching him silently start grading your test after dismissing you with a polite smile on his lips.
Lips you'd kissed all Thursday night and well into Friday morning, lips that you apologized against for hours until those same lips that granted you forgiveness as he lowered his head between your thighs — making you talk about the significance of the amplituhedron in quantum physics through quipped breaths and whines.
It's Saturday, and you're sitting on his lap while he puts in grades. He didn't let you face the screen, because, in his words — it's already unfair that you're sucking face with the TA.
"Am I next?" You asked for the umpteenth time, your fingers tracing the waffle knit of his shirt. He laughed, his chest moving your head as you smacked his shoulder, "it's not funny! You can tell me! I'll act surprised when Dr. Lee pulls me aside and tells me I failed. A big, fat F in purple pen and maybe some pity points for my essay question."
"Mmh, why would she do that?"
"So I passed?"
"I can't tell you, baby."
You groaned as he chuckled again, his hand splaying across your back as you pouted into his shirt, "consummate love, my ass."
He pinches your hip, making you squeal as you bat his hand away. A kiss is planted on your hairline, "I'll tell you in exchange for a favor."
"Nice try, foot-in-door technique is not gonna work so well now, Mr. Kim."
"Dr. L/N-Kim, actually."
"Are you trying to turn me on right now?"
He hums, a smug smile on his lips as he continues putting in grades quietly. Your phone buzzes on the desk, but he slides it across the desk so you can't reach it before closing his laptop and giving you his full attention. His hands are snug around your thighs as he gives them a soft squeeze, "you have to stop thinking the worst. You're very smart."
"Obviously," you roll your eyes, "but what if—"
"You got a B." He interrupts, and your eyes widen before you throw your arms around his neck with a cheer. "I didn't grade it, so you can't call me biased."
"Dr. Lee graded it?" You try to mask the disappointment in your voice, but he smiles softly, "she had to grade it because of your essay question."
You peer at him through your lashes, playing with the buttons of his cardigan as you nibble on your lip.
"…Did you read it?"
"Of course I did."
He reaches behind you, opening his desk drawer and pulling out a rectangular frame — it matches the frame that holds your first love letter, and this one holds a scan of your essay question…including Dr. Lee's comment at the very top in swirled script and red pen under the Commentary section, and minus two points.
Commentary: Typically, I'd take five points off for going over the word limit. However, I think you and Mingyu will go very far…and it is clear I made an excellent choice picking him for your tutoring sessions. Congratulations, and good luck.
Q: Use what you learned from the text to describe what influences relationships to be formed, and use an example from your personal life — friendships, partnerships, etc., in 300 words or less. Opinions are welcomed.
A: Context is what sparks the formation and growth of a relationship. Perhaps not in terms of psychology, but also in it. In my case, I grew up with the TA for this course. I was his friend for eighteen years, and I unknowingly made him the man he's grown to be. Eventually, we progressed into a romantic relationship. I ended things, with no context and not a care of how it would affect him, or worse — me. Perhaps this is also a love letter to him, one of many he's received throughout the years…and an apology, one that he deserves and I'll forever proclaim.
Just as long as I've grown up with Mingyu, he's grown up with me. He's been a deciding factor of every part of my life, he's picked up on my cues, on my mannerisms, on every bad habit I have and has constantly called me to the carpet about them. He's helped me become a better person, both alone and by his side, and has never made me feel like an extension of him. The context of me — my need to be seen as an individual, my need to be taken seriously, my need to be understood as smart and capable and creative…he has respected it all. He has fed it all, he's worded every part of me that could ever be explained and he's done it properly without ever expecting anything in return. Altruistically, Mingyu has held me in high standards and praised me in even higher regards…and I could never be fully worthy of his compassion, but he makes that thought melt away easily.
When it comes to love…I used to say I agreed with Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love. I disagree now. I think that all healthy relationships come with passion, intimacy, commitment…compassion and context. And all the context you need to know about me when it comes to relationships is that I love Kim Mingyu.
"You're a sap, you know that?" He murmurs against your hair, and you only smile as you feel him pepper his lips down the side of your face, "you, Dr. L/N-Kim, love Kim Mingyu."
"I do, bug."
"I know, baby. I love you."
"…So you're easy for me?"
"…Yeah. So easy."
maybe i lied to you when i said i don’t get emotional over media consumption. or maybe it’s just because you’re such a talented author (it’s both) WHY IS MC SO ME are you sitting outside my window.. (i nearly flunked the first half of high school psychology, i’m just so bad at it guys, but me n my twin mc both passed in the end heh) “take the chair it’s better for your back” this mc stronger than me i would’ve kissed him right there and then tbh :3 he’s soo sweet on her even though she dumped him. mc also twinning with me with the subtle avoidant attachment issues…i understand her she is me i am her okay. (also i like how they go to snu. smart children) this fic is genuinely encouraging me to stay in school DO YOU LOVE ME OR SMT ALL MY FAVOURITE GENRES, academic setting (love love love rivals/forced tutoring), exes to lovers (or wtv they ended up as), angst with happy ending and a smidge of suggestiveness I CANT TAKE IT 10K WORDS ALL FOR MEE?? OH MY GODDDS (also you’re genuinely never exiting gyudaengie central. when i first discovered you there was a SINGULAR mingyu fic and now theres like 6 or 7. i’m not brainrotted i swear that’s acc the number.)
edit: hm of mc being my twin is when mingyu calls her out for analyzing psychology like its numbers. *that* is exactly why i almost flunked first semester of hs psych.
as usual my favourite part was as follows:
"But it's always the right time with me. I know you. I know you're smart and capable and the sweetest person ever, and I know you didn't mean it. I never thought it would go that far, but like I said…it's you. I've known you my entire life. Even when I thought I'd be a lawyer and when you said you wanted to try for a doctorate. Even when you used to shove dirt in my face in preschool. Even when you try to argue things that are second nature to human beings like it can be avoided, when we're all different…but even then, you don't change. You don't change. You're always going to be Y/N and I'm always going to know your next move because I was made to love you. I don't know if there's psychology behind that but that's my life, my purpose. That's what I was born to do. If loving you, being yours completely…if being who I am meant to be in your life were a job, I'd be rich. But I already am, I always have been. The moment I met you, I had everything I could've ever wanted, needed, and you know that."
i sobbed literal tears by the way he’s so gentle and soft and reassuring yet firm please send a kim mingyu my way. this moment where he’s gently breaking her from her rant like that is my favourite ‘confessional-ish’ like moment in media and YOU DID ITTT. i can’t stop cry-smiling so help me. oh my gattos he is such a gentle man (also f!receiving. girl ik thats right.) beautiful beautiful beautiful i loved all 10k of this masterpiece, and thank you for working so hard during the holidays!! i need to desperately get on a new fic rec post for specific members but the urge to do mingyu again because you’ve been spoiling gyudaengie central so much recently is INCREDIBLY tempting much gratitude, appreciation and love sent your way!!
p.s. the concept of a 6’2 man w/ 60cm shoulders and casual dominance being called bug? i love it. ok im gonna continue crying to this beautiful fic that i still can’t believe is dedicated to me. bai.
— synopsis: your field of expertise is physics, not psychology and definitely not the misery of breakups...but kim mingyu's field of expertise? you, you, always you — and the art of context clues.
– genre: exes to ??? ; angst, fluff, slightly suggestive.
— pairing: psychology major!kim mingyu x physics major!fem!reader
– word count: 10k
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warnings: swearing, mentions of food and eating, breakups. hardly suggestive but a mention of non-descriptive oral.
— what to listen to: something in the way - jorja smith ; something in the orange - zach bryan ; when you're gone - avril lavigne ; dear my light - dawn.
– author’s note: [special thanks to @/saradika here on tumblr for these lovely snowflake dividers!] 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 @kmgswrld! yuasa, you came to me at a very odd point in my life that i was not expecting, but i have grown very fond of interacting with you. i hope you know that you are very loved and very important, and i dedicate my last mingyu fic of 2025 to you! happy haolidays, yuasa! i love you!
"SURELY, YOU MUST BE JOKING."
Your professor seems unimpressed as she looks at you with a raised brow. You're holding a mandatory tutoring form in your hand, the paper still warm from the printer. Her eyes are serious as she taps it with the end of her pen, "Mingyu is available Tuesdays and Thursdays. He's your best bet, Miss Y/N."
"I'd rather drop the damn class," you blurt, frustration festering in your stomach as you run your hand through your hair, squeezing your eyes shut, "I don't mean that, I'm sorry. I'm very grateful you let me take a spot in your classroom."
"Y/N, it's tutoring and it's only for Chapter 12. It's not the end of the world, and you need a little help. It happens, nothing to be embarrassed by." She speaks gently, before holding a card out to you between her fingers. Mingyu's name and phone number is printed across it in navy blue ink, stark against the white card stock.
"The tutoring isn't the problem," you mumble inwardly as you take the card, but you don't need it. You've had Mingyu's phone number memorized since you were teenagers, and it's still saved in your phone all these years later.
And six months after your breakup.
You don't even know why you did it. You don't know why you pulled the plug, you just remember the shit excuses falling from your lips as the burning summer sun beat down on your back. You left for vacation with your family the next day, crying your eyes out the entire time and holing yourself up in the hotel room for hours until it was time to go back home.
And there was no Mingyu to run to.
It's too serious, you had said. We're moving too fast, you argued.
You'd been together for nearly three years. You'd been good friends since you were kids, and he was the very first person that wasn't your family that got your phone number when you got your first phone back in freshman year of high school. He was the first everything — first love, first kiss, first boyfriend.
You had intended for him to be the last, too. The only, even.
Kim Mingyu is The One.
Or was, rather.
You don't know what he's up to these days. You sit awkwardly in the back of the lecture hall, sandwiched between two of the soccer players and hoping they'll hide you. They never have paper and are always taking your pens, but you'd rather that than ever make eye contact with Mingyu again.
Because you know you're weak. You're weak when it comes to him, you'll fold like a house of cards and break down right in front of him. You'd apologize over and over and it would be of no use because, well, you have pride…even if he's worn it thin with his gentle affection, showing you that you don't need to deprive yourself of things you want or love for the sake of holding your head too high.
Him included, but that's the past, now.
What's worse is that you know he's exactly the same, if not weaker. He's just as soft hearted, just as easy to break as you are — but he's Mingyu. He knows you, and he knows that somewhere, in the depths of you, there is that fear. Fear of being seen as just his girlfriend, fear of being perceived as something you're not — weak, docile, whatever makes you feel less than a person.
Mingyu himself has never made you feel that way, and he's swiftly turned his back on anyone in his life that has tried to do that to you. He held you in high standards, higher regards — you were smart and capable, studious and working on a strict schedule to keep your life working smoothly. No dates during the week. No distractions. You were a person, a daughter, a student before you were his girlfriend.
You were his friend before you were his girlfriend.
And now, you're nothing.
Well, not nothing. Nothing besides two people who once knew each other, almost at a molecular level — that now sit fifty feet away from one another every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from two to four since the beginning of the semester.
Mentor and mentee, apparently. Tutor and student, Jedi and Padawan.
"Thanks, Dr. Lee. I'll…be sure to reach out to Mingyu by the end of the week."
"No need, I've emailed him already. He'll be reaching out to you shortly to discuss your schedules. Have a good day, Y/N. Keep working hard."
You smile tightly, the paper crumpling slightly under your fingers as you nod before turning on your heel and making your way out of the lecture hall. You can feel your throat tight, tears starting to sting your eyes, but you blink them back as they try to blur your vision. You skirt around groups of people, couples walking together, wanting to feel the chill of the fall air settling into your your bones as the tears start dripping down your cheeks.
You're grateful you don't feel the buzz of your phone in your pocket as you barrel down the steps of the front hall.
NEW! 2 Messages From: Mingyu 💘
[4:32 PM] Dr. Lee emailed me. 6-8 on Thursday works @ your place or mine. If mine, don't be late.
[4:32 PM] And…you should've told me first. I would've helped you without her interference.
Mingyu's apartment is warm when you arrive the following Thursday. Seokmin opens the door; being yet another counterpart of Mingyu's that you'd befriended during high school and one of his roommates, he knew all about your history. He shook his head silently, giving you a one-armed hug as he let you slip inside the living room. He took your coat as you toed your shoes off, he offered water that you declined, gesturing at the Yeti Rambler bottle in your hand…before pointing you in the direction of Mingyu's room.
"He got back maybe an hour ago. Good luck, rockstar." He ruffled your hair, before taking a seat on the couch and picking his laptop back up. You swallowed hard, taking a deep breath as you rocked on your heels, closing your eyes and making your way down the hall. You hadn't been to this apartment yet, they'd moved when you left for vacation and were settled by the time you got back.
You're sure his bedroom walls have seen many tears since then.
Maybe a girl or two.
You hoped not.
You raise your hand to knock, only for your soft taps to push the door open. He doesn't look up, nibbling on his lip as he punches numbers into his calculator. He's surrounded by open books, notepads, pens that have long run dry. His room still smells faintly of his cologne from earlier in the morning, the scent permeated into the walls and everything within them.
He's still dressed from wherever he came from — jean jacket resting nicely on his shoulders, sunglasses perched on his head before he runs his hand through his hair and takes them off. He tosses them onto his bed, the honeyed slope of his neck illuminated by the lamp on his desk and you think you're going to throw up.
You knock harder, his eyes immediately moving to the door and spotting you.
"I didn't hear you the first time, sorry."
You press your lips into a thin line, nodding your head as you push the door open. Your grip on your bottle is tight as you step in silently, and he stands up, slotting bookmarks into his pages and closing the textbooks, sliding them elsewhere and clearing the space for you to fit into it. You swallow again, your throat unbearably dry as he moves past you, closing the door. His cologne floats up your nose as he grabs a folded stool from behind it, and you reach your hand out to take it.
He shakes his head, "take the chair. Better for your back."
"My back is fine," your voice is almost too soft for him to hear, but he only rolls his eyes as he rolls it closer to you, pointing at the seat like you're a child. You chew on your cheek as you tentatively pull the chair to you, sitting on the edge of it and pulling your backpack off. You settle your bottle between your legs as he keeps moving around, and you see the textbook that was currently weighing your bag down in his hand.
"She said you are having trouble with…." He scrolls on his laptop, clicking around before pulling up Dr. Lee's email containing your tutoring form, "chapter twelve."
He glances at you, a brow raised as you force yourself to stare at the jar of pens on his desk. A mason jar covered in Sanrio stickers — you'd given it to him for an anniversary. There was a special sticker you'd had custom made by someone on Etsy: Chococat and Badtz-Maru hugging, and a stamp of I love you, bug! in your handwriting pasted by the artist.
You and him.
"Chapter twelve." He repeats, and you nod silently, moving to pull your backpack off and pull out a new deck of flashcards. "It's just vocabulary. I know the material."
"If you don't know the vocabulary, you can't fully understand the material."
"Mingyu, I'm not stupid. The chapter is just about forming interpersonal relationships and attraction and love. It's not rocket science."
"First of all, I never said or insinuated that you're stupid, so watch your tone." He speaks lowly, and you feel your cheeks hot as he perches on the edge of the stool. He's almost too close to you, but not enough that you can justify scooting back. "Second of all, if it were rocket science, you wouldn't need my help. You would've figured it out."
"I don't need your help—"
"You're wasting time. Do you want to pass the chapter test or do you want to keep bickering?"
"What, you have plans?" You roll your eyes, your nail moving to break the plastic wrap around the deck of flashcards as he nods, "yes."
You feel your heart sink slightly, but you shrug as you tear into the deck and crumple the wrapper in your hand. You tuck it into the trash can under his desk before fishing a notebook out of your backpack. You glance at the jar of pens again, but opt to dig into your bag for one instead. You click the end, "where are we starting?"
He shrugs, "write down what you struggle with the most and give me the page. I'll have something for you next week. Focus on the chapter units rather than what's in them when you're doing most to least, and we'll talk about the contents in person."
"This could've been an email." You scoff, and he nods, "it could have, but it's not. So just write it down and I'll come up with a plan. Your test is next Friday, so we can do…"
He peers at the calender above his desk, humming as he drums his fingers against the page he's open to — Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love.
"We can do Tuesday. We might be able to do Thursday but I'll have to see how the week progresses. If push comes to shove I can see you on…Wednesday, but it'll either be really late or really early and that's my last resort." He nods, and you glance at the calendar. He's got things marked off, a few birthdays scribbled in…
You look at the date — Thursday, the twenty-first. There's a diagonal line across it, with TA 6-8 on the top and S :) 8:30 on the bottom.
He's seeing someone else.
You know he is, because he used to mark off your dates that way, too. Well, yours usually had a scribbled heart, but you're sure it won't be long before a smile becomes a heart.
"I'll just text you." You mumble, shoving your things back into your backpack and hurriedly pulling it over your shoulder. Your stomach hurts as you glance at the jar of pens again, feeling your nose burn as you push out of the chair, and you hear him sigh as you grab his doorknob.
"Y/N, what is the problem?" He asks softly, and you let out a humorless laugh as you pull the door open.
"I'll see you later, Gyu." The nickname falls from your lips as you shake your head, a tear slipping down your face as you practically bolt down the hall. Seokmin is in the kitchen, and you call a stout goodbye before grabbing your shoes and slink out the front door.
You don't know that Mingyu immediately walks out of his bedroom with tears in his eyes, looking for Seokmin. He just sighs, pulling Mingyu into a hug as he holds your water bottle in his hand — a water bottle he had given you, now covered with more Chococat and Badtz-Maru stickers and a faded customer sticker of his name on the edge.
You only feel the stabbing pain of gravel digging into your socked feet as you hold your high tops in your hand, sprinting out of his apartment complex and down the road to yours. Your vision is blurry and your breathing is choppy but you don't care, and the buzz of your phone is once more unfelt in your pocket.
NEW! 2 Messages From: Mingyu 💘
[6:49 PM] You left your water bottle here. I'll leave it with Seokmin in case you come back to pick it up tonight.
[6:57 PM] And for the record, S is Seungcheol. See you on Tuesday.
THE WEEKEND FLEW BY, AND YOU ARE CURRENTLY SITTING ON THE STEPS OF MINGYU'S COMPLEX — TEN MINUTES BEFORE YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO MEET HIM.
You had emailed him your list, and CC'd Dr. Lee so you could hold yourself accountable.
I was instructed to rank the Ch. 12 Social Psych subunits from most understood to least. I've CC'd Dr. Lee in case she would like to weigh in with any suggestions.
I spent the weekend reviewing key terms and am confident with the vocabulary, as well as most of the review questions in the back of the textbook. Thank you for your time.
Y/N L/N
Senior | Applied Physics
Department of Physics and Astronomy
010-0406-1997
Mingyu did not reply to your email, his Outlook status set as Offline.
You hadn't texted him back or bothered to return for your bottle of water either, despite the slight comfort of knowing that S wasn't a girl. You were too embarrassed, and now you were too early to knock and ask to be let in. You were too early to face him, and a part of you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You glanced at your watch, having set a timer for it to beep at five minutes to six — and you sigh, glumly resting your cheek in your palm and closing your eyes.
"Why are you down here? It's cold."
Mingyu's voice startles you, and you jump, your hand flying to your chest as you open your eyes wide to see him holding two bags of groceries. Seokmin is behind him, brows raised as you quickly stood up, careful not to stumble.
"Well, clearly neither of you were home."
"I texted you that we kept the spare under the doormat?"
You feel your cheeks hot, "yeah, well. It's your house, not mine."
He rolls his eyes, motioning for you to head up the stairs. You scramble up, making yourself useful and unlocking the door for them. You step out of their way, clearing your throat as they set everything down and Seokmin stops Mingyu from going back downstairs, a stern look in his eyes as he ducks out the front door.
"I…can go, if you guys are going to have dinner. Don't let me keep you." You blindly set their spare key on the table behind you, but Mingyu shakes his head as he unpacks things. Bread, eggs, a gallon of milk, "you can go get settled. I'll be right there, it's Seokmin's turn anyway."
Your hands clench at your sides as you toe your shoes off, carefully placing them on the rack before bowing your head and making your way to his bedroom. Your heart clenches as you slowly open his door, hearing Seokmin coming back up and asking whether you'd be staying for dinner just as you slide into the room.
"I'm not sure," Mingyu replies, and you close the door behind you.
More rustling is heard as you settle in the chair, setting the stool out for him and opening your textbook. You glance at his calendar, nothing else added but you…
And your anniversary, scratched out.
If you looked any closer, you would've seen the hearts doodled around your name in pink pen. Three year anniversary, gone. Like the wind.
You tongued your cheek, a pout threatening its way onto your lips as your throat started to burn. You cleared it, shakily digging your items out of your bag and splaying everything out. You opened your textbook, you carefully stacked your unfinished flashcards (because you attempted to spend the weekend studying, but every swirl of your pen reminded you of him.)
Him, him, every single time. Every click.
Everything.
"It's going to be fine," you murmured to yourself, pulling your journal out and flipping to a fresh page.
The mason jar of pens isn't where it was on Thursday.
In fact, it's nowhere to be seen.
You still, your thumb still clicking your pen as your eyes move around the room. Superman figurines despite your insistence that Mingyu could so be a Nightwing. Photo frames holding pictures of his sister and his family, of him and Seokmin, of him and Wonwoo and Seokmin…
One singular photo of you and him — seven years old, missing your front teeth and popsicles melting down your hands. His green, yours red, and the frame read the pet names you'd adopted for one another — bug and baby.
He was bug. At six feet, two inches...Kim Mingyu was your bug.
It was funny to think about.
You don't see any of the trinkets you'd gotten him over the years, but you see a small box tucked into the corner of his bedroom. The tape is peeled up, like he's opened and closed it — and it's hid under his bedside table. You glance at the door, hearing Mingyu and Seokmin banging around in the kitchen. Your phone buzzes on the desk, and you grab it as you slowly scoot the chair back, making room to stand up.
NEW! Message From: Mingyu 💘
[6:12 PM] I'll be right there, I'm just giving Seokmin instructions. Sorry for the wait.
You only give him a thumbs up, tossing your phone on the table quickly and making your way over to the box. You stay alert, only peeking in carefully and seeing everything.
Three small, thick photo albums detailing your relationship and some of your years growing up together. A small crate of figurines — another custom Chococat and Badtz-Maru, a handful of Smiskis you'd given him when you didn't get the one you wanted in your blind boxes, and a bunch of paper stars and miscellaneous origami you'd folded up and given him during your old study sessions. There's another box, covered in faded lipstick marks from you, the lid slightly off center and you know it holds all the love letters you'd given him over the years.
You know he still holds onto the very first one you'd ever given him, when you were both sixteen and juniors in high school. He'd had it framed in his last apartment, and kept it on his dresser. Said he read it every morning.
Kim Mingyu!
Today is our first day of school and I'm writing this in Econ (you're sitting three seats away because you were late, bug!) You look kinda cute…I guess.
Okay, not 'I guess.'
But it's always just been you and me, right? Us, together. Thank you for being my best friend and not making fun of me when I make mistakes. I also appreciate that you tell me I'm cool :) I hope you still think I'm super duper cool when you're marrying me in six years time.
Actually, no. I'd say…nine years. We'll be out of grad school by then, and who knows…I could be getting a doctorate. Dr. L/N-Kim, eh? Pretty cute, right?
Dr. Y/N L/N-Kim and Kim Mingyu, Esq.
We're gonna be soooo cool and our kids are gonna think we're soooo gross.
Anyway, I'm not yoinking your last name. I would've earned the degree, not you :P but…I love you. And I hope you're in my life even then, even if nothing moves further between us. I know you won't make it weird if you don't feel the same way, too, which makes it easier. You always make my life easier, but you don't let me win and that's the fun of it all, isn't it? A cushion that softens the blow of a still hard fall.
Anyway, I hope junior year rocks. And I hope you know you suck for being late and sitting so far away. Don't be late tomorrow! I can feel you staring at me (timestamp: 12:22PM.) I snuck my headphones in, and I'm listening to I'm Gonna Win by Foreigner because I promise you, you're not getting that valedictorian spot. It's mine, Kim.
I'll see you after school, bug. Don't read this around your friends! I mean it! >:(
Love you, bug. XOXO.
Y/N <3
P.S.: [✔︎] check here if you like me too. do a back flip if you don't :D
A blue pen had checked the box by the time the two of you were walking home together. It was a very nonchalant affair, because you both understood that dating was out of the question until you were both done with the little rivalry you had. Unfortunately, you were both tied — and your graduating class had two Valedictorians, and the very first tie in your high school's history. A picture of you both was displayed in the main hallway of that building now, with a school news article titled Best Friends take Number 1 Spot Together: Future Physicist Y/N L/N & Prospective Lawyer Kim Mingyu.
Mingyu wasn't studying law anymore, and the two of you started dating in August — and he officially made you his girlfriend in November of that year. He changed his major and was thriving in the Psychology department, barreling towards that doctorate — one you also swore you'd get, and you stand by it.
You just aren't sure if Mingyu still stands by you.
And you feel foolish to want to hope that he does, despite the six months of silence, distance and heartbreak — the only communication between the two of you being his purple pen grading your essays and in-class exams…much softer than the red pen he uses for everyone else.
Dr. Lee had to know there was something there.
She had to know.
You see more things in the box — the tie he wore to prom, the cuff links you'd given him for your first anniversary during your sophomore year of college. A tube of lipstick in his favorite shade that you used to keep at his apartment, a first-aid kit in a glittery pink case that was half-filled, a gold spoon you had bought at a market and gotten your names engraved into. You had a matching one, tucked in the silverware drawer of your kitchen that you didn't let anyone else touch, much less use.
The mason jar that once held his pens, now gently tucked into another corner of it. It's stuffed with a printed strip and pink yarn, and you see the comic peering at you through the glass — Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson.
It's the Valentine's strip, dated February 14th, 1986 — Susie calls Calvin a baloney brain, and it's the classic, cliché of two kids being mean to one another because they like the other, but you loved it. You'd referenced the comic strip in passing on your first Valentine's Day together, then wound up printing the strip for him, laminating it and gave it to him with his gifts. You'd punched a hole in it and looped a piece of yarn through it, once hot pink and now light, bleached from three years of sun.
You don't know you're holding your breath, tears wetting your lashes — until you hear Mingyu's footsteps approaching quietly, and you force yourself off the ground and back into the chair. You wipe haphazardly at your face, sniffling as he knocks gently, opening the door. You don't look at him, letting your eyes zero in on the pad of sticky notes. There's numbers scribbled around it, math you understood but couldn't pin to an origin.
Your stomach grumbles as he walks past you, and you curse yourself for running low on time and not being able to get anything for dinner.
"Snacks in the bottom cabinet." He taps the desk as he moves around, and you clear your throat as you nod, not moving. He holds his textbook in his hand as he turns back to you, furrowing his brow as he leans over and opens the cabinet, "get something."
"I'm good."
"Your stomach growled."
"I'm just uneasy."
"Cut the shit." He rolls his eyes, grabbing a bag of Goldfish and tossing it in your lap before closing it, "you can have dinner with me and Seok. He's going to make way too much, I know it."
"He always does."
"He means well."
"I know."
His eyes linger on your face, and if he notices your wet lashes, he doesn't say anything.
But you note the way his fingers flex at his side, the way he tongues his cheek and forces himself to look away.
"Let's start with 12.4, yeah? Compliance, Conformity and Obedience."
"No."
"Very funny."
"I seriously cannot believe you're trying to argue this. This isn't an argument!" Mingyu sighs as you pace his bedroom, and you gape at him as you run a hand through your hair.
Seokmin had come in forty minutes prior to the heated conversation with plates, and you and Mingyu ate in silence. Your plates sit on the desk, empty, as you pace his bedroom, your words falling from your mouth as you hit the back of your hand to your palm to emphasize your point.
"There is a difference in obedience brought forth by respect, and one brought forth by fear. It won't have the same connotations or the same results, it will only result in social discomfort."
"I'm not saying there isn't! I'm agreeing with you! But that's not the point!"
"Then what does social loafing have to do with obedience!?"
"Baby, you're taking this all out of context. You're trying to break it down like numbers and that's not how this works," he sighs, rubbing his face. "Social loafing is tied into obedience because it is a form of social influence. Compliance, conformity, all of it, it's influential. You want me to give you answers about who designates positions on power and what makes who an authority figure and I just don't have that context for you."
Your heart is in your throat at the pet name, your breath hitched as you look at him. He crosses his arms, eyes expectant as your own prick with tears. You blink them back, checking your watch to see it's half past eight.
"Okay, cool. Influence." You nod, grabbing your pen and scribbling it into your jumbled notes. You run a hand over your face, "it's late. I should get going."
"It's only eight-thirty."
"Yeah. I overstayed as it is."
He raises a brow as you pack up your journal, reaching for the flashcards you'd half-finished.
"What's this?"
"Key terminology."
"How many do you have left?"
"Uhm, I got halfway before I went to bed." You shrug as he flips through the cards, "vocab on the front, definition and example on the back. They're sectioned off by unit in color, but I jumped around to what I found more interesting and just started working my way around."
"Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love," he nods, holding up the butter yellow flashcard. Your hand tightens around your beg as he flips the card over, his eyes scanning over the diagram you'd doodled with examples. "Companionate love is you and Seokmin?"
"Yes? He's my friend?" You roll your eyes as he nods, biting back his smile as he continues to scan over it.
"Do you agree with Sternberg's theory?" He asks, flicking the card as you nibble on your lip.
"It makes sense."
"It says that healthy relationships must all have commitment, intimacy and passion."
"That's true."
"Well, not when you take into consideration what else is said about the contributing factors. Passion and intimacy for romantic love, but commitment and intimacy for companionate. Do you think that your friendships could have passion, and your romantic relationships couldn't, and still be healthy?" He tilts his head at you, and you clear your throat as you open your mouth to dodge the question, "don't give me bullshit. Use your brain. Explain your thoughts."
You close your mouth, your fingernails digging into your backpack as you swallow hard.
"I think that…context is important." You admit, knowing that the shit-eating grin spreading on his lips will bring back the topic of obedience and your insistence for answers he couldn't give you. "I agree that healthy relationships must all have commitment, intimacy and passion because it's not always romantic. Context is important, because you can take into consideration all the verbiage used."
You step closer, taking the card out of his hand and pointing with your pinky finger, "empty love could be a dead marriage, or two parents who stay together for their kids, or a friendship that only remains because of the history rather than caring at all about each other's lives past what they've lived together."
"And companionate love?"
"Me and Seokmin, you and Seokmin. Our friendship is intimate, because we share vulnerabilities and we are interested in each other's lives. Our friendship is also commitment, because we hang out often and passion doesn't always have to mean…I guess, being hot for one another. It can just be passionate as a noun, passionate as…an adjective rather than a verb."
"What about you and me?" He asks, tilting his head when you realize how close you are to him. Your arm is brushing his shoulder and you're slid between his legs, the denim of his jeans stretched across thick thighs and brushing against the back of your own. You peer at him through your lashes, "what about you and me?"
"Where do we fall on this diagram? Where did we use to fall on this diagram, and where could we be in the future?"
"Is this an appropriate question?"
"Call it real-life application to scholarly subjects."
You tongue your cheek at his quick wit, and you glance at the card.
You were once companionate.
You were also once romantic, even consummate — intimate, passionate, committed.
"I don't think we fall into any of them." You admit slowly, flicking the card. "I think…maybe, at one point, we could've been consummate in a romantic style."
"John Lee has a theory about love, too. He came up with it in '76," he starts, and you peer at him through your lashes as he takes the card back, tracing your penmanship. "It's called the Color Wheel Model of Love, and it originated with three 'colors,' that were meant to be the primaries like red, blue and yellow. He presented Eros, for eroticism. Ludus, for non-committal, and Storge, for natural nurturing."
"Right."
"He later proposed that the primary colors could be combined to create a sort of secondary color. Eros and Ludus would make Mania, so obsession. Pragma was Ludus and Storge, representing realistic love, and Agape was Eros and Storge in the presentation of selfless love."
You raise a brow, "do you just have love theories memorized?"
"My favorite is Elaine Hatfield's, and I use it to argue Sternberg's."
"Let's hear it."
"Hatfield's 1988 theory states that there is two types of love. Compassionate, and passionate." He shrugs, clicking his tongue as he leans back slightly on the stool, "in my opinion, it disproves that all healthy relationships should have commitment, intimacy and passion. It's not passion that they should all have, but compassion. Passion as a noun, and adjective, what say you…it is inherently romantic. It's sexual, it's biological and intense. I can also add that Zick Rubin proposed in 1970 that romantic love is defined by three key characteristics, and one of those is feelings of exclusivity and absorption. So, no. Not all healthy relationships need to contain all three, but subgenres. It's not passion, it's compassion. It's not love, it's respect. It's….context."
You cheeks warm at how his words settle in your stomach, foolishly setting off a flutter and your eyes avoid his as you glance at the card.
"Then where would you put us? Past, present, future."
He whistles, "in all theories?"
"All theories."
"Past, present, or future?"
"Start with past."
"In Rubin's, love. In Lee '76, we were once Storge, and in '77, we became Pragma. In Sternberg, consummate. In Hazan and Shaver's Attachment Theory circa 1987, secure attachment. In Hatfield, compassionate when we were younger, and passionate when we got older." He nods slowly, pressing his lips into a thin line.
You hadn't talked about the break-up, and you've gotten confirmation that he hadn't, either — Seokmin had texted you over the weekend telling you so. You hadn't responded, hoping the idea of Mingyu being hurt would slip from your mind. You couldn't stand thinking of it, much less being the reason behind it.
"What about present?"
"Me or you?"
"…Well, you can't speak for me, can you?"
He chuckles, "true. I think…there is a tertiary color to Lee's theory. I've just made it up on my own, it's nothing set in stone and nothing to write home about…but it's there, somewhere."
"What color?"
"Solum."
You let your tongue peek out to wet your lips, "what secondaries?"
"Mania, and Agape. An obsession and yet, selfless. I've let you be."
"And what does solum mean?"
"It's Latin for lonely."
You tuck your hands in the back pockets of your jeans, and he trills his lips before sucking his teeth. "As for the future?"
"Uh huh?"
"I think Sternberg might have my ass in the bag."
"How so?"
"I think…empty love." He nods, "maybe fatuous love, if the passion was compassion…because you cannot have that passion without connection."
Your heart sinks in your chest, and he looks at you with a soft smile, "so you see how context is important?"
"You're a shithead."
"And you want to argue the fundamentals of the brain. Study law, not physics."
He shrugs, holding the card back out to you. You take it gingerly, biting your tongue as you tuck it back into the spot in the stack where it belonged, but you couldn't bring yourself to let it go.
"I disagree with you, actually." You say suddenly, "I don't think that all of this shit matters when it comes to you and me. The context around our lives is enough to show that none of it is true, anyway."
"Okay," he nods, wrapping his fingers around the edge of the stool as he tilts his head at you, "how so?"
"It's not about psychology, or 'theories', or prosocial whatever the fuck." You roll your eyes, and he snorts as you pace once more. Three steps away, turn, three steps back. "It's about context."
"That's what I said."
"Said, not proved."
"And you're going to prove it?"
You huff, rounding the edge of his bed and pulling the box of collectibles out from under his night table. His eyes widen, his shoulders stiff as you set the box on his bed, opening the cardboard flaps before reaching in and pulling out the mason jar.
"Exhibit A of Y/N's Context Theory." You hold it up, before your fingernail taps the Chococat and Badtz-Maru sticker. "I got this custom made for you. I chose all these stickers, I gave you this jar with pudding in it that I made out of love for you, consummate love, 'I want to get in your pants' love. In turn, you showed your appreciation by re-purposing the cup and putting your pens in it. Where are the pens? Why is it in the box?"
He shifts, "because I—"
"Because you don't love me anymore. So to use it would be to contribute to your ideation of empty love between us." You interrupt him, and set the jar on desk with a gentle clink. You pull out the cuff links and tie, "exhibit B. I had my initials embroidered into this tie for our prom night. I had these cuff links specially made, and now they're sitting in a box. If there's no one else, why aren't you wearing them?"
"Well, I—"
"Because you don't love me anymore."
His brows furrow, but you keep going — the Smiskis, the origami, the Calvin and Hobbes Valentine's Day comic strip, even flipping through the photo albums and detailing the context behind every photo that you randomly landed on…
And finally, you pull out the box of letters. It's heavy from all the folded papers, and you pull it open to display the different colored pages of stationery. Some Sanrio, some notebook paper, some even from his sketchbook from high school when he used to draw in his free time. You pull one out, "you hide these. There is years of history here, of emotion, of commitment, of passion. You used to have my first letter to you framed on your dresser."
"You left me." He says softly, his eyes scanning across almost all the memories he'd collected of you both throughout the years. He glances back up at you, "you left. Why would I frame it? To keep hurting myself? To miss you when I knew you weren't missing me?"
"Anyone else would've fought for me."
"Anyone else wouldn't know you the way I do."
He's standing now, sliding his hands into the back pockets of his jeans as as you huff, tears burning in the back of your eyes. He tilts his head at you, "you left."
"I know I did."
"Why?" His voice is gentle, leaning slightly closer. "And don't say things were moving too fast or that they were too serious. Don't say I was too much. Give me a real reason."
"That is a real reason." You grouse, running a hand over your face, "we're young. We're too young. Life is…fickle, at this age. You could find someone else. Want something new…yearn to explore."
He laughs humorlessly, sitting on the stool again as he shakes his head.
"I've been in love with you since I was six years old. Why would I suddenly up and decide you're not what I want?"
"You said you wanted to be a lawyer since you found out what it was, and now you're studying psychology. You can change your mind, so don't act coy."
"Not about you," he shakes his head, "never about you. It's always going to be you for me."
"How can you be so sure? Because of a love letter I wrote when I was sixteen?"
"Because you're the only person in my life that has ever had altruistic motives, and only when we were sixteen did you realize that it was always going to be you and me."
You blink as he shrugs, "everything you've ever done for me has made me who I am. You've molded me, guided me, helped me even when it didn't benefit you. You are the reason I am who I am, that I'm confident in my decisions, that I carry myself the way I do. You are everything I am, and this conversation is what we call central route persuasion. You want to say that I can change my mind about a career choice, and I can. You want to say that anyone else could've fought for you, and they could've. But I know you, and I know that you left because you were in your own head. And you don't want anyone in your way when you're like that, including me. You'll say things you don't mean and cut ties just to come right back and apologize later. Sometimes it's too late, sometimes it's too soon…"
He trails off, glancing at all the items you've taken out of the box. His eyes land on the custom figurine of Chococat and Badtz-Maru hugging, made of thick clay and glossed with resin — and he clicks his tongue.
"But it's always the right time with me. I know you. I know you're smart and capable and the sweetest person ever, and I know you didn't mean it. I never thought it would go that far, but like I said…it's you. I've known you my entire life. Even when I thought I'd be a lawyer and when you said you wanted to try for a doctorate. Even when you used to shove dirt in my face in preschool. Even when you try to argue things that are second nature to human beings like it can be avoided, when we're all different…but even then, you don't change. You don't change. You're always going to be Y/N and I'm always going to know your next move because I was made to love you. I don't know if there's psychology behind that but that's my life, my purpose. That's what I was born to do. If loving you, being yours completely…if being who I am meant to be in your life were a job, I'd be rich. But I already am, I always have been. The moment I met you, I had everything I could've ever wanted, needed, and you know that."
You don't realize you're crying until you sniffle, blowing a breath out through your lips. The photo albums are sprawled open on his bed, showing various pictures at different times in your life — junior prom in your matching pink dress and tie, your first date in your hometown's oldest ice cream parlor (where you accidentally spilled your milkshake and Mingyu gave you his, only to use what you now know as the foot-in-door technique to get a kiss out of it. You hadn't cared. It was sweet and cute and his lips were soft from years of stealing your lip balm.)
"So argue with me all you want, but that will never change." He shakes his head, gently gathering the things you'd taken out and putting some of them on his desk. He moves his pens back into the mason jar, he slots the photo albums between two bookends that held Women Who Run With The Wolves by Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés, All About Love by Bell Hooks…
A handmade journal you'd given him for his eighteenth birthday, made from recycled paper you'd dried yourself and an oil cloth cover, baby blue with a bird's eye pattern. The twine was dyed cobalt blue, staining your fingers for weeks but tied into cute bows and you'd written him yet another love letter — because it was before you knew whether or not you'd be going to the same universities.
You'd asked him to write down something for you every day. That you'd read them when you came home for breaks or for summer vacation, that you'd miss him if he went somewhere else but you hoped in your heart that you both got into SNU so you could 'keep loving him, even if you'd still love him with kilometers of distance between you.'
"What if—"
"No what ifs, Y/N."
He moves around, arranging things silently as you watch, letting the tears drip down your cheeks. He sets the Smiski figurines on his floating shelves, he moves his pictures around, displaying you and him closer to the front. He takes Chococat and Badtz-Maru and puts them on his night stand, he slides the box of love letters into his drawer and pulls out a picture frame — gold, oval-shaped, and holding your very first love letter to him. Folded over and over, creases wearing through your penmanship but standing the test of time.
The blue check mark mocks you as you glance at it.
"There's no what ifs with you and me." He says gently, taking the now empty box and carefully peeling the tape off the bottom. He crumples it, tossing it into his trash can and breaking the box down fully. He slots it along his recycling bin, before looking over at you. "And I know you know that."
You huff, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes and letting more hot tears coat your skin. They slip beneath the strap of your worn leather watch — a gift from Mingyu. They stream down the side of your face and drip onto your shirt — once Mingyu's. They slip down your neck, meeting the thin gold chain of the necklace that held a small initial — a letter M, and next to it, a gold signet ring he'd given you for your birthday many years ago. It didn't fit anymore, but it was yours. And it was his, and he was yours.
He is yours.
Always has been. Always will be.
"But what if—"
"Shut up." His hands are warm against your cheeks, squishing them gently as he swipes his thumbs under your eyes, "just shut up."
"I'm sor—"
"Shh."
He pulls you into his chest, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as you wrap your arms around him tightly. His hand is soothing on your back, sliding up and down as he rests his cheek on the top of your head. Your chest is warm as you let your eyes close, and Mingyu presses a tentative kiss on your hairline before pulling away.
"Just come back when you're ready. I'll be here." He whispers, squeezing the back of your neck lightly. "No apologies, no questions, just come home."
Seokmin ends up knocking on the door before you can say anything else, and offers you a lift home because Soonyoung asked him to go over and you both live in the same complex.
He doesn't question the embrace.
He knows. He has to know.
You quickly grab your stuff as Seokmin says he'll wait for you in the car, grabbing your empty plates off the desk and shutting the door behind him. Mingyu busies himself putting things away, clicking around his laptop and pulling a pen out of the mason jar and dragging it across the calendar.
"Thursday at six?" He asks over his shoulder, tapping the scratched out date. You barely glance up, "not for a study session, no."
"I can try for Wednesday, but I have a lab until seven-thirty."
"Didn't ask for Wednesday night."
"Y/N, work with me here."
You roll your eyes, pulling your bag over your shoulder and sidling up next to him. Tonguing your cheek, you tap the scratched square with your fingernail, "scratching it out doesn't make it go away."
"Easier not to see it."
"You always did like to plan ahead."
You take the pen from him, uncapping it and moving to the Notes at the bottom of the page.
Thurs. 28th: Y/N ♡ 5:30.
"I'll be here. I want you in the pink button up with the white pants you wore on your birthday last year." You mumble, shoving the pen back in the mason jar and making your way back to the door. He doesn't move, his eyes glued to the note. Your hand is wrapped around the doorknob, but you sigh, walking back to him and cupping his jaw gently. He spares you a glimpse, and you give him a pointed look, "pink button up—"
"White pants, I got it."
"Just making sure."
You pat his cheek, your own warming as he leans into it. His eyes are staring right into you, "not my jeans?"
"I'll kill you."
"What about the tan chinos? You love those."
"Do you hate me?"
He's closer now, carefully caging you in against his desk as he peers at you through his lashes, "you know I don't."
"You called me baby earlier."
"You called me a shithead."
You press your lips to his, the soft scent of his cologne filling your nose as he pulls you close, his arms wrapped around your waist as he kisses you back carefully. Your fingers slip down his face, gripping the collar of his SNU sweatshirt as he lets the kiss grow eager, licking into your mouth and sliding his hands to your hips, sitting you on the edge of his desk and wedging himself between your knees.
"I love you," you mutter into his mouth, earning a whine as he buried his face in your neck. His grip on your hips loosened, sliding down your thighs and squeezing almost painfully, "I love you, Mingyu."
"Again."
"I love you."
"One more."
"I love you, I love you, I love you," you press your lips to his cheek, his temple, his eyebrow. "I'll see you on Thursday. Pink shirt, white pants, okay?"
"Are you sure I can't sell you on the tan chinos?" He mumbles against your neck, kissing the skin faintly before he presses his forehead to yours. You shake your head, a smile tugging on the corners of your lips, "or the jeans, sorry."
"Lame," he mumbles, "I miss you. I love you."
"Even when I argue with the fundamentals of the brain?"
"Even when you snoop through my things."
"Box said my name."
"So does my heart, but you're not equipped to cut it out of my chest, are you?" He raises a brow, and you tongue your cheek as he grins, "are you, Dr. L/N?"
"Dr. L/N-Kim is not equipped, no. She's a physicist," you feign a grimace as you nod, patting his shoulder as his cheeks tinge pink, "not a medical doctor. Sorry if you thought cardiothoracic surgery was her specialty."
"Can't you stay?" He mumbles against your lips, and you shake your head, "if I say something cynical, how likely are you to be mad?"
"If you say some shit like distance makes the-"
"Distance does make the heart grow fonder."
"That's not even psychologically correct."
"No," you nip at his lower lip, earning a pout as you kiss the spot gently. "I don't hate you and it may not be psychologically proven, but…it is scientific theory that quantum entanglement exists. Particles, in this case, you and me…they interact, and their states are linked so much that you can't tell one apart from the other. Observing one means you automatically know the state of the other."
"You're so annoying."
"And yet, we are entangled."
He rolls his eyes, slotting his lips with yours momentarily before pressing his forehead against yours, "don't leave me again. I almost died and then you'd be shit out of luck for a cool boyfriend that loves you."
"Cool?"
"You broke my heart, you can cut me some slack and say I'm cool."
You grin, "Seokmin's waiting on me."
"Y/N."
"Don't like that one."
"Baby."
"Mmh, I love that one." You nod, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips as he pulls at your belt loops. "Overall, I'm sorry. I do get kind of lost in my own head and I always think the solution is to be alone but it only really makes it worse. You'd think I'd stop doing it but it's…a bad habit. What does psychology say about that?"
"That humans are creatures of habit, and we fall into loops." His fingers tuck under your shirt, shaking his head as you give him a warning look. He settles them against your skin, rubbing circles into it, "and we break bad habits by actively engaging in the things that we're avoiding by using those bad habits. So instead of holing yourself away, next time…just talk to me."
"I'm very bad at that."
"I know, but I'll never shut you down. You know that."
"You love me, right? Even if I have bad habits and I won't take your last name?"
"I'll take yours," he shrugs, squeezing your hips under his hands. "I love you, you know that. I love you, I'm in love with you, I love hearing you talk about quantum mechanics like it's the easiest thing in the world."
"It is."
"Everything's easy for you."
"Including you?"
"Alright," he rolls his eyes, scoffing as his ears tinge pink, "Seokmin's waiting for you."
"You were just trying to get me to stay over!"
"No, I merely asked if you couldn't. And I never said we'd sleep together if you could."
You only smile, running your hands up his arms and squeezing his biceps, "I'll see you on Thursday."
"Can I make a request on wardrobe, too?"
"No," you press a kiss to his forehead, "I'll wear what I want and you'll tell me I look pretty before I talk your ear off about string theory over dinner."
"Wasn't it proven false?"
"Not yet, but it's theoretical physics. It's meant to be challenged."
"…Maybe I am easy for you."
"I love you," you pat his shoulders with a laugh, before he pouts. "I'll see you on Thursday, Mingyu."
"Bug."
"I'll see you on Thursday, bug."
"Don't be late, baby."
THURSDAY CAME AND WENT, AND SO DID YOUR CHAPTER TEST.
You weren't sure how you did. You didn't know how to ask Mingyu, either — watching him silently start grading your test after dismissing you with a polite smile on his lips.
Lips you'd kissed all Thursday night and well into Friday morning, lips that you apologized against for hours until those same lips that granted you forgiveness as he lowered his head between your thighs — making you talk about the significance of the amplituhedron in quantum physics through quipped breaths and whines.
It's Saturday, and you're sitting on his lap while he puts in grades. He didn't let you face the screen, because, in his words — it's already unfair that you're sucking face with the TA.
"Am I next?" You asked for the umpteenth time, your fingers tracing the waffle knit of his shirt. He laughed, his chest moving your head as you smacked his shoulder, "it's not funny! You can tell me! I'll act surprised when Dr. Lee pulls me aside and tells me I failed. A big, fat F in purple pen and maybe some pity points for my essay question."
"Mmh, why would she do that?"
"So I passed?"
"I can't tell you, baby."
You groaned as he chuckled again, his hand splaying across your back as you pouted into his shirt, "consummate love, my ass."
He pinches your hip, making you squeal as you bat his hand away. A kiss is planted on your hairline, "I'll tell you in exchange for a favor."
"Nice try, foot-in-door technique is not gonna work so well now, Mr. Kim."
"Dr. L/N-Kim, actually."
"Are you trying to turn me on right now?"
He hums, a smug smile on his lips as he continues putting in grades quietly. Your phone buzzes on the desk, but he slides it across the desk so you can't reach it before closing his laptop and giving you his full attention. His hands are snug around your thighs as he gives them a soft squeeze, "you have to stop thinking the worst. You're very smart."
"Obviously," you roll your eyes, "but what if—"
"You got a B." He interrupts, and your eyes widen before you throw your arms around his neck with a cheer. "I didn't grade it, so you can't call me biased."
"Dr. Lee graded it?" You try to mask the disappointment in your voice, but he smiles softly, "she had to grade it because of your essay question."
You peer at him through your lashes, playing with the buttons of his cardigan as you nibble on your lip.
"…Did you read it?"
"Of course I did."
He reaches behind you, opening his desk drawer and pulling out a rectangular frame — it matches the frame that holds your first love letter, and this one holds a scan of your essay question…including Dr. Lee's comment at the very top in swirled script and red pen under the Commentary section, and minus two points.
Commentary: Typically, I'd take five points off for going over the word limit. However, I think you and Mingyu will go very far…and it is clear I made an excellent choice picking him for your tutoring sessions. Congratulations, and good luck.
Q: Use what you learned from the text to describe what influences relationships to be formed, and use an example from your personal life — friendships, partnerships, etc., in 300 words or less. Opinions are welcomed.
A: Context is what sparks the formation and growth of a relationship. Perhaps not in terms of psychology, but also in it. In my case, I grew up with the TA for this course. I was his friend for eighteen years, and I unknowingly made him the man he's grown to be. Eventually, we progressed into a romantic relationship. I ended things, with no context and not a care of how it would affect him, or worse — me. Perhaps this is also a love letter to him, one of many he's received throughout the years…and an apology, one that he deserves and I'll forever proclaim.
Just as long as I've grown up with Mingyu, he's grown up with me. He's been a deciding factor of every part of my life, he's picked up on my cues, on my mannerisms, on every bad habit I have and has constantly called me to the carpet about them. He's helped me become a better person, both alone and by his side, and has never made me feel like an extension of him. The context of me — my need to be seen as an individual, my need to be taken seriously, my need to be understood as smart and capable and creative…he has respected it all. He has fed it all, he's worded every part of me that could ever be explained and he's done it properly without ever expecting anything in return. Altruistically, Mingyu has held me in high standards and praised me in even higher regards…and I could never be fully worthy of his compassion, but he makes that thought melt away easily.
When it comes to love…I used to say I agreed with Sternberg's Triangular Theory of Love. I disagree now. I think that all healthy relationships come with passion, intimacy, commitment…compassion and context. And all the context you need to know about me when it comes to relationships is that I love Kim Mingyu.
"You're a sap, you know that?" He murmurs against your hair, and you only smile as you feel him pepper his lips down the side of your face, "you, Dr. L/N-Kim, love Kim Mingyu."
"I do, bug."
"I know, baby. I love you."
"…So you're easy for me?"
"…Yeah. So easy."
— synopsis: pylades told orestes he'd take care of him, only for orestes to say it was rotten work. jihoon has never known taking care of you to be rotten work, and he wonders if you thought it was — enough to leave him behind.
– genre: exes to ??? ; angst, minimal fluff.
— pairing: ex-boyfriend!lee jihoon x reader.
– word count: 3k.
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warnings: swearing, breakups, mentions and alludements to post-relationship depression. mentions of smoking cigarettes. mentions of food/eating and alcohol. mentions of a singular meddling kwon soonyoung.
— what to listen to: habit - seventeen ; bad times - jessica baio ; heavenly - nct dream.
– author's note: [special thanks to @/saradika here on tumblr for these lovely snowflake dividers!] 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 we're kicking it off with my beloved @shinysobi. ro, thank you so much for always entertaining my ideas and giving me a different perspective on life, and thank you for making me want to be more understanding of the world in a way i never thought i'd try to explore. i am forever grateful for our friendship and i hope i have you in my life for many years to come. happy haolidays, ro! i love you!
"MY STOMACH HURTS."
Jihoon had been used to those words falling from your lips all too often.
My head hurts,
My back hurts.
My feet hurt, you'd say as you pouted up at him — a glint of mischief in the back of your eyes that made his heart lurch forward in the prison of his ribcage. His cheeks would heat; ears would tinge pink, but he always rolled his eyes. Every single time, he rolled his eyes — biting back the itch to smile as your own grew on your lips as he lectured you on and on about taking better care of yourself.
"Something always hurts with you. It's like you're made of paper. You're so easy to crumple and never be smooth again." He'd scoff, but still — his fingers would rake through your hair, massaging your scalp after giving you a painkiller and some water, a sleeve of crackers to snack on. He'd huff, but still — his thumbs would knead into the tense muscles of your shoulders, his cheeks flushing at the soft sighs and thank yous spilling from your bitten lips at the sore ache. He'd wrinkle his nose, but still — his hands would pull your silly socks from the gag gift shops you liked to frequent off your throbbing feet without a second to waste, muttering to himself as you smiled around a cherry popsicle that would stain your lips that deep red he loved.
Jihoon was made to take care of you, no matter what it was. It was your way of acknowledging that you made him feel useless, even if sometimes your pain wasn't always physical but emotional — and you were too shy to truly ask him for what you wanted. Sometimes, you just wanted to be babied; wanted to feel his warmth…sometimes the pain was physical, and your heart couldn't find any better cure than your boyfriend holding you close and working out every ache with his hands and lips pressed to your body.
Sometimes, it was just his presence — the soft scent of his shampoo paired with the musky floral of his cologne, the heat of his fingers splayed low on your back as you suffered with cramps…that alone, made you feel better. You'd told him so.
But it's been ages since you've done that.
Ages since he's touched you. Felt you under him, his fingers kneading into your soft skin. Tugging gently at the strands of your hair that he'd brush for you before bed.
Ages since he's heard your voice. Since he's run his fingers through your hair because of a headache, it felt like centuries since Jihoon got a chance to press his lips to your forehead. It's been a million years since your back has hurt, your stomach, your feet.
It's been ages since Jihoon started feeling the ache in his chest at the mention of your name
You broke up six months ago.
He doesn't know what to do with himself, really.
He's felt all your aches, physical and emotional, since the day you left — his back, from being hunched over in his desk chair and his fingers from overworking himself. His head, pounding with migraines from little sleep and too much eye strain on his computer (he's ignoring the fact that crying until he couldn't breathe is also a factor.) His stomach, from eating all the things you loved — not used to making one portion, your plate served and untouched until he eats it, too. His feet, from walking for miles instead of taking a rideshare because he thinks the biting fall and winter winds will make him feel something other than the ache in his chest and throat he wants to mistake as heartburn.
Well, it is heart burn. In a way.
The space matters.
You left the city for a better job — and it was far too much for you to justify long-distance. His life, his family, his job — everything that mattered to him was in Seoul, including you.
But you weren't going to be for much longer, and you'd convinced yourself that you couldn't come between that. You insisted, even — but you failed to realize that without you, there was truly nothing in Seoul for him.
No life. No family. No job.
Can't spell Seoul without soul.
He tried to reason; he even begged you to stay — not in Seoul, but as his. He remembers the feeling of your rigidness in his arms when he wrapped them around you for the last time, a heavy sob from your lips as your hands clenched into fists. He slid to the ground; his knees still ache from the hard tiles of his kitchen floor. Your eyes were full of hot tears, chin trembling as you apologized and ran your shaky hands through his hair over and over. You tugged at the ends, and he hasn't cut it since. It's grown quite a bit — you always did like his hair longer.
His life has become routine, the way it was before you arrived and threw him for a loop.
Wake up, eat, work, eat, work, eat…sleep.
He's started declining invitations to hang out with his friends; he's rejected dinner functions only to go home and eat cold leftovers. He feels his life moving forward without his permission, and he doesn't like that he can't stop it from happening. He doesn't like that his couch still smells like you despite the fact that he can't come home to see you sprawled on it, with your arm draped over your eyes and a mischievous little smirk on the lips he loves to kiss and bruise with nips of his teeth.
Or, loved. Rather.
He doesn't kiss you anymore.
And he can't stop thinking about how he hasn't kissed you in six months as he sits on the floor at his coffee table, his fingers flipping a pen through them. He closes his eyes, the nostalgia of your perfume filling his senses — he remembers reading something about how smells can reflect memories. Spicy, floral perfume mixed with the smell of cigarettes you'd tried to quit smoking lingers in his mind, paired with the image of you smoothing face cream down your neck every night before you tucked yourself into his side under the covers of your shared bed.
They're all still there, sitting on his dresser. The expensive face cream, the menthol cigarettes and your lighter. Your perfume that haunts him, but it doesn't smell the same. It doesn't even remotely smell the way it does when it's sprinkled on your skin.
"Damnit," he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, his nose burning as he kicks his feet like a petulant child. He brings his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them and burying his face into the crook of his elbow; ignoring the rough denim of his jacket digging into his skin. He breathes in sharply, but instead of perfume…he tastes cologne. Cologne you bought, cologne you loved.
Or, love.
He doesn't know anymore.
What he knows is that he received a card in the mail a few weeks back, at the end of November. The card was made with that handmade recycled paper you loved, with stamped flowers on the edges in odd patterns. There was a smiley sticker in the corner, cut to fit and doodled around to seem like the Sun.
Happy Birthday, Jihoon. I hope you get this on time. If not, it's okay. I'll try again next year.
— Y/N.
He thinks about how much you must hate him to make him suffer without you. You have to hate him; there's no way you don't — he would never send his ex-lover a card for their birthday unless it meant there was an emotion behind it that was far stronger than the chemical imbalance of love.
Hatred.
And now, in front of him — a holiday card. Season's Greetings, your scrawled writing on the back of a New Jersey postcard that has a photo of the Appalachian Mountains on the front. He's not even sure if the Appalachian Mountains go through New Jersey, but he doesn't care as a smiling photo of you and a cat he's never met pops out of the envelope — posed in front of a fireplace with a sweater he'd gotten you last year for your birthday.
He doesn't know how long he's been sitting on the carpet. He doesn't know when the tears will stop streaming down his cheeks, just that there is a growing wet spot on his jeans, and he's still thinking about your lips.
Your lips that he kissed and bruised with nips of his teeth. Soft, smooth and warm…his. All his.
"Fuck this," he tosses the pen onto the table and grabs his phone. He's still got your message thread pinned in his phone — a couple photo of you and him set as your contact. The singular heart next to your name remains; he couldn't bring himself to change it when you broke the news that you'd be leaving.
For how long, you never said.
A part of him hoped it would've been forever.
He presses on your contact, fumbling around before he presses the call button. He puts the call on speaker, waiting with trembling hands and hoping he'll hear your outgoing message. Hoping he'll hear the automated outgoing message — when a crackle coming through the speaker makes his eyes widen.
"Hello?"
His tongue feels swollen in his mouth as he blinks. Your voice feels different — but not different to him. Almost like it's foreign to you. Like you don't know who you are.
"Jihoon? You there?"
"You're cynical," he blurts, his voice thick and he feels immediate embarrassment coat his cheeks as he pictures you on the other end — blinking as you process his words, probably curled up in a blanket with a handful of almonds with Winter in Sokcho paused on your television screen. "You're cynical for sending me letters when you broke my heart."
"Oh, Jihoon."
"Everything fucking hurts when it's about you. How can you keep doing this to me? How can you care so little about me when we were together for years?" He lets his breath hitch in his throat, stopping himself from sobbing into the phone and embarrassing himself further.
You're silent, before a soft sigh comes through the speaker.
"I didn't leave happily, you know. I did what I knew to be best."
"Well, your idea of what's best has left me miserable."
Jihoon's voice wavers, "I can't do anything. I can't make one portion of dinner. I can't write a single verse that isn't about you. I can't sleep without holding your pillow and your stupid cigarettes are still on my dresser where you left them. How can you do this? How can you hurt me like this? How can you make me feel like we're unfinished when you're constantly ripping me open?"
You don't speak.
"I feel like that posthumous David Foster Wallace novel. What was it, The Pale King? Where they said, 'how odd, I can have all this inside me and to you it's just words.' That's what this feels like. Everything feels like I meant it and you just said it to make me happy."
"Jihoon?" Your voice is softer now. Tired.
"What, Y/N? Are you going to tell me it's not true?"
"Jihoon, I have to go to bed."
He huffs, "fine."
He hangs up before anything else can be said, throwing his phone across the room without a second thought.
If you don't need him, he doesn't need you.
And he's not going to keep hurting because you keep complaining.
IT'S NEW YEAR'S EVE WHEN HE SEES ANOTHER ENVELOPED STAMPED FROM NEW JERSEY IN HIS MAILBOX.
Against his better judgement, he rejects an invitation to Soonyoung's New Year's Eve party to sit at his coffee table again. His pocket knife is flipped through his fingers, one of your cigarettes tucked between his lips — the smoke slowly filling his nose as he slices the knife through the side of the beige envelope. He pulls the paper out, a fresh set of tears starting to prick at his eyes annoyingly. He unfolds it, the smell of your perfume wafting off it as his fingers smooth over the creases in the paper — dated December sixteenth.
He takes a deep breath as he realizes your penmanship scrawls across the entire page.
Jihoon,
This is the last letter I'll send, if that's what you need…but I need to get this off my chest.
My stomach hurts. My head hurts, my feet hurt. My fingers hurt from holding this pen so tight, from writing this letter over and over again in hopes the words will come out in a way that will make sense.
New Jersey was never my first choice. It was never my second choice, or any choice, even — but I sat on this offer for far longer than you ever knew about it. I told you six weeks after I got it and then everything becomes a blur. Everything is a blur — the packing, the breakup, the move…all of it. It was never about the money, or the title, or the job…it was about you.
Everything about us…everything about you makes me hurt. I can't think about our memories because it makes me ache in places I didn't even know could feel pain. I sat on the train the morning after our call and caught a whiff of your cologne, and I burst into tears. I got to work with eyeliner all over my face and my boss sent me home because I couldn't even speak because I was sobbing like a lunatic.
It was the first time since I left that I cried, and it reminded me of every single time I waited for you to come home to soothe me. I remembered sitting on the couch just waiting to hear your keys twist the door lock before putting on my performance of the century, and I remembered every single pain I'd felt, every stressor, every annoyance melt away the moment you would roll your eyes before pulling off my socks or kissing my forehead and scolding me.
For once, I didn't feel like Orestes, when he told Pylades that it was rotten work to take care of him. For the first time in my life, I'd felt loved. Cared for. Like I mattered, and to matter to you?
I've never known anything sweeter. And I never will again.
I know I don't deserve to send you this, or even think of you missing me as much as I miss you. I don't deserve it at all, to think of you and your lips and your hands and how you made me feel like I was the one who hung the stars that sparkled in your eyes every time you looked at me.
But…I miss you. And I still love you, so much. Everything hurts when it's about you, it's like I'm made of paper. Made to crumple, for you, over and over again.
I'm going to be in Seoul for New Year's Eve. Soonyoung badgered me for hours on the phone a few days ago and paid for my flight. A part of me hopes this letter doesn't get to you until after. Until I'm gone and then I won't have to see you because everything hurts when it's about you.
And yet…another part hopes I'll see you at his party that always has that ice sculpture of a tiger that never seems to melt (but we both know the truth…he switches it out every hour) and you'll be in that white button up, with the sleeves rolled to your elbows. Your hair has gotten longer, I'm sure of it, and you'll have that necklace I gave you for our very first anniversary all those years ago. You'll look good, and I'll hate you for it because it will only remind me that I did this to myself, to you, to us.
And that same part hopes you'll take pity on me and kiss me when the clock strikes midnight. That you'll take me home and hold me close like you always have, almost too tight, but I would never ever complain again if it meant you were with me. It hopes that you'll tell me we can make it work, that I can come back and you'll be mine, and in ten years' time you'll bring it up and I'll be so embarrassed that you cry laughing but we'd be okay.
But it's all just wishful thinking, isn't it?
Happy holidays, Jihoon. I miss you and I love you, eternally.
Forever yours, Y/N.
P.S.: Thank you for taking care of me. I hope, one day, you'll let me take care of you. And I hope that day lasts forever because I can't continue holding my head above water and call it living when my struggles by your side would've been nothing but a spring shower. Please, keep loving me.
He taps the ash off his cigarette into an ashtray on the coffee table as a tear slips into his mouth. His vision is blurring as he presses the end of the cigarette into the ashtray to put it out, letting the letter fall out of his hands as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone frantically.
It rings once before the speaker crackles, and your voice — laced with whatever liquor lingers on your tongue — seeps through.
"Hello?"
"I love you."
Your laughter is soft on the other end, the way it always is when you're on the edge of tipsy. His eyes squeeze shut at the sound, commotion around you suddenly dissipating.
"I'm at Soonyoung's party."
"I know."
"Come get me."
He grabs his keys off the table without a second thought, "wait for me. I love you."
alta you are a wonderful and perfect and talented author, i truly have no words. one of your shorter fics, but dare i say one of my favourites by far, every meticulous detail kept from the very beginning to the end, the cigarettes and the pain complaints, everything felt so carefully written and i loved it all so much. been slacking on tumblr a lot recently but i saw this was freshly posted as i opened the app, and saw your username next to another exes!woozi au and i couldnt resist myself, and im glad i read it in this moment. the ending made me smile a lot, and the short whirlwind of a story was so well written, i didn’t know if i wanted to laugh or cry. honestly a really bad commentary reblog but the fic was so good i really don’t know what to say other than i truly loved it so much (i resonate w mc so much in this one, which i will shamefully admit includings the smoking part but not all of us have a woozi in their life to urge them to quit :3) notably my favourite part is the constant switch between ‘love’ and ‘loved’ (and we all know it’s not past tense) and i felt it tied the story together all in all very nicely, really fitting for this yearning ex-ish couple.
‘He's felt all your aches, physical and emotional, since the day you left — his back, from being hunched over in his desk chair and his fingers from overworking himself. His head, pounding with migraines from little sleep and too much eye strain on his computer (he's ignoring the fact that crying until he couldn't breathe is also a factor.) His stomach, from eating all the things you loved — not used to making one portion, your plate served and untouched until he eats it, too. His feet, from walking for miles instead of taking a rideshare because he thinks the biting fall and winter winds will make him feel something other than the ache in his chest and throat he wants to mistake as heartburn.’ — my favourite paragraph in the entire fic, i was melting the whole time because aww jihoon :c written so beautifully, especially part describing him replacing his emotional pain with physical i am dying.
you did amazing on this story alta, and i can’t wait to read the rest of happy haolidays (very witty name i have to say) + lots of love sent to you, talented author i hope you’re getting much needed rest and thank you for this masterpiece love u lots (*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡
— synopsis: you and mingyu have been broken up for a year, and yes, it was over something as stupid and trivial as you'd imagine - something where nuance is important. will you thrown caution to the wind when he's calling you drunk from halfway across the world to beg for you back?
– genre: exes to lovers, angst, fluff. slightly suggestive.
— pairing: ex-boyfriend!kim mingyu x fem!reader
– word count: 8k
— rating: 18+. minors do not interact.
– warnings: swearing, alcohol, food mentions/eating. reader is very stupid. they have a semi-nasty breakup. they fight a bit. but they're lovers who gives a shit. i also don't know how airports work so whatever!
— what to listen to: who knew - p!nk ; i don't know - notd, astrid s ; please don't leave me - p!nk ; fast car - luke combs ; so beautiful - dpr ian.
– author's note: mingyu brainrot is so bad that i wrote this overnight and i'm running on no sleep, so i don't care about typos. thank you to @/saradika here on tumblr for these cutie beaded star dividers. as always, dedicated to thee gyuldaengie ever @gyuswhore (i hope you get some rest soon, emberly ♡. read this whenever!)
VOICEMAILS ARE THE BANE OF YOUR EXISTENCE.
He’d been there when you set yours up. New phone after he’d accidentally dropped yours in a lake after your date, and there’s a stupid laugh at the end of your message that makes your teeth clench with embarrassment.
He loves that laugh.
Or he did.
Hey, it’s Y/N. Sorry I missed your call, leave a message and I’ll get right back to ya!
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 11:09AM, SEOUL.
(1) Missed Call – Kim Mingyu.
(1) Voicemail – Kim Mingyu.
Hey, it’s me.
Well, you know it’s me...right? [LAUGHTER.] God, I miss your voice. Even if it’s just your outgoing message...and your laugh. I miss that laugh. I miss you, baby.
I’m getting drunk in Chicago with Seungcheol, but I’m thinking about you and I know I shouldn’t. I know I should have some shame, but I’ve never done this. The...breaking up over something small. Well, it’s not small, because it means something to you. It meant something to you, the reason you dumped me, and it means something to me because I love you and everything that matters to you matters to me. I just don’t know how to function without being able to talk to you everyday, and that’s selfish of me. It’s selfish of me to even leave this voicemail...but I can’t help it. I know my job kept me so busy, and I know you’re still probably so pissed at me but I still love you – even when I’m in Chicago and you’re all the way back home, getting pretty for work. Even when I’m back home, I love you and I think about you. I’m not drunk, before you say that. I’ve only had one beer and it was straight ass, but I think I’ll have just a few more so I can excuse the fact that your name is all over my call log in the morning.
I love you.
I miss you.
I’ll see you whenever you want me back.
When you think about it: not-drunk, not-sober Mingyu has a point.
You did break up over something very small, but in the moment...it meant something to you. It meant so much to you – and it was only by a few minutes. He was late, again – only by a handful of minutes but you will always stick to your guns and say it’s serious, and he knows it is. You’d told him at the start of your relationship that you hate being late and you hate it when people are late to any event they may have planned with you; and Mingyu had been understanding for the most part. He was rarely late and if he was, he had a good excuse prepared the moment he got in your face for his kiss in greeting.
You tried to settle your own stomach about it – he'd been in Chicago for work the week before your breakup, and you were convincing youreslf that he was just adjusting to the time difference. The whites of his eyes were pink with fatigue, and you felt the urge to run your fingers through his hair as he rested his head in your lap just for five minutes before he fell asleep.
But this had been the third time in one week. He’d been late by twenty minutes to dinner on Monday, arriving with nothing but a breathless sorry falling off his lips as he pressed them to your hairline. He’d been sweaty, like he ran to your apartment – but you let it go, because you also told him that your building elevator was under maintenance.
You still expected him to plan accordingly and arrive punctually – you'd told him that at nine in the morning, and dinner was at six in the evening. He should have planned ahead.
The second time was on Wednesday. Your friends had hosted a quick game night, one you’d invited Mingyu to with their permission and they asked you to stop for a bottle of wine. You’d gotten the wine on your way home from work to save time, and texted Mingyu three times within your arrival at your apartment – reminding him that he was driving, reminding him at the game night started at eight, reminding him that you do not like to be late.
He arrived at your apartment five minutes to eight, and your friend that was hosting the game night lived thirty minutes south. You couldn’t even dream of getting there by the start of it, and you got two text messages letting you know that they were starting a game of Monopoly and they’d start over when you got there. Mingyu’s jaw was as tight as yours was as he drove you both in silence, only for you to shoot a text off in the group (that had Mingyu in it) that you wouldn’t be making it. You made Mingyu pull over five minutes away from your friend’s apartment and handed him the bottle of wine, telling him you’d get a rideshare home.
It was the first real fight the two of you got into, and in the middle of a gas station parking lot. You were embarrassed as people peered through his crystal clear windshield at your frustrated attempt to make him understand, only for him to tell you he tried. That you knew he was busy, that he was doing the best he could to show up for you and you weren’t cutting him any slack. You’d scoffed, asking him if he’d ever cut you slack when you attended his work events with him, when you’d go to dinners with him and his friends.
“You don’t have to, and that’s because I plan accordingly! I tell you everything down to the minute and you can’t even give me a tapback reaction so I at least know you saw the message? Why are you acting like I’m being irrational for asking you to communicate with me?”
Mingyu turned his read receipts on after that fight. The drive to your apartment was silent, and you held in your frustrated tears until he pulled into his visitor parking spot in the garage of your complex. You pushed your own door open and slammed it shut, your heels clicking against the asphalt of the garage – but you didn’t get very far as Mingyu rounded the side of the car and grabbed your arm gently, pulling you into him with a very soft whisper against the shell of your ear.
“I’m sorry.”
You ignored it, turning your face away as he held you close to his chest – the soft smell of his cologne filling your nose and making your knees stupidly weak.
You don’t remember much about that night, but you do remember the way he’d hoisted you over one shoulder and carried you to your apartment. You remember the way he apologized on his knees inside your apartment, before pinning you under him on the couch and kissing you fervently. You remember how easily your anger melted away as he pulled your dress off, as he kissed down your body, as he sank his teeth into the flesh of your soft thighs before he made you forget why you were even mad to begin with.
The bottle of wine was empty by the end of the night, and you had a horrible hangover that made you call in sick to work – only to lift up your blanket and see your legs littered with nips of your boyfriend’s teeth.
Then, Saturday came.
Date night. Starting at four in the afternoon and ending at eight in the morning on Sunday.
Mingyu loved date night and he was never late to date night. He brought flowers, he’d kiss you stupid on your couch for a good hour before your plans took effect. Sometimes it was dinner, a walk, a movie. Other times it was staying in and snuggling together after a long week of being apart and bitching about your work schedules.
Other times, though rare...Mingyu was all over you the entire night. From the moment he stepped foot into your apartment, his lips were on yours and his hands roamed any and every part of your body you allowed. It was, admittedly, one of your favorite types of date nights – and you always made it a point to wear a cute little set under your outfit just in case he was feeling froggy.
Four came and went.
Five in the afternoon, six in the evening.
Seven rolled around and you stared at the new bottle of wine you’d gotten to share with him on your way home from work on Friday. A nice Merlot, bitter on the back of your tongue as you finished your second glass. You took the pretty clips out of your hair, tossing them onto the coffee table and doing the same with all your jewelry before grabbing the bottle by the neck. You tucked your legs beneath you as you grabbed your television remote, clicking around the screen before some boring news segment crossed the screen and you tossed it into the couch cushions.
You drank from the bottle for a total of fifteen minutes – the news segment ending and a broadcasted dating show taking over before your phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. It buzzed twice, before it started ringing. It rang, and rang, and rang – and you felt tears prick at your eyes as you glanced down at your dress. Picked by Mingyu ages ago at a department store, one that he’d practically manhandled you into the dressing room over.
You turned the television off at ten to nine – just as Mingyu pulled your apartment door open. You could see the lines of sleep against his cheek, his eyes bloodshot as an apologetic look coated them. You’d pressed your lips together, before a laugh of disbelief fell from your mouth as you sighed. You shook your head as he toed his shoes off, guilt crossing his features as you slid the bottle onto the coffee table and grabbed your accessories in one hand. You didn’t care if your necklaces tangled – they had all been gifts from him anyway.
You stood on wobbly legs, kicking the heels you’d planned to wear that day out of the way as you moved to stand in front of him. His fingers flexed at his sides, itching to touch you as you gave him a wavering smile.
“Slept well?” You tilted your head, before holding your hand out and dropping the accessories in his hand, “you can have those back.”
“Baby.”
“That’s not my name.”
You shrugged, smiling wider still as you skipped to your bedroom. You pulled the dress over your head, tossing it onto the floor before pulling open all your dresser drawers and pulling out every article of clothing he’d ever given you and dropping it on top of the very same dress. Shirts, skirts, even a couple pairs of his sweatpants and a pair of his socks you’d stolen at the beginning of your relationship because you’d worn open-toed heels in winter.
He stood in the doorway of your bedroom as you tugged on a pair of pajama pants, his lower lip trembling as you pulled a shirt that wasn’t his over your head. You beelined back out of your bedroom, grabbing a garbage bag from your kitchen and prying it open before shoving everything inside it.
“Drive safe, Mingyu.”
“Baby, let me explain—”
“I waited like an idiot for five hours. I don’t do late. You know I don’t. You knew my one rule, and this week has just been a shitshow. Go home, get some rest and I’ll pick up my stuff next week.” You were fighting tears the entire time, covering your face with a trembling hand as he knelt in front of you, “stop! Go home, Mingyu!”
“Please. Please, baby, don’t do this—”
“Go! Get out!”
You were crying by the time Mingyu’s arms wrapped around your hips, burying his face in your shirt as he begged you to let him explain. You couldn’t hear him over your tears and the frustration festering in your belly, and you managed to twist yourself out of his hold despite wanting to melt right into him.
He left reluctantly – his face blotchy with tears and his shoulders heavy with fatigue. You knew he was tired. You knew he had this trip to Chicago every year and it was hard on him.
You had one rule. Don’t be late.
However...as you laid in your bed that night, barely able to breathe through your tears – you came to the conclusion that you had been a jerk. You knew you had been a jerk, but you had pride and you weren’t going to beg him to come back.
And now you’re sitting in your cubicle, a year later – wiping silent tears from your cheeks as you play his voicemail over and over.
I miss you.
I love you.
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 12:19 PM, SEOUL.
(4) Missed Calls – Kim Mingyu.
(1) Voicemail – Kim Mingyu.
Hi, baby. It’s me again! I miss you.
Just realized I said I was drunk in that last message and then said I wasn’t, but it doesn’t matter anyay because I’d tell you all of this sober. Did you know I got a promotion? I didn’t get to tell you, but I had meant for it to be news that night we broke up. I was going to tell you but everything just crumbled and I should’ve said more. I should’ve fought you on it, I think.
You didn’t really look like you were ready to let me go.
Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t. But, I’m still here. Kind of like an anchor, I guess, and you’re the ship. I guess that’s why they call boats she, right?
I’m just waiting for you to pull me out of the water again and say you love me like you used to. Maybe kiss me, too. I miss your voice. I miss your lips, too, and your cherry lip balm. God, I miss you. I can’t sleep without you, and Chicago fucking sucks. I hate Chicago because all I can think about it you when I’m here. Three years strong, thinking about you when I see the damn Bean and eat deep dish at Lou Malnati’s.
[MUFFLED NOISES] Anyway, Seungcheol wants to take off. I’ll talk to you later. This is call number...four? I think, yeah. Oof, bad luck, huh? [SOFT LAUGHTER]
I’m six beers in, baby. Still in Chicago, still missing you, still loving you and still yours. I’ll see ya, sweets.
Again, he was right.
God, you hate when he’s right.
He’s so smug about it sometimes, Kim Mingyu. He’s insufferable when he’s right – when he guesses something correctly, when he figures something out before you can, when he beats you at a damn game of Scrabble. You’d learned to roll your eyes at him, and really – it was endearing. Kim Mingyu was a champion, a master of all trades – and he’d won your heart over and over again.
You hadn’t wanted to let him go.
Your swollen eyes had been hidden behind a clunky pair of sunglasses and glued to the ground as you dropped off his last box of things on his stoop the following Monday, but he didn’t answer the door. You knew he was home – his car was parked in front of his apartment and the Ring camera clicked on and off. You knocked on the door for five minutes before groaning.
“Give me my stuff, Mingyu!”
He didn’t open the door, opting to talk to you through his camera like a coward.
“You’re insane if you think we’re breaking up.”
“We are breaking up! Give me my shit before I break your door down.”
He’d laughed through the camera, clicking it off before you heard the locks on his front door coming undone. He barely cracked the door open, holding a singular purse out to you and something about it made your gut churn.
“Mingyu, let me in.”
“No, you said give you your shit. This is all you’ve got here. I know, I looked.”
You shoved the door open further, only to see a mess of boxes in the living room piled up. Everything was labeled with your name, clothing of yours folded neatly on his couch – books you left there carefully wrapped in newspaper and pairs of your shoes neatly held together by black zipties. Your stomach hurt as you let your eyes scan over it, the room far too dark with your sunglasses on but you had too much pride to take them off and let him see that you knew you were making a mistake.
“...You don’t have to be so nice about it.”
“Stop being a douche and take your sunglasses off, then. You’re indoors, it’s bad manners.”
You hadn’t looked at him yet, but the thickness of his voice told you everything you needed to know. He was near tears and your shoulders tensed as your heart clenched in your chest, and you peered over your shoulder to see him thumbing at the strap of your purse in his hand. You pried it from his hands swiftly, your fist tight around it as he sniffled, blinking back tears as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.
“Are you gonna help me load this in my car or what?” You muttered, shoving the purse over your shoulder as he chuckled dryly.
“I’ll just drop it off. It’s too much for you to carry back alone and I can’t let you do that.” He shook his head, and your ears picked up on the music playing in his living room. You looked around, before spotting his television on YouTube – playing I Don’t Know Why by NOTD and Astrid S. You trilled your lips them, shoving your hand under your sunglasses as hot tears spilled over. Your shoulders shook as you cried inwardly, and he tentatively slid his hands over them, making you jolt against him.
“Don’t.”
“I’m sorry, Y/N. Please.”
“Stop! Stop telling me you’re sorry, Mingyu!” You exclaimed, stomping your foot as you shoved yourself away from him then. You pulled the sunglasses off your face, haphazardly wiping your hand across your face as more tears spilled down your cheeks. You heard a crack in the plastic of the glasses from how tight your grip was, and you simply shoved them in one of the open boxes before facing him and blinking rapidly. He was blurry in your vision, but he was a mirror of you – splotchy eyes, pleading, begging...
Don’t leave me.
Fight for me.
For us.
“Please, Y/N.”
“I don’t even know what you’re asking for, Mingyu. Just...drop my things off with the doorman. And leave your key with him, too.”
You sighed, running your hands over your face and feeling the warmth of your swollen eyelids beneath your fingers as you tried to walk past him. Your fingers urged to touch him, to feel him close and breathe in his scent – but he caved first, grabbing your hand and pulling you into him. He kissed you then, too – his lips chapped but you cared nothing of it as you melted into him like a fool. Your hands clutched at his sweatshirt like you needed him to stay grounded as he held you against the front door, his own hands gripping your waist like you were going to disappear.
“Stop, stop.” You pulled back, your eyes staring into his. So full of love, adoration and hurt – a perfect image of you engrained in those molten brown irises. His pupils were dialated as he peered at you, but he blinked and let you go, pushing himself away as he cleared his throat with a mumbled apology.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Mingyu.”
Those had been your last words to him as you slammed out of his apartment – booking it to your car with tears in your eyes and the taste you missed on your tongue.
Him, him, always him.
You’re still sitting in your cubicle as you listen to this voicemail – your eyes probably just as swollen as you poke around a bowl of oxtail soup you’d packed for lunch from your leftovers the night before.
It doesn’t taste as good as when he used to make it.
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 2:11 PM, SEOUL.
(9) Missed Calls – Kim Mingyu.
(1) Voicemail – Kim Mingyu.
Caller number nine! Claim your prize, me!
Hi, babe. I’m still in Chicago, but I’m in a different bar. Cheol is sick of me talking about you but I can’t bring myself to give a shit. This bar has a really nice plum blossom syrup they put in their lemon drops, you’d love it.
Do you remember our first kiss, actually? In Japan?
It was under all those plum blossoms and I put one in your hair, and you were so nervous that you didn’t kiss me back for a good three seconds. I know that’s probably a bit embarrassing for you but it’s one of my favorite memories of us...of you. God, I miss you.
I made you dinner that night, too, and we had that nice gin that I can’t remember the name of. But, I do remember that you told me you’d never been in love and I didn’t know what to say because I didn’t think I had ever been in love, either. Looking back, though, I think I was in love with you, even then.
Pft, wait. No. I know. I know I was in love with you. I know because your perfume was still lingering on my pillowcase, and I remember begging you not to go back to your room because we weren’t together yet. Do you remember that? Mingyu, don’t book one room! We’re not together yet!
Ugh, but that ‘yet’ hit me so hard. It was such a huge risk for us to go on that trip together when we weren’t together, and that ‘yet’ really told me everything I needed to know. That I was for you, and you were for me, endlessly. Timelessly.
So...I think, no. Fuck. I don’t think, I know you were in love with me, too.
I am currently...six beers, one plum blossom lemon drop and three shots in the hole. Tequila, too. Horrible, I still hate it...but I miss you.
I’m still in Chicago, and hopefully...somewhere in your heart.
Later, winner winner. I love you.
You do remember your first kiss, and you’re sitting at the cafeteria at your job with your hands wrapped around a mug of coffee with seasonal plum blossom creamer in it. You’re done with meetings, your coworkers worriedly patting your shoulders at the swelling in your eyes, your lips bitten raw from holding back your sobs in the ladies’ room.
You’d been dating Mingyu for a few weeks at that point. Dating, not his girlfriend – you'd been on six dates and something about him made your skin prickle with excitement. His smooth words paired with clumsy movements, pouted lips that brought you to a steaming hot blush every time they brushed your cheek as he dropped you off to the door of your apartment...
Hands that snaked around your waist every single time he tried to go in for the kiss, and you turned away.
“You can wait a little longer,” you’d roll your eyes as he brushes his nose to yours, and you’d crinkle it as you patted his chest. He would wait, he’d been open about it – he'd wait as long as you needed him to...because Mingyu was absolutely smitten with you.
It didn’t take a genius to figure that out, or to figure out that if he insisted just a bit more – he'd be in your bed before the word girlfriend even followed his introduction of you to his friends.
You wanted Mingyu just as bad, if not more.
He proposed the trip to Japan on the sixth of December, to leave by the eight and be back home by the fifteenth. Six days and seven nights, and he’d book you separate hotel rooms.
“I just want to spend time with you...uninterrupted. God, that sounds perverted but I don’t mean it that way, I swear!”
You’d only laughed then, and threw caution to the wind, accepting his invitation with a shy smile. The eighth came fast – and you were buckled into your seat on the plane next to him as he told you all the things he had planned for the two of you to do once you landed. You tried to argue that you’d need to take a power nap, only for him to roll his eyes and say there was no way you were going to waste time sleeping in Japan of all places.
“We’ll have plenty of time to sleep, beautiful. Just trust me.”
And you did. So blindly, so willingly.
He took you all over Osaka, and you’d spent the ninth of December with your fingers intertwined between your hips and walking around an indoor arboretum, a giant greenhouse of sorts. Plum blossom season in Japan wasn’t for another handful of weeks, but he’d insisted he’d been to this garden before and they had them in December – and he was right.
Again.
“I haven’t kissed anyone in a while,” you’d admitted quietly, your hand rubbing your neck nervously as he shook his head, pulling you closer as the area seemingly cleared out of couples and families. You both stood looking at the trees surrounding you, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your skin before he pulled you slightly closer, “Mingyu.”
“I heard you, honey.” He nodded, pressing a kiss to your temple as he picked a blossom off the tree, tucking it carefully into your hair. “You’re so pretty.”
“Shut up.” You muttered, leaning your cheek against his bicep as he peered down at you. His fingers carefully pinched your other cheek between his knuckles, making you scoff as he leaned slightly into your space. Your eyes had darted down to his lips, pink and plump and smelling of cherry lip balm you’d given him on the train ride there...
And you didn’t kiss him back for three seconds when you felt him press his lips to yours carefully. Your eyes were wide, before you squeezed them shut and kissed him back carefully. You’d both broken into giggles not even five seconds after, but he held your face in his hands gently and peppered chaste kisses all over it before asking if you wanted dinner.
It was one of the first times he’d made dinner for you, and one of the absolute best to date. A beautiful white fish with roasted lemon and brown butter served over a bed of creamy risotto and broccolini. You’d both eaten in silence and on the floor, and you’d been amused at how much he’d been able to whip up on a two-burner hot plate he’d brought from home. He turned his nose up at you as you laughed at him, but smiled smugly as you were rendered speechless by the dishes he’d plated for you.
You were both laying on his bed with the balcony doors thrown open when the words fell from your lips without thinking.
“I’ve never been in love.” You blurted, and he stilled next to you. You'd cautiously peered at him out of the corner of your eye, only to see him deep in thought before he turned to look at you.
“I don’t know if I have, either.” He offered, almost as if to soothe anything you maybe have disturbed. He furrowed his brows, folding his hands on his stomach as he hummed, “I have no idea what that’s like, but...I’m willing to find out.”
You’d felt your face grow hot then, and you sat up abruptly, “with me?”
“If you’d allow it.”
“We’re not together yet.”
He smiled, his cheeks tinging pink as he grabbed the pillow you’d been laying on and covered his face with it, “stop saying that! It makes me nervous and then I can’t stop smiling like an idiot and I lose my cool guy demeanor.”
“You have zero inkling of a cool guy demeanor, Kim Mingyu.”
“Nuh uh! You told me I looked cool when we met at that tangsuyuk place! That you liked my jacket.”
You’d snickered then, crawling over him as his eyes widened. His fingers on the pillow tightened as he looked up at you through his lashes, lips parted as his ears burned bright red. You leaned down, pressing your lips to his carefully. He kissed you back almost immediately, his hands finding your hips just as you pulled back.
“I said your jacket looked cool, not that you were cool. And you tripped after asking for my number, so I say that knocks a couple points off,” you murmured against his lips, only for him to pout as you laughed in his face. You pressed a chaste kiss against his mouth before patting his hip, “I’m going to my room. I’ll see you in the morning, Mr. Kim.”
“You’re such a tease.”
You only smiled as you climbed off him, holding a finger up as you made your way to the door and looking over your shoulder with a scrunch of your nose.
“Well, I suggest you learn to love it!”
You stare down at the cup off coffee in your hands as the voicemail plays for a fifth time in your headphones. Your lipstick is on the edge of the ceramic cup, the very same lipstick you’d worn the day he kissed you.
If you flipped the tube over, it’d say Plum Blossom Baby.
And you’d remember every single time he kissed it off you like a man starved.
“I miss you, too.”
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 4:46 PM, SEOUL.
(12) Missed Calls – Kim Mingyu.
(1) Voicemail – Kim Mingyu.
Hi, baby! This is call number...twelve! Yeah!
That’s our anniversary date, by the way. December 12th. Mark your calendar, ‘cause it’s almost here!
Can you believe we broke up a year ago today, though? Well, it’s barely the seventh here in Chicago, but the seventh is almost over for you. Do you miss me? I miss you. Maybe that’s why the alcohol isn’t as bitter as it usually is, though.
Anyway, I know I’m probably not super intelligible right now because I’m now six beers, one plum blossom lemon drop, three shots and two whiskey sours in. Because of this information that I’ve just bestowed upon you, my love, I’m just gonna be honest, yeah?
Again.
I miss you.
You know, I probably would’ve introduced you to my parents this Christmas. I had it planned for last year, but then...well, you know. But, I wanted to bring you home, ‘cause that’s what you do when things get serious enough, right? When things feel right and you wanna pop the question, right?
I wanted to bring you home because then that means the future holds that big ass ring you deserve. The ring and the beautiful dress and the nice house I want to buy you and maybe some kids, right? You still want kids with me, right? I would’ve been such a good husband. I’d never be late, either, because I’d be your house husband, too. I would have given up everything for you, even when you tried to say you were just kidding, I know you. I know that glint in your eye...I know you and I love you and I would’ve given up everything to make you happy.
I still would.
I still want to, just like I still want you. I still need you, Y/N.
[SLURRED WHISPERING]
Cheollie wants me to hang up, but I had to tell him you’re not even talking back! God, you’re not talking back and I miss your voice so fucking bad, Chicago feels like Hell right now. I miss you so much it pains me. My stomach hurts, actually, thinking about you right now and missing your voice. Missing you.
I think...I think this will be my last call.
It has to be.
I miss you...so much. Even in Chicago, especially in Chicago. I feel it worse when I’m here, and I’m positive it’s because I was in Chicago the week before we broke up. You looked so pretty in all the outfits and selfies you sent me when I was gone on my trip...God, and you were so beautiful in that little red set you got. Fuck, I can’t think about that. It’s not right.
[SILENCE]
Oh, I never gave you the snowglobe I got you when I was here last year! I got it personalized, it had a picture of you and me the day I asked you to be my girlfriend! It’s still in the trunk of my car, though, and it’s buried inside one last box of stuff I couldn’t bring myself to give you when I dropped it all off with Myungjae. How is that guy, by the way? Still flirting with you? Dipshit.
Sorry.
God, I miss you. I miss kissing you...holding your hand and making fun of you for crying at Shark Tale when Angie confesses to Oscar that she was in love with him when he was nothing.
You loved me when I was nothing, too.
I’d be nothing without you.
...Do you think you’ll miss me too, someday? Maybe as bad as I miss you? Ever?
[SILENCE]
Bad question to ask. I’m sorry. I miss you.
Well.
My name is Kim Mingyu. I’m 28, and I am drunk in Chicago, Illinois. I am desperately missing you, I am irrevocably in love with you and I’ll see you as soon as you want me.
I’ll catch ya when I can, baby. December 12th, don’t forget. I love you.
God, I love you.
Bye, baby.
You’re thankful that you’re sitting on your couch when that voicemail comes in.
You’re so grateful no one can see your trembling fingers as you press play on it, or the way you burst into tears the moment the word baby crosses his lips. You can hardly hear him speaking, but you turn the volume up as high as it will go and sob into your throw pillow. You cover yourself with one of the blankets you’d thrown over the edge of the couch that morning, and you feel your chest ache as you get a whiff of his cologne.
You know Mingyu wanted to marry you.
You’d seen the velvet box in his dresser a few months before the breakup. It wasn’t at all the reason behind it, and you were confident in that. You would’ve married him in a heartbeat, he wouldn’t even have to ask you. He’d have to do nothing of the sort like he did when he asked you to be his girlfriend – no fancy rented restaurant, no engraved bottle of gin, no begging to go down on you after finishing inside you for the very first time.
You think it scared you, though.
God, it scared you so much.
To be Mingyu’s forever – it terrified you to know that you’d fallen so deeply in love with him that he wouldn’t even have to ask. You’d give him anything he wanted, anything he needed at the drop of a hat – just a kiss to your lips and you’d seal his fate forever. House husband, the kids, the house, the stupid fucking wedding that he’d talked about for a few weeks before he left for Chicago last year...
You’d give it all to him.
Every. Single. Thing.
“I love you, Kim Mingyu.”
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 7 | 7:15 PM, SEOUL.
INCOMING CALL – Kim Mingyu.
You watch the phone ring from your couch. You’re still in your work clothes, your pantyhose torn at the knee from picking at it. Waiting for another call.
Hoping for another call.
It rings, and rings...
And it starts going to voicemail before you grab it and slide the toggle to answer it, pressing it to your ear. Your skin prickles as you hear the crunch of snow under his boots, and a sigh from his lips – likely paired with tears beginning to coat his lashes. Seungcheol is hollering in the background, singing something about a girl from Ipanema.
“Okay, I lied. This is the last call—”
“Mingyu, you have to stop doing this.” You blurt, and silence follows your sentence. You dare yourself to peek at the screen, but he hasn’t hung up. He clears his throat, and you hear him stop walking.
“What the hell? Baby?”
“Mingyu, stop calling this number.”
You feel your throat tight, burning as you hear him sigh painfully on the other end, and a soft thud follows. He’s likely on the floor, sitting on a curb in the middle of Chicago....at almost five in the morning.
“I love you, Y/N.”
“I know. I know you love me, Mingyu. That’s why you need to stop.” You feel a rush of hot tears spill down your cheeks, and you don’t bother wiping them away as you sniffle, “Because I can’t promise you that I don’t love you back, and then we’re fucked. We’re in a mess if I can’t tell you that I don’t love you.”
“That just means that you do love me.” He’s pouting, and Seungcheol has switched songs to I’m Your Baby Tonight by Whitney Houston. “You know we can be together. I’ll drop everything for you, right now. I need to be yours or I won’t understand the meaning of life.”
You snort, the amusement feeing cynical as you shake your head, “we can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I have pride.”
“Fuck your pride. Love me like I know you fucking do. I know you love me.” His voice grows soft despite the strong start, and you hear the ping of metal on metal. He’s probably leaning against a lamp post, “Love me, please.”
“Mingyu.” You groan, your voice thick as you sink into the cushions. He hums as you sigh, “I shouldn’t have answered. I gotta go, Mingyu. Get back to your hotel safe, okay?”
“Wait, wait. Don’t hang up, please. I miss your voice...so much.” He whines, before the sound of snow jostles around him, “What if I send you a ticket to Chicago right now? I’ll send you a ticket right now if you promise me you’ll come. Come see me. Love me.”
“Mingyu, why would I do that? I work...I have commitments. You’re just drunk.” You hate how close you are to caving, to calling in sick and using your PTO to go rescue him. A twenty-hour flight over a drunken confession of completely and utterly missing you that you’re sure he’ll regret.
“For closure, I guess. To prove you don’t love me. I’ll send you a ticket right now, and if you don’t love me...” Something akin to a sob rips through him, and you feel your lower lip tremble as the same burn settles in your chest, “if you don’t love me, don’t tell me. Just don’t get on the flight.”
“You’re wasting money, Mingyu.” The waver in your voice betrays you, and his response lets you know that he knows he’s got you. Hook, line...
“I was made to spend my money on you. My time. Give you all my love until I can’t anymore and when I can’t that’s when my time is up. But loving you...God, I'd never fucking die. I’ll love you in this lifetime, in the next one. I’ll love your lips and your face and your heart in every single time and space continuum, the Gods would be fucking sick of my ass yearning for you. That’s what this is. I’m yearning for you to love me from across the world while I’m drunk on a curb in Chicago and all the stars in the sky look like your eyes when you tell me you love me, too.”
Sinker.
“Good night, Mingyu.” You breathe out, and he hums again, his voice thick as he replies softly.
Carefully.
“Good night, Y/N. I love you...so much.”
He hangs up before you can, and you look at your phone with a weight in your stomach.
You stare at it for five minutes, your thumb hovering over the PLEDIS app your company had to put in paid time off or sick leave.
NEW! 2 Messages from: Kim Mingyu
[7:31 PM] [1 Attachment]
[7: 31 PM] check your email. come to me. please.
Your email pings as you press the photo. A screenshot – one first class ticket to Chicago through O’Hare, taking off at seven in the morning your time. A non-stop thirteen-hour flight, because you can’t stand waiting around an airport for a connection.
NEW! 1 Message from: Kim Mingyu
[7:32 PM] i love you.
You open the company app without a second thought.
MONDAY, DECEMBER 8 | 5:34 AM, CHICAGO.
Mingyu is nauseous as he paces back and forth in front of your gate, his hand nearly crushing the flowers he’s got gripped in his palm.
He’s still hungover as fuck, and he has absolutely no idea what came over him the night before – but he doesn’t care, either. If you got on that plane...you’ll be here.
Any minute now.
Seungcheol scolded him the entire ride to the airport. He went on and on about how he can’t do things like that when he’s drunk, that he can’t just drop over two grand to get you to Chicago because he misses you – when Seungcheol had done the same thing the year you and Mingyu met, but for Jeonghan.
Seungcheol argues he and Jeonghan have been in love longer than Mingyu has even known how to wipe his ass. Offensive, gross and not true...but slightly endearing as the older man flushes at the mention of his long-term boyfriend.
Mingyu’s collar is too tight as he nibbles on his lip, watching people start trickling out the gate. Families, a couple. Another couple, elderly and wobbly as they hold hands tightly and carry light backpacks – a young girl screaming from behind him and running up to them. He stops pacing, standing next to a man obviously waiting for someone – maybe a her. A girl, a woman.
He’s just as nervous as Mingyu is, holding flowers just like Mingyu. Lips bitten red, cheeks flushed...and Mingyu reminds himself to take a deep breath. He keeps looking over heads of people – more couples, more families...
You.
In a pink hoodie that belonged to him in college, with a black pair of his sweatpants tugged over your hips and almost too long. Wearing cable headphones, eyes swollen and sunglasses perched on your head. Your hands are stuffed in your pocket, and you’re chewing on your lip the way you always do when you’re nervous as you walk cautiously; your eyes slowly raking over everyone waiting before you drop them to the ground.
Mingyu feels glued to the goddamn floor, and the guy next to him nudges his arm.
“That’s your girl?” He utters, and you duck behind a couple, almost like you’re embarrassed. Like you’re not aware he’s there, and you don’t want to look like an idiot.
“Yeah,” he breathes out, “that’s my girl.”
The guy pats his arm, and Mingyu feels adrenaline start coursing through him like a wave swallowing him whole as your name leaves his mouth.
“Y/N!”
Your head darts up, eyes wide as you look all around. You spot him, covering your face immediately as your lip juts out in a pout and he bolts to you. He almost knocks you over as he wraps his arms around your waist, clutching the flowers to your back as he holds you close. Your hair smells like the same perfume that’s haunted him for the last year without you, and your tears are soaking through his shirt as he kisses the side of your face.
“You’re here. You’re here...a-and I love you. I love you so much.” He stutters between kisses, your fingers gripping his jacket tightly as you sob into his neck. “I love you, God. It’s so good to see you, baby.”
“Even when I broke up with you over something stupid?” You blurt, haphazardly wiping at your eyes as his hands come to hold your cheeks carefully. Your eyes are still as starry as ever, glossed over with tears as your fingers pull at his jacket, “I love you.”
He smiles softly, nodding, “I know, baby. I know you love me.”
He feels his eyes sting with tears, your face growing blurry as he pulls you into him. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling deeply as his arms practically crush you in his embrace. Your arms wrap around his waist, your fingernails dragging lightly up and down his back as your sobs subside slowly. He kisses the crown of your head, “you’re really here?”
“I’m really tired.” You whisper back, pulling your head back slightly to look up at him. His thumbs wipe the corners of your eyes gently, and you seemingly hesitate before glancing at his lips.
A kiss.
“Luckily for you...my hotel room has two beds.”
“Don’t tell me you’re sharing with Seungcheol.”
“He’s a fucking cheapskate if it’s not about Jeonghan,” Mingyu jests, making you roll your eyes before they not-so-subtly land on his lips again. He nuzzles his nose to yours, “you’re mine, right? This, you coming. That makes you mine, right?”
“Leave a message,” you shrug, before pressing your lips to his abruptly, your hands cupping his jaw carefully as you pull him to you. He kisses you back softly, pulling away after a few seconds as his hands hold your hips tightly. He smiles against your lips, giving you another chaste kiss before leaning near your ear and pitching his voice up.
“Hey, it’s Y/N. Sorry I missed—”
“Mingyu, I'll get right back on that damn plane.”
He laughs, grabbing your hand and pulling you flush to his hip as he shows you the flowers. Your eyes widen as you smile inwardly, holding them to your chest as you peer up at him through your lashes, “...thank you for leaving all those voicemails.”
“Thank you for listening to them. And picking up...and getting on that flight.”
“I love you, Mingyu.”
He can’t bite back his smile as his cheeks tinge pink, his skin hot as his fingers tighten around yours and you both step out into the cold Chicago air. He rocks on his heels for a moment, before spotting Seungcheol down the pick-up area. He leans down slightly, pressing a kiss to your temple before clearing his throat.
“Hey, it’s Y/N. Sorry I missed your call, leave a message and I’ll get right back to ya! Hehehe.”
You shove him away, beelining for Seungcheol as he snickers. The older man looks pleasantly surprised to see you, opening his arms to embrace you. You allow it, before he opens the passenger side door as Mingyu opens his mouth to argue.
You both stick your tongues out at him, turning your noses up at him as you climb into the passenger seat while Seungcheol takes your carryon.
“I told you she’d come.” Seungcheol scoffs, and Mingyu scrunches his nose, “no you didn’t, idiot.”
“Be nice, Kim Mingyu. We’re kicking him out of his room later, we need to be in his good graces.”
“No way you guys are just getting back together and already fucking.” Seungcheol gapes, and Mingyu feels his face grow even hotter as he just scrambles into the driver’s seat. Seungcheol scowls as he slips into the backseat, too tired to fight it. You reach your hand across the center console for Mingyu to hold as he peels out of the pick-up area, your lips pressing to his knuckles.
for my babies who have been feeling down recently, here are 15 comfort fics for you from seventeen
please like and reblog original fics to show love and support to the authors/creators 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
• couch comfort ( @ddeonghwa-s ) choi seungcheol x reader;
maybe the bad stuff isn't so bad when you have your boyfriend, seungcheol, there to help you with the weight.
— 6.3k wc, [f/c/minor a], boyfriend cheol i’m crying he’s so attentive and romantic i’m actually melting.
• my lighthouse ( @hannyoontify ) yoon jeonghan x reader
on your darkest, most gloomy days at sea, jeonghan becomes your lighthouse
— 1.4k wc, [f/h/c] i relate to mc soo much in this one, hannie’s so patient and endearing i want to cry.
• now, before, always ( @wheeboo ) hong jisoo x reader
in which your husband is always there to remind you what it means to be loved.
— 1.9k wc, [f/c/minor a] husband shua oh my god stop it the way he treats mc so gently
• sweet dreams ( @hazz-a-bear ) wen junhui x reader
when you want nothing more than to just close your eyes and go to sleep after weeks of restless exhaustion, Junhui is the only one who's actually capable of lulling you to a slumber at the end of the day.
— unavailable wc, [f/c] the way he helps lure her to sleep i can’t i am MELTING
• “i’m here. it’s okay. you can cry i’m here.” ( @greenstares ) kwon soonyoung x reader
— unavailable wc, [h/c], mature content ahead! (author’s blog is mdni), a shorter one compared the others but nonetheless a real good one. one of my favs out of this whole list acc, miss u hoshi.
in which you and wonwoo have a late night conversation
— 1.8k wc, [f/c], bit of a different type of comfort compared to the others but adorable and fluffy nonetheless
• shadow ( @babyleostuff ) lee jihoon x reader
you don't know when the universe factory had become your safe place, but woozi always made sure to comfort you in every way he could - even if it meant he had to spoil his new song
— 2k wc, [f/c] stop i almost started tearing up bcus i miss woozi so bad, he’s the absolute secret sweetest of the group fs
• forever is a feeling ( @haologram ) lee seokmin x reader
your 'stay-at-home' husband knows your job means a lot to you, but he knows he means twice as much.
— 1.5k wc, [f/s/baby angst], mature content ahead! dk the man you are.. the way he talks to mc gives me butterflies
• local lover boy ( @ddeonghwa-s ) kim mingyu x reader
after you've had a long week of work, mingyu decides to help you wind down for the night.
— 5.1k wc, [f/c], mature content ahead! so-so domestic and fluffy, he’s so downbad for her it’s sweet.
• no matter ( @rubywonu ) xu minghao x reader
in which your boyfriend assured you and comforted you after having a rough day.
— 1k wc, [f/c], so sweet and comforting, for my academic validation babies
• pinky promise ( @wheeboo ) boo seungkwan x reader
in which seungkwan reminds you that you are worthy of love.
— 1.7k wc, [f/c], so many of this author’s fic in this post but they’re just too good at writing comfort haha, this one had me smiling so hard
• untitled ( @nonranghaes ) chwe hansol x reader
— unavailable wc, [f/c], another rly rly short one i know i’m sorry but this one was too sweet not to include :c i reread this one a lot toooo
• bf! dino ( @purploozi ) lee chan x reader
— unavailable wc, [f/c], headcanons rather than an actual story just because the fics on tumblr for dino are a little too short for my liking, this is fluffy and comforting in it’s own way anyway tehe
• how they take care of you ( @waldau ) ot13 reactions
— 2.5k wc, [f/h/c], the absolute sweetest i’ve reread this one so many times
• when you disassociate ( @greenstares ) ot13 reactions
— unavailable wc, [h/c], mature content ahead! (author’s blog is mdni), relate to this fic a lot so i often come back to this one when i feel myself disassociating haha
Part of the Light's Out collab hosted by @studiosvt!
pairing: Kim Mingyu x f!reader
total wc: 22k/?
part 1: 7.5k | part 2: 14.4k | part 3
synopsis: It’s hard to dislike Mingyu, an acknowledgement he risks his modesty for. So when he approaches you with rose tinted glasses, clad in the team kit of his dreams, he’s ready to build a rapport of a lifetime with his brand new race engineer.
Until, the brakes screech loud enough for the entire paddock to hear.
It’s hard to dislike Mingyu, but you make it look easy.
contains: f1driver!mingyu, race engineer!reader, fluff, angst, coworkers to lovers, annoyances to lovers, beloved by all mingyu, detailed descriptions of a car crash, smut in future chapters [minors dni]
NOTE: please pay attention to the chapter headings as they are important to understand the timeline <33
[a/n]: been a minute but we're here!! thank to everyone who sent such nice things about part 1 in the reblogs, in my DMs, and in my inbox, this one is for all of youuu. huge thank you to @sailorsoons for beta reading this for me love u queen.
masterlist
BAKU 2025
James Calico’s apprentice recovers quickly from Mingyu’s jab. Mouth opening like it was ready to suck his entire being into the abyss.
“There’s only been one headline overtaking your name in the past weeks,” Selina Thatcher continues. It was going to take more to hear her say it outright, of course, a tactic she’d learnt from the best.
Mingyu however, has also learned to be stubborn from the best, and manages to hold his ground while at ease, “I will repeat, and ask you to be specific.”
Mingyu refuses to break eye contact with her artificially coloured irises, the bright blue boring into his eyes like they were meant to hypnotise. With the way that she operates, he wouldn’t put the thought behind that decision past her.
He sees her closed mouth move, like she's thinking. Before finally, she lets it go.
“Rumours regarding your race engineer."
MELBOURNE 2025
Mingyu waking his doctor in the middle of the night as he attempts to refrain from throwing up on the hotel carpet won’t be part of his finer moments, but he jests in having a story to tell from his first race weekend as a Ferrari driver. Of course, it was only media day, but the prospect of officially laying himself out in front of reporters in red was a thought that troubled his dinner.
The world had already witnessed his brand new uniform in his official photoshoots and all the pre-season trailers he’s been made to shoot, but he discerns the weight of being face-to-face with a sea of Tifosi staring back at him from the chemically fragrant toilet bowl. Despite the precious seconds of sleep he loses, he does not take these nerves too heavily upon himself.
Mingyu wouldn’t see the internet aftermath of his strut across the paddock till later, but that was hardly what concerned him.
He sits on a cream couch, laid back and relaxed as he dares in a room full of stationed reporters with cameras on him. Sunghoon, his former teammate, is on his left, and Jun on his right.
Sunghoon is currently chuckling through an answer about his old teammate, pretending he wasn’t right there next to him.
“Real piece of work,” Sunghoon chortles into the mic.
Mingyu is inclined to pick up his own and give his two cents, “Heard the horror stories.”
He finds himself appreciating having two people he considers friends next to him for his first conference of the season, even as they begin to tackle the more carefully worded questions.
“First of all, congratulations on the Ferrari seat, the red suits you.”
Mingyu murmurs a “thank you” into his mic as he continues, “Speaking of past and present, Ferrari will also be debuting their first ever female race engineer this weekend, how would you say you and Ms. _____ have been melding on the track?”
Mingyu brings the mic back up to his lips, like it was the easiest answer in the world. “We’ve been doing great! We work together quite well and we’ve been able to get some really good progress with the car, rest of the team involved as well, of course.”
“So do we expect to see a better season out of Ferrari than last year?”
Undeniably, Ferrari had been riding Mercedes’ coattails in the last season, a demotion to the clean one-two championships they’d been winning year after year. They were yet to see Mingyu’s performance, so the question is ladled with genuine curiosity.
“Obviously I can’t compare from last year, but the team’s been working hard to turn out a winning car. I have faith we can get there. The season will tell.”
Mingyu’s response would echo in his ears as he slipped into the car that Friday, a repeating mantra going along the lines of don’t fuck this up don’t fuck this up don’t fuck this up—
Your voice cuts through the static of the radio, asking him about brake quality.
“It’s alright,” he grunts as he forces a turn. “Making a racket though.” Mingyu can hear the distinct screeeeech when he brakes, even above the piercing roar of the engine.
“Copy.”
It’s silence from you till you pop back in to tell him to pit, and disconnect completely when he makes it to the garage. He reports back on the brakes, feeling optimistic about the mechanic's response assuring him it's a quick fix.
The mechanic was right, as Saturday morning, the final practice session goes as smooth as they could ever want. Your voice over the radio, however, remains as clipped as ever, and Mingyu has to look past it and attempt to focus on the car.
Mingyu’s about to walk into his final practice lap when your radio comes on, a quick “radio check” in his ear.
He likes to think it was his good mood that urged him to do this, similar to his ways with Derek. But later, he might attribute it to simply wanting to grease the one creaky cog that just would not let up—you.
So Mingyu, his attention mostly on the track, begins to lightly rap Fergalicious into the radio, naturally, since it was the first thing that pops into his head, “All the time I turn around brothas gather 'round always looking at me up and down, looking at my uh—”
He does not realise a potential error in his ways till he hears no response from you. It isn’t important for you to respond, considering you called for the radio check, but Mingyu suddenly feels a pang of doubt. He doesn’t know why, since this is probably the least noteworthy thing he’d done on track.
He lets the practice session end, parking in the garage and pushing himself out of the seat. He has no notes this time, and lets the team crowd the car as he unclips his helmet, ripping off his balaclava and walking towards his room to have a good lie in before Qualifying begins.
He’s forgotten about what happened on the track in his haste to be horizontal, and is physically jolted when he runs into you blocking his door.
It takes him by surprise that you’d want to speak to him when not necessary, but even more so, the downright livid expression on your face. Mingyu is forced to a stop in front of you, hoping for an explanation.
“What was that?” you hiss, and Mingyu has to fight from physically cringing at the venom in your tone.
“What?” Mingyu gapes.
“They could fine you for copyright violations, what were you thinking?” Arms crossed over your chest, your shoulders are so high up they nearly touch your ears.
“...That the FIA can’t force me to cough up because I rapped four seconds of Fergalicious on radio?”
“This comes onto me too, you know?”
“I can’t imagine it would, no.” Mingyu is frowning now, utterly confused as to why he's being chewed out for something he’d done his entire career.
He watches as you close your eyes, and he can almost see the steam slowly begin to subside, the cooldown operations of your system working overtime.
“Just…pick something else to check in with.”
Mingyu moves his head back in sarcasm as he suggests it, “What, should I list the lower classification of shark breeds?”
“That’s fine,” you air into his space, leaving him dumbfounded. You don’t care to elaborate or refute his obvious sarcasm, because you’re already walking away like he's a waste of your time.
It takes a lot for Mingyu to not hurl his helmet into the room as he finally walks in, now too adrenaline flushed to consider his previous plan of lying down. Despite his anger, he finds it within himself to put your apparent lack of rationality to his emotional state, wondering if he’d messed up somehow and he can’t see it.
Regardless, he hoped you would be able to form a courteous relationship if not a friendly one, considering you were his only point of contact when he’d be an inch from death on the race track. If he wasn’t sure of your obvious dislike for him before, he was sure now.
That Sunday, when he’s geared up for his first ever race in a Ferrari, he refuses to be troubled by the connotations when you call for a radio check. A deep breath, and Mingyu begins to recite, exactly as you asked, “Whale shark, megalodon, great white, hammerhead, basking, bull, shortfin mako, nurse, tiger, zebra, thresher—”
You interrupt his list of lower classification sharks, rudely, might he add, “That’s all.”
“Sure? I have more,” Mingyu asks on purpose, and hears no reply. He wonders if the paddock is hearing this, which he’s sure they are, as are people at home, and everyone else who’d tune in to hear the compilation eventually.
Mingyu isn’t sure if this is going to get him another dressing down, or perhaps you’d choose to simply ignore him even harder, but he feels a very thick sense of satisfaction trickle into his chest.
When he snaps back into place on the track, he’s maintained his P3 position for most of the race, but notes the looming threat of the McLaren behind him.
“Gap?” he asks.
“Two seconds.”
Fuck. Mingyu watches the turn come up after the straight, realising he needs to brake as late as possible to keep the McLaren at bay.
“Who’s behind me?”
“Grant.”
The answer satisfies him, grateful it isn’t Choi, who would not have been as easy to fend off. But he doesn’t lower his guard, making the turn. He slows down more than needed, currently more occupied with zigzagging the track to prevent an overtake. Picking up speed on a straight, he floors it faster than he has all day.
“Gap?”
“3 seconds.”
A second is better than nothing, continuing to push without needing to be told. He’s holding Grant off for the next four laps in complete silence, waiting for his tires to give out, to make a mistake—anything.
The adrenaline’s reached a point where he hardly feels a thing, reacting on pure reflex as Grant continues to maintain the three second gap. He wants to tune in and ask you for the hypotheticals, but he knows it’s risky if the McLaren team hears and know he’s struggling to keep pace. With no knowing of when the driver was going to pit, he resolves with simply sticking it out.
“Laps?” he asks simply, too focused to blurt any more words at 200 kilometers per hour.
“Four left.”
Mingyu needs to get on this podium. Nobody is expecting it of him, first race of the season in a car considered outside his caliber, but he did not make it to P3 by pure chance. He doesn’t know how long he’s been holding Grant off, but as he comes out of the corner and into the straight, his last three laps are glistening like stars in front of his eyes. That might also be spots of fatigue, but he cannot ponder on it in the moment.
The only other car in his rearview for so long was just Grant, but he sees it, the distinct blue of a Williams making its way onto the straight as Mingyu is about to make a sharp turn.
Along with two laps left to go, Mingyu also now has two cars on his tail.
He enters the second to last lap, no sign of you in his ears, but enough of Grant in his mirror. Mingyu’s pushing as much as he can, full throttle without a care of the very peculiar sounds his engine is making.
The track is all that consumes his vision, eyes dry with how long he's gone without blinking, hands and feet numb from nothing that has to do with weather.
The last lap. You finally tune in to do your job, a small, “Final lap, final lap.”
“Copy,” Mingyu says, but it comes out as a soundless breath.
Because he sees it, the final turn and the back of Minghao’s car as it passes the checkered flag in front of him.
And in seconds, Mingyu’s there where he once watched—in red, on the podium. Prevailed.
“That’s P3, P3. Drive up to parc fermé.”
As the Mclaren turns into just Philip Grant and not his competitor, even your icy tone cannot bring him down at this moment.
“Great job, everyone,” he huffs into the mic, a little starstruck.
He parks right up front the big number 3, pushing himself out of the car. The cooldown room is Minghao and Seokmin, both of whom are immediately congratulating him through desperate sips of water, pats on the back and bright faces.
Once they’ve all caught their breaths, he’s suddenly very aware he’s being filmed, but chooses to ignore it as he combs his hair back with his hands and puts his team hat on.
“Heard Grant gave you a tough time,” Seokmin starts. He won the race, Mingyu doesn’t know by how much, but with the way he had time mid-race to ask his engineer for other’s statuses, he assumes it must’ve gone a lot easier than Mingyu’s.
“Yeah,” Mingyu hummed. “Pushed through though.”
“Lost sight of you at some point,” Minghao notes as he fidgets with his race suit.
“Yeah, he was too busy staring at my rear end,” Seokmin adds, which earns him a smack against the chest from Minghao, who’s smiling all the same.
Trophies are paraded, champagne is sprayed, and Mingyu is taking in every second like it might never happen again. But he knows it will, because every time he catches the crimson of Minghao’s attire, he knows it’s his too, that his life has changed.
When he’s in the garage, he takes a moment to let everyone who is left to congratulate him, taking the time before finally reaching the technical aspect of the day before he can leave.
You sit in the meeting room with Seungcheol, waiting for him as he enters. Seungcheol already congratulated him earlier, but he’d be lying if he wasn’t expecting something from you too. The room is freezing, like someone left the air conditioner on while the place was empty.
It’s catching up to Mingyu that you never said a thing when he’d passed the checkered flag, not a peep of a congratulations, a sliver of remarkability in anything at all. There's time before he finally comes down from the race adrenaline, but he already knows it’s going to irk him.
“Grant was putting up a fight,” Cheol says.
Before Mingyu can reply, you’re butting in, “Telemetry says you were going full throttle for a lot of the stalemate but the engine wasn’t giving as much as it should have. Did you feel anything different?”
He’s thrown off by the direct question, but answers regardless, “I wasn’t paying much attention while avoiding him, but it didn’t sound right. Like there was no bass in the sound.”
Mingyu knew enough about the manufacturing of the cars to explain himself, but he realises this isn’t something he fully understands, especially since the deterioration occurred so slowly.
“We’ll look into it. Anything else?”
“I think that was it.”
You’re click clacking away on your laptop, while Seungcheol sits with a hand running over his mouth. His brows are not quite relaxed. Finally, he speaks up into the silence. “I think that’s all from us for now. You go rest up, you had a big day.”
Later on, when Mingyu has bid his goodnight, you continue typing out emails to the responsible people to hop on a call as soon as tomorrow morning. Seungcheol is staring lasers into you, not saying a word.
“What do you want?” you ask quietly, not a hitch in what you’re occupied with.
“Do you need to be that way?”
“What way?”
“Like that. With him.”
“What have I done to him?”
“Nothing. That might be the problem.”
“I’m doing my job Seungcheol, I don’t know what you want from me.”
“You treat him like an inconvenience. He’s the essence of your job and you’ve hardly spoken to him.”
You don’t reply, slowing down your typing, still staring at the blinking bar that taunts you. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“Mingyu could make peace with a hyena if it came to it, but there’s only so much he’s gonna take before it starts becoming a problem”
Ripping your eyes from your screen, your fists clench atop your keyboard, pressing down so hard you send a flying line of ellipses across the email draft.
“I’m trying to imagine a situation where my professionalism becomes a problem, Seungcheol.”
“This isn’t professionalism. You're being professional when you talk to me, Hao, Charlotte, Hugh. You’re not professional when you’re talking to Mingyu.”
“I’m tired,” you announce, slamming your laptop shut on your unsent email. “Let’s just go.”
Seungcheol’s own professionalism must’ve kicked in because he doesn’t refute, choosing to leave you as you are.
Of course, it wasn’t that he was wrong—you are acting differently around Mingyu. On purpose.
The news was presented to you on a bright sunny morning, a day you were convinced was going to go very differently than it had.
There wasn’t a thing you didn’t love about the industry, and perhaps that was an overextension, but anytime you’re graced with plans and blueprints of developments and corrections of cars, it urges you to believe the statement true. Times were rare when you expressed this, met with scoffs and taunts of “you’ve clearly never done this", your own colleagues hardly being able to imagine being married to their job in the way you are.
The excitement was jittery, it made you need to suppress a jerky reaction, it filled your chest with warmth and comfort and the thrill of all the possibilities. You’d managed to crawl your way up to an engineer, working on the cars that needed the most rapid rebrands, lightyears faster than other road cars.
But even then, as you’d mentioned to Carter plenty of times, there was something else you wanted. Something only the CEO could give you.
Carter promised he’d talk to him, but that was months ago. So when you woke up one day with a sparse meeting request in your email from none other than Carter himself, you had truly convinced yourself that this was it.
The Research and Development department of Scuderia Ferrari was an operation you caught glimpses and glances of like a forbidden love affair, windows not quite as big as other offices, but big enough for you to catch rare sightings of prototypes you couldn’t understand, drawing paper and computers pulled up with charts you couldn’t make out from where you stood.
You wanted to be in the eye of the hurricane, work on cars that defied the impossible, work that made you feel like you did something instead of sitting in a corner and pushing some buttons. It was embarrassing to admit just how much you longed for it, even more so when you realise you’d done everything to make sure you got there in the end.
Carter sat across from you with an unreadable expression, and the words to describe the feeling were not known to you, because what would regurgitate from his mouth next could only be described as nonsense wrapped in wet soil. The deep sinking weight in your chest plunged to depths unexplored, leaving a gaping black hole where there was once hope.
“We’ve caught wind that Cho is planning to Irish goodbye us altogether,” he gruffed out. “That would leave us with a vacancy for race engineers, and we’d really rather keep it quiet.”
You don’t remember how he explicitly asked you, but you remember asking him plenty of questions.
“How can he just abandon his contract?!”
“How much does this put me in the public eye?”
“How am I supposed to drop everything and fly to a new country every week?”
And finally, the question you’d been wrestling down since the moment he uttered the dreaded words, you asked, “What about the position I said I wanted?”
Brayden Carter, a composed, professional man, simply interlaced his fingers on the table, “I can try, really try, if you can get through this season, and be available to us when we need you. Which, I know we will.”
“Are you bartering?” It came tumbling out before you could contain it. Entirely unprofessional, almost accusatory, but it wasn’t not true.
“Think of it more as…a deal. I can’t confirm that you’re what that department needs, or if HR would be intent on it, but I can promise you I’ll try. They don’t need new personnel right now, and you going through them yourself won’t get you far. I’ll talk to Vigna and we can vouch for you.”
You wanted to ask the hard hitting questions, What’s the collateral?
But you don’t. Quiet, unmoving, sitting back in your chair with fists on the armrests, deep within thoughts that take you everywhere and nowhere. Sitting there, you let his words imprint. He wasn’t wrong, Choi Minho was winning championship after championship until last year, when Mercedes rolled in and turned all of Ferrari’s shine into coal covered relics. It’d pushed them back more than they ever anticipated, R&D was packed to the brim with the best money could employ.
You needed Braydon Carter, and you needed Benedetto Vigna.
So you look up, blank faced, and with a tone that resembles an even emptier slate, you announce, “Fine.”
The night you caught wind of Kim Mingyu’s potential onboarding onto Ferrari, your stomach knotted so hard you nearly threw up right then and there.
It wasn’t that you were so repelled by him, more than the connotations of—well, everything else.
Your position as a reserve was quickly bumped up to upcoming as soon as Cho abandoned ship and left Carter and Co. with too much paperwork than they could afford with the time they had. You were the first female race engineer at Ferrari, but not the first in Formula One as a sport. The headlines and social media chatter was still quite at the forefront of your mind, of everything that went down beyond the track and paddocks in the supposed private lives of employees.
Human nature is to talk, about whatever the universe could bestow upon them as fodder. And arguably, there was nothing better to snicker about than people who aren’t themselves. So when the very conveniently placed male driver / female race engineer combination first became available to the general public, it did not go down well.
You distinctly remember a female engineer at McLaren being switched out entirely, mid season when the rumours got out of hand. In hindsight, it was nothing but friendly banter, platonically intimate, but not nearly enough to be crossing professional lines. The very public aspect of your job was not lost on you, the prospect of stepping into the shoes you once watched from the sidelines loomed over your head. You needed to plan for this, airtight and foolproof, make sure you draw every line your job description would let you.
In an absolute heartbeat, you would’ve preferred to be paired with Minghao. Quiet, reserved, kept things surface level—as they should be. On the other end of the spectrum, you didn’t need to dig to find out what entailed Mingyu’s paddock personality.
He was a firework bottled into a human body, light and sunshine followed him everywhere, leaving traces behind as the people who interacted with him beam like they’d just been lit from within. Perhaps your perception was simply too left-brained to understand how a person could operate in this way, but you realised his overt friendliness was a threat to the lines you’d drawn in soldered iron.
You don’t know the moral or ethical integrity of the decision you ended up making, but it was all you had. Avoid Mingyu like the plague, just enough to establish you wanted nothing to do with him, but not so much it hindered you or him from doing your jobs.
It seemed simple enough in theory. Get through the season, get results, and keep your mouth shut while you’re at it.
Seungcheol’s nagging did nothing but confirm what it looked like from the outside—cold and direct. Just like it should be.
Even as Mingyu makes his way through the crowd in the garage, the same everlasting beam of sunshine on his face, now impossibly elevated with his podium, you remain standing in a corner where you can’t be seen.
For a cursory, electrifying moment, you find yourself considering walking up to give him a brief congratulations.
Catching yourself before you could delve into the thought further, your back straightens up like someone’s inserted a rod into your spine, rigid and at attention. Gripping the laptop and clipboard with a force definitely not recommended, you find yourself ripping your eyes away from the merrymaking, and about-turn into the nearest empty meeting room.
Passing up on pictures, you stay in the empty meeting room for minutes you don’t count, watching the icicles form on every strand of hair on your body, letting the cold seep into your skin and muscles, pulling them so taut you can feel every fibre. There’s ice on everything you touch, cold, slippery and unforgivingly numbing.
The clock ticks in your ears, the only everlasting sound in the room.
IMOLA 2025
“Lee in the pits, we can push this lap.”
Mingyu doesn’t need to be told twice as he floors it. His first goal this weekend is to make it to Q3, which he’s evidently managed, as his second goal is to now somehow make it to pole. With Seokmin in the pits, he can forget about the twisting and turning he needs to do around him, gearing up as he approaches the starting line to race a lap like he’s never ever before.
Nothing could have prepared him for the vigour of a Ferrari fan in Imola, no matter how much he’d witnessed it in the past. It was electric, the way they reached for him to affirm their trust in him, the potency of their passion.
Even now, as Mingyu attempts to make this the fastest qualifying lap of his career, he simply can’t go fast enough. The stands are no doubt loud, but nothing compares to the anarchy in his ears, the pounding possibility of this one, this is the lap.
He blanks out when the lap is over and he slows down for the subsequent one, tuning in to ask you the fated question.
“Time?” Ideally, he shouldn’t have to ask, considering he’s attempting to focus on the track ahead and not logistics, but he’s too impatient to test you on that.
“1:24. That’s pole.”
It takes everything to not slam his fists into the steering wheel in celebration, choosing to simply shake his fists in the air in barely controlled exhilaration as he drives. “Yes!”
“Pit on the next round,” you say, and he considers himself retired from the qualifying session.
“How long left on the clock?” Anything over a minute he’d argue to stay on track and defend the position.
“We’re clear for P1.”
Despite the air of elation, your answer irritates him. “I asked how long left on the clock.”
“Enough to not worry. Pit on the next lap.” The reprimand in your tone does nothing but add fuel to the fire. Momentarily, Mingyu forgets the pressing fact that the entire world can hear the radio exchange, a powerfully worded retort on the tip of his tongue fighting its way out. He holds himself back as he forms the syllable on his lips. It takes him a moment, before finding himself to utter nothing else but this;
“_____.”
It’s a warning. Nothing but your name, which he realises he’s hardly ever uttered before. It’s hard on his tongue, a forceful addition to his vocabulary. He doesn’t understand it, like he’s introducing an enemy into the sanctuary of his spoken word—a bad omen.
His voice is met with nothing but silence, not a crackle of an open line on the other end of the radio. Just when he thinks you’ve chosen to completely ignore him on the air, he hears the static come back in.
“Thirty seconds.”
How hard was that? Is what he’d like to ask, but he nips the thought at the bud, choosing to file into the pits in silence after that.
As he’s slowing down, his garage in sight, he chooses his next words carefully. “Congratulations, _____.”
He waits, as he parks his car in his garage, watches in his peripheral as hands he cannot count begin to pull at the car, pushing it into its space. He waits as he unlatches himself from his seat, feeling the clicks through his gloves, pressing down for longer than necessary. He waits as he rips the velcro off his gloves, freeing his hands from the damp den, flexing his fingers in the air. He waits as he heaves himself out of the car, standing as he reaches for the strap of his helmet.
He waits as he unlatches his helmet, pulling the helmet and HANS device with it. He waits as he yanks his balaclava off, staring at nothing as he finally moves his hand to his ears. He waits, his fingers hovering over his in-ears that connect him to the paddock at all times. He stares ahead, at where the pit wall is hindered by the hustle and bustle of the pit walk now that Qualifying is over.
Mingyu waits; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5… ears straining to hear the static, to hear you say something, until finally, he pulls out his in-ears, disconnecting himself from you.
The wire hits his chest, and he exhales. Looking around, he finds Hugh at his shoulder, smiling so wide it ripples at his dimples and strains his neck. He offers Mingyu a hand which he takes, pulling himself to step out of the car.
The gravity of the situation is losing its effects. He’d made history, given the Tifosi something to look forward to come Sunday, but he feels nothing but ire.
Nightfall blinks its stars in the windows of Mingyu’s hotel room that night. He’s scrubbed himself down twice, meticulously folded his dirty clothes and slipped them into a laundry bag, did his skincare for the first time in weeks, and picked off every last piece of loose thread on his pillow.
All to avoid looking at his phone.
But as he stares at the ceiling, knowing full well he has to reach for his phone to set his alarm for the following morning, he realises he has to come to terms with it. His lockscreen presents him with a message from Minseo.
[Old raisin]: meeting with carter on monday
[Mingyu]: For what
[Old raisin]: didnt say
Mingyu only huffs, exiting the app to set his alarms. He’d deal with whatever it was later, for now, the only thing occupying his mind was the race he had to win.
He manages to avoid his phone all night and all morning, turning his alarms off and forgetting the device existed as he got ready. Chan is in the room while Mingyu splashes the sleep out of his eyes one last time, exiting to find his agent with furrowed brows at the small desk in the room, staring into his laptop screen.
“What?” asks Mingyu, reaching for his socks.
Chan shakes his head, emitting a small noise of dismissal. He looks up to see his driver nearly ready, and begins to pack up. By the time they get to the circuit, he’s noticed his agent’s diverted attention all the while. Staring at his phone scrolling, eyes darting across the screen, typing periodically.
Mingyu’s beginning to feel the nausea creep up, so he doesn’t ask. There’s a prickly kind of heat all over his arms and neck, like he’d moved to a faraway place amidst the bustling garage. It was an odd feeling, and he can’t say he’s felt like this before. He’s self aware enough to know this was a myriad of factors swirling in his consciousness, but he isn’t quite sure how to snap out of it.
Hugh is talking to you over Mingyu’s detached steering wheel. He’s suddenly dizzy.
Turns out Mingyu didn’t need to worry too much, considering the second he’s dipped into the driver’s seat, his nerves reset. Perhaps he’s conditioned himself to feel nothing but rapt attentiveness when his vision locks into the familiar landscape, but he’s grateful for the temporary nature of his cold feet.
“I don’t have my steering wheel,” he speaks into the radio, strapping his gloves on.
There’s no response from your end, but seconds later, a mechanic is handing it to him.
He doesn’t have time to ponder on your lack of response, again, because the garage is clearing out before his eyes, and he watches the raised hand walking backwards in front of him, before giving him the motion to exit.
Driving up to the grid at pole position after the formation lap, he lets out an exhale he knows the radio can hear. All of a sudden Mingyu’s forgotten where he is, who’s counting on him, and what could come out of not delivering. All he can see are the lights above him that are going to flash bright red, and that the only rear end of a car he’s going to see is when he laps them all.
The lights ignite in a row, one by one by one, before going out altogether. And then Mingyu’s world is nothing but a roaring engine.
He pushes the first three laps as hard as he could, making sure the gap between him and Seokmin is as stretched as it can get. Seungcheol briefed him on strategy, that Minghao from P3 would keep him as occupied as possible in attempts to overtake that he’d eventually need to prioritise.
Mingyu is counting on it.
While Seokmin is on the opposite end of the aggressive spectrum off the track, he brings out the bear the second he's behind the wheel.
Mingyu’s glad for it, because this might be the most focused he’s ever been. So much so, that he doesn’t realise how far he’s come till the radio crackles in, “33 laps in, 30 left to go.”
“Copy,” he utters as his first word in…he doesn’t know how long.
Seokmin is beginning to catch up behind him, both his livery and Minghao’s in tandem in his mirror. Minghao remains hot on Seokmin’s heels, but the Mercedes remains unrelenting.
Mingyu realises he’s going to have to start pushing again, so he takes his chance at the straight and goes full throttle. Minghao is beginning to wear the car down, catching gaps in Seokmin’s guard as best as possible.
“Box box.”
“What?!” Mingyu sputters at the command.
With Seokmin hardly a few seconds behind, a pit stop was practically offering the lead to him on a silver platter. Mingyu doesn’t think of the consequences when he lets the pit lane blur right past him as he continues on the track.
“Mingyu—”
“I’m not pitting. Ten laps left, that’s suicide!” He can’t recognise the sound of his own voice, coming out grating and harsh from disuse, but laced with outrage.
It’s empty on the other end as Mingyu does everything to ignore your request, knowing he couldn’t just pit on the next lapconsidering the entire paddock heard your call. Mingyu attempts to put aside the irrational burst of anger for after the race, but he realises his ire is only gunning him to do better.
His ears ring as he whizzes past a lapped Aston Martin, finally, bringing a barrier between him and Seokmin. He realises it’s only a matter of time before the Aston has to give way to the other cars, and uses the delay to his advantage.
He’s suddenly a lap away, still going full throttle to leave no room for error. A quick glance at his mirror and he realises Minghao is behind him now, having overtaken at some point along the way.
Mingyu crosses the checkered flag with the noise of his own blood rushing into his ears, reality slow to trickle in.
“That’s a win,” he hears your flat voice over the noise, the confirmation that he’s done it. “Congratulations.”
That’s a win.
He doesn’t remember any of the hollering that escapes him after that, because he realises he’s relaxing into his seat out of his own accord for the first time, and not from the influx of G forces pushing his organs into a centrifuge.
His victory lap is a blur, the roaring of the Tifosi a blended streak of red in his vision, the track a swallowing pit of dark grey. But maybe that was just the tears in his eyes.
“Great job, Mingyu,” Braydon Carter’s voice is in his ear on the radio. “This side of the paddock’s proud of you.”
Driving up to parc fermé, he’s jumping out of his seat like he’s been seated on a hot poker, and books it towards the crowd of Ferrari mechanics, engineers, strategists and every other piece of the puzzle that waits for him to dump his entire body weight upon. His back will be sore from the unrelenting slaps and his ears ringing from the yelling, but he lets the elation drag him as high as he could go.
Later on, he’ll look back onto the pictures and realise he doesn’t remember smiling that wide. Because in the moment, all Mingyu felt was an overwhelming, all-consuming sense of relief.
He seems to have forgotten the weight of his win, because as he walks out of the cooldown room and into the blue skies of Imola, the winning podium gives him the best view in the house; of the ever-stretching ocean of red that’s taken over the track. A flag that could span an entire highway depicts the prancing horse like a winning emblem, reddish smoke wavering over the crowd like a haze.
Mingyu feels like he’s been punched square in the chest, the wind knocked out of him. Which is saying something considering the weight of ten elephants was laid on him in his car not even twenty minutes ago.
By the time Mingyu is back in the garage, stripped of most of his clothes and dipped to his neck in the ice bath, he’s letting his emotions slowly wither down to something manageable. Chan sits next to him on a chair, and Mingyu takes a moment to notice his agent still has his phone in his hands as he talks his ear off.
“And then I thought Hao was gonna ram into Seokmin…” he trails off as he watches him. His brows are furrowed and his mouth downturned. He hums in response to keep Mingyu talking, but his attention is anywhere but on him.
“You’ve been glued to your phone all day,” he says. “What’s going on?”
Chan snaps his head up to look at him, shaking his head with more force than necessary, locking his phone and slipping it back into his pocket. “Nothing. Press should be waiting soon, d’you think you’re done?”
Mingyu isn’t buying it, but begins to rise out of the freezing water into the comparatively warmer air. Chan is setting towels down for him to step his pooling feet onto, but something tells him he’s busying himself to keep from making eye contact.
“Chan, am I walking out there blind?”
“Blind about what?” he asks. But Mingyu knows him well enough to hear the breathiness of his voice, the nerves laced behind his smoothing laughter.
“Chan. If I’m going to be asked about something out there, I wanna know.” His voice is sterner now, fully convinced he’s being kept from something.
When his agent doesn’t respond, he only huffs. “Fine, I’ll look myself.” Mingyu doesn’t care he’s only in his drenched boxers, leaving puddles of water in his wake as he reaches for his phone with wet hands.
“Okay, just—!” Chan snatches his phone away and forces a towel into his hands. “Dry off and I’ll tell you.”
Mingyu sits down and runs the dry towel over his arms and chest. “People are…noticing, that your race engineer is…”
“A grump?” Mingyu answers for him.
“A little,” he cringes. “It’s mostly just memes and the usual jokes but some are saying she ruined the win.”
“Ruined it?”
“You didn’t say much on radio.” Chan’s arms hang limp at his sides. “That’s not very like you.”
Mingyu looks down as he dries his legs. “Not much to say on a ghost line.”
“There isn’t much we can do when most of the talk is lighthearted. But people are confused.”
And they have the right to be. Mingyu isn’t exactly the quiet type, his silence right after the biggest milestone of his career so far was bound to be noticed.
“You were bouncing off the walls once you were out of the car, so it kinda…”
“Made them think she was the problem,” Mingyu finishes. He sighs loudly, and thinks of the hoard of press waiting for him outside.
Chan looks as uncomfortable as ever, and he knows it’s not because of Mingyu’s lack of modesty.
It wouldn’t be entirely right of him to badmouth Mingyu’s race engineer; and the possibility of the problem worsening…it’s weighing on him. It doesn’t help that Mingyu’s popularity has rocketed to the stars since the season began.
“Is she?” Chan asks.
“Hm?”
“Is she a problem?”
Mingyu opens his mouth only to close it again. He runs a cold, pruned hand over his face. “I don’t think she particularly likes me, but I’d hoped she wouldn’t let it get in the way of her job.”
“If it’s affecting your drive you need to talk to Carter,” Chan pushes now that Mingyu’s brought the subject to light.
“I can’t be making demands this quickly—”
“You’ve given them a win seven weekends in,” Chan cuts him off. “That has to account for something.”
“Listen, I’ve been managing fine—”
“And when you can’t? She’s your only point of communication on the track and she refuses to talk to you, that’s a disaster waiting to happen! She was making you lap while Seokmin was only three seconds behind you—with ten laps left to go!”
Mingyu doesn’t have an answer for him, because he knows he’s right.
The win is fresh hanging over all of their heads, but a corner of his heart can’t help but feel like an intruder on this team. Like he’s somehow gotten here through pure uncut luck and nothing more. That he needs to tread with paramount caution or else they’d take it all away from him.
Mingyu’s scared, an irrational fear that he recognises. But it sits buried deep inside him, and you only seem to stoke that fire.
“I’ll think about it for a week or two,” Mingyu finally says. Chan opens his mouth to refute but he’s cut off. “Now get out, I have put on dry underwear.” He flicks his damp towel at him, pushing him out of the small room.
Mingyu attempts to calm his nerves, now fully clothed amidst a panel of Minghao and Seokmin, staged before a room full of press representatives.
He musters the most natural of smiles, the easy pull of his mouth and the calm on his face that he doesn’t feel. “It’s a bit! She’s funny like that.”
The reporter who asked the fated question stares like he might’ve told him you were an automation, and he sees it in his face. He’s not buying it.
Mingyu’s dread hits the pedal.
Carter picks out a nonexistent piece of lint off his dark sweater. You ponder for a moment how much the plain piece of clothing cost, but are interrupted when he begins to speak.
“We had a deal,” he reminds you. “You fill in for Mingyu’s race engineer for this year—and this year alone—and I’d help you get to R&D. Maybe I didn’t make it clear enough, but we expected at least an above average job.”
Irritation you cannot describe ignites within you, rationality leaving you for a moment. With tense muscles and a hard look, you know deep down you’re being unreasonable. But you cannot seem to care.
“Arguing on radio?” He’s beginning to lose a bit of his composure. “And about what—the time?”
There’s nothing you can say.
“I can’t vouch for you in front of Vigna when he’s called me five times in the last hour to tell me to put my race engineer in line.”
“I get it,” you say through grit teeth and a concealed sigh. “I’ll fix it.”
“You don’t have a choice. The internet’s in the beginning stages of a riot and your face is smack center of the dart board.”
That is news to you. “What?” It’s easier to look him in the eye now, genuinely confused.
He throws his hands in the air in a half-hearted yield, the lines on his face still ever present. “You cannot wrong a driver this beloved by the public and not expect people to lash out, honestly I thought you were smart enough to know that. Granted it’s only a few jokes but that’s always how it begins. You haven’t just been inadequate at your job, you’ve been utterly unprofessional!” His voice pitches higher by the end of the sentence, hands flying as he speaks.
He shakes his head, not quite done. “_____, if you cannot convince me, you cannot convince Vigna. And you cannot convince me until you’ve convinced the public.”
The inordinate feeling of whiplash stays with you all the way back to your hotel room, operating entirely on instinct as you wash up and finally slip under the covers. Your phone is untouched beside you, and you decide to steel yourself and pick the damn thing up for the first time in hours and hours.
At the very least, if you need to cry, there’s enough to run the reservoir dry before tomorrow morning.
The first thing that glares at you is a suggested post, practically shoving reality in your face for the part of you that believes Carter was exaggerating.
KIM MINGYU WINS IN IMOLA!
The breath you take is shaky, pressing onto the comment section with hesitancy like it was prone to combustion.
[@_xy__z]: AAAAAAAA SO DESERVED!!!!! had potential to be his bestest win but ofc, thats not his fault
[@zx__y]: somebody needs to put his race engineer in check
[@yzx__01]: hottest man on the grid won in a ferrari in italy and was still met with radio silence 😭😭😭😭 what of us common folk
[@x__zy]: yeah congrats and everything but wtf was happening on that radio
[@yy01zx]: just when i thought i could be excited about another female race engineer…..girl get a grip
You’re grinding your teeth so hard you can hardly feel the pain in your jaw. Another scroll takes you to another still of Mingyu’s godawful face that’s beginning to cost you, at the post race conference you had no desire to wait on or look out for.
“It’s a bit,” he says into the mic. Nothing in his expression to suggest a lick of an otherwise, nothing tentative in his smile. It’s revolting to you how easy it looks, how easy the lie came to him. Not a hair out of place.
You close your eyes on instinct, and take a moment to regroup before you resort to kicking and punching at hotel grade bedsheets and thin air.
It’d gotten that far.
You’d never meant for it to get this far.
The utter weight of your emotions pushes you into a sitting position, vision blurring from the frustration. This is the opposite of what you wanted.
It’s sickening as the thought begins to coagulate, the full bodied realisation of what’s happened. It was obvious, in the comment section that’s meant to be full of his praise but isn’t, in the silence you gave in response on radio, to every time you talked yourself out of being even remotely near his vicinity, in your vehement denial of the fallout.
In your attempt to become unseen, you’d ended up thrusting yourself into the limelight anyway. Front and center.
And you don’t know how to fix it.
MONACO 2025
Mingyu is bitter. And he doesn’t think he’s entirely wrong to be so.
But he remains as though not a brick is out of place on the Monaco paddock. He finds repose in the one time during the season he gets to do it, getting to the paddock from his home and not a sterile hotel room. It’s been a couple weeks since he’s set foot on a circuit, but hardly feels the detachment despite the break.
He tries and fails to not think about it when he gets to his tiny room in the garage to get into full battle dress, prepared for whenever he needs to get into the car for the first Practice session. Media day had been better than he’d expected, but he feels Minseo might have had something to do with the lack of questions aimed at the obvious.
Minghao is speaking to you at the opening of the garage when Mingyu emerges, his suit undone to the waist. Minghao is yet to change, still in jeans and sunglasses as you converse with a neutral expression. Your back is turned to Mingyu, but you’re nodding your head along. Mingyu is spotted as Minghao looks up and sees him walking towards the pair.
He says something to you before he’s moving to pat Mingyu on the back. “I’ve gotta run right now, but let me know when we can talk. Wanted to catch up.”
Mingyu nods, “You can come over after the session.”
“Sounds good,” he nods at you as well. “I’ll see you.”
Mingyu is busy watching him walk away to his side of the garage, so much so that he hardly notices that you're yet to walk away from him.
Alarmingly, you’ve instead turned around to face him in full. It’s enough to startle him when he eventually looks over, an embarrassing spring under his feet. There’s an odd look on your face he can’t quite place, which is already beginning to bother him. He braces himself for a sharp tongued demand from you, but all you look is a little…pained?
Your mouth is doing a strange thing, tight lipped and stretching. “Good morning,” you say, in an equally odd voice he’s never heard from you.
And then you walk away, about-turned and marching towards the meeting rooms in the back.
Mingyu gapes.
You just greeted him. And he quickly realises that it was something akin to a smile on your face (more of a grimace than anything), and a ghastly attempt at a pleasant tone.
Mingyu doesn’t know what to do with himself.
He’s sure he looks stupid standing there with a dazed expression on his face, but he’s too occupied with his attempts to register the situation. Good morning.
A harsh slap on the back of his head lurches him forward, but reels him back into the world. Wonwoo stands there, brows furrowed and a concerned look in his eyes.
“Hello?”
“What?” Mingyu asks sharply.
“Why are you staring at the door like Jesus is about to walk out?”
“What do you want?” Mingyu asks rather rudely.
“To know why you went momentarily deaf? I called out for you like ten times.”
He shakes his head in response. “It’s nothing.”
“Did she say something?” Wonwoo asks the censored question, but Mingyu doesn’t need him to fill in that blank. You did say something, but it wasn’t what anybody in their vicinity would expect.
Mingyu locks eyes with his friend, who has his headset over his shoulders and his hands in his pockets, and tells him: “She said good morning.”
“To who?”
“To me.”
“Like…sarcastically?”
“No! She looked like she was smiling.”
“Sardonically.”
“No! Like she was trying to be pleasant.”
Wonwoo is silent for a moment, before asking again, “She said good morning, to you, while smiling pleasantly?”
“It was…an attempt.”
“At what?”
“Looked like it pained her to be nice to me,” Mingyu folds his arms over his chest.
Wonwoo similarly looks like he’s trying to absorb what he’s being told, cocking his head to the side. “And all it took was…?”
Mingyu shrugs with dazed eyes.
Wonwoo looks like he already knows, “...a couple mean internet jokes?”
“I mean…if that’s…” Mingyu closes his eyes and trails off. “I don’t know. It’s throwing me off, I don’t like it.”
“If she’s trying to be nicer then…let her.”
“She looks like she wants to vomit at the thought of speaking to me politely. I’d rather her cuss me out.”
Wonwoo raises his eyebrows and looks like he wants to say something, but his eyes flit over his shoulder. Mingyu looks behind him instinctively and sees you and Seungcheol walking out of the meeting room.
Your hair is in a ponytail, it’s earlier in the day so there’s less pieces that are falling out to frame your face. The strands shine in the reflection of the sun, pouring in through the open garage. You’re wearing the red team kit and a dark pair of trousers, tablet in hand as you strut towards the outside, weaving through mechanics and engineers pouring over the car that parks between you.
Squinting eyes in the sunlight, he watches a shadow come over your face as you bring a hand up to shield your vision. The sun pours through the gaps of your fingers, illuminating parts of your face.
Mingyu stares blatantly as you walk up to the pit wall, like it will give him an answer. All it does is make him queasy.
Wonwoo pats him on the back, gentler this time, “That’s your cue. I gotta get back too.”
Mingyu is on the track, in the middle of accelerating on a straight when he finally admits the fact that your tone is still hesitantly agreeable.
“Do your tires feel okay?” you ask him over the radio, strange micro-pauses between words that don’t sound natural in the slightest. The question itself is a doozy, considering you speak an average of fifteen words to him over the radio during the entire weekend. You’ve exhausted that number and more, and it’s only Friday.
“Yeah, they’re—they’re fine.” It’s distracting enough that he’s begun to slow down on the straight.
“You’re slower, do we need to note an issue with the engine?”
“No, I need to push.”
“Noted.”
Mingyu feels like he’s been knocked off his rocker, still deciding if he’d rather you revert back to the way you were. But he has no say in that, nor did he have one in your apparent change in attitude.
It’s when he takes the turn and lands behind Seokmin’s black Mercedes, he realises he doesn’t have the choice to slack off from shock. Especially not at this point of the season.
It’s only a Practice session to tweak the reconstructed car, but Mingyu feels his tunnel vision seep in, suddenly hellbent on overtaking the man and leaving him to floating dust. Even then, as he takes his turns, brake checks the car, pushes to full throttle, he can’t shake it off—at least not entirely.
Especially not when your voice continues to crackle into his ears more times than he’s ever heard before, more care for his status updates than you’d ever shown. Perhaps, you are even going beyond what’s required.
Mingyu hops out of the car at the end of the session, bartering Minseo for no more sit down interviews or hands he has to shake with a promise of fixing her shower head during the week. His home calls for him, and so does Minghao when he feels the familiar buzz of his phone in his pocket.
Minghao insists on no dinner when they get to Mingyu’s apartment, but allows him to scoop a bowl of dressed salad as they sit on the floor over his coffee table. In all honesty, Mingyu never has much of an appetite the night before Qualifying or Race Days, but he admits it feels easier with Minghao joining him at the eve.
Minghao was never the talkative type, not nearly as much as Mingyu at the very least, but he’s found himself growing closer to his teammate over the past months. It was easy to talk to him, especially when it came to the unceasing case of imposter syndrome that would grip Mingyu like a vice at the worst times.
Although it looks a little bit like Minghao is skirting around the actual topic, their small talk never quite transitioning. Until it does.
He puts his fork down into his almost finished bowl, moving it to rest at the coffee table. He sighs, and that’s Mingyu’s only indication before he begins to speak. “So…,_____.”
It shouldn’t shock him, but Mingyu does find himself shifting uncomfortably on the carpeted floor at the sound of your name, your unusually pitched voice ringing in his ears all over again. Mingyu can only sigh in response, repositioning to brace for impact.
Minghao chuckles at his shift in behaviour, “Alright, what’s going on with that?”
“Wish I knew.”
“Wonwoo said she’d been different,” he raises his brows.
“Snitch,” Mingyu mumbles under his breath. “Yeah she has. It’s obvious why, but I would’ve thought she’d want to talk about it first.”
Minghao's mouth is in a tight line. “She’s not always like this.”
“That’s the whole problem, isn't it?” Mingyu downs his water glass. “She doesn’t seem to have an issue with anyone else.”
“And now?”
“Like she’s convincing herself I'm not repulsive.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” Minghao stresses.
“If you think it’s bad on air, you’re in for a shock.”
Minghao is silent for a minute, taking in Mingyu’s face. “I’ve never seen you this bothered.”
Mingyu runs his tongue over his teeth, “It’s affecting how I drive. I thought it wasn’t, but I keep thinking about it and it’s distracting. And she’s trying to be nicer for the world to see but it’s doing nothing but distract me even more. And I just….I can't figure out what I possibly could've done.”
“You,” Minghao starts, “have a horrible need to be liked.”
Mingyu blinks.
“What?”
“It’s what I said.”
“I know I’m liked.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You’re saying I’m more annoyed she doesn’t like me than the fact that it’s affecting my driving?”
Minghao only shrugs, “Maybe it’s both. I’m not saying she isn’t in the wrong, but maybe you need to try being okay with however she is. It’ll stop bothering you as much, that’s for sure.”
“But—”
“She’s trying to be more communicative. Sure, it sounds grating to the ear but maybe you need to take the progress as is.”
Mingyu listens, not knowing how to respond.
“Meet her where she is. Better than fighting it.”
He thinks about it. He hasn't been seeing the change as progression, linking it as another facet of your existing odd behaviour emitting from the same anomalous place it always had. There’s an echo of effort in the way you spoke to him, something changed in the two weeks he hadn’t seen you. Whether it came from a place of vexation or adjustment, he doesn’t know. He wonders if he should take it as the latter and run with it. For his own sake.
“Think about it. It won’t hurt. And if it will…you’re better at hiding it than she is.”
“Is this some sick form of sabotage?” he shoots at his friend in jest.
Minghao only raises his hands in defense, “Can’t do a nice thing anymore.”
When Mingyu sees you bright and early on Saturday, he forces himself to smile.
He isn’t sure why he’s shocked, but he watches as you smile back. You’re getting better at being natural about it, but there’s still a lingering hesitancy in the pull of your mouth.
When he’s in the car, about to make it into Q3 in the nick of time, you speak into his ears, “Double checked everything on my end, you can push for this one.”
And then, miraculously:
“You’re doing great, Mingyu.”
If Mingyu wasn’t in the middle of Qualifying, he would’ve driven right into the gravel. Minghao is in his ears again, words resounding as he steels himself.
And when he makes it to P2 by a hair, he can’t even bring himself to be disappointed. Not when you’re speaking encouragement in his ear.
“That’s P2, good place to start.”
And in the meeting room, mechanics and engineers all crowded at the table, Mingyu finds himself hearing a side of you he’s only seen from afar.
“I think we need the engine to have another once over before tomorrow but I think both car and driver are doing alright.” Your tone is light, airy, easy, at least exponentially more so than before. Nobody else in the room looks remotely moved by the alteration, but Mingyu has to stop himself from ogling like he’s seen a ghost.
When Sunday rolls around, despite the mere 24 hour difference, he feels it a little less burdensome to muster a smile at you, but is still finding it difficult to tamp down the blow when you send a little “good morning” his way.
Mingyu steps up to the second plate by the end of the race, right before Minghao jumps up onto the first. Most of the race was Mingyu defending his rear from the incessant Mercedes. Seokmin who claps good-naturedly all the same on the third plate as Minghao accepts his trophy with head held high.
When the roar dies down, and Mingyu makes his way back with slow steps, he takes his time waving at fans when they spot him despite the end of the race. The sun is setting, the Monaco glow making its way over to the pit lane. He finds you at the opening of his garage. Normally, you would lock yourself in a meeting room with an array of staff post-race, and normally, he’d be confused to find you anywhere but there. Almost like you were waiting.
“Congrats,” you say as soon as he’s within earshot. Mingyu briefly wonders if the insurmountable awkwardness is as apparent to you as it is to him. Nobody can tell though, because Mingyu hides it as best as possible and gives you a “thanks” in return.
The garage is impeccably loud, the weekend coming to a close and a million parts of his car drilling out of their fixed places to be transported. It’s impossible to not adapt when he’s surrounded by similar (and louder) sounds on the regular, but as he watches the hesitancy in your face, he has to focus to realise you have something to say.
He watches as your mouth opens, but he hardly catches it. Something about Carter. He thinks you mention Seokmin but he hasn’t fully caught it.
Instinctively, Mingyu leans in closer. There’s little thought of how close his ear is to your mouth, not until you start speaking. “You did a good job defending, Carter’s been worried about Lee.”
Your breath hits his skin as you speak, arms folded and face clear. He sees it when he faces you to respond. He doesn’t think before he says it, slipping into his usually banter on instinct, “They’ve been feeding him telemetry reports in his downtime, he’s been a pain this season.”
He thinks that was a smile. Less coerced, less laboured. Maybe even real.
"We're expecting it to get harder, Toto seems adamant on no mistakes."
In the newly turned tides of different gravel in a different country, yet sustained essence, it feels almost ironic to say. But that doesn't stop him. "So are we."
Not a question, but it hangs in the air like it just might be.
Mingyu isn't sure himself if he meant it as a test, but the way he watches you absorb his words is calculated. Every twitch in your face, every tremble of your mouth. Until you respond. Assured.
"So are we."
Minghao is attempting to put up a fight in the squash court, conspicuous with the sweat that glistens on his skin under the harsh lights. Mingyu does not doubt he appears to be faring worse, his sweating abilities notorious and excessive.
Mingyu's managed to break his racket twice already, less of an expense at the center's supply store but more-so at his dignity. Minghao makes sure to nag, but not before laughing at the cracked racket hanging limp in his hand.
Minghao sends the rubber ball straight into the wall as Mingyu prepares to maneuver. Squash is loud, in a significantly more echo-y way than the roar of an engine. It reverberates in Mingyu's skull with every slammed ball, the beginnings of a headache making its way to his temples.
Minghao seems to be faring similarly, because he calls quits first. Both of them are massaging their heads as they walk to their bags.
"Forgot how horrible that gets after a while," Minghao groans, the heel of his hand over his brow bone. He plops down next to the bags, reaching for the water bottle as Mingyu does the same.
"Ice pack?" Mingyu pants, but is met with a shaking head. He wouldn't know where to find one anyway. When he's done chugging his water, he plops down right beside him, digging into his duffel bag for his phone.
For the hours he hasn't checked it, he's shocked he's gotten no notifications, his homescreen empty.
All except for one.
[Old raisin]: you have to get home now
[Old raisin]: dont make me call you
Dread floods into his stomach almost immediately. He's sitting up straighter, not even bothering to reply.
He scrambles to open the first social media app he can navigate, scrolling to the search bar.
Sports - Trending
MINGYU
84.7k Posts
CALICO @jamescalico - June 1
Ferrari Driver Mingyu Kim & Ferrari Race Engineer _____ _____ on the Monaco Paddock. May 19th 2024.
Mingyu thinks it's wallpaper at first. It's a glowing ember of a picture, the sun radiating a vivid orange that feels impossible. It's behind the camera, shining down on the unmistakable crimson of the Ferrari garage, half shadowed by the shelter, the other half on fire. It almost hurts to look at.
You stand so close to one another you're almost touching. The bend of Mingyu's head shields his face from the camera, but it's rotated to face you completely. You stand on tiptoes he doesn't remember, to speak to him in your learned tone over the loud machinery.
Except it looks anything like it. Because the mortifyingly beautiful image convinces him you stand there sharing something more than words. It looks like Mingyu's dipped his head down to kiss you, and you seemed to have leaned up to kiss him. Right there, on the Monaco Paddock.
MONTREAL 2025
It's in the bathtub of a hotel you can't remember the name of, in the middle of the foreign Montreal city center that you realise you've ruined it all.
The briefing room flashes before your eyes with every blink, the sterile white haunting you like a ghost in the bathroom. You do your best to avoid it, staring directly at the yellow of the sconce. The horrid scene swims into your visions anyway.
Carter sat with his hand cupping his face, stormy eyed as he listened to Vigna over the speakerphone like he held all the answers in the world. You sat on the opposite end, listening in as your situation was laid out in front of you.
"—the angle, Benedetto—"
"Look at the photo Braydon, it's unmistakable."
"We can let it blow over, there's no point in responding."
"We have a race in three days we cannot put these two on the same radio!"
You forgot to distinguish who's saying what at some point, because you know it's your head reeling far worse than any other man in the room. It's a blur, the tense phone calls to Vigna, to marketing, to every other department in the damn company that seems to be obligated to have an opinion.
You're tired. So very tired.
The water in the bath is running cold, or perhaps you're just losing feeling.
Carter had his head in his hands by the end of it, sitting in an empty meeting room as the rest of the damage control leaves. A pen here, a blaring yellow sticky note there. It was silent, and you'd hardly said a word once you'd said your initial piece.
But what was there left to say? No spacey sound of the telephone with Maranello on the other end, no furiously typing assistant in the corner, no PR person with a million ways to fix it all.
There was no space for words in the barren room, not from Carter, and certainly not from you.
The puddle of water on the floor of the hotel bathroom makes you want to dip right back into the tub. You forgot to turn the air conditioning off, and the blistering air flows inwards to your naked dripping body.
Forever, you'll pride yourself for keeping it in for that long. The sob that finally breaks out of you shakes your entire body, your wet hands are in your damp hair as you crouch onto the bathroom floor. Your forehead touches your cold, bare knees, face hot as you dig your nails into your arms.
Huddled in that bathroom, shivering but nowhere near cold, you wish you'd said no to Carter all those months ago. No to leaving your perfectly comfortable position in Maranello, no to the cloudy promise of something more, no to believing there was more for you if you'd just tried.
It stares at you as if you needed the reflection, as if the consequences of your actions aren't raking through your body. Like if you cried hard enough, if you regretted it horribly enough, it would all undo itself.
The thread meant to take you to the other side was unfurled, yanked by your own hand. But you find yourself tangled in it instead, knotted and inevitably stuck.
Your fingers itch for the scissors.
BAKU 2025
Chan beats around the bush while attempting to give Mingyu a pep talk, but he doesn't need to be told to know that this might be the worst track on the calendar to be as distracted as he is.
Mingyu skips media day, a decision made for him, but he wonders if it's made things all the more worse. Less regarding the very hefty fine it's resulted on his tab, but more so the blatant avoidance of it all.
It's all the way to Sunday, and Mingyu is yet to physically see you around the paddock. Hugh and Seungcheol take his meetings and debriefs, his complaints and notices. He's constantly surrounded by people, someone's always speaking to him about something or the other. He isn't entirely sure if it's deliberate, but he swears he's always had his choice of minutes to sit down and breathe. Everyone is around, everyone he can see. All but you.
But he knows your there. Because as soon as he sits in the car, your voice is very real in his ears.
It seems you've finally learned how to sound normal when speaking to him, because he hears the very obvious lack of strain in the way you talk. Suddenly there's no pause that makes him cringe, no misplaced comment that does too much or too little.
The irony of it isn't lost on him. Of course you'd pick now to fix it, when it's all too late.
Mingyu misses out on pole by a hair, Seokmin in his eyeshot as they wait inevitably for the lights to finally go out. He's staring at the rear end he'd be fighting for the next two hours when he hears you.
"Radio check."
Mingyu's voice catches in his throat. His helmet is closing in on his nose when it's anything but, his visor blurring while the screen remains spotless.
He opens his mouth, his tongue too dry.
Does he make his list of obscure shark breeds? Does he throw all good sense to the wind and start rapping? Nothing seems to be appropriate.
"Mingyu, can you hear me?"
Inevitably, he opens his mouth. "Yeah. Testing, can you hear me alright?"
"Radio check complete."
Mingyu doesn't remember the lights going out, but his body reacts for him. The strain of his focus is apparent, but he can't help but feel like he's driving on autopilot. The first couple laps are close, he thinks he might be able to overtake Seokmin, but is humbled very quickly by the sharp Baku turns.
Seokmin stays trailing in front of him, closer and then farther away, the most frustrating game of push and pull. Mingyu had to learn to be patient, his carting days riddled with disappointing results in the beginning, all because he let his frustration have at the wheel.
He remembers a particular race where he'd sent his helmet flying across the garage, angry tears in his eyes only adding to his humiliation. He was so close, so, so close. If only he'd waited till the turn to overtake, he wouldn't be two places behind where he'd started. Of course, the element of being thirteen years old in a high adrenaline sport was partial to the rash decision making, but he learned quickly the wonders of having a level head after that.
Mingyu's managed to keep to the regime for the years that followed, to curb his frustration when he could feel it holding the wheel instead of his own two hands.
He's gotten close to Seokmin again, a frantic "Gap?" as you tell him "2 seconds." Mingyu's nearly there, hot on his heels as he makes it so his front tires are parallel to Seokmin's rear. He's pushing, till he realises the turn is going to hinder him almost immediately.
And then he feels it. An itchy feeling in his blood, one he hasn't felt for so long. Mingyu feels the irritation shoot into a rolling boil, all before the simmering warning can register. His annoyance costs him a few seconds; he doesn't need to ask you, Seokmin's farther away than he's been all race.
The shaky feeling evaporates as soon as he registers the excess of tarmac in front of him, at least he thinks it does.
Mingyu's back on Seokmin's tail, he's gotten close enough before, now he needs to finish the job. The opening comes when Mingyu's redeemed himself on the straight and the next turn is coming their way. Seokmin makes the fatal mistake of slowing a fraction of a second before Mingyu, and suddenly, their tires are parallel as they make their turn.
There's a moment where Seokmin's wheel touches Mingyu's, the contact eliciting sparks he cannotnot see, but most definitely can feel with the tremor inside the car. He curses under his breath, but remains diligent on the pedal.
The outcome of the turn is in sight, but unfortunately for Mingyu, so is Seokmin's car in his peripheral vision. Mingyu's on the inside, sacrificing much of his grip to keep up with Seokmin's luxury of space on the outside. For a wild moment, Mingyu thinks he's being pushed off the track, the realisation urging him to move as much to the right as physically possible.
And then, when the turn ends, there's less of a dark figure in the corner of his eyes, receding smoothly but slowly. Mingyu's gonna make it.
His rear tires are now parallel to Seokmin's fronts, the overtake one of the slowest he's ever done, but he cannot complain when it's working. He needs to keep pushing, keep his hands and feet exactly where they are till he can come out the other side.
Soon, they're approaching their next turn, and it's one Mingyu quickly realises he should be dreading.
Turn 15 looms within eyeshot, and Seokmin just hardly out of it. Mingyu braces, keeping one eye on his rearview where Seokmin is getting too close for comfort.
Every bone in his body screams at him to slam on the brakes, the wall taking over his vision with every passing millisecond. The high buildings of Baku shield his vision, and for a fraction of a second, he feels claustrophobic. The Baku track is taking over his visual field, the blaring wall becoming bigger, bigger, bigger.
Mingyu's eyes snap to see the rotating tires of Seokmin's car, the feeling that he's finally begun to brake. That's when Mingyu decides it's his turn, the wall inexplicably close as he slams it, turning his wheel despite the G force working entirely against him.
His steering wheel is turned, his car is turning, Mingyu can feel the turn make it's way around.
Till he doesn't.
Mingyu doesn't realise what's happened in that moment, all he knows is that Seokmin has surpassed him, and he's watching the sleek, speeding Mercedes whizz past, as Mingyu's Ferrari is sent directly into the barrier.
All within a second, Mingyu has his epiphany, and brings out all he has left in him to brace for impact.
His eyes are closed as the crash around him surmounts the roar of the engine, surmounts every piece of engineering that made his car, surmounts the friction of the cars that continue to speed past the catastrophe.
Mingyu thinks he passes out for a moment, because the next time he opens his eyes the car is stationary, and there's nothing he can see beyond the dark of debris and the thin sliver of sunlight seeping from above. He's breathing heavily, the sound loud in his ears.
It doesn't take him long to realise what happened, but he still feels slumped against his seat, head lolling forward before hitting the rest again. The steering wheel in front of him is multiplying by threes before returning to just the one, a sudden bout of vertigo engulfing him.
His own blood rushing into his ears is all he can hear for a while, till the real world slowly begins to trickle in.
The sound of his name echoes in the hollow of his ears. It's calm, collected, stable, all opposed to the hurtling of his heart and mind. The buzz surrounding the voice is slow to dissipate, but steady.
"Mingyu. Mingyu, can you hear me? Answer if you can hear me. Mingyu, do you copy?"
Your voice registers in his mind, and he can muster the effort to keep his eyes open to the spinning world around him. It's there again, his name, your voice. On repeat.
"Mingyu, answer me if you can hear me."
His mouth is dry, but he makes it. "I'm okay."
"Safety car's there, they're gonna get you out."
Mingyu manages to pull himself out when the debris and broken wall is lifted off of his car, marshals in jumpsuits helping him up. He takes his helmet off, and then his balaclava. Still as suffocated as he was when he was stuck in his car.
Reality snaps him back into place in a way he can only describe as vile.
The piercing roar of an engine cuts its way through the turn, slower because of the crash and the safety car, but taunting nonetheless. Someone is pulling him, a medic with his hands on him that asks him too many questions, flashlights in his eyes and water bottles shoved in his face.
Mingyu's back to working on autopilot, all the way back to the garage.
Mingyu’s head feels like an anvil.
He isn’t sure if the hat that hinders half his vision is helping or not, but he makes no move to remove it. The back of his eyelids are reprieve from the lights of his room on the paddock, only to turn into a canvas for his racing thoughts.
A knock on the door is a sledgehammer to his brain, a grimace making its way onto his tired face as he braces himself to perceive the empty room. His sister’s voice filters through the door, quiet and guarded.
“They’re ready for you,” she says. Timid, transposed for the usual abrasion she directs at him.
The acid in his chest feels like it could burn a hole through him. But he gets up, a difficulty in his joints as they protest the move. Minseo says nothing as she takes him in, silently leading him to the hoard of press that sits before a table, ready to grill him on the events of today.
Mingyu wants to go home.
There’s a chorus of greetings as he enters the room, cameras already flashing. He’d long suppressed the irate impulse of shoving cameras away from his face, but he might be regressing.
He responds with a mild acknowledgment of the reporters that gather round the table, shifting into the chair set out for him. It’s crowded, too many people in a secluded area of the Baku paddock, huddled with too big cameras and microphones around a round coffee table.
The post race conference had presumably wrapped up, but Mingyu was not one of the three podium standers to grace that particular hall.
Somebody from behind him lets them know they can begin hounding Mingyu with questions.
“I’m gonna start by asking how you’re doing?” one of the closest ones to him asks. His face is blank, tone monotonous.
“I’m alright. Looked worse than it was,” he responds plainly, nodding.
“That’s good to hear.” The reporter pauses, like he’s attempting to phrase the obvious. “So, would you tell us what exactly happened at turn 15?”
“What seems to happen at turn 15 a lot," Mingyu responds matter-of-factly. “The Mercedes was on my tail and I thought I could risk a delayed brake. Wheels lock up and then I’m suddenly in the wall.”
“Do you think it could’ve been a podium for you if it weren’t for the crash?” another asks.
“Who knows.”
“Would you classify this as a mistake or a gap in skill?”
Mingyu hopes they don’t catch his jaw tightening, but they probably did.
“It was a lapse in judgment. It’s a difficult turn and I let myself get cornered. Could’ve been better off taking the risk of Lee overtaking me but that’s not how it turned out.”
“Mingyu, you’ve appeared to have high morale since joining Ferrari this season, will this incident be affecting future performance?”
“Absolutely not. It’s lesson learnt, that’s all.”
Another one pipes up. Someone in the corner with eyes like a hawk. “And what of the rumour that’s been circulating in the press in recent weeks?”
Mingyu is not moving, or else they would catch the way he’d halted entirely. A sour taste fills his mouth, metallic and uncomfortable.
Mingyu had known this would happen, the only question was when—he’d gotten his answer. He sits there attempting to gulp inconspicuously, to dry his mouth before opening it.
“What rumour?”
Mingyu’s voice is gravelly as he answers, and he has to hold back a curse.
The reporter is too slow, because without proper conference guidelines restraining him (or ethical considerations entirely), someone interjects.
“The rumours talking about the possibility of the car being…tampered with.”
Mingyu exhales in lieu of a sigh of relief. “It was human error, can’t tamper with that.”
The person who’d initially asked the question seems to have recovered, because she’s now stepping in closer.
“And what of the other rumours?” she asks, pressing.
At that moment, it clicks.
The blonde woman he’s never seen before, steps forward with a mic that’s unmarked. But he knows who she is.
The question is left open-ended on purpose, to catch him in a slip. His mind is ablaze, uncharacteristic anger coursing through him as he attempts to steel himself. He will not relent.
“It’s been a long weekend. And I’d really appreciate it if you could refrain from vague questions. There’s a million and more rumours about me, the team, my past, my future, more that I probably won’t ever hear.”
She pushes her tongue into her cheek, visibly irked. Satisfaction blooms in Mingyu’s chest.
But it remains short lived as he watches her open her mouth. Spearlike.
James Calico’s apprentice recovers quickly from Mingyu’s jab. Mouth opening like it was ready to suck his entire being into the abyss.
“There’s only been one headline overtaking your name in the past weeks,” Selina Thatcher continues. It was going to take more to hear her say it outright, of course, a tactic she’d learnt from the best.
Mingyu however, has also learned to be stubborn from the best, and manages to hold his ground while at ease, “I will repeat, and ask you to be specific.”
Mingyu refuses to break eye contact with her artificially coloured irises, the bright blue boring into his eyes like they were meant to hypnotise. With the way that she operates, he wouldn’t put the thought behind that decision past her.
He sees her closed mouth move, like she was thinking. Before finally, she lets it go.
“Rumours regarding your race engineer," she says. "More specifically, regarding you and your race engineer."
Mingyu does not relent as he continues to stare into the horrid woman's face.
When Mingyu had read the name James Calico in that squash court, he could not bring himself to be awfully surprised. At best, the man was a pap with the instinct of a shark out for blood. At worst…he'd rather not think about what happened the last time Calico decided he wanted to cause a scene.
He's smart though, he deserves that much, sending his apprentice moles out to stir the already boiling pot. Thatcher's face is disgustingly smug, and Mingyu's lingering vertigo wants nothing more than to throw up his breakfast all over her pristine coat.
But he settles for words, because he knows it's all he has.
He makes sure he's locking eyes when he says it. "Is that an appropriate question to be asking me."
[19:46]
[Old Raisin]: medias on fire
[Old Raisin]: idk if i should hit you or congratulate you
[Mingyu]: neither preferably
[Old Raisin]: why did you say that
[Mingyu]: You can put it up to post crash brain fog
[Mingyu]: Anything
[Mingyu]: I dont care
please like and reblog original fics to show love and support to the authors/creators 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
• keeping score ( @studioeisa ) soccer player!mingyu x reader; frenemies to ???? (lovers ig)
hating mingyu is easy. seeing him in any other light takes work, and you’re tired of trying to figure that out.
— 20.4k words, [f/slight a]; the banter, the yearning, everything about this fic is perfect. plsplspls read this (my personal favourite of all time)
• statistically speaking ( @gyuswhore ) TA!mingyu x uni student!reader;
In all your years of academic endurance, you’ve never failed. A 100% success rate, despite you cutting it close at times. However, the line graph that is your life starts tanking somewhere around the time you began taking this hellsent Statistics in Psychological Research class. With a professor that wouldn’t know his ass from his head, and an overworked, overenthusiastic, and overcaptivating TA, it couldn't possibly get any worse than this
However, statistically speaking,…it could.
— 21k words, [f/a/s]; mature content ahead! icl i teared up reading this fic the emotions are jus conveyed so amazingly p.s. TA mingyu is so hot whattt
• ribs ( @haologram ) friends with benefits to lovers
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.
— 11.8k words, [a/f/s]; mature content ahead! their dynamic is so perfect, he brings her flowers every time stop i need a kim mingyu in my life.
• i can’t run away ( @yuzukult ) opposites!mingyu x reader
everyone expresses love in different ways. that doesn’t exclude you.
—15.7k words, [f/s] mature content ahead! the slow burn burns so bad but it's so worth it trust, mc at the end stop i’m tearing up
• still in paris pt.2 pt.3 ( @imhalfplastic ) famous!mingyu x actress! reader
you didn’t plan to meet mingyu in paris. and you definitely didn’t plan for a blurry photo, one conversation, and a few late-night texts to turn into the internet’s favorite theory. but maybe the truth is even stranger: quiet, funny, and almost real.
— wordcount unavailable, [f]; soso adorable, love that they nvr confirmed their relationship but everyone knew, the flirting in here is 10/10
• bloom for me ( @sanakiras ) collegestrangers to fwb to lovers
even though you and mingyu share the same friends, there’s a clear distance between you. when you make a drunken mistake, he suddenly becomes increasingly aware of your lack of a relationship with him, and he takes on the challenge of changing it — not expecting to fall for the ice princess who turns out to be less cold than he thought.
—18k words, [f/a/s] mature content ahead! can you tell i like slow burns lolol, the way mingyu yearns in this one omd i can’t take it, mc is so me so this one hit close to home
• perfect strangers ( @studioeisa ) f1 driver!mingyu x influencer!reader
for the first time in seven years, kim mingyu thinks he might actually have a shot at standing on the podium. he has a decent car, a good teammate, and… a girlfriend? after f1 tv erroneously tags a complete stranger as his ‘partner’, mingyu now has to reckon with being one half of the newest couple on the grid.
— 21k words, [f] f1 driver kim mingyu?? yes please, love the subtle flirting between mc and mingyu heh
• second chances ( @champagnevi ) exes!mingyu x reader
she knew the pain and also the love they held for each other. would that be enough to let him enter her life again?
—3.4k words, [a] mingyu on his knees yearning…. that’s all i have to say
• again and again ( @lovelyhan ) ex/idol!mingyu x reader; fake dating au
your mother calls one day, asking if you’re bringing mingyu along for chuseok this year. in your panic, you end up giving her an affirmative—never mind the fact that you and mingyu have stopped seeing each other over half a year ago.
• clarity ( @hannieoftheyear ) bf’s bsf!mingyu x reader (there’s no cheating but it’s morally grey ngl) college au
Mingyu doesn't want to pay you any mind. To him, you're just another girl that'll get her heart broken by his dumb best friend. Why would he care, right? He shouldn't care about the crying sounds he hears from his bedroom when his friend stands you up for the girl he's actually in love with. And he shouldn't be getting close to you. He shouldn't dread the day his friend decides to end things with you and bring someone else home. He shouldn't be wishing to have met you first.
—30.2k words, [f/a/s] mature content ahead! this one is actually an emotional rollercoaster but one of my favs nonetheless, beware jk’s a shit boyfriend lolol
• wish you would ( @wqnwoos ) lawyer!mingyu x journalist!reader
You and Kim Mingyu have always walked that thin line between professional respect and something dangerously close to flirtation, but neither of you have ever quite slipped. So covering his newest case should be routine — but suddenly, keeping things professional isn't as easy as it used to be.
—7.5kwords, [slight a/f] the way they both tried to hide their feelings..yea you’re not slick. miscommunication trope always breaks my heart a bit.
• untitled ( @wonwunss )
You were never subtle about loving Mingyu. And he was never ready to love you back—Not until you stopped trying. It wasn’t one grand gesture that changed everything. It was the way your silence hurt more than your love ever did. And maybe that’s how Mingyu finally realized… he lost something worth chasing.
—4.7k words [soft!a/f] mingyu in this fic is a bit of an idiot in the beginning but he makes up for it lolol, adorable af but slightly gut wrenching to read
• backburner ( @saythenametotheworld ) fwb!mingyu x reader
There is a rule of thumb for casual relationships: do not fall in love with the other. Yet with Mingyu, it felt easier to watch the world burn than to stop yourself from falling for him.
—21k words, [f/a/s]; mature content ahead! all i do is cry on this app bro i take back what i said ab not crying when consuming media. the subtle displays of affection are cute af tho p.s. i’m a big niki fan too heh
• just the two of us ( @waldau ) bsf!mingyu x reader
— 7k words, [f/h+c]; so comforting i instantly fell in love bfjsmsgng
• ex bf!mingyu trying to get back into your life ( @vernonverse ) exes!mingyu x reader smau
—unavailable wordcount, [a/f] usually not a fan of smaus but this one was soo good, felt my heart hurt reading this honestly. warning, it turns into light mode at the end for my readers with their brightness up high lolol
— 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 minty 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.
first and foremost a huge congratulations to the author for this fic, i’m a huge fan and you’ve acc been feeding us gyudaengies i see you popping out mingyu fics like crazyyy over the past week so thank you so much for that (^.~)
okay from the moment i read the synopsis and genre i already knew i was going to love this fic because i’m a huge sucker for fwb to lovers bcus the angsty-ish confession scenes ALWAYS get to me but this particular one really hit
the dynamic between him and mc was soo cute they had like tiny banter but it was super loving and adorable anyway, when he called her at the grocery store and kept insisting her tell him what was wrong got me smiling soo hard + i always enjoy fics more when i can relate to mc/mc says something i would totally say (duh) so i loved that too, but seriously their dynamic was just so well written, it’s like poetic but not hard to read if that makes sense?? ugh i love it he’s so gentle but also giving casual dominance throughout the whole story heheheh
ALSO. the nicknames. the terms of endearment. him calling her baby. her teasingly calling him mr. kim. I CANT TAKE THIS they’re so adorable i’m crying (him calling her pillow princess will never not be funny to me every time he calls her that i actually audibly laugh it’s so funny for what.)
aside from all the angsty/sweet moments, i knew there was a suggestive moment coming from reading the synopsis but like HELLO?? mr possessive okay i see you… fucking her brains out while she calls the finance guy to turn him down damn mingyu…
but my favourite part was obviously..
“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.”
KIM MINGYU STOP IT THE MAN YOU ARE I CAN’T TAKE IT. his confession was so perfect like kim mingyu you are the standard. i was tearing up at this part btw. like it’s soo freaking romantic and domestic i genuinely couldn’t stop smiling the entire time WHATTT the build up all leading to this paragraph genuinely got me in shambles the way he talks about her/what he wants to do for her is just so perfect there really is no other words to describe it
seriously my horrible abilities to write commentaries today truly does not give this fic any justice it’s just so good. yes kudos to the author you are extremely talented because you made me tear up reading a fic that wasn’t even gut wrenchingly angsty. therefore you’re amazing. ok thank u bai.
— 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 minty 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.
• genre/warnings: non idol au, major angst, fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, mom's friend's son trope (idk what to call it ¿), minor age gap (jeonghan is two years older than reader) one sided love, slowburn, lots of crying, kissing, skinship, use of petnames, mild suggestive themes, mentions of being sick, minor slut shaming, some scenes inspired by first frost and one dialogue inspired by yjhd (sorry) jeonghan is a heartbreaker (but also a healer bcs i said so) uhm yeah that's it
• summary: jeonghan returns in your life six years later, and you realize he'd never really left.
• wc: 11k
read i wish here
author's note: i'm sorry it took a little while to finally get this out :( tumblr can be really annoying sometimes. we're starting this from the flashforward that i wish started with, so i hope nobody gets confused while reading. also, i kept the genre/warnings same for both parts because i'm lazy like that, sorry. i guarantee this part is happier 🤍
One flight.
Two months.
And a few words.
That's all it took for your world to fall apart six years ago. For your heart to sink into an endless blackhole. For Yoon Jeonghan to make you fall brutally in love with him, then leave you stranded in the middle of nowhere.
You had not seen the face of an airport in the last five years, yet on one cold October night, you stood before the arrivals gate, your gaze fixed on the large screen displaying the status of incoming flights.
San Francisco → Seoul (Landed 09:45)
Seungkwan buzzed in excitement beside you, jumping every other second. He had expressed his impatience a dozen times since you reached, and you felt bad that you couldn't reciprocate his enthusiasm. You were trying, every second, to not drown into your anxiety.
Air seemed to not fully reach your lungs when your eyes spotted him many meters away, pushing the trolley of his luggage past the arrival gate.
A shaky breath left your mouth, and your nails dug in your palms as his warm eyes found yours from afar. Then he smiled — the soft, knowing smile that made you forget everything all those years ago. The smile that still made him feel like the only person in a sea of people.
In that moment, you decided that you were not ready for Jeonghan’s presence in your life again.
“Hi,” you heard Jeonghan's voice for the first time in years as he greeted you with a smile. He looked slightly worn out, but beautiful nevertheless, with his hair grown to touch the nape of his neck now.
You really thought you had it all figured out in these six years — that you had moved way past the point of hopelessly being in an unrequited love with him. But you had never been so wrong.
“Hi,” you greeted back with a formal smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. You avoided looking at him, at the way he was dressed casually in a white button down yet looked far above average. He tugged at your heartstrings all the same, making you hate yourself for agreeing to come to the airport.
Jeonghan didn't speak to you more than that, even though he looked like he wanted to. You were glad he didn't, because all you wanted was to cry your lungs dry.
Seungkwan was busy chatting him up, and stuffing his luggage in your car. He had begged you every single day since he found out Jeonghan was coming, to take him to the airport in your brand new car. For a long time, you denied him, planning in your head to not meet Jeonghan for as long as he'd stay. But on a particularly loud day, when Seungkwan told you that there's no way you'd be able to avoid Jeonghan, so better face him headfirst, you agreed.
It wasn't really because you wanted to see Jeonghan again. You wanted to test where you stood, and the results weren't much shocking. You had known that you never really got over all that you should bury, so knowing that your heart still squeezed at the sight of him wasn't surprising.
What was surprising was seeing how much Jeonghan had changed too.
His long, silky hair made him feel like someone straight out of a movie, and his matured features somehow turned him manly. He lost the teasing spark in his eyes that was permanent five years ago. There was no sudden tilt of his lips at any point during the drive to his hotel, and no mocking jab thrown at anyone. He did talk to Seungkwan about soccer, and the weather, and his new hair all while you were just a silent driver.
One thing that hadn't changed about him was how uncaring he looked. Like a wall of steel could lodge itself in front of your car and he wouldn't bat an eye.
You felt invisible to him.
And maybe he thought it was kindness on his part— to rid you of his presence despite sitting right behind you. You were relieved about it, but it also hurt to still not be the subject of his attention.
When you parked outside his hotel, he muttered a thank you and got off while still speaking to Seungkwan. You stared at him through the rearview mirror, suddenly the events of the last six years raining down on you.
***
After Jeonghan left, everything went downhill.
The whole friend group he'd somehow gathered here fell apart. Chaeyoung, your only best friend, turned against you and suddenly you'd become the bad character in everybody's lives.
Chaeyoung baselessly claimed you'd ruined her chance with Joshua, accused you of being a bad friend just because she thought you and Jeonghan had something going on and you hadn't told her. You became the new slut who claimed Jeonghan, and everybody hated you.
For a while, the absence of Chaeyoung did bother you. You were already going through a heartbreak, and a close friend walking out of your life at that point wasn't something you'd expected.
But the only two people who became your strength were your mother, and Seungkwan. Your mom made your favourite dish every two days, and Seungkwan brought you ice cream whenever he noticed you were particularly down. You never heard them say affectionate things to you, or outright discuss your heartbreak, but they were still there for you in all the ways that you needed them to be.
The group chat was only alive for a few weeks after Jeonghan left, and then you were left to stare at what once was. Jeonghan never texted you, so you didn't either. You knew he still sometimes stayed in touch with Seungkwan, but your brother never talked about him.
It was good in a way, not having him in your life. It made moving on easier.
You passed the college entrance exam with flying colors, and started your Psychology degree like you'd always dreamed. You found new friends, thrived in classes, and started basking in the beauty of life again.
Some nights, you still missed Jeonghan, and cried about the what ifs. But they weren't enough to steal your spark anymore.
Six years passed by, and you started working as an assistant clinical psychologist in one of the largest hospitals of Seoul. It had only been a few months till you heard the name Yoon Jeonghan from your mom's mouth.
And suddenly, despite the new season, you were transported to the exact realm from six years ago.
***
The knock on your window brought you back to reality, and you quickly rolled it down to see Jeonghan looking at you. This was the closest he'd been to you in years. You felt chills run down your spine at the way you could hear his exhale.
“Hi,” he said again with a small smile this time. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, and smiled back at him. “Hello, again.”
There was silence for a few seconds that would've turned awkward if Jeonghan didn't chuckle under his breath and subtly push his hair back. Seungkwan called for him from the entrance of the hotel, and he sighed. “I just wanted to say…” he paused, his eyes locking on yours. “Thank you for driving me.”
Before you could even respond, he was running off to Seungkwan. In that moment, you told yourself that you were going to avoid Yoon Jeonghan at all costs.
***
Avoiding Jeonghan was easy.
Your mom likely invited him to her place, but with you having moved out, it wasn't a problem. There was no grand friend group anymore, so there were no hangouts you were forced to go to.
The only constant reminder of him was Seungkwan because everytime you texted him, he was either with Jeonghan, or planning to be with him.
So it was easy, or so you thought.
Not a week after his arrival, you found him leaning to your car in the parking lot of your hospital.
You were startled to say the least, seeing him standing there like you were both still in the living room of your house five years ago. He was clad in a black button down and dark jeans, his long hair brushing his shoulders anytime he tilted his head.
His eyes caught yours across the parking lot, and he smiled. You felt yourself dying a little on the inside, and coming to the conclusion that he still had the same impact on you. Nothing changed.
He stayed at his place for a second longer, probably expecting you to walk towards him. But you didn't. You were frozen at your place, just basking in the heartbreak that seemed to follow you like a shadow.
“Do I look like a ghost?” He asked, stopping in front of you. You looked up at him, gulping past the lump in your throat while your heart roared. You shook your head wordlessly.
“Why do you seem so startled then?” He tilted his head to a side, his lips tilting in that infuriating smile you remembered all too well.
“I’m—” you began, clearing your throat. “I am startled. I didn't expect you to be here.”
“Why?” He was quick to question. “Because you've been trying hard to avoid me?”
You blinked up at him, startled once again at how blunt he was. This wasn't very Jeonghan of him.
“I haven't—” you paused, exhaling through your nose almost frustratingly. You did not like explaining this whole thing. “I wasn't avoiding you. I just don't think we had a reason to meet. And I'm busy.”
“Okay? Ouch.” He hit his heart dramatically, and suddenly, you felt your head bursting. You also did not like how he was acting so normal. How things ended for the both of you was not normal at all.
“Jeonghan, I need to go.” You said through a forced smile, and brushed past him to walk to your car. You felt the warmth of him touch your arm, and then his fingers wrapped around your wrist, stopping you. You craned your neck to look at your hand, and found him still turned the other way.
“Jeonghan?”
You heard him sigh, and turn to face you, taking a step closer but not leaving your wrist. His hold softened instead, thumb brushing your wrist bone so tenderly that you couldn't even pull back. He was so warm, and so comforting, and his touch calmed you in a way nothing ever had. God, you had missed him. The realization was devastating.
“You weren't anywhere I went.” He said, his eyes somehow vulnerable. “Not at your mom's place. Not at Chaeyoung’s. Not at the ice cream shop we visited. Not even at the beach Seungkwan took me to. Why?”
You took a second to process his words, and once you did, your temper flared. You could vision yourself pulling his long hair and punching him so hard that he bled, but in your cruel reality, you stayed rooted to your spot. You could feel your jaw clenching in anger, and you hated that your eyes were watering in front of him.
“Are you really asking me that?” You said through gritted teeth, twisting your wrist out of his hold. “Are you really asking me why I don't want to see your face after you broke my heart?”
There was a flash of hurt on Jeonghan's face, and if you weren't so angry, you'd regret your words. You understood that liking you wasn't in his control, you'd spent six years understanding that. But it was true that he did break your heart. He shouldn't be expecting you to be exactly the person you were before.
Before he could answer and your tears could roll down your cheeks, you turned and opened your car door, ready to zoom away from him.
***
You couldn't go far away from Jeonghan.
No matter how much you tried to avoid him, he came back everywhere like a plague.
It went on for days. He'd show up in front of the hospital, standing afar silently till you noticed him. Then he'd try to walk upto you, but you always slipped away quicker. You were terrified of him reaching you and breaking your heart again.
“Ma’am?”
The cashier called out to you, making you jump up at the voice. You blinked at him, then looked at the plastic bag he was holding. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn't realize he'd been waiting.
Quickly slipping him the money, you took the bag and stepped out into the cold night. It was more windy than usual, making your hair fly almost annoyingly. You wished you'd brought a hair tie.
As if on cue, a palm appeared in front of you holding a simple black hair tie. Startled, you took a step back and looked up to find Jeonghan peering down at you. “You look like you need it.”
You stared at him for a second longer, processing his presence before you realized how his hair was also flowing with the wind. It was unfair how beautiful he looked, hair messy and the streetlight reflecting on his sharp cheekbone.
“No, thanks.” You looked away from him, but in a blink, he was standing behind you, his slender fingers threading in your hair to gather it. “No, thanks,” he repeated your tone. “You need this. Don't move, please.”
Even if he didn't ask you, moving wasn't something you were capable of with his hands softly tying your hair. Suddenly, your heart was too big for your chest, and you wanted to run away from him. You hated being putty in his hands, being so helpless that it ceased your movements.
He stood in front of you now, your hair tied in a low ponytail. “I think I did a decent job.”
You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling a droplet of water touch your skin. “Jeonghan—”
“Please listen to me this time,” he all but begged, his eyes earnest and voice low. You found yourself feeling helpless again, just standing there and watching him. Another droplet hit your skin. And then another.
“I've spent a long time trying to find the courage you had all those years ago, and I know I have a lot to be sorry for, but please just don't shut me out for once, Y/N.” He said, a drop of water shining on his eyelashes now. It made you want to step closer and kiss it, but you trembled at the thought. You tilted your head to a side helplessly, droplets of rain drizzling around you. “Why don't you understand, Jeonghan?”
“What do I not understand?”
“That if I stay here one more second with you, I'll—” you paused, letting a shaky breath leave your lips. “I'll fall in love with you again.”
“And you won't,” you said, your voice dropping with your heart. “Again.”
“I love you,” left Jeonghan's mouth in a rush, almost if those words were always at the edge, threatening to escape any moment. He took a step closer to you, his hands reaching for you but then dropping, and he looked so, so tired that you wished to let him rest in your arms.
You blinked up at him slowly, the rain falling louder around you both now. He was close, so close that if you moved, you'd bump into him.
“I love you,” he muttered again, his voice barely audible against the rain that drenched you. That was when your brain registered the proceedings, decoding the three magical words painfully slow. I. Love. You.
Those were words you'd dreamt to hear all your life, and for the past six years, specifically from Jeonghan’s mouth. You'd had dreams about it, and you'd sat with yourself in empty libraries daydreaming about how it'd feel if he loved you back. But nothing could've prepared you for the way it actually felt.
Your knees buckled at the impact, and you couldn't even care about the fact that you were drenched and cold. You just stared up at him with blank eyes, basking in the disbelief that came with the sincerity of his confession. “What?”
“Can I touch you?” He asked, his fists clenching at his sides like he was physically paining to not be able to hold you. “Can I hold your face, please?”
You continued to blink up at him slowly, suddenly thinking that everything felt too much like a fever dream. Only, dreams couldn't be heard, and you could hear everything from the sound of his breath to the sound of rain.
“Jeonghan—”
“Please?”
“You can.” You muttered, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. His hands softly came in contact with your wet face, thumb involuntarily caressing your cheekbone.
“God, I love you.” He said again, as if now that he said it, he wasn't able to stop. You wanted to cry. You wanted to lay down on the street, letting the rain wash over you while you cried your heart out. Why was he saying this? Why was he making your heart hurt more?
He took in a sharp breath, noting your silence and deciding to say all that he'd thought of in the past six years.
“I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all that I'm about to say, for the past six years, and for the night you laid your heart out to me. I'm sorry for everything, but I need you to know that—” he paused, his eyes roaming all over your face. Another sharp intake of a breath before he continued, “—that I've loved you since the night you told me your name. I’ve—”
“Jeonghan, no.”
“—loved you desperately and hopelessly and I've been a fucking idiot. I was so scared of so many things and I—”
“Stop. Jeonghan, stop. Shut up.”
“I didn't think I was good enough for you. I lied that I found someone else incredible. There's no one in this world I can find more incredible than you, Y/N. I swear to—”
You had had enough. You freed yourself from his hold, pushing him away harshly as you yelled. “I SAID SHUT UP!”
Jeonghan wasn't startled at your outburst. He just shut his eyes, his frame loosening like he'd expected this. Like he knew you'd react like this the moment he confessed.
“How can you—” you began, tripping over your own words as hot tears gushed down your cheeks, mixing with the rain. “How can you even say all of this now? Do you think you'd say this and I'd come running into your arms? Is that what you think of me?!”
“No—”
“No!” You cut him off, “I don't want to hear anything else. I just— I'm disgusted, Jeonghan. I feel so pathetic for ever telling you I liked you. I hate myself for it. How easy was it for you to break my heart? To lie to me? Did you really think my feelings were a joke?”
Jeonghan tried to take a step closer to you, his head shaking wordlessly. But you held up your palm, stopping him. “Don't you dare come close to me. I won't allow you to ruin me again. You don't get to leave my life as you please and re-enter as you please.”
Your fingers harshly pulled at the hair tie, and you threw it on the wet ground in front of him. And then, with tears streaming down your face, you turned to run away from him, again.
***
“Take care! I’ll see you next week,” you smiled at your last client for the day, waiting till she shut the door behind her before you slumped back in your chair. The white ceiling above your head seemed to haunt you as Jeonghan swirled in front of your eyes.
You'd barely slept ever since yesterday, having cried your eyes out for the first time since he'd come back. You didn't even know what to feel about all that he said, whether to believe him or the voices in your head.
All you'd wished six years ago was this — Jeonghan loving you back. Now that it was somehow real, you couldn't believe it. You couldn't fathom the thought of being loved by him all these years, and being lied to, and being rejected for his insecurities.
Your phone buzzed on your desk, diverting your attention. Sighing, you picked it up, heart stopping at the texts from Seungkwan.
Kwannie: can u pick me up from jeonghan’s hotel
Kwannie: he fell sick so i came here to give him medicine
Your heart dropped. Sitting upright, you stared into nothingness for a while, remembering the events of last night. He had been in the rain. Of course, he fell sick.
Without another thought, you stood up, grabbing your car keys and rushing out. Any worries of your own flew out of the window. For now, all that you cared about was making sure Jeonghan felt okay.
***
238
The number plate stared at you, making you realize where you'd landed with a bag of hot porridge in your hand.
Just because you were worried.
You licked your lips, taking a few deep breaths and contemplating what to do. Should you go in after all that happened? Maybe you should just call Seungkwan and tell him to come out. You came here to pick him up, after all. Or that's what you told yourself.
Before you could decide how to run away, the door flew open and Seungkwan stared at you with surprise evident on his face. You couldn't even register his words, but you knew that he yelled your name loud enough for Jeonghan to hear.
“Uh I just came to pick you up,” you muttered, gesturing for him to lower his voice. But what was Seungkwan if not loud? He yelled again, pulling you in by the hand and shutting the door. “You brought porridge! Thank goodness, because he wasn't eating at all!”
It wasn't an exceptionally large hotel room. Past the kitchenette, you saw Jeonghan sitting on the bed, his legs sprawled ahead and a fluffy pillow stacked behind his back. His closed eyes fluttered open at the noise, meeting yours across the room. You noticed a flicker of surprise pass his features before his lips softened into a small smile.
Seungkwan mumbled something about the microwave not working as he tried to heat up the porridge. You cleared your throat, looking away from Jeonghan's sick face and stopping beside Seungkwan to help him.
“Seungkwan,” you heard Jeonghan's rough voice call out, “I think the medicine you brought is the wrong one. Could you grab the right one? There's a store downstairs.”
You nearly dropped the bowl of porridge, turning to look at him. He wasn't looking at you, instead examining the medicine box. Seungkwan looked at you, and then back at him before quickly nodding. “Sure, I'll get it. Text me the details.”
Jeonghan finally looked up, glancing at you briefly before smiling at Seungkwan. “Thank you.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but the wink Seungkwan threw your way promptly shut you up. No, you couldn't be alone with Jeonghan again.
But you heard the door beep shut while you stood there with the bowl of porridge in your hands and a bursting heart.
You didn't turn at the shuffling that indicated Jeonghan was getting off the bed. Was he walking towards you?
“You can have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the small couch in front of the bed. You bit your lip, trying hard to steady your heartbeat but failing.
“No,” you muttered, turning around to find him seated at the couch. He had left enough room for you to sit, but you just walked ahead, extending the porridge to him. “I only came to give you this. Not to sit.”
He looked at the bowl in your hand, then back at you. “Were you worried?”
You blinked at him slowly, looking at his half disheveled state. You dropped the bowl on the small table beside him, and folded your arms. “No, I wasn't worried. You don't even look sick.”
He exhaled a breath, and leaned ahead to causally hold your wrist. He pulled your hand to touch his burning forehead, endearing eyes looking up at you like he was a puppy. “Do you still believe I'm not sick?”
You blinked at him owlishly for a second, the touch of his burning skin sending chills down your spine.
Electrified, you pulled your hand away and averted your gaze from him. The air in the hotel room suddenly felt suffocating, and you felt warmth bloom on your cheeks. “Fine, you— I believe you're sick. Now just eat. I'll go.”
“Hey,” came Jeonghan's voice in a pleading murmur. “How many times do I have to beg?”
Your heart squeezed at the way his voice crumpled, his eyes oh so desperate as he looked at you. You knew you'd fall weak, so you looked down at your feet. “I don't want you to beg. I just don't think I understand you very well, and I never will.”
“I'll make you understand,” he said quickly, standing up in front of you. “I'll explain myself. Just give me a chance, please.”
You stared at him through your lashes, noticing the desperation on his face that was somehow more visible now. “You're begging again.”
“I'd beg you all my life if that's what you want,” his respone came quicker than before, his slender fingers wrapping around your hand again, softly holding it as if that would prove his words. “I promise. But just listen to me for once. After that, if you still don't understand me, I'll disappear from your life and never show you my face again.”
The words slapped you harsh across the face, jolting your heart like never before. What if Jeonghan disappeared from your life? What if you indeed never saw him again? Even though you had spent six years without his presence in your life, the thought strangely scared you.
You looked down, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Take two steps back and talk. I don't want to be sick as well.”
You thought your words were mean, but the smile that touched Jeonghan's lips was unmatchable. He calculatively took two steps back, leaning against the white wall behind him.
“I'm sorry,” he said, eyes never leaving yours. “For hurting you. For not taking the chance when you wanted me to. For the six years that passed in between. I'm really sorry, and I know my apology won't fix anything but—”
“I need you to explain why you lied to me, Jeonghan.” You interrupted, your voice not louder than a few decibels. He exhaled, swallowing his words before forming new ones for you. “I was a stupid boy. I had never felt what I felt for you, and I hoped you wouldn't feel the same because then I could just go back and live with my feelings.”
“But you did feel the same. You were brave enough to tell me that. And I was terrified of hurting you. I was— I thought I was horrible and you were perfect in every way and that we didn't match and that I'd end up hurting you eventually and you'd hate me. I had to go back and nothing would've been the same.”
“So you decided that the best outlet for your insecurities would be hurting me?” You asked, your eyebrows pinched in slight anger. Jeonghan took in a sharp breath, as if the words were hurtful to him. As if having hurt you hurt him more.
“No,” he shook his head. “I thought temporarily hurting you would save you from a bigger hurt.”
You let out a cruel laugh, rolling your tongue in your cheek. Jeonghan immediately continued, terrified of you turning your back on him in anger again. “I know it was stupid and wrong. I'm not and I will never justify it. But my point is,” he paused, making you meet his eyes. “Please give me a chance to prove myself this time.”
“What? So you can temporarily hurt me again?” You barked, sarcasm laced in your tone. He helplessly shook his head. “Let me prove I'm not an insecure 20 year old boy this time.”
“Oh really?” You folded your arms, every muscle of your body tense. “How will you do that?”
“By pursuing you,” he muttered. “I'll take you out properly, and I'll treat you like you're meant to be treated. I'll be a man to you, and I promise the final choice will be yours.”
You stared at him dumbly, your anger evaporating into thin air. You didn't know what to say, how to believe him, and how to stop the sudden, intense flutter in your heart. This was what you'd wanted six years ago, and what you'd dreamed of during the six years. Now it was happening, and you were mindblown.
“Will you trust me, love?”
Your cheeks reddened at the nickname, making you question if you were ever even angry at him. How could he melt you in a puddle of goo so easily?
Despite the butterflies in your stomach, you couldn't believe you were finally grasping the very fragile thing you'd always wanted. Your emotions were all over the place, and you didn't know when your eyes started watering. “Hug me, Jeonghan.” You muttered, your heart squeezing in your chest.
You watched his eyes visibly widen, blinking at you for a while. He wondered if you'd said it mistakenly, or if you wanted to take it back. But you didn't. You just stared at him with watery eyes, basking in the possibility of him being yours.
“I'm sick—” he tried to speak, but you shut your eyes, your voice coming out in a slower whisper. “Shut up and hold me, please.”
Jeonghan could be a self-centered, witty bastard for all he cared, but he couldn't fathom the way your plea tugged at his heart. He could rob a bank, hell even kill a man but not keep you waiting.
So he crossed the distance, his arms enveloping you whole softly. Your forehead rested on his shoulder, your arms still falling limp by your side. A weak sob ripped through your throat, making Jeonghan tighten his hold around you. “Why are you crying, love?”
“Because you're calling me love,” you muttered, closing your eyes and letting your tears fall freely for once. If you were to be honest with yourself, you also didn't know why exactly were you crying. Maybe it was because you couldn't believe your reality, or maybe you were still scared of being hurt. Or perhaps Jeonghan alone was enough of a reason behind your tears.
“Will you stop crying if I don't say it?” He asked, his hand coming up to the back of your head. You shook your head against him, “I don't know, Jeonghan. I'm scared. I don't want to be hurt again. I don't know how to believe you. I don't know anything.”
Jeonghan shut his eyes briefly, his heart squeezing at your words. He softly pulled away, bending down to meet your eyes and wipe your tears. “Do you need some time to figure it all out?”
You shook your head again. “I trust you. But that doesn't mean—” you paused, sniffing and hearing his questioning hum. You clenched your jaw, “That doesn't mean I'm yours. Pursue me all you want but I'm only going to decide after giving it some time.”
Jeonghan's lips lifted in a smile. “I'll wait till you decide to be mine. But I'm all yours. Lean on me whenever you want, take me, use me, kill me. Do anything you wish.”
You tightened the muscles around your mouth to not smile, quickly turning the other way and wiping your eyes. “I'm gonna be sick because of you!”
You heard him chuckle behind you, his hands softly coming to rest on your shoulders so he could lead you to sit on the couch. “That means we rest together.”
“In your dreams.”
Somewhere inside your bag, your phone lit up with a notification.
Kwannie: are u guys done
Kwannie: im waiting downstairs
Kwannie: stop your low standard romance and take me home!
***
“I changed my mind.” You said, staring straight ahead at Jeonghan who sat across the table. His eyes averted from the menu to look up at you, his brows furrowed.
You'd spent the last week hurled up in your apartment, trying to process all that happened. Credit to your good immunity, you didn't fall sick, but Jeonghan did take two more days to get better.
As soon as you'd left his hotel room, he bombarded your phone with texts, sending you restaurants you could choose from for your first date. He also mentioned that you could take your time and he wasn't in a hurry, so you did indeed take a whole week to yourself.
At first it felt extremely unreal. All you could think about were his words, the intensity in his eyes and his touch. You grew to want more of all of it, and on Saturday when Jeonghan showed up to your door in a sleek black car, you couldn't sit back anymore.
“About what?” He asked when you didn't elaborate. Sighing, you looked down at the cutlery on the table, your thoughts jumbled once again. “I don't think we can work out. You'll have to go back eventually, and I'm not sure if long distance is something I want.”
Jeonghan dropped the menu on the table, his eyes softening. “Do you think I'd have said all that I said if I had to go back?”
Your eyes lifted to meet his, face morphed in surprise before a soft realization dawned on you. “You're not going back?”
He shook his head, lips curving in a smile you adored. “Never going away from you again.”
A flutter and then many erupted in your stomach, your eyes instantly looking down due to the intensity of his gaze. “But your job. Your house— you can't forever drive a rental car. You can't live in a hotel. It's all—”
His hand rested on top of yours, instantly calming your nerves and causing you to look at him. “That's my car. I bought it. I'm looking for a job, and an apartment. Most of the paperwork is done. I've got everything covered. Don't worry.”
You stared at him in surprise again, unable to believe he really had it all so thoroughly settled. Maybe this really wasn't the twenty year old boy you'd fallen in love with. This was a responsible, mature man who worked for what he wanted.
With warm cheeks, you gazed back down, feeling a tingle run down your spine. You crossed your legs, and cleared your throat, “Okay, I guess. What are we ordering?”
“What do you want?”
“I'll just have what you have,” you muttered. He furrowed his brows, staring at the menu for a few seconds longer. “Should we get Bolognese? It's new on the menu. You like trying new stuff.”
You cocked a single brow at him. “How may you know that, mister?”
Jeonghan grinned, gesturing towards the waiter who came running. “I have my sources.”
You pursed your lips together, mentally cursing Seungkwan while watching Jeonghan order your food. Once the waiter left, he turned back to you with an infuriating smile. “Don't kill Seungkwan.”
“What the fuck?” You yelped. “You can't hear my thoughts, can you?”
He laughed softly, amused at your reaction. His voice smoothed into a teasing tone. “And what if I can?”
“Shut up,” you rolled your eyes, “You haven't changed, after all.”
“Well,” he sighed, tilting his head in a way that made him look extra attractive. “What can I do? You like me like this.”
Your ears burned at the way he spoke, and at the way his eyes didn't move from your face. Licking your lips, you cleared your throat. “Who said anything about liking you, sir? Don't flatter yourself.”
The corner of Jeonghan's lips curled in a small smirk, almost as if he was proud of seeing right through you. For a second, you thought crying over him was better than whatever he was making you feel right now. He leaned across the table, his thumb softly brushing your cheekbone. “I think you had an eyelash there.”
If it was possible, your cheeks burned even more, fingers deftly brushing the skin where his touch was a second ago.
Before you could respond, the waiter cleared his throat to get both your attention. It felt like he'd been waiting for a few seconds, observing how you two were immersed in each other.
Jeonghan muttered an apology to him, letting him set your food in front of you. Once he was gone, Jeonghan gestured for you to start eating.
With your heart leaping up to your throat, you didn't really know how you'd eat. But when you did take a bite, you couldn't help humming in appreciation. “This is really good.”
“I know right,” Jeonghan smiled at you mid-bite, unable to take his eyes off of you.
For a while, it became quiet. Not awkwardly so. You just enjoyed your food, trying to not blush everytime Jeonghan looked your way.
“Do you think—”
Jeonghan's statement was brutally cut off when you heard a loud, infectious voice call out your name. You looked up to see Seokmin rushing towards you, his arms spread wide. “Oh my God, it's so good to see you! Give me a hug, come on!”
The smile that made its way to your lips burned Jeonghan's heart. You pushed your chair back, getting up even before Seokmin reached your table. You met him halfway in a tight hug, hearing his contagious laugh. “Minnieeee, I've missed you!”
He pulled away, his lips formed in a pout you'd known for all your college years. “I missed you more! You've just been so busy.”
You matched his pout — a habit you'd developed while being with him. “What can I do? Work is really hectic.”
“I'm Jeonghan,” you heard Jeonghan's voice beside you, his hand extended towards Seokmin.
You blinked, not expecting Jeonghan to casually come up and interrupt your conversation like that. Seokmin’s brows raised as he shook his hand warmly with a smile. “Hi Jeonghan. I'm Seokmin. Y/N’s best friend from college! Why do I think I've heard your name before?”
Oh no.
“No Minnie! You haven't,” you interrupted immediately. “He's just my mom’s friend's son. Of course you haven't heard—”
“The one from the states? You did tell me—ow!”
You pinched his side, smiling sickeningly at him in a gesture that begged him to shut up. “Really? I don't remember. I don't think I ever mentioned him.”
Jeonghan's jealousy slightly evaporated, replaced by amusement as he folded his arms and watched you with a smirk on his face.
“God okay, I get your hint.” Seokmin muttered, remembering all about your heartbreak when you narrated it to him. His gaze was suddenly pointed when he looked at Jeonghan, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Nice to meet you, Jeonghan.”
Jeonghan ignored, or maybe he didn't even hear because his eyes remained rooted to your red face. You glared at him, your head cocking towards Seokmin. “He's saying something, Jeonghan.”
“Oh,” left his mouth in realization as he finally averted his gaze to look at Seokmin. “Oh yeah. Very nice to meet you too, indeed.”
Seokmin's displeasure was written all over his face as he scoffed. “Sure.”
Jeonghan raised a hand to pat his shoulder. “You don't have to hate me or worry about your best friend, Seokmin. I won't be hurting her anymore.”
Damn his quick wit.
You blushed harder, shutting your eyes tight. Seokmin looked at you once before scoffing again. “I'm surprised she's on a date with you when you hurt her that bad before. It doesn't even matter if you won't anymore.”
“Minnie,” you called out to him, your voice turning softer. “You can trust me.”
Seokmin sighed, looking at Jeonghan who was entirely smiling. “Sure. If he does hurt you though, just give me a call and I'll get five people to turn him bald.”
You chuckled, and Jeonghan couldn't help smiling too. “I love my hair so hopefully that won't happen.”
“Yeah well, now I'll take my leave. My girl is waiting for me,” he said, quickly giving you a short hug before contemplating whether to hug Jeonghan or not. Then as if deciding against it, he just waved his hand and ran off.
You exhaled, eyes traveling to Jeonghan's face who had an infuriating smirk back on his face. “You backbit me in front of your friends?”
You rolled your eyes, moving to sit back on your chair. “If you don't stop being smug about everything Jeonghan, I will dump you.”
He grinned, biting his lower lip before coming back to sit in front of you. “I doubt.”
“I'm leaving.”
“Okay okay, sorry! Finish your food, love.”
You couldn't help doing as he said. You were putty in his hands, after all.
***
It was 6 in the morning and your head was bursting.
You barely got any sleep all night, thanks to your new next door neighbor who decided it was a good time to move in after midnight. It was noisy to say the least but thankfully it faded somewhere around 4, which led you to get a peaceful two hours of sleep until 6am.
You could hear banging from the other side of the wall, as if someone was hammering several nails. It made you want to knock on the next door and be as rude to your new neighbor as you could.
Except when the door of the unit beside yours opened, you were baffled.
Jeonghan stood between the ajar door, his hair damp, and his white shirt unbuttoned completely. You dared not to let your gaze travel down the smooth lines of his subtle abs that peeked at you like an uninvited guest. He had a hammer in his hand, as he smirked at you. “Good morning, love.”
You coughed, covering your mouth with the back of your hand before meeting your eyes. “Good morning. What- you-” you paused, your cheeks warm as you tried to breathe in properly. “What are you doing here?”
“You mean what am I doing in my own apartment?” He asked, his head tilted to the side. You gulped, “You— you moved here? I mean—”
“Yeah,” he smiled. “I didn't think there was a better place to rent than an apartment next to yours. You see, I couldn't live in a hotel forever.”
You blinked slowly at him, his words loading slower in your brain because of the distraction caused by his appearance. “Oh.”
“Come in,” he stepped aside, inviting you in with an angelic grin. You quickly shook your head, feeling a tingle run down your spine. “I've got work. I'll just— head back.”
You saw a small pout forming on his lips. “I thought we could have breakfast together.”
“Maybe some other time,” you said quickly, eyes accidentally traveling to his visible skin again before quickly averting. You turned to walk before remembering what you actually knocked this door for.
Quickly, you turned back to find him still smiling at you. “It's not very nice to hammer your walls so early in the morning. I was trying to get some sleep.”
His features scrunched in concern instantly, “I'm so sorry. I didn't realize these walls were that dense.”
“It's okay,” you muttered and turned to leave again. A sigh left you before you rotated on your heels for the third time. “And do you open your door with your shirt unbuttoned all the time?”
That made Jeonghan smirk in his usual way, his arms folding against his chest. The posture alone caused you to step back, smiling tight lipped. “Nevermind, actually. Don't answer that.”
“Hey!” He called out, chuckling. “I'll drive you to the hospital, okay? Don't leave by yourself.”
“No, you don't have to worry, I'll—” you were cut off when he softly added, “Please? I insist.”
You couldn't help the smile that found its way to your lips, abandoning all common sense. “Okay,” you muttered almost shyly, thousands of butterflies dancing in your stomach as you walked back to your apartment.
***
The next date you went on was at a theater, and probably your worst date ever.
Not because of Jeonghan. No. He'd been an exceptional company even if he focused more on the movie than you. Your date was bad because of the creepy monsters growling on the screen. You tried, every second, to not sink in your seat and die.
You couldn't let Jeonghan know you were scared.Terrified, actually. That would be embarrassing, and the least you wanted right now was for your cheeks to turn red. Besides, he was far too focused on the villain origin of this creepy monster.
“Hannie,” you let the nickname slip for the first time ever, not even realizing it happened. He forgot all about the monster, his neck craning to meet your eyes. There was surprise on his face, as well as amusement that you couldn't really figure out in the moment.
“Can we go back? I'm a little tired.” You asked in a whisper, looking at him with big doe eyes that he always fell weak for. His hand involuntarily came up to tuck in a strand of hair behind your ear. “You called me Hannie.”
Your cheeks instantly turned red, your brain reminding you that you had indeed done that. Trying to play it cool, you shrugged your shoulders. “Yeah? Do you not like it?”
“I love it,” he smiled, holding your cold hand in his warm one. “And since you gave me this happiness, I won't tease you about being scared of this movie. Let's go.”
If you were allowed one murder, you were sure Yoon Jeonghan would die in your hands. He didn't wait for you to react, instead pulling you up and walking out of the theater in complete silence.
The chilly air of early December hit you instantly, making you tug on your coat a little tighter. Jeonghan was by your side in the next second, wrapping his scarf around your neck. “You should've dressed more warmly.”
You let him wrap the scarf around you while your eyes wandered his beautiful face. This new life with him felt so familiar that you couldn't remember how your life without him ever looked like.
“Hannie,” you called out again, somehow liking saying that. Jeonghan took in a sharp breath, his forehead coming to rest on yours as he closed his eyes. “If you keep calling me that, my patience might give up.”
“Huh?” You let out a sound of confusion, your heart racing with his proximity. He pulled his head away, softly holding your face and caressing your cheekbone. “God, your face is so cold.”
You squinted your eyes at him. “What did you mean earlier?”
“Hm?” He averted his very obvious gaze from your lips to your eyes. “When? What?”
You gulped, feeling your heart beat a mile per second. You couldn't help staring at his plump, pink lips, suddenly wanting nothing more than to touch them with yours.
Gathering your senses, you looked in his droopy eyes. “You said something about patience.”
Jeonghan exhaled almost shakily, taking a step back from you, his hands leaving your cold face again. “You're sensible enough, love. Let's go home? Do you wanna grab dinner?”
You took a second to come back to your senses, knees buckling. You already missed his warmth, and there were likely no sane thoughts in your head. “Yeah. I'm hungry.”
“Okay!” He beamed, linking your hands together as he walked. “Pizza?”
“Sounds good,” you muttered, passively present in the moment while your head swirled with thoughts you didn't want to acknowledge yet.
***
You pulled the curtains of your window, watching the city being painted white by the soft, first snow of the year.
You loved snow. You really did. But right now, it made you want to tear the clouds apart. You'd promised yourself to kiss Jeonghan under the first snow ever since you'd started thinking about it, but he wasn't here.
He'd told you two days ago that he needed to be out of the city for some work at his new job. Missing him terribly in these two days was something else, and watching the snow without him was entirely something else. So much for pursuing you when he didn't even know how important the first snow was to you.
You scoffed to yourself and drew the curtains again, coming back to be warm under your blanket on the couch. The boring show on your tv kept running, faintly catching your attention every now and then.
You were almost falling asleep when your phone buzzed in your lap. Expectantly, you picked it up, heart leaping up to your throat after seeing your favourite notification.
Yoon Jeonghan 🙄[💌]: hey love, can you come downstairs? i’m waiting outside the apartment building
You nearly screamed in your palm, dropping your phone hastily on the couch and running towards the door. Quickly putting on your coat, you ran outside.
Jeonghan was indeed waiting for you outside, with a bouquet of fresh orchids clutched tight in his hands. Your steps slowed down as you saw him being snowed on under the gray afternoon sky, his hair tied in a low ponytail and a scarf wrapped around his neck.
When he spotted you, he waved a hand and smiled. You couldn't help but mirror his gesture, walking slowly towards him with red cheeks. Quietly, he handed you the bouquet like second nature, unwrapping the scarf from his neck while nagging. “You didn't dress warm enough again. Do you wanna get sick?”
You just stared at the flowers, letting him wrap you in his scarf and scent. “How did you know orchids are my favourite?”
“Sources,” he grinned, interlinking your hands together and starting to walk ahead. “The same sources that told me you believe in the first snow theory. So I came running as soon as I heard it started snowing here today.”
You blushed, keeping the bouquet close to your heart while he rocked your joined hands together. “Firstly, I really hate my brother and secondly,” you craned your neck to meet his mischievous eyes. “Why did you come running? It's not like I wanted to be with you.”
Jeonghan flicked your nose with his curled finger softly. “Is that why you also came running downstairs not two minutes after I texted you?”
Your blush deepened. Instantly, you looked away from him, clearing your throat and making him chuckle. “Cute.”
Your eyes lit up when you saw the stall beside you selling fish shaped buns. “Hannie, do you like those?”
“Never tried them,” he said, shrugging. You gasped, looking at him in horror. “Oh my God, foreigner! I can't believe you! Come here, you gotta try these!”
You dragged him to the stall, ordering two buns. Jeonghan quietly paid for it even before you could fish out your wallet, which you hadn't brought in a hurry.
You held the fish shaped buns in your hands, holding one out for him to eat. He kept smiling lovestruck at you, not making any effort to open his mouth. Your eyes, unfortunately, traveled to his lips again, noting how inviting they looked under the cold weather.
Clearing your throat, you poked the fish in his mouth, “You don't wanna have it?”
He chuckled, opening his mouth and taking a bite. You felt sick for observing the way his lips wrapped around the bun, sending chills down your spine. He held your hand that just fed him, and turned it towards your mouth, causing you to take a bite right from where he just ate.
You desperately wished you could just enjoy these buns without having indecent thoughts run a marathon in your head.
“Is it good?” You asked, and he hummed in response, typically wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb, then sucking it off. You blinked at him owlishly for a while, causing his grin to widen. “Should we keep walking while you feed us both?”
You quickly thrusted the other bun in his hand, walking ahead. “Eat it yourself.”
He giggled, following behind you like a lost puppy.
***
“Just a second more,” Jeonghan spoke behind you, leading you forward while his hand covered your eyes. After you finished the buns, Jeonghan took you back to your apartment building, and told you he had a surprise for you.
That led you to sit in his car for nearly an hour, and even doze off. When you woke up, Jeonghan was by your side, instantly covering your eyes to walk ahead.
“Where are we, Jeonghan? It's so cold,” you complained despite the growing smile on your face. You could feel the cold breeze hit your face every second, but then Jeonghan stopped, coming in front of you. “Don't open your eyes, let me just cover you more.”
God knows where he got gloves from. He softly covered your hands with them, before exhaling out loud. “Okay, you can open your eyes now.”
Slowly, you opened your eyes, adjusting to the dim evening light under the snow. In front of you lay the mighty ocean, waves softly roaring every time they met the shore. For a split second, you felt stupid for hearing the noise and not guessing where you were. But your next thought took over instantly. How could you guess it when you never expected it?
Perhaps, since you were a teenager, you'd dreamed of witnessing snow at the beach. Seungkwan called you weird for it, made fun of you all the time, but you didn't care. Something about this sight was strange yet beautiful, like a forever you couldn't believe could be yours.
Hot tears poked your eyes, blurring your vision and wiping Jeonghan's smile. He stepped close to you, obstructing your view with his wide frame. “Hey, what— why are you crying? Do you not like it?”
You didn't look at him. You couldn't gather the courage to look at him and not kiss him. Your head ducked down, tears spilling down your cheeks as if a dam broke.
“Oh God, I'm sorry.” Jeonghan muttered, his voice panicked. “Did I misread it? Gosh—” he muttered to himself, turning around and pulling out a mini notebook from his coat’s pocket. You looked up, catching the sight of it just enough for your breath to hitch.
You stepped ahead, and took it from his hands quietly. He blinked, startled. “Hey— give that back please. It's just something dumb.”
“Be quiet,” you said, words commanding but tone low. Your eyes scanned the opened page of the notebook, droplets of tears falling on it.
mission pursue the love of my life
> apologize apologize and apologize ✓
> dinner date??? ✓
> orchids!!!! (i keep forgetting, stupid)
> flirt a bit? be a gentleman? (not sure)
> theater date ✓ (no horror movies ever again)
> write letters to her
> DO NOT MISS THE FIRST SNOW
> snow on the beach!!! (gosh i love her)
> no amusement parks but ferris wheel!!! (wish i can kiss her at the top)
┗ don't be stupid, be a gentleman
> don't be a tease (cut that, she loves it)
You wanted to fall to your knees and cry your eyes out.
You looked up at a sheepish looking Jeonghan, his eyes still filled with concern as your tears dried. In that very moment, you realized you'd cry for him another six years if it meant he'd love you like this.
“I'm sorry if you don't like this, I just— I never—”
You finally did what your heart had been screaming for.
You interrupted him by wrapping your arms around his neck, notebook still clutched between your fingers as you pressed your lips to his pretty ones.
Jeonghan seemed to freeze until you pulled away, your eyes fluttering to meet his wide ones. He clearly looked like he didn't expect this, and the sight of his slightly red face made your heart somehow beat even faster than before.
He called out your name in a surprised whisper, his eyes stuck on your lips. You breathed out, trying to gather enough words to be distracted from his lips.
“Hannie, I love you,” you muttered against his lips, making him shut his eyes tight. He rested his forehead against yours, trying to breathe in deeply. “You— you do?”
You giggled through your tears, letting your gloved fingers caress the back of his head. “How could you not know that?”
“Is this it? Will you be my girlfriend?” He asked shakily, his hands grounding himself by holding your waist. You nodded, nose bumping into his cold one. “Yes. A hundred times, yes.”
“Can I kiss you, then?” He asked again, his voice barely a whisper as he eyed your lips. You pecked him softly. “Have I not been clear enough?”
Jeonghan pulled you flush against him, your back arching to perfectly fit in his arms. His lips met yours almost desperately, almost like he'd been a man starved. You kissed him back just as fervently, pouring all that you'd kept locked inside you for an eternity.
When you felt wetness on your cheek, you pulled away, looking in Jeonghan's teary eyes. Normally, you'd hate to see your loved ones shed even a single tear, but he looked so adorable, and so utterly yours, that you couldn't help smiling softly. You pulled your glove off your right hand, caressing his tear away with your warm thumb. “You cry?”
Jeonghan smiled with tears in his eyes. “Only when my longing finally ends.”
You couldn't help but briefly kiss him again, and then drop your head in the crook of his neck. “I'm sorry if I took too long.”
“No,” he muttered, burying his face in his scarf around your neck. “Don't ever apologise for anything.”
“Thank you, Jeonghan,” you said, tightening your arms around him as you stared at the barely visible ocean over his shoulder. “For loving me.”
“It's as natural as breathing, my love.” He whispered, making you smile harder against his shoulder.
Finally, you'd gotten all that you ever wished for, and it was more beautiful than you'd ever imagined.
***
No matter how many times you told Jeonghan that he didn't need to complete all tasks from his mission of pursuing you, he insisted that he did.
That was how you found yourself bawling your eyes out while holding a letter in your hand. You were just emptying your bag after work when you found an envelope inside. God knows when he slipped it in, but now your eyes were swollen and red. You knew he was just next door, but you felt too overwhelmed to even get up. The amount of love he'd poured into his words blurred your senses, reminding you of a version of yourself that would never believe your reality.
You heard the doorbell ring, once, then twice. Slowly, you got up without thinking much, the letter still in your hands and face still drenched with tears. Somehow, you knew it was Jeonghan on the other end.
When you opened the door, he stood outside with a bouquet of purple orchids, his smile defying all your misery. But it dimmed when he noticed your state, brows scrunching in worry. “What's wrong?”
Before you could answer, his eyes traveled to the letter clutched in your hands, and he smiled again. Stepping in, he sighed, his arms wrapping around you warmly. “Aw my baby,” he muttered, pressing a long kiss to your temple. “Did I make you cry, hm?”
Your heart nearly exploded as you nodded in his embrace and he tightened his arms around you. “I’m sorry, love. I just want you to know how much I love you. And there's absolutely no lie in this letter.”
“I know,” you whispered against his shoulder, taking your arm behind your back and pulling the bouquet from his grip. Quickly, you hugged him back, clutching both the letter and bouquet in your hands.
Jeonghan chuckled, pressing another kiss in your hair. “Did I ever tell you how endearing you are?”
“That was in the letter,” you answered, softly rubbing your eyes against his sweater. He quickly held you back, pulling away. “Hey, don't do that. Here, let me.”
His warm hands held your face, his thumb softly wiping your tears away. “Aw you're all swollen, so cute.”
“Shut up,” you smacked his arm lightly with the bouquet, pouting involuntarily. “If anything, I look horrible all because of you.”
“To me, you look the most beautiful you've ever been.” He smiled, quickly pressing a kiss on your cold cheek. You blushed, slowly daring to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the flowers, and the letter. And everything.”
“Well,” he wrapped his arm around you sideways, walking you inside your apartment. “Don't you have the best boyfriend ever?”
You hit him with the bouquet again, and he smoothly took it from your hands, dropping it on the coffee table alongside the letter. Then, he sat on the couch, pulling you along so you ended up in his lap.
“Hannie—” you gasped, hands clutching his shoulders automatically. He kept a finger on your lips, “Shush, I just wanna be close to you.”
You were probably as red as a tomato, feeling heat itch your ears. His finger traveled away, and his thumb came to caress the corner of your mouth. “Don't you have the best boyfriend ever, baby?” He asked again, his voice lower and deeper this time.
You gulped, meeting his eyes and feeling chills run down your spine. He looked so tempting under the yellow light of your living room, with his collarbone exposed and long hair framing his face that you wanted nothing more than to kiss him breathless.
“Yes, I do,” you answered in a whisper, eyes wandering his beautiful face. His lips curled in a smile, instantly coming to meet yours. You latched onto the opportunity, kissing him just like he wanted.
Unfortunately, he pulled away quicker than you would've wanted, softly caressing your cheekbone. “And I have the best girlfriend ever.”
You smiled despite yourself, almost pouting. “A girlfriend who doesn't even give you anything. Seriously, I haven't even gifted you anything yet. You're the one who's been the best.”
Jeonghan pinched your waist in warning, making you wince. “Don't say stuff like that. Your existence is enough of a gift for me, I promise.”
You smiled tight-lipped, noting in your head to still get him a gift sooner or later. He deserved it.
“If you do want to give me something though,” he smirked, pulling you closer by your waist so your nose bumped his. “Just continue kissing me.”
You quickly pressed a kiss on his lips. “You don't even have to ask, my love.”
***
You were determined to keep your promise of being as good of a partner as Jeonghan had been to you in such a short time. Sure, you still had your moments of uncertainty about the future, but anytime you spiraled, he did something so amazing that you forgot everything about your doubts.
It was new year’s eve when you dragged him to a busy amusement park, asking him to shut his eyes tight and scolding him every time he tried to cheat.
“I’m not even kidding, I’ll blindfold you if you try to open your eyes again,” you said, walking beside him among the rides. Jeonghan chuckled, leaning down just for effect so he could whisper, “I won't mind if you do that in the bedroom, baby. In an amusement park though, it's a little too—”
You slapped a hand on his arm as an interruption, making him laugh. You didn't know if you were supposed to blush at his shameless comment or be upset about the fact that your surprise had been ruined.
“Can I open my eyes now?” He asked, his voice filled with teasing. You stared at the ferris wheel in front of you, lit up and spinning lazily. Pouting, you folded your arms. “Do whatever you want to. Ruined my surprise anyway.”
He chuckled, opening his eyes and looking only at you. His arms pulled you closer, “Aww, are you upset? Come on love, I'm sure you didn't think I'd hear all these rides and not guess where we are.”
“I should've blocked your ears too,” you huffed, pointing at the ferris wheel. “But anyway, I wanted to bring you here before you did.”
“And why?”
“Because,” you smiled, despite yourself. “Well, it was your wish to kiss me at the top. You fulfilled so many of my wishes so I thought I could do the same for you.”
Jeonghan's eyes practically filled with affection as he kissed your forehead. “So sweet, aren't you?”
You looked at him for a while, letting his love color you before you tapped his arm. “Bend down.”
“Huh?”
“Bend down, please.”
Jeonghan continued to blink in confusion, but bent down either way to come eye to eye with you. You smiled, holding his face in your small hands and pressing a lingering kiss on his forehead. “You're sweeter.”
The way Jeonghan's heart nearly exploded was beyond him. He watched you giggle after that, calling your own action cheesy, but he was far too tuned out. He felt his chest fill with so much love for you that he was sure if you were to cut him open, you'd only find yourself woven in all his veins. God, he loved you.
His fingers wrapped around your wrist as he pulled you back in his radius. “I love you so much.”
You blinked a little at the sudden shift in the atmosphere, but then your lips curled in an endeared smile anyway. “Should we go to the ferris wheel now?”
“Okay just say you hate me and go,” he huffed instantly, making you laugh. You couldn't help holding his cheeks and squishing his face. “I love you too, you big baby.”
He grinned, purring into your palms like a happy cat before you dragged him to the mighty wheel. Once you both got in the small cabin, holding hands, it started spinning slowly.
Jeonghan looked outside at the lit up city stretching in front of you guys, his thumb softly caressing your hand. “Is it possible that you're scared of heights?”
“Who isn't scared of heights?” You sighed, “But I'm not very scared. Are you?”
“Nope,” he grinned, turning his head to look at you. “Can I fulfill my wish now?”
You shook your head quickly, checking your wrist watch. There was only a minute till the fireworks went off. “A minute later.”
Jeonghan felt confused, but chuckled and nodded anyway. “I hope we stop at the top by then.”
“Oh, we will.” You smiled, recalling how you'd spoken to the ride operator before bringing Jeonghan in.
“How are you so sure?”
“You're not the only one with sources,” you admitted proudly, making him chuckle fondly. “I like that.”
On cue, your cabin stopped with a jerk at the top, making Jeonghan gasp a little. Before he could comment, the clock ticked into the new year and fireworks exploded in the sky.
You tugged at his hand, not even bothering to look at the beautiful fireworks. Jeonghan was enough for you to stare at. “Kiss me, Hannie.”
Jeonghan's eyes traveled to your face, filled with awe and admiration as he somehow tried to understand your magical plan. He wasn't thinking much, but his head tilted involuntarily, hand coming up to cup your jaw. You closed your eyes, feeling his tender lips meet yours while fireworks painted your faces in many colors.
You clutched on his collar, kissing him softly and you swore it was much more magical than you'd expected.
***
You had a particularly tiring day, so your first instinct was wanting to be in Jeonghan's arms. Hence, instead of going to your apartment, you found yourself entering Jeonghan's.
“At this point, we should move in together,” he said from the dining table, setting up food you weren't willing to eat. Your heart warmed at the sight of him, and you lazily opened your arms from where you stood.
“Aww,” he cooed, wiping his hands with a kitchen towel and walking towards you. “Is my peanut sized girlfriend tired?”
You hugged him, humming against his shoulder. “Very tired but not peanut sized.”
He pressed a kiss to your temple, softly rubbing circles on your lower back. “Cashew sized?”
You huffed a laugh. “Shut up. You're ridiculous.”
He giggled in response, just continuing to hold you till you wanted. He'd press tiny kisses in your hair every now and then, making you hum satisfactorily.
“Do you wanna eat?” He asked in a while. You shook your head. “Just wanna cuddle you.”
He grinned, and the next thing you knew, he was carrying you to his bed. Soon, you were cuddled in his warmth, tucked under the safety of his blanket.
“Hannie?” You called out in a slurred voice. He hummed in response, craning his neck to look at you. “What would you have done if I didn't accept you?”
The question seemed to monetarily freeze Jeonghan, his fingers in your hair stilling. You had half a mind to take your words back, but then he pressed a kiss in your hair. “I don't know. Maybe I would've spent the rest of my life just yearning for you.”
You looked in his sincere eyes, a little pout forming on your lips. “Are you stupid? You can't pine after one person your whole life while knowing they won't accept you.”
He chuckled, pulling you closer in his arms. “I can.”
“Jeonghan, no. You should say that you would've moved on and—”
“Moved on?” He barked out a sarcastic laugh, his eyes searching yours. “Baby, I can never move on from you.”
You stared at him quietly, taking a few shallow breaths then sighing. Jeonghan’s hand came to cup your cheek instantly. “You know I did think about it.”
“I did think about what I'd do if you didn't accept me,” he continued. “Naturally, life would've moved on, right? But I don't think I'd have been able to love anyone else. Or step out of the guilt of hurting you.”
Your lip wobbled slightly, and you shook your head. “You're stupid.”
He smiled softly, thumb caressing your jaw. “Sometimes, I still feel guilty about it. Which is why I thought I wanna live six years more than you.”
Your brows furrowed. Jeonghan leaned in and kissed you briefly. When he pulled away, you noticed that his eyes were glassy. “So that I can love you for the six years you lost.”
You tilted your head to a side helplessly, pulling his face into your neck. “Hannie, come on.”
He sniffed in your scent, closing his eyes against your skin. You caressed his hair softly, pressing a kiss on his head. “Stop thinking about living and dying and guilt and hurt. I'm fine, you're fine and we love each other. It doesn't matter that we were a bit late, we're together now. That's what you should think about, okay?”
He giggled into your neck, nodding his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
You pouted, pinching his arm. “Live in the moment with me. I don't want you to be guilty about anything.”
He giggled again. “Okay, ma’am.”
You hid a smile, pulling your head back to look at him. “What's so funny?”
“You sound like you're scolding me,” he said through a chuckle, squishing your face between his palms.
“I am,” you muttered, voice coming out distorted because of how he squished you. He giggled more, and you realized you could die for this sound.
When he left your cheeks, you leaned closer and kissed his nose. “I love you, Jeonghan. Please don't worry about anything else.”
His smile was softer this time, more serious as he nodded. “I love you too. So much.”
And then Jeonghan kissed you like he was making a promise. A promise that sat untouched in his drawer in the form of a small velvet box.
He would just wait for the right moment, even if it came years later.
footnotes: i hope you all have been compensated for the tears that i wish brought :)
first and foremost, a huge thank you to the author for publishing this absolute masterpiece FOR FREE, I believe in the author’s note they mentioned having taken almost a year to write and publish this story and goodness you should be absolutely proud of yourself, truly one of my favourite jeonghan fics i’ve read on this app!!
i cannot with the first part i was almost brought to tears at the end it was so heartbreaking yet so well-written, i had a feeling he knew and the way the author executed the whole confession moment was just perfect.
love the small touch of the intro being the same! considering there’s a timeskip. i like the parallel a lot i think it’s really interesting to see and works really well with the time jump and everything
this whole fic in general honestly gave me summer by keshi vibes, specifically the lyrics “feel like summer and i don’t wanna miss you, if we don’t touch lips not an issue” and “fill me up cause i’m runnin on empty, and it’s fine if we’re only pretending” because ngl…han kinda lead her on because he highkey knew she liked him :/… but it’s okay. it’s for the plot. it made sense in pt.2
didn’t think part 2 could be even better but it truly was oh my days. the yearn. i’m not even going to lie i was worried for a moment mc would forgive him right away :/ but the word count was 11k so i held on and good thing she didn’t!! need to make the man prove himself heh
the moment where they’re in bed and mc is scolding him stoppp, ws reminded of emily and richard gilmore in gilmore girls when he was in the hospital and she demanded to go first. got those vibes fr.
also i giggled at the blindfold bedroom joke heheh it’s so jeonghan coded. reminds me of this one ot13 reaction fic i read once where it was mc having a sexier summer comeback and jeonghan teased mc asking “why don’t you wear anything like this at home” 😆😆 miss u han.
best believe both part 1 and part 2 of this will be on my upcoming fic recs ;3 again kudos to the author, you really outdid yourself!!
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