Hi! This is totally not loosely based on a personal experience :')
Enjoy.
The blue light of Y/N's smartphone screen felt like a physical weight against her face. It was 11:42 PM and she was doing the thing she swore she’d never do...
The scroll of doom.
After three years of "choosing" to be single (really just a polite way of saying she’d developed a committed relationship with her sourdough starter and a 12-step skincare routine) Y/N had finally cracked. The silence in her apartment was getting a little too loud.
Three glasses of wine into her evening, Y/N found herself back on tinder. She tried to tell herself she was only doing it to remember why she was better off alone... and it was going well. She swiped left on a guy holding a limp trout. Left on a guy whose entire personality was "crypto." Then, she stopped.
Kim Mingyu, 29.
Lead Chef at Bittersweet Bistro.
6’2”. I’ll cook for you, but you have to do the dishes.
The photos were devastating. In one, he was laughing over a steaming pan of pasta, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that should be illegal. In another, he was squinting into the sun with a golden retriever. He looked like a dream, or at least, the main lead of a very high-budget K-drama.
"Probably just looking for a hook up," Y/N muttered, her thumb hovering over his profile, "Too symmetrical. Too tall. Too... good to be on this app looking for something serious..."
She swiped right anyway...
It’s a Match!
Within ten minutes of the "Match" notification, Y/N's phone was vibrating off her nightstand. She had made the mistake of sending a screenshot to her friends.
• Elena: Y/N. Is that Kim Mingyu?! As in, the chef who has a three-month waiting list for a table?
• Sarah: If this is real, I’m retiring from being a hater.
• Elena: Look at the jawline. You could slice sashimi on that.
• Y/N: Guys, relax... he might be looking for a sous-chef, not a date.
• Sarah: Shut up and text him back!
He messaged first. It wasn't a "Hey" or a "WYD." It was: “I’ve been told my carbonara is life-changing, but I’m looking for someone to tell me if my jokes are actually funny. Drinks Friday?”
Y/N stared at the screen, her heart doing a frantic little tap-dance. "Okay," she whispered to her empty room. "Maybe it's okay for me to come back from retirement after all."
Y/N hadn't spent this long on her hair since her sister’s wedding. She’d settled on a silk slip dress and a leather jacket hoping she wasn't overdressing for the occasion.
The meeting spot was a speak easy bar that sounded nice enough. Once she entered, on a the wall hung a neon light sign that read "Low Light Lounge" in a classic cursive font. The place was a dim, upscale lounge with velvet booths and jazz playing just low enough to feel intimate. Y/N walked in trying her best to hide her spiked nerves. She scanned the room for a towering figure with a chef’s posture and a million-watt smile.
She saw a hand wave from a corner booth and her stomach felt like she'd just fallen off a 50 story building.
"Mingyu?" she asked, approaching the table.
The man who stood up was not 6'2... He was maybe 5'8 on a good day. He didn't have the broad shoulders of a man who spent his days tossing heavy pans, nor did he have the face that had been haunting Y/N's dreams for the last 48 hours. He was wearing a wrinkled polo shirt and looked significantly older than 29 years old.
The man offered a sheepish, yellow-tinged grin. "Y/N? Hey. You look... exactly like your photos."
Y/N froze, her hand was gripping her purse like a lifeline. She looked at the man, then down at her phone, where Kim Mingyu’s perfect face was still saved in her recent matches.
"Yeah? Well you," Y/N said, her voice dropping an octave into dangerous territory, "look exactly like someone who stole a famous chef's identity." She was torn between fear and a deep anger that threatened to spill over any second.
"Look, I can explain," the man started, reaching for her arm. "The algorithm is tough for guys like me, and I thought if I just got you in the door—"
Y/N took a step back, the adrenaline of the evening curdling into a cold, sharp realization. The stranger before had been deluded enough to lure her to god knows where... with a flash of heat she realized that maybe the three year streak of not dating was a safety net she had cut from under herself.
"I think," she said, her voice trembling with a mix of embarrassment and fury, "that you should pay for whatever drink you’ve already ordered and head home... alone."
She turned on her heel before he had time to react. The jazz music in the background started to sound like a mocking laugh as she rushed for the exit hoping and praying he wasn't following after her. She needed to delete the app. She needed to block her friends. But mostly, she needed to know who the real Kim Mingyu was, if only to curse him for having such a stealable face.
Not even 2 hours after her "date," she stared at the glowing bubbles in her group chat, her thumb hovering over the keypad.
• Sarah: Y/N! GIVE US THE DETAILS! How tall is he in person??
• Elena: Is his voice deep? Tell me he’s a gentleman. I need to live vicariously through you.
Y/N felt a hot prickle of shame crawl up her neck. How was she supposed to tell them that "Kim Mingyu" turned out to be a creepy guy in a wrinkled polo whose name she hadn'tcared to get? She couldn't. Not yet. Her ego was still nursing a bruise the size of a dinner plate.
• Y/N: He was… something else. Totally speechless. I’ll tell you guys everything when I see you!
Technically, she wasn't lying. She had been left speechless.
What Y/N hadn't expected was for her wish to meet the real Kim Mingyu to come true...a bitter thought she'd had in passing was suddenly materializong before her.
Only 48 hours after her disaster "date", the group chat exploded with a flurry of fire emojis. Victoria, who had been suspiciously quiet since the screenshots were sent, finally dropped the bomb.
• Victoria: GUYS. Stop everything.
• Victoria: My cousin’s boyfriend’s sister works PR for the hospitality group that owns Bittersweet Bistro. I pulled some major strings.
• Victoria: Reservation for four. Tonight. 8:00 PM.
• Victoria: Y/N you can surprise your man at work! 😉
Y/N's heart sank into the deepest pits of her soul. She dropped her phone onto her duvet. It bounced twice before sliding onto the floor. "No," she whispered to the ceiling. "No, no, no."
Going to Bittersweet was suicide. If she showed up, Sarah and Elena would expect a warm welcome from the "chef boyfriend." Instead, they’d get a high-end meal and the realization that Y/N had been duped by a professional impersonator.... But Victoria had spent hours making calls trying to get this table in a sweet effort to surprise her, and Elena was already picking out an outfit. There was no backing out without looking like a flake or worse, a liar.
By 7:55 PM, Y/N was standing outside the sleek, matte-black entrance of Bittersweet Bistro. Her heart was hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, and she could feel a cold sweat start to form on her upper lip. Maybe she could make a run for it... but her 4 inch heels wouldn't allow her to get more than 2 meters away without breaking an ankle. She could feign fainting, but she didnt trust her acting skills enough to pull off that stunt.
"You okay, Y/N?" Sarah asked, adjusting Y/N's leather jacket. "You’re pale. Nervous to see your crush in his element?"
"Just… hungry," the nervous girl managed, her voice coming out a pitch too high.
"Don't worry," Elena teased, hooking her arm through Y/N's. "We’ll be on our best behavior. We won’t embarrass you too much in front of your boyfriend." Y/N let out something that sounded like a whimper and a giggle mushed together before letting herself be dragged inside.
The interior of the restaurant was stunning. It was high end industrial with warm, amber lighting and an open kitchen that took up the entire back wall. The air smelled of roasted garlic, rosemary, and expensive wine.
"Name for the reservation?" the hostess asked.
"Victoria," her friend announced with a proud and triumphant grin that made Y/N feel all the more guilty.
As they were led to a prime booth right near the kitchen pass, Y/N kept her head down, praying for a sudden power outage. But then, the clinking of pans went silent for a moment, and a rich, resonant, and undeniably confident voice cut through the noise of the dining room.
"Order up for Table 4! Keep the pace, people, we’re falling behind on the amuse-bouche!"
Y/N looked up and the world seemed to come to a halt, but not in the romantic way, no no, this was vile.
There he was. The real Kim Mingyu.
He was wearing a crisp white chef’s coat, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows just like in the photos. He was taller than she’d imagined, moving through the kitchen with a grace that was almost hypnotic. He looked up from a plate he was garnishing, his sharp eyes scanning the room for a split second before landing on their table.
Beside her, Victoria leaned in and whispered, "Okay, Y/N. I get it now. He’s a ten. A twelve. An absolute thirteen."
"Yeah," Y/N choked out, watching the real Mingyu hand a tray to a server. "He’s… definitely the guy from the app."
She was in so much trouble...
The air at Table 7 felt thick enough to cut with one of the restaurant’s expensive steak knives. As the shadow of a very tall, very real man fell over the surface of their table, Sarah and Elena practically vibrated in their seats.
"Good evening, ladies," Mingyu said.
His voice was even better in person. Smooth, like dark chocolate with a hint of gravel. He didn't just walk over, no, he seemed to command the very ground he stepped on. Mingyu leaned slightly against the edge of the booth, a dazzling, professional smile firmly in place.
"I heard we had some VIPs tonight. My name is Mingyu, the head chef here. Since you’re friends with the management, I thought I’d skip the server and take care of you myself."
"Oh, we know who you are," Elena said, kicking Y/N under the table with enough force to bruise. "We’ve heard so much about you."
Any other day, Y/N would have scowled at her friend, maybe kicked her back... but Y/N felt like she was having an out-of-body experience. She was staring intensely at the gold rim of her water glass, counting the microscopic condensation droplets. She was too mortified to even acknowledge that her friend had kicked her.
"Is that so?" Mingyu’s tone was playful, his eyes dancing across the faces of the group before settling on the one person who wouldn't look at him. "I hope it was all good things."
"Exceeded expectations," Sarah added, giving Y/N another meaningful nudge. "Right, Y/N?"
"The bread," Y/N blurted out, finally looking up but focusing on the bridge of Mingyu’s nose rather than his eyes. "The bread on the table looks... very aesthetically pleasing... and, I mean, delicious. It looks delicious too."
She immediately snapped her gaze back down to her lap. One second. Two seconds. That was her limit before her brain short-circuited.
Mingyu let out a soft, melodic chuckle. He didn't seem offended, if anything, he looked intrigued. He tilted his head, trying to catch her line of sight.
"Aesthetically pleasing bread. That’s a first," he said softly. He pulled a small leather-bound notepad from his pocket, his movements fluid and practiced. "So, can I start you ladies off with some drinks while you look over the specials? Or perhaps I should just bring out a few of my personal favorites since you’re already 'familiar' with my work?"
He directed the last part straight at Y/N. He noticed the way her fingers were twisting her napkin and how her cheeks had turned a shade of pink that rivaled the rosé on the wine list. Perhaps a fan?
"Surprise us," Victoria said, acting as the group's functional adult. "We trust your judgment completely."
"I'll make sure it's a night to remember then," Mingyu promised. He lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary, his gaze resting on the top of Y/N’s head. "I’ll be back with the starters shortly. And don't worry," he added, leaning in just a fraction closer to Y/N, his voice dropping to a private murmur, "the main course is even better than the bread."
As he walked away, his broad shoulders retreating toward the kitchen, the table erupted into a frantic, hushed huddle.
"Y/N!" Sarah hissed, leaning over the table. "Why are you acting like you’ve never seen a man before? Stop being weird and talk to him!"
"I... I’m just overwhelmed by the... lighting," Y/N lied, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
She looked toward the kitchen pass and saw Mingyu say something to a sous-chef, his eyes darting back toward their table for a brief, curious second before he disappeared into the steam and fire of the line.
She was officially living in a nightmare of her own making, and the appetizers hadn't even arrived yet.
The clinking of glassware announced his return before his shadow even hit the table. Mingyu moved with the effortless precision of someone used to navigating a crowded, high-pressure kitchen, but his focus was singular as he began to set the drinks down.
He placed a crisp martini in front of Sarah and two glasses of vintage red for Elena and Victoria, but he saved the most intricate drink for last.
It was a stunning, sunset-hued cocktail in a delicate coupe glass, garnished with a single, perfectly placed sprig of dried lavender and a dusting of gold leaf. He set it down gently in front of Y/N, the stem of the glass clicking softly against the marble tabletop.
"For you," he said, his voice dropping into that low, raspy register that seemed to vibrate right through the table.
Y/N stared at the drink. "I... I didn't order this yet."
Mingyu leaned in ever so slightly, one hand resting on the back of the booth’s leather upholstery, effectively framing her in. The scent of sandalwood and expensive citrus rolled off him, momentarily eclipsing the smell of the kitchen.
"It’s a specialty of mine," he murmured, his dark eyes finally catching hers for a fraction of a second. "I noticed you’re a little nervous. This might help."
A suffocating silence fell over the table, the kind that is immediately followed by a riot.
Across the table, Sarah bit her lower lip so hard it turned white, her eyes darting between Mingyu’s smirk and Y/N’s burning face. Elena didn't even try to hide it. She buried her face in her hand, her shoulders shaking with silent, treacherous giggles. Victoria, the more serious of the three, just raised an eyebrow with a playful smirk decorating her pretty face.
"That is... so thoughtful," Elena managed to squeak out, her voice muffled by her palm. "Isn't it thoughtful, Y/N?"
Y/N wanted to melt. She wanted the floor of Bittersweet Bistro to open up and swallow her whole, leather jacket and all. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the ambient jazz. "It’s very... pretty."
"Try it," Mingyu encouraged, lingering just long enough to be provocative. "I’d hate for my 'aesthetic' efforts to go to waste."
He gave her one last, lingering look. A look that was far too observant for a man she had supposedly already met. It was like he was trying to get something out of her. "Enjoy the appetizers. The scallops are fresh in today."
The second his white chef’s coat vanished back into the kitchen, the table exploded.
"Y/N!" Sarah hissed, leaning so far forward she was nearly in the butter dish. "‘This might help’? He basically just flirted with you in front of the entire restaurant! Why didn't you say something? Why are you acting like he’s a stranger?!"
"I... I’m just shy!" Y/N choked out, grabbing the cocktail and taking a gulp that was definitely too large for a drink that fancy.
"Shy?" Elena laughed, finally letting out the giggle she’d been holding. "You two looked like you were in a movie trailer. If I didn't know you guys were already talking, I’d say he was trying to pick you up right here."
Y/N took another frantic sip. The drink was deliciously tart, floral, and strong but no amount of alcohol could wash away the looming disaster. The real Mingyu was charming, observant, and clearly interested in the "Y/N" he thought he was meeting.
The problem was, the "Y/N" he thought he knew was the one who had been flirting with a middle-aged catfisher for three days. And the real Y/N was currently one more "thoughtful gesture" away from an actual heart attack. The restroom was the only sanctuary left. Y/N practically bolted from the table, ignoring Elena’s whispered "Go get him, tiger!" and Sarah’s supportive thumbs-up.
Once behind the heavy oak door, she stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyeliner was still perfect, but her eyes were wide with a frantic, deer-in-the-headlights gaze. She began to pace the narrow tiles, her heels clicking a rhythmic, anxious beat.
"Okay, Y/N, think," she whispered, gesturing wildly at her reflection. "You have two options. One: you stay here until the restaurant closes and crawl out through the vents. Two: you go back out there, tell your best friends you were tricked by a man who probably owns a collection of vintage man purses, and then apologize to the hottest chef in the city for being an absolute freak."
She stopped and groaned, burying her face in her hands. "He's going to think I'm a freak AND an idiot. Worse, he'll know I’m a fraud!"
She took a deep breath, straightened her jacket, and squared her shoulders. Her gaze intensified as she pointed at her reflection in the mirror. "Identity. Integrity. Honesty. Just tell the truth. You can do this. I believe in you. You got this girl!"
She pushed the door open, ready to march back to the table and confess everything, only to walk straight into something very solid, very warm, and smelling faintly of expensive sea salt and citrus.
A pair of steady hands reached out to catch her by the shoulders, grounding her before she could stumble back into the bathroom.
"Whoa," Mingyu said, his voice low and concerned.
Y/N looked up, and for the first time, she couldn't break eye contact. Up close, without the barrier of a table or a cocktail glass, he was devastatingly gorgeous. His brow was slightly furrowed, and he didn't have the "chef-on-display" smile anymore. He just looked genuinely worried.
"Y/N, right?" he asked, his hands lingering on her leather sleeves for a second too long. "Is everything okay? Your friends said you were looking for me?"
He stepped back slightly to give her space, but his gaze didn't waver. "Was something wrong with the drink? Or maybe the scallops weren'tto your taste? I can handle a bad review." He gave her a small, lopsided grin that was so vulnerable it made her heart ache.
Y/N’s resolve crumbled looking at his face, the real face that had been used as bait that only an idiot like her would fall for. It was the final straw. She didn't think, she just reacted. Her hand grabbed the sleeve of his white chef’s coat and hauled him backward into the small, dimly lit hallway of the restroom area, her face burning.
"I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry," she started, the words tumbling out like a landslide. "I didn't expect for Victoria to land a reservation here, I really didn't. I wasn't being weird because I was being mean or because the drink was bad, the drink was incredible, by the way, it’s just that I’m a total idiot."
Mingyu blinked, startled by the sudden change in her energy. He leaned his back against the doorframe, watching her with a mix of confusion and growing amusement. "Hey, breathe" he chuckled.
"I can't breathe! I’ve been talking to someone that wasn't real!" She covered her face with her hands, her voice muffled but frantic. "There was a guy on an app. We matched! He had your face, Mingyu. He had your forearms and your dog and your bistro's address. I went on a date with him on Friday thinking I was meeting you, and he showed up and he was... he was definitely not you. I was catfished! CATFISHED! At the big age of 29!"
She peeked through her fingers, her eyes shimmering with mortification. "I was too embarrassed to tell Sarah and Elena that I’d been duped, so I let them think everything was fine. And then Victoria surprised us with this table, and I realized I was going to have to look at the real version of the man I’ve been ‘texting’ three days while my friends expect us to have some kind of secret language. I’m so sorry for being a weirdo. I’m so sorry that we came here."
She finally ran out of oxygen and stopped, her shoulders heaving as she stared at the floor, waiting for him to laugh or, worse, call security.
Instead, silence stretched between them for a long moment. Finally, she heard a soft, huffed sound.
Y/N looked up. Mingyu wasn't angry. He was biting his lip, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he tried (and failed) to suppress a full-blown laugh.
"So," he said, his voice dancing with irony. "That was it?"
"What?" Y/N stared at him in confusion.
"Well," Mingyu said, taking a step closer, his presence suddenly very warm around her. "That’s a relief. Because the last thing a chef wants to hear is that his food wasn't good. Plus, you shouldn't be apologizing because some jackass decided to use my face to lure you out... although, it is quite flattering that you swiped right on my face."
"I am so mortified that I might actually dissolve into the floor tiles," she whispered, her voice a frantic rush again. "My friends are out there waiting for a love story. Can you, just for tonight, pretend? Please go along with the 'we’ve been talking' thing so I don't have to explain this whole thing to them... yet? I promise, I will never show my face in this restaurant again. You’ll never have to see me ever again."
Mingyu opened his mouth to respond, a look of genuine protest forming on his face. "Y/N, you don't have to—"
"Thank you, you're a lifesaver, I'm so sorry!" she cut him off, already backing away toward the dining room.
She didn't give him a chance to finish. With one last look of pure, concentrated embarrassment, Y/N turned on her heel and bolted back toward the safety of Table 7. She slid into the booth, her face flushed a deep crimson. Sarah and Elena immediately leaned in, their eyes wide with anticipation.
"Well?" Elena hissed. "What happened? You two were gone for a while."
"We just... had a moment to catch up," Y/N lied, her heart hammering. "Everything is... fine. Totally normal."
Ten seconds later, Mingyu emerged from the hallway. He had smoothed out his chef’s coat, and that professional mask was back in place, though his eyes seemed to search for hers with a new, dangerous intensity. Moments later, he walked straight to their table, leaning down to place a fresh appetizer in the center.
"Here we go," he said, his voice smooth as silk. He paused, his hand lingering near Y/N's shoulder. He looked at Sarah and Elena, then gave them a knowing, conspiratorial wink. "I had to make sure our girl was doing okay. We've had a lot to talk about lately, haven't we, Y/N?"
Sarah and Elena squealed in unison, clutching each other's arms.
Y/N forced a smile that felt more like a grimace, staring straight ahead. She had gotten what she wanted. The lie was safe. But as she caught Mingyu’s gaze in the reflection of the window, she realized he wasn't just playing along. He was watching her with a look that suggested he had no intention of letting her disappear after the check was paid.
The meal ended in a blur of laughter and empty plates. When the bill finally arrived, Sarah reached for her purse, but the waiter simply smiled and shook his head. "Chef Mingyu has taken care of everything for you tonight."
The table erupted. Sarah and Elena were practically planning the wedding at that point, while Victoria looked smugly satisfied with her matchmaking prowess.
"Okay, go on," Elena whispered, giving Y/N a shove as they all stood up to leave. "Go thank your man. We’ll wait for you by the valet."
Y/N lingered by the kitchen pass, her hands stuffed deep into her jacket pockets. When Mingyu saw her, he handed his towel to a junior chef and stepped out into the dining room, his tall frame cutting through the dim light.
"They're gone?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.
"They're at the valet," Y/N said, looking around to make sure they were out of earshot. She immediately pulled her phone out. "Look, thank you for the 'performance.' Truly. You are too sweet. But I can't let you pay for four people's dinner at a place like this. Give me your bank info, or your handle—I’m sending you the money right now."
Mingyu crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against a pillar. A slow, effortless smirk spread across his face. "No."
"Mingyu, I'm serious. That bill had to be hundreds of dollars."
"It's my restaurant, Y/N. I think I can afford to treat a guest," he countered. He took a step closer, effectively closing the gap between them. "Besides, I played the part well. I think that's worth a little more than a bank transfer."
Y/N sighed, her shoulders dropping. "I told you, I'm never showing my face here again. I'm too embarrassed. Just let me pay you so I can disappear with some dignity left."
Mingyu reached out, his fingers lightly catching the sleeve of her jacket to keep her from turning away.
"I don't want your money," he said, his voice dropping to that low, private register that made her heart skip. "But I also don't think I'm ready to let you disappear just because some guy on an app used my photos. That wasn't me you were talking to, but this is me talking to you now."
He tilted his head, his gaze locked onto hers. "You want to settle the debt? Take me out for coffee. I like lattes.'"
Y/N blinked, her brain momentarily stalling. "Coffee?"
"Coffee," he repeated, his smile softening into something more genuine. His large hand offered his phone to her, "Give me your number, and we can figure out when and where, yeah?"
Y/N looked at him. The real Kim Mingyu, who was somehow even more charming than he looked in his pictures, was asking for her number. Y/N felt the last of her "retirement" from dating officially crumble.
She took the phone in her hand with a disbelieving laugh, "Yes Chef."
The first time Kim Mingyu calls himself your dear friend, you almost laugh.
It’s two in the morning. The apartment is dim except for the quivering light of your vanilla and lavender candle. The soft orange glow makes everything look warmer than it is. The gas burner of your stove ticks 3 times before blooming into flame, and Mingyu grins like he’s just performed magic.
“See?” he says, nudging you with his hip. “Your dear friend makes the best midnight pasta.”
Dear friend.
You sit on the counter, bare legs brushing him as he moves between the sink and the stove with an ease that feels familiar in a way that makes your chest tighten painfully.
You’ve known Mingyu for years. Through bad dates, bad haircuts, bad life decisions. Through career wins and family dramas and nights that stretched too long because neither of you wanted to go home alone.
Somewhere between “you up?” texts and shared movie nights, the line blurred.
Now he cooks for you at ungodly hours and kisses you like he’s starving.
Dear friend.
The pasta boils over, sizzling you back to reality as he curses softly, and adjusts the heat. You hop down to help, brushing shoulders, passing him the wooden spoon. It feels like a dance you both perform too well, like second nature.
When he fixes you a plate, he doesn’t bother with the table. You both settle on the couch, knees touching at first, then his thigh presses warm against yours while the TV hums something neither of you are watching.
He feeds you a forkful, dramatic and smug. “Open.”
You roll your eyes but comply. “You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” he says, wiping sauce from the corner of your mouth with his thumb, and sucking it clean like it's normal. “You keep inviting me over.”
Your breath stutters.
Later, when the dishes are abandoned in the sink and the air feels heavier than before, he kisses you.
It starts soft.
Mingyu kisses like he’s memorizing you... like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t imprint the shape of your mouth into his mind. His hands trace your waist, your back and the curve of your jaw. He murmurs your name against your lips, and it sounds less like a word and more like a plea. For what? You don't know.
When he lays you down in your bed, it’s never rushed. The world disappears and narrows down to his warmth and his skin. Time slows down to match the steady beat of his heart under your palm.
Afterward, he stays.
He tucks you into his side, arm heavy and protective around your torso. He presses sleepy kisses to your temple. He traces soft patterns along your arm until your eyes fall shut and your breathing evens out.
You want to ask what this is. What you mean to him when the sun comes up and you're no longer trapped in your sheets in the middle of the night.
But you don’t.
Because in the morning, he stretches like a puppy, hair a mess, eyes soft. He makes coffee, steals your hoodie, kisses your forehead like a routine.
“Thanks for letting your dear friend crash,” he teases.
And you're forced to swallow the words that want to spill out.
***
It’s easy to pretend when it’s just the two of you.
Harder when it’s not.
It's Jeonghan's birthday party when you're stuck watching him across the room. He’s laughing big and bright and magnetic, causing people to gravitate toward him in a way only Kim Mingyu could.
You know this side of him. You’ve always known.
Still, when a girl lingers too close, something ugly twists in your stomach.
You have to remind yourself that you have no claim over him.
You’re the cool one. The chill one. The girl who doesn’t catch feelings.
You're his dear friend.
Mingyu catches your eye across the room and smiles at you soft, familiar and oblivious. He excuses himself from the girl he was entertaining mid-sentence and makes his way over to you.
“Why are you hiding?” he asks, leaning down so only you can hear.
“I’m not hiding.”
He studies you. “You okay?”
You nod too fast. “Yeah. Go have fun.”
His brows knit playfully, “What without you? Impossible.”
It’s such a Mingyu thing to say. Casual, careless, and affectionate but his words weigh on your heart in a way that hurts but keeps you pinned to his side, forever his loyal dear friend.
Before you can respond, someone calls his name from behind him. He squeezes your shoulder once and goes.
You stand there long after he disappears into the crowd.
Dear friend.
You hate how small the title feels.
***
The fight happens on a Tuesday... You hate Tuesdays.
It’s stupid at first...He’s late again.
You’ve been waiting with takeout going cold on the coffee table. He’d texted an hour ago.
Mingoo: On my way.
10:12pm
Then nothing.
When he finally knocks on your door, hair tousled, cheeks flushed from the cold, he’s all apologies.
“Sorry, practice ran over and then—”
“It’s fine,” you say, too sharp.
He pauses. “It doesn’t sound fine.”
You don’t mean to say it. You don’t mean to let it slip. “I just don’t get why I’m always the one waiting.”
The silence that follows is brittle.
“I didn’t ask you to wait,” he says quietly.
It hits harder than he means.
“I know,” you whisper. “That’s kind of the point.”
He steps closer, confusion creasing his face. “What’s going on?”
You laugh, and it cracks halfway through. “I don’t know what we’re doing, Mingyu.” His name tastes like fragility and dejection in your mouth.
“We’re...” He gestures vaguely between you. “We’re us."
“What does that even mean?” Your voice trembles now. “Because it doesn’t feel casual. Not when you cook for me. Not when we have sex or when you stay the night. So why do you keep calling yourself my friend like that’s all this is?”
His jaw tightens. “You said you didn’t want anything complicated.”
“I didn’t know it would feel like this.”
The truth hangs there, naked and terrifying and he looks at you like you’ve just pulled the ground from under him. “Feel like what?”
You don’t want to be the one to say it.
But you’re tired.
“It feels like I’m in love with you,” you say, barely audible and the room goes very still.
Mingyu doesn’t move.
You don't breathe.
What follows leaves your lips in a flustered rush. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I just needed to say it or I might actually die, Mingyu. I can’t keep pretending this little game we're playing doesn’t hurt.”
You move to step past him, to retreat before the humiliation sets in fully but his hand catches your wrist.
Gentle.
Firm.
“Don’t,” he says but you can’t read his expression, and that scares you most.
“I called myself your friend because I thought that’s what you wanted. Because we promised we wouldn'tpush for more. You know that.”
Your heart stutters.
“I’ve been trying so hard not to mess this up,” he says, voice rough. “Because you’re… you’re my person. Even before all of this.”
Tears blur your vision.
“You think I make everyone midnight pasta?” he scoffs incredulously. “You think I stay over because it’s convenient?” He sounds offended but when he closes the distance between you two, his eyes are soft.
“I’m in love with you too,” he says, like it’s something fragile he’s been holding in for too long. “I just didn’t know how to say it without losing you... do you have any idea how scary that is?"
You choke out a laugh between sobs you didn't realize you had been holding back. “Of course I know,” you whisper.
“Yeah?" he breathes, forehead resting against yours. But he doesn't wait for you to answer.
His lips catch yours in a kiss like none before.
It’s not hungry. Not desperate.
It’s relieved.
“Can I stop pretending I’m just your dear friend now?" He asks between kisses.
You smile against his lips and nod, "Only if you agree to be my boyfriend."
Mingyu pulls away with a smug grin and a raised eyebrow, "Just for the record, you confessed first and asked me to be your boyfriend..."
"What was that, my dear friend Mingyu?" You tease back.
Mingyu doesn't miss a beat. With a tight hug he confesses, "No take backs... plus, I liked you first and the most, so we're even right?"
🍷 pairing: bf!Mingyu x reader
🍷 content: angst 😞
🍷 word count: ~1k
🍷 summary: when did mingyu fall out of love with you?
🍷 now playing: out of love by alessia cara
🍷 A/N: OUCH!! my goodness!! I apologize in advance LOL!
🍷 part of the breakup song collection
There's not a thing I could say
Not a song I could sing
For your mind to change
You can see it in Mingyu’s eyes. It’s as plain as day.
Your boyfriend of five years is not in love with you anymore.
The question is always on the tip of your tongue. After you fight, after he slams the door behind him, after he gives you the silent treatment for days on end. When you see Instagram stories of him at parties and gatherings without you.
When did you fall out of love with me?
Was it something you did? Was it something you said? Was it gradual or did it hit him so suddenly over coffee?
When he won’t look at you, when he won’t hug you, when he won’t kiss you, when he leans away from your touch- you just want to blurt out the question.
When did you fall out of love with me?
Your cousin’s wedding is so beautiful. There are pink and white flowers hanging from every inch of the ceiling. Your family is overwhelmed with happy tears, thanking god and the universe and heaven that she was blessed with a good man. A man who has been with her through grief and joy. A man who has promised to take care of her until death.
At the reception, various family members approach you and Mingyu asking when you’re going to be next. He laughs it off with his handsome smile and charming personality, distracting them from the fact that he hasn’t given them an answer. Only you notice.
This man you’ve given six years of your life to will not marry you. And he can’t even say it. He’d rather fraud the people you love, playing the part of a loving boyfriend when he hasn’t slept next to you for the past two weeks. He’d rather fraud you, beating around the bush, starting fights instead of just telling you the ugly truth.
You turn your head to look at him. He’s watching the couple’s first dance, sipping his champagne with a fond smile. Handsome with long black hair in a sharp blue tuxedo. You feel your heart truly break for the first time. How did it become like this? How? In an instant, he transforms into the twenty-two-year-old you first met at a frat party in your last year of college. A friend of a friend with a face more beautiful than a thousand suns. He was the life of the party, a people magnet, a charmer, and yet he only had eyes for you the second he laid eyes on you. He spent the next three months chasing you down, wooing you with flowers and food, until you agreed to go on one date with him.
Funny how the chaser becomes the one who runs away.
“Want to dance?” Mingyu leans back to ask you. “Oh, uh yeah,” you reply with a small smile. He holds his hand out, an invitation, a promise of a slow dance awaiting. You join the other couples wrapped up in each other, whispers, stolen glances, smiles- signs of true love on display for everyone else to see. Mingyu wraps his arms around your waist, drawing you close, yet you feel the distance between you more than before.
You watch your hands lay flat against his chest before you finally meet his eyes. All you want to do is cry.
You know when your time has run out. There’s nothing in his eyes. You’re looking into them, begging for a hint of the love he once gave you all those years ago. When he held you in his arms, promising to never hurt you. When he told you he would love you until the end of time. When he declared he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.
Standing in front of you is a total stranger. When, when, when? When did you fall out of love with me? Was it something I did? Was it something I said? Why, why why?
The song ends. A more upbeat song starts to play, and Mingyu lets go of you. “Gonna grab another drink, do you want something?” You shake your head, standing alone on the dancefloor watching him go.
It’s suffocating being in here. You silently slink out the exit, walking to your car before remembering you left your clutch with your keys inside. There’s a small concrete bench at the end of the parking lot. The trees sway in the light wind as you take a seat. You feel like you’re watching a horror movie of your life. How can you look your mother in the eyes and tell her you’re feeling pain that even she can’t fix? How can you admit to your younger sisters that you’re afraid? How can you tell your father that his first daughter, the pillar of strength, is crumbling, drowning, falling?
How can you tell yourself that the man you prayed would never hurt you is now breaking your heart?
There are no words to express the pure devastation you feel in the bottom of your heart.
Lost in thought, you don’t hear someone approach you, plopping down next to you. For a second, you think it’s one of your sisters, but then you see the blue trousers.
It’s Mingyu.
Neither of you says anything. He wordlessly hands you a coke with vodka. Your go-to drink since your college days. A tear slips and falls into the cup.
If Mingyu won’t end this, then it’s time you should.
The question is on the tip of your tongue. But you can’t bring yourself to ask it. Because then it will be real. Realistically, you know that you don’t want an answer.
“I think we should break up.”
Mingyu doesn’t respond.
The two of you look into the dark sky, knowing that it will be the last thing you do together. Unasked questions will forever remain unanswered.
Warnings: Slightly suggestive if you REALLY squint, very mild cursing, mutual pining (seriously, mingyu is deliciously pathetic for you), insinuated fwb to lovers? Kinda?
Head over heels, and he knew you knew. Mingyu wasn't shy about the way his piercing black eyes followed your every move no matter where you were... but something had changed. He could see it in the way your eyes would occasionally meet his while you conversed with another one of your guests. He could see it when you'd sneak a peek at him over the edge of your champagne flute. He could see it in the way your feet brought you closer and closer to him subconsciously between conversations until you finally stood before him.
"Hey," you greeted with a small mischievous smile that attempted to hide the time you'd spent together that morning, tangled in your sheets.
Mingyu couldn't help the smile that brightened his face, nor could he hide the way his eyes turned to honey the moment he heard your voice. "Hey," his chest felt like it would explode. It always did when you were around.
In a bold move, you took a step closer to him, who was sitting on a stool by the bar, thighs open and welcoming. It wasn't long before you had wedged yourself between his legs, earning yourself a few curious and nosy glances from the people around the two of you. Your eyes had a slight glaze to them, and Mingyu wondered if you were drunk.
"You good?" He asked almost breathlessly as he watched your fingers play with his on his lap. You stayed silent for a few seconds before looking up at him.
"Was it necessary for you to come to my birthday party looking so good?" You questioned with a slight pout. "I can't stop looking at you."
He took a swig of the drink in his hand and smiled teasingly, "Isn't that a good thing?"
"I don't know, I think it's a little scary," you admit in a soft voice, bearly audible.
With a raised brow, Mingyu leans closer to you, "Why scary?"
You look up to find Mingyu's face unbearably close to yours. So close it had your heart hammering against your chest, begging to be put out of its misery. "I missed you."
"We were together all morning"
"I know... and I started missing you the moment you left my apartment." Your hands were now holding his face tenderly, sending chills down his spine.
"And why is that?" Foreheads pressed against each other. It was as if the entire party around you both had disappeared. It was just you and Mingyu sharing each other's space.
"Are you really going to make me say it? On my birthday?" Your sweet breath fanned over his needy lips in a tempting way. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to take your hand and drag you away from everyone, have you all to himself.
"Would you rather I kissed you in front of all your frie-"
You didn't allow him to finish his sentence. Your lips were far too impatient to wait for him to finish teasing you. Mingyu all too expertly pulled you in closer. His large hands guide your own over his shoulders, making it easier for your body to nestle into the familiar shape of his torso. The one you'd been printing kisses on just hours before.
"You're an asshole" you mumbled against his lips, "fuck, you're such an asshole"
Unwillingly, Mingyu pulled away from the kiss, rubbing his thumb over your swollen bottom lip. "You can't say that to me when you've known all along how fucking in love with you I am."
"I know," you tell him, "that's why I feel stupid... because you deserve better."
"I don't want better." He pecks your lips reassuringly, "there isn't better... so stop driving me crazy and marry me already"
You chortle at the suddenness of his proposal. You loved that about him. His impulsiveness. "Should we? I don't think Daddy dearest would like that too much."
The tips of his fingers pushed your hair out of your eyes, taking the chance to lift your chin and catch your hazy eyes in his intense ones. "Say the word, and I'll talk to your father myself... or better yet, I'll steal you away. We catch a flight to Vegas and elope in some random chapel. He can't undo what's been done, right?"
You peck his lips swiftly and shake your head, "You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Kim, but I'm afraid it's too soon for you to be calling me your wife. Let's settle for officially calling me your girlfriend, how about that?"
His shoulders fell slightly, but his grip on your waist tightened and brought you closer once again. His warm lips finding your ear whispering secrets meant for only you to hear "Are you trying to imply that despite spending the better part of the past year tangled in my sheets, you're not my girlfriend? I'm hurt, Miss Y/L/N."
"I've always thought of myself to be more of your beloved, darling, sweetheart, and confidant... was I too forward in believing that much?" You ask him.
The soft smirk on his face lets you know he's aware that this is your way of finally admitting that he's just as much your world as you are his. After all, for a person who claimed not to care about titles, you certainly kept track of all the pretty ones he gave you.
"Too forward? I just asked you to marry me for the third time this week, Y/N"
A rush of warmth spreads through your body as you take in every detail of his face. The sincerity and honey in his eyes as he examines you right back. You take your time to drink in his face the same way you had that morning, and the morning before that, and the one before that. The truth was, you'd known it from the first time you saw him. From the first time he smiled your way, almost causing you to melt into your sleek Louboutin heels.
"I'm going to marry you, Kim Mingyu," you whispered back into his ear, causing him to tense up. "You'll get to put a ring on my finger and call me your wife someday... aren't you a lucky guy?"
You felt embarrassed at saying it so openly and to Mingyu, no less. Not embarrassed of your feelings but rather embarrassed of having hidden your own wish of being his, and yet Mingyu couldn't care less about that.
"When?" He asked, snapping you back to reality.
"When what?"
"When will you let me marry you?" The sparkle in his eyes did not go unnoticed. He meant the question, he wanted to know... but a little teasing never killed anyone. That is why you grin big at him, as you wiggle yourself free from his grip.
"I guess you'll just have to wait and find out" with a gentle and loving tap of his cheek, you start for yet another table of guests feeling that burn of Mingyu's hopeful gaze on your back. You hoped to greet as many guests as possible within the next 30 minutes.
After all, 30 minutes is as much as Mingyu's patience would allow before he inevitably finds you and drags you back home to show you how much he deserves to be the man to put the shiniest and prettiest mix of gold and diamonds on your left ring finger.
Description: angst. You get in a fight with Mingyu :,)
Warnings: slight cussing.
(Haha, not me writing after years of inactivity 😂😭, enjoyyy. Also, this is not revised, so excuse any grammar errors)
It wasn't that you were jealous, not even insecure... it was envy. There you were, sat in the loneliness of your bedroom, tapping through the private Instagram stories of your boyfriend at yet another function. His friends sat at a large table, enjoying their time with him. Time you were missing out on. Time that could have been yours, too.
With a dejected sigh, you drop your phone on your bed and get ready to hop in the shower. The stories had been posted 2 hours earlier, so it came as no surprise to hear the front door of your apartment open and close followed by your boyfriend's heavy footsteps coming in the direction of your bedroom.
You quickly busied yourself looking through your closet for your pajamas until you finally heard him enter. He smelled faintly of alcohol as his warm hands came in contact with your hips from behind. "Hi princess"
"Hey" your response was curt and cold and you knew you were being petty, but there was not a single fiber in you telling you be nice.
He noticed. He always did when you were upset. A sigh left his lips, and he stepped back, allowing you out of his hold. "What did I do now?"
You gave him a quick glance. He was now sitting at the edge of your bed watching you closely, like a math problem he was in a hurry to solve. "Nothing. I'm just tired" he could continue trying to solve it for all you cared.
If only Mingyu were the type to back down.
"Clearly not just 'nothing'" he insisted. "You're upset at me."
"I'm not doing this right now."
"If you don't want to fight, then at least do a good job of acting like everything is ok." now he was upset too. A small part of you wanted to blame yourself for doing this again, but the bigger part of you was hurt and felt left out. Things that a girlfriend should not feel about her boyfriend.
"Where were you tonight?" You finally met eyes with him only to have him roll his at you.
"Seriously?"
"That doesn't answer my question" you insisted.
"I went to have drinks with some friends, it's my day off." He finally conceded. "I didn't invite you because I thought you'd be busy-"
You can't help the scoff that leaves your lips, "bullshit" you interrupt. "Bullshit, Mingyu. You know my schedule. You knew I took today off- shit, I took today off for you and not one single call from you? Not even lunch?"
"Babe, it was a party for Lisa, and we all know you two don't really-"
"Holy shit, that's the excuse you're going with? That it was a party organized for Lisa, who I don't really talk to? At least fucking try to make sense, Kim Mingyu." You had said you weren't insecure, but you started to realize slowly that maybe you were insecure. This had never been an issue to you before Mingyu, you had never felt less than, you had never felt...
Hidden.
"Y/N I was just trying to save you an awkward time-"
Your eyes locked into his guilty black ones immediately, and as if by instinct you knew. "Mingyu, do they know about us?"
He stopped whatever bullshit excuse he was giving you, lips parted and eyes tearing away from your gaze immediately.
You hadn't been together for too long, but definitely long enough for his friends to know, surely. You had told all your friends by the time you'd been dating for 3 months, it would make absolutely no sense for him not to tell his friends after being together for 5 months... right?
"You know my friends know-"
You dropped the clothes in your hands and stomped up to him, shaking your head furious, "No, I know your members know. But what about your friends? Do they know that we're dating? Or am I correct in assuming that you are hiding me?"
You were met by silence. He avoided your gaze and stood from the bed turning his back on you, a hand tangled in his hair. "This is not how I thought tonight would go. I can't believe you're doing this right now."
"You're embarrassed of me?" You didn't mean for your voice to tremble the way it did. You hadn't even realized that your eyes were threatening to spill frustrated tears down your cheeks.
Your boyfriend flinched at the sound of your voice, but he didn't have the courage to face you. "Y/N..."
"Is it because I don't look like one of your super model friends?" You ask, "Or is it because I spend 40 hours a week holed up in an office? Or maybe because I live in an apartment that's the size of your walk in closet?"
He turns to look at you defeated, "Baby no-"
But it's too late. The seed of insecurity within you has germinated, it's grown roots, and they're spreading and wrapping around you at the speed of light. You can no longer keep eye contact with him. In an attempt to hide your tears, you pick up the clothes you'd dropped and start walking past him in direction of your bathroom.
His large hand grabs at your arm softly, "Y/N, please, let's not do this."
"I think you should go home. I have work in the morning." With a soft tug of your arm, his hand drops, and you lock yourself away in your bathroom, pressing a wrist to your lips, hoping that's enough to hide the choked sobs you'd been suppressing for weeks.
(This was inspired by this conversation between myself and @hyunmintae . I also didnt assign a specific idol so you can imagine the idol you'd get hanahaki for lol. Hope you enjoy ♡)
You had been diagnosed with it 3 years prior to your standing there. Hanahaki is what the doctor had called it. The illness of unrequited love. You had laughed to yourself then. Unrequited love. How ridiculous was that? You were sick because someone didn't love you back... it wouldn't be the most ridiculous thing to happen to you throughout your life. There was a reason why you were sick to begin with.
Him.
Unbeknownst to him, you'd found shelter in him from all the other ridiculous things life had thrown at you. His voice, his face, his laugh... you had fallen in love with the idol on the cracked screen of your phone just like millions of others... yet ridiculousness followed you through and through, that's why you were sat morbidly chuckling at the fact that out of 20,000 you were the one that had gotten sick. That's right, you were that 1 in 20,000 people.
According to the statistics, only 1 in 5,000 cases died from the illness. At least that's what the doctor had told you after handing you a flimsy pamphlet that detailed all about the illness and treatments available. The one recommended to you?
Surgical removal of all memories of him. All the times you had cried yourself to sleep listening to his voice while your parents fought over whatever money they had or didn't have. The times he'd made you laugh after you'd left your parents' house. Even the time he taught you to love yourself despite there not being much to love at all...
You didn't take it. What was the point? Wouldn't you default back to the empty shell you were before you found him?
That's also how you found yourself standing on the General Admission floor of his concert only 3 years after your diagnosis. The truth was, you were dying. Your condition had worsened, and your doctor had dropped you. It seemed like there was no hope for you, so why not see him in person once, just once before the struggling flame of life within you expired?
It was rather amusing how your lungs constricted almost to the beat of the music blasting around you. He was there, with layers of light shining behind his figure, and eyes alight with adrenaline. In that moment you felt what you could only describe as magic... he was magic... but he was also death. You could feel it coming, the pain in the back of your throat, except it was no longer amusing.
It seared you from the inside out, almost like your lungs were on fire. Oxygen was no longer reaching you and deep inside you knew, it was the end. Your cold body crumpled to the ground catching the attention of the people around you.
It was cruel, and rather embarrassing. Couldn't you have died after the concert? Maybe somewhere he wouldn't see? Not that you'd live to remember it, with the way your throat and chest were tightening within you. Whispers started to fill the air around you, but no one offered a hand. How could they? You were an anomaly and you were sick, almost everyone around you could tell what it was with the way your hands grasped at your throat.
It hurt. God it hurt.
Hot tears rolled down your face as you did everything possible to breathe... you couldn't. You had been warned and hadn't listened.
Finally after minutes of struggling you coughed out what had been tearing you apart inside. A sole large black baccara rose. It was beautiful... and you could finally breathe. Was it possible you weren't going to die? Maybe you were going to be okay, right?
Wrong.
It was when you stood back up in the center of the General Admission floor of your favorite group's concert that you realized that the beautiful rose that lay on the ground before you was dotted with crimson dots and your numb tongue could somehow still filter through the strong taste of iron.
Terminal lucidity.
That's what your grandmother's doctor had called it. A period of alertness before death.
You could feel a tingle forming, from the center of your chest but this time there was no pain or ache to come with it, rather a soft gurgle left your lips. The crowds around you gasped as they watched you like a bad car wreck on the side of the road. Scary and sad, but hard to look away from it.
You took one step... two steps... and suddenly you couldn't breathe again. Your lungs, however, were no longer blocked by flowers. No, it was thick red iron preventing you from breathing. You fell right back to the floor coughing up the thick red crimson that had so prettily decorated your last flower.
Slowly you turned so you were on your back. It kind of hurt less that way. Medics had managed to get past the crowd and to you as well. The tips of your fingertips grazed the soft end of your ratty wristband. The one with his name printed on it with holographic vinyl...
Your body was being moved, surely you were in the process of getting carted away from the scene. In a way, you felt relieved. He wouldn't have to see you.
Except he did.
In the midst of it all you missed him and another one of his group members hopping off the stage in hopes of helping somehow. You wanted to laugh. Yes. In your last minutes of life you felt like laughing off the embarrassment of having your idol watch you died in the most pathetic way. Catching his horrified gaze last minute didn't help either.
You shut your eyes tightly for what was left of your miserable life.
What was left...
Fear, and a sudden wish to live. Deep inside you, your heartbeat was slowing down, and your mind as well... and all you wanted in that moment of clarity was for someone to call your mom because you were scared and cold and you wanted nothing more than to live...
Yet it was too late.
Because at 9:25 PM you breathed your last breath and became one more in the sea of statistics.
