Lapidary Diaries

Lapidary Diaries is a net for authors and graphics makers over 25. We promise to keep a safe haven for those who may feel out of place. Official Post | Rules | Members | Affiliates | Events | Applications: OPEN

[lapydiaries]

Annual Summer Event 2026

Summer finally arrived. The weather is nice, your work schedule is cleared and you are ready for your booked vacation!

Though what happens when your journey takes some unexpected turns?

Welcome to the Summer Event of 2026 held by Smoky Quartz Flurry!

Please choose one of the many destinations for traveling including some special twists and turns. Hopefully each and everyone of you will find a wonderful vacation time (literally or figuratively) at the end of this event.

Red Marker:

You chose a city tour! Traveling to a metropolis (Los Angeles, Dubai, Rio de Janeiro, Rome, Seoul... just to name a few options). The reason you're traveling? Depending. What you'll find on your journey? A possible fling, love, something your heart truly desired!

Light Blue Marker:

You chose a couple vacation! You and your partner wanted a romantic escape from your daily lives (watching polar lights, going to Paris or Venice, going to the Maledives...)

Green Marker:

You chose a nature adventure! Far away from the city life you want to discover the beauty our planet has to give (Safaris in Africa, an Outback adventure in Australia, traveling in a camper van from South to North America...)

Orange Marker:

You "chose" a work travel! Maybe you didn't get your vacation approved or you have to use it to learn something for work or you need work to finance your travel ideas (be it learning a new language, branching out the company ties, do a work and travel..)

Dark Blue Marker:

Whatever you chose for your summer, didn't happen. Your plans? Ruined. Your location? Unknown. Maybe you got ship wrecked in the Bermuda Triangle and are now captured by the merfolk, or you unknowingly stepped through a fairy circle in Ireland taking you to another world, or you found an old artefact in the middle of the amazon which took you back in time, maybe you just met a creature you didn't think existed... the possibilities are endless!

Choose your trip wisely and enjoy your journey. Make sure to include something unexpected in your written works. If you're able to include it in your graphics as well don't let me stop you! Remember to use the network tag!

Timeline:

June 1 - Event begins

August 23 - Masterlist posted

August 31 - Event ends

[lapydiaries]

June Blooming Garland

According to some legends planting a honeysuckle near your home would ward of evil spirits and bring you joy. Druids even used the flower in the celtic alphabet to represent happiness and joy. While others see the honeysuckle and their clinging vines as two souls intertwined for a long lasting and sweet romance.

The Honeysuckle traditionally symbolizes happiness and affection for a new love, but also represents nostalgia for an old flame or lost love.

Rules:

Submission must include feelings of nostalgia, soulmates and joy or simply the appearance of Honeysuckles in your writing or graphics

All rules of the net apply for any submissions

This is a monthly event, so you must post during the month of June

For writers: No min/max word count, just let the words flow!

For visual creators: Please include at least one element from the Honeysuckle visual in your work.

Please send all submissions to the appropriate designated channel/thread in our Discord for proper organization

Have fun and don´t forget to support other members by checking and sharing their works ✸

[hybehunters]

Navigation

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Announcements ⌖ Acceptances ⌖ Affiliates

The investigation headquarters are still under construction! Thank you for your patience while we prepare to welcome incoming hunters.

May 16, 2026 ──Network Reveal, Crew Applications Open

May 24, 2026 ──Hunter Applications Open

June 1, 2026 ──Network Launch + First Acceptance

[lapydiaries]

Blooming Garland ~ Lily of the Valley Masterlist

Lily of the Valley symbolizes comfort, purity, and sweetness, but it also signifies humility and the return of happiness.

Graphics:

-At Last by @choisanstiddies

-Epiphany by @anyamaris

Fics:

-Sweetness in Disguise by @sanjoongie

Server Participation Shout out:

[anyamaris]

Epiphany

For the @lapydiaries May's Blooming Garland, Lily of the Valley. Theme:Purity

[sanjoongie]

𝔖𝔦𝔩𝔢𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔤𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔣𝔬𝔫𝔡𝔢𝔯

🦋Summary: upon being captured in order to be studied by some mad human, he learns that you do not have a voice. desperate to get his questions answered, he attempts to learn your sign language. The longer time spent with his subject, the longer you live.

🦋Pairing: Mermaid Lepidopterist! Choi Beomgyu x Mermaid! Reader (f)

🦋Genre: romance, dark

🦋Au: fantasy, mermaid, mad scientist

🦋Trope: captor/captive

🦋Rating: 18+, MDNI

🦋Warnings: ⚠️dark fic ahead, beware the warnings⚠️mute! reader, mentions of dissected subjects, preserved pieces of body parts, major character death, no happy ending if you're hopeful and looking for one

🦋Word Count: 3,032

🦋Divider by @cursed-carmine

Tap Tap Tap

You regain consciousness, sea sluggishly so. Sea cucumber slow! What in the world had you drank last night that could have this kind of effect on you? Or was it the aphrodisiac oysters that crunched so nicely between your teeth?

When you open your eyes, finding yourself not in your nest of seaweed and coral, but murky water and a human staring at you, you realize you’ve fucked up immensely.

“Ah, finally awake I see,” The human doesn’t even look up from his writing device, furiously putting something to it. “The dosage seems to have worked harder on you than the others. I wonder if that’s because you grew up in a different ocean?” He continues to murmur to himself. 

You put your arms out to find that you can’t even spread them out fully. Your tail swishes against the bottom. What kind of cage was this?

“Oceana Frost Subject metabolizes sedative at an almost deathlike rate. Lesser dosage with the next subject.”

This human was speaking nonsense. And yet, you felt as though you could barely hold yourself to your full length. You were in a cage with no boundaries you could see but you could feel it. 

Despite the murky water, you can see that the human clearly isn’t in water. Were you out of water but somehow still in it? You were utterly confused as to your current situation. 

Next, the human seems to put two cups over his ears and then speaks louder than before. “If you would be so kind as to sing the song of your species?” He scurries over to some kind of item that has a spinning disc and a needle and a funnel. 

You lower your eyes and your shoulders fold into yourself. You turn your head in shame. You were a black mark on your kind: you had no voice and thus no siren song. 

The human blinks at you, waiting for a song that would never come. “If you think you’ll trick me into listening to your song, you’re sadly mistaken,” He shouts again.

You send a baleful look to the human. You tap your throat with a point talon and then make an x with both of your hands. He tilted his head in response. You sigh, water rushing out of the gills on your neck and roll your eyes. 

What had you done to incur the great sea witch’s wrath for this kind of fate?

The human mutters to himself, and moves to stop the disc from spinning on the instrument. He then finds a pulley of some sort and yanks it downwards. You’re immediately filled with pain, as if a dozen eels have wrapped themselves around your body and electrified you. You let out a silent scream unable to move or stop the pain. 

“Still no noise after pain introduced…” The human marks more with his writing device. “You aren’t normal, are you?”

The pulley is pushed up and your pain stops. This human was mad, more crazed than a whale having lost her calf. What did he want from you?

You lift your fist and move it, hitting the invisible barrier. It makes a thud and causes the mad human to jump. 

He pushes up closer to the invisible barrier that separates your water and his air. “Were you born like this? Are there others like you? How have you survived without your siren’s song?”

You frown heavily at these questions. You didn’t have a voice and the human would not know the complexities of your sign language. How in the world were you supposed to answer that?

The human nods as if you had informed him of your thoughts. “Quite right, we have no way to communicate, hmm….” 

When he leaves the area through a door, it causes you to realize with horror of what exactly your surroundings contain. Hung from the walls are dried tails. Eyes are kept in more invisible barrier items. Teeth are strung together like morbid necklaces. You silently scream again when you see another Siren, only this one is dissected into two clear pieces from the tip of their tail to the top of their head. Their insides are on perfect view. 

This human had an obsession with your kind and obviously had no scrumples from discovering exactly what you were made of. You weren’t sure if you were horrified or impressed. Humans were weak things, that were always sources of fun or food for you sirens. This human was different. Just like you…

The human makes several attempts to study and communicate with you. He gives you a dark, flat piece of rock with a light piece of rock like a stick, but the stick crumbles in the water. He continues to apply pain to you at random interventions when you fail his tests but still your voice will not come out for him. He pulls scales from your tail, plucks your hair, taking taking taking, but never gives anything back. He writes on his device, muttering words you barely understand. 

Sometimes he feeds you dead fish that make you sick but mostly you feel like a pet octopus on a leash. Did you deserve this life since you weren’t a real siren? Perhaps you did. 

“This is ridiculous,” The human says in frustration. “How am I supposed to get true results if you can’t speak to me?”

You’re not asking me the right questions, you sign in frustration yourself.

The human’s eyes lit up with a queer emotion. “Wait, you have your own form of communication?!”

Excitement makes his face animate, eyes wide, a grin pulling his lips apart. Was he trying to intimidate you by showing his teeth to you? They weren’t exactly made to eat flesh, so you didn’t find them threatening at all. 

The human taps his finger to his lips in thought. “How are we going to learn each other’s language? Do we start with words we’re both familiar with? Think, Beomgyu, think.”

Your eyes wander around to the dead fish that had long floated to the top of your cage when you refused to eat it and get sick again. You snatch it up and bang on the invisible barrier. You release it and sign the word for fish. 

Beomgyu’s eyes follow your movements with rapidness. “Wait wait, I’ve got to record this. Slower!”

Soon your days are filled with less torture, in the physical sense at least. Trying to teach Beomgyu your sign language is difficult. There aren’t many items from his world that are similar to yours. It’s a slow pace and both of you get beyond angry at the situation. But Beomgyu, the mad human, is determined to learn what he can, no matter the time it takes. 

Somehow your quality of life improves, even if it’s miniscule. Beomgyu learns that mini squids are your favorite food, along with shrimp. His tests on you stop in lieu of using all your time to learn the intricacies of your language. 

You’re guiding him through the way to sign ‘ship’ and when he accidentally signs shit, you can’t help but laugh at the miss-sign. 

“What?” Beomgyu looks at you as if he’s waiting to be let in on the joke. 

That’s when it hits you: you’ve acquired some sort of attachment to this human. He was your capture, your torturer, but this time spent over exchanging words and knowledge was becoming almost enjoyable. 

You shook your head, showing him that he’s brought the wrong finger together to his thumb. He makes a loud “ahhhh” and then scribbles more words on his device.

You tap the nail of your talon against the glass, bringing Beomgyu’s attention back to you. You look down at his device and then back to his face. 

“Oh, what’s the point of teaching you my language though?” Beomgyu says so matter-of-factly. “What are you going to use it for?”

What indeed? He had a point. Your shoulders fall down and you nod. You were just a useless siren, were you not?

“I mean--well--” Beomgyu scratches the back of his head. “You have no way to write, right?”

You nod and move onto the next word Beomgyu wants to learn. 

The next day, Beomgyu doesn’t arrive when the sun shows through the window of your room. It travels up and up and still no mad human. Was he dead? Did he go somewhere and decide that he didn’t need to tell you? It didn’t seem right. Not that he had no care for you, but that if you had learned something about Beomgyu, it was that once he had his mind put towards something, he wouldn’t stop until the task was complete. He was determined to learn all the words for every animal in the sea for all the day and night. What would deter him from pursuing your sign language further?

At last, when the moon shows her sweet face, Beomgyu bursts into the room with gusto. “I’ve figured it out!” He shouts, rushing to what you’ve learned is a glass tank that he keeps you contained in. 

You turn around in your tank to see what the hell your mad human was talking about. He brandishes the flat rock from before but with a different colored stick rock. You shake your head. That didn’t work last time.

“No, you don’t understand! I’ve made the chalk insoluble.” When your blank face doesn’t change in understanding, he grumbles. “It won’t disappear in the water. You can write.”

This time your face is blank because your mind cannot understand what is happening. Did the human create something for you?!

You sign in broken words because even the vocabulary you’ve taught Beomgyu doesn’t allow for smooth communication.

Human… writing… me?

Beomgyu takes a moment to translate your sign language to something he understands. “Yes!”

You shrug your shoulders and Beomgyu frowns. “Well, yes, I also don’t know what you’ll use it for but you wanted to learn, didn’t you?” You nod, a little shy in admitting that. “I’m here for knowledge! So why not?”

You’re not exactly sure how long you’re with Beomgyu now. The pursuit of knowledge consumes both your minds. Inch by inch, your life is improved. Beomgyu builds a tank much larger. It’s almost the size of the room you used to be contained in. The water is no longer murky, but well kept and changed frequently. Sand and rock and underwater plants decorate it. You make a bed of seaweed and coral, like you prefer. 

Beomgyu even takes his food in the room that contains your tank. He decides that he doesn’t want any time wasted, so he also has a bed constructed in the room. He only leaves for food for the both of you. It’s an odd situation but it’s all you know now. 

Even once you are able to communicate a little better, soon the exchange of knowledge becomes of your worlds rather than the language. You inform Beomgyu of how the culture works in your world while Beomgyu tells you with derision about his human world. 

Somehow, despite your differences in species, you both understand each other. Beomgyu is some type of outcast from his world, where knowledge is of little use to a world that focuses on might and force. You sympathize with him. You are nothing in a world where a siren’s song dictates her place in the hierarchy. 

This commonality between you binds you two together, along with the exchange of language and information. 

There comes a day where Beomgyu attempts to explain the way water works in many forms in his world. “It comes in many many forms!” He says with excitement. “Condesation is one of my favorites to behold.”

Your mad human pushes his lips up against your tank and then breathes out heavily. You watch with avid interest as the glass becomes cloudy as if your tail has stirred the sand at the bottom with a little too much enthusiasm. Then Beomgyu takes the tip of his finger and makes a shape on the glass. 

You cock your head and meet Beomgyu’s eyes. You’re not familiar with this shape.

Beomgyu giggles. “It’s stupid really, for a heart does not look like that at all, but I’ve seen besotten girls do this with males they are interested in. It means a sort of adoration for the other.”

The words hit your ears slowly. Why would he do that? Why would he show you this? Why would he…

You watch as Beomgyu does that weird teeth bearing thing that you learned is a smile, a show that a human is happy. Was he happy for the knowledge he bequeathed to you? Perhaps you should attempt to do it back.

You pull your lips back, imitating his weird bearing teeth ritual. Beomgyu’s face goes a little slack-jawed. You school your features immediately. 

Wrong?  You sign to him. 

Beomgyu shakes his head immediately. “No, not wrong,” he says softly. 

Beomgyu’s constructed a platform for your tank. The steps stop halfway up, and that’s where he stands and works most of the time, as you  sign to him and he speaks to you. The steps lead further to the top of your tank, where he deposits what he needs for you. 

Beomgyu was madly scribbling something in his books when he slammed his pen down. “What’s the word for love?”

You had been showing him some of the sandfloor dances your people perform and stopped in your tracks. Now, it wasn’t exactly off the subject, because the dances were very much a mating ritual for your people, to show your adoration and devotion. But for him to come out and demand it, although it was also very Beomgyu, still made you hesitant.

You showed him the sign for it, watching him warily. Beomgyu clumsily mimicked it. So that’s when you asked, Do you love someone?

Beomgyu shakes his head. “No.”

Sad heart, you sign to him. You’re not sure you’d ever find someone to love either. For who would love a defenseless mate with no song to lure food?

There’s a look in Beomgyu’s eyes, one that hurts your heart. He looks lonely but his lips pull up at the corner slightly. He signs back sad sad heart. “Oh well!” He suddenly bustles, gathering his notes and setting them aside. 

You tap on the tank to get Beomgyu’s attention. This was an exchange of information, after all. What do humans do to show interest in mates?

Beomgyu freezes. His eyes are drawn to yours and you lean even closer to the glass. Beomgyu rarely appears this way, vulnerable, his eyes big, almost like prey. 

“I could show you,” Beomgyu offers with a scratchy throat. 

You nod eagerly. Beomgyu scrambles up the platform to the top of the tank. You swim to the top to meet him there. When you surface, your hair clings to every part of your upper body and you methodically move it from your face at least. You don’t know how humans did it. It was much better living under the water. Your gills have closed up so that you can breathe temporarily in the air, as was your birthright as a siren.

Beomgyu gestures for you to come closer. And closer. Soon, you’re as close to him, as if the tank window was between you and him, only nothing to preserve that separation. 

“Do you really want to know?’ Beomgyu asks one more time, his voice even more scratchy than before. 

Your hands grip the edge of the tank, head tipped back to look up at Beomgyu, who’s on his hands and knees, as if he couldn't get close enough to you either. You nod again. 

Beomgyu slowly moves both of his hands to cup your face. “I think you’ll know this move well,” Beomgyu murmurs, “It’s usually how your kind deliver their prey to their deaths.”

The mad scientist presses his lips against yours. They’re warm, and it shocks you to your core. You’ve never felt anything so soft. Beomgyu sighs, almost dreamily, and it unlocks something inside of you. Like Beomgyu had the key to yourself the entire time. Your lips latch onto his, your talons dig into his hair. You grab onto him like he’s the oxygen you need to survive above the surface of the water. Beomgyu feeds you, his lips moving fervently against yours. His tongue touches the seam of your mouth tentatively and then plunges into your mouth. It’s as if he is looking to taste all of you, every inch. 

Then Beomgyu’s arms fall to his sides weakly. You let go of his face, nipping at his blue lips playfully. But he’s not rising to your teasing. His eyes are glazed over. Yet, he still has that faint smile on his face. 

“You’re still a siren after all,” he whispers and then closes his eyes, his long eyelashes fluttering against his cheekbone. 

You’re not sure what he means by that. You poke him in the ribs but he doesn’t yelp. You grip his arm and shake him but his eyes do not open. You slap his chest but it is no longer rising and falling. What happened? Because Beomgyu looks just like any other human that’s been brought down to the depths to eat…

You clutch at your throat, open your mouth, and the most beguiling noise comes out of it. It’s beautiful but it’s mournful. You clutch your chest and feel your heart shatter into a million pieces. 

There are all types of sirens. Some lure their food with the promise of lust, some happiness, some greed. But you were the rare type that you had only heard in legend. The Black Widow, the one with a broken heart, the one who would lure her prey with a dirge song that would bring anyone to tears and to their death.

For you had lured the only creature in or out of the water that had ever loved you for who you truly were: a siren without a voice. And then he gifted you with the very thing you lacked.

[lapydiaries]

Lapydiaries Presents

Drowning In Flowers Masterlist

The heat in the greenhouse is sweltering, but something about the almost-suffocating sweet scents makes you feel...at ease. Almost...lethargic.

Please send the authors for this event some love ♡

Fics:

@sanjoongie's Petals Can Be Deceiving

@anyamaris's Until My Last Breath

Graphics:

@choisanstiddies's Faded Petals

-

Thank you for enjoying the second annual spring event!

[nothoughtsjustfic]

For The Record - L.C

🐑Who: Lee Chan (Seventeen) x female reader 🐑What: Fluff. Humour. Strangers to Friends to Lovers. Vet reader. Simp Chan. 🐑Word count: 9.1k 🐑Warnings: Chan is such a precious little, shameless, obviously obsessed, dumbass. Profanity. A couple brief, vaguely suggestive comments/ thoughts/ themes. Sorta vague allusions/ assumptions of Hansol & Seungkwan dating but never explicitly confirmed. I don’t know anything about animals/ being a vet so it’s all glossed over— don’t take anything that is mentioned as pure fact. Kissing. Some alcohol consumption. 🐑Summary:

The day Chan first lays eyes on you, his life changes. The day after that, he suddenly becomes very interested in animals, with absolutely no relation to you being the new vet in town. Not that anyone believes him about that. After all, subtlety has never been Chan’s strong suit.

I block any blank blog that interacts.

Masterlist

A/N- This was written as part of @dorereef’s spring event, The Reef In Bloom! This event has been such a joy to participate in, the other members have been so lovely and enthusiastic that I really hope to join up with them for another event soon 🥺💗

Honestly, in all the years Chan has known Hansol, he’s had zero interest in the farm Hansol’s family has owned and run for decades now. Especially not in the middle of winter when Chan could be doing better things, like being far away from the sheep trying to nibble the oversized coat he’s wearing that makes him look like a child wearing his dad’s coat.

Which, well, is kind of accurate, because it’s Hansol’s dad’s coat. Chan had fallen in a mud patch last night when the pair stumbled back after a night out drinking with their friends, and Hansol’s parents have always treated Chan like a second son and happily dote on him, so lending him a clean, cosy coat wasn’t even debated.

But the point is, it’s the middle of winter, Chan is fucking freezing, and Hansol has made him join him in the field to meet the new vet, who will apparently be overseeing the ewes through lambing season— not that Chan knows what that means. And Chan has no interest in this, but Hansol is persuasive in the way he stares without blinking until his opponent relents, and it freaks the fuck out of Chan, so he always relents.

“Are you sure I can’t curl up in the middle of them? They look so warm,” Chan bemoans, looking longingly at the huddle of sheep a little bit away from them, practically able to see steam rising from their fluffy bodies in the chilly air.

“Very positive that you cannot curl up amongst pregnant ewes, Chan,” Hansol confirms flatly, eyes on the near distance where a car is driving along the dirt tracks of the Choi farm towards the field they’re standing at the edge of.

“Ewe means lady sheep, right?” Chan checks, and Hansol gives him a flat look in response, before snorting a laugh, then looks away. “What?”

“Would I say they’re pregnant if they were gentlemen sheep?”

“I…I think I’m too hungover.”

“Nah, you’re always a dumbass,” Hansol retorts teasingly, then pushes off of the fence to approach one of the farm dogs who has something in his mouth that Hansol needs to chase him for the next few minutes to get out— turns out, it was a lump of mud; at least, Chan hopes it was mud.

“Hey, you’re new,” the voice behind Chan makes him turn, and instantly, his expression slides into something awed, because standing a little on the other side of the fence is the most beautiful being he’s ever laid eyes on. In response, Chan lets out something that sounds vaguely like something died painfully in his throat.

“Hey, doc!” Hansol calls out, and Chan watches entranced as this ethereal entity before him waves back with a smile that makes Chan suddenly love the farm.

“I think your new farm boy isn’t awake yet,” you muse as you approach to lean on the fence a little to Chan’s left, and he turns towards you like a flower to the sun. Or a suddenly-in-love man towards the woman of his dreams.

“No farm boy, he hates the farm, but he’s my best friend so he doesn’t have a choice,” Hansol informs with a grin.

“I love farm. Love sheep. Lady sheep. Ewes,” Chan babbles, wide eyes glued to you. You give him a look, a little concerned, but mostly amused, then slide your eyes to Hansol, and give the farmer a questioning look.

“Yeah, we don’t know what’s wrong with him either.”

“Sheep,” Chan whispers, and you give him a look, giggle— and he maybe lets out a little almost pained whimper in response—, before you effortlessly clamber over the fence to join Hansol in approaching the sheep.

Chan, of course, waddles around in a circle as you pass him so that he can keep his attention on you. He has no idea what you’re doing as you kneel beside the first pregnant lady sheep— ewe— with your bag of equipment to do…stuff, but he thinks it’s probably the most important and skilful thing ever, and nobody can ever do it better than you.

Suddenly, Chan doesn’t feel the cold, not when your smile and soft tone as you speak to the sheep warms him up from his very soul. Chan’s pretty convinced he could be standing there butt naked and feel warm under your smile. Then, he thinks that you’d probably not be smiling if a stranger was standing in front of you naked in a field of sheep in the middle of winter. He also thinks he wouldn’t be smiling as he imagines the sheep trying to nibble on something else instead of the coat protecting him from the cold, and he shudders at the thought, winces, and subconsciously puts his hands over his crotch.

“Dude, you better not be getting hard because a pretty lady smiled at you,” Hansol’s voice suddenly warns in a hiss in Chan’s ear, making him jump and look at his best friend in shock, having not noticed him approach.

“Do sheep bite genitals?” Chan whispers, horrified at the thought. Hansol gives him an incredulous look, before walking confidently back over to you in a way that Chan wishes he could, but he knows the damn coat makes him waddle like a particularly plump penguin. He doesn’t want you to think of him as a particularly plump penguin, he doesn’t want you to think of him as a penguin at all, plump or buff. He wants you to think of him as a handsome, suave young man who you would happily take home to introduce to your parents as your handsome, suave husband. Okay, boyfriend first, husband later.

Far too soon— at least in Chan’s mind—, you get up, shoulder your bag, and walk side by side with Hansol towards the gate a little further down the fence. Before he knows it, you’re getting into your Jeep— at least, Chan assumes it’s a Jeep, he doesn’t know anything about cars, nor is he paying enough attention to anything but you to notice the brand name—, sharing another laugh and quick verbal exchange with Hansol, giving Chan a polite wave, and then driving off. Chan lifts his arm so fast that he smacks himself in the face, but you’re already gone because he was too stunned by your sudden attention on him to even register it until it was over. He’s kind of glad of that because it means you didn’t see his embarrassing action.

Unfortunately, Hansol saw, and he’s leaning over with his hands on his knees as he wheezes with laughter. “Dude!” he cackles. “What the fuck is wrong with you today?” he asks, barely able to straighten up to look at his best friend as he continue to laugh so hard Chan thinks he might start choking any second.

“Nothing. I’m normal. Totally normal about everything and everyone I’ve seen today,” Chan replies before abruptly crossing the grass between them to grab Hansol’s face and lock his wide, unsettling gaze on the suddenly no longer laughing man. “How do I become a vet assistant? Specifically hers?”

Hansol pulls a face, then laughs again and nudges Chan away. “You’re hopeless, man.”

“I’d be a good vet’s assistant to her! I’d do anything she asks!”

“Pretty sure that’s called being a simp.”

“Well…if it works.”

“I can’t believe you’re obsessed with someone you didn’t say a coherent sentence to,” Hansol deadpans as he heads out of the field, and Chan scrambles to follow— making sure to shut the gate securely behind them and the dogs, he’s not entirely useless with farm stuff, you know.

“Shit, you’re right,” Chan mutters. Hansol looks at him as if he expects Chan to chill out and be normal about you, at least he does until the shorter man opens his mouth again. “Do you think if I hide for a couple months and you pretend I don’t exist and she imagined me today, that she’ll forget about me and I can come back and start fresh?”

“Dude, no!” He even shoves his friend into a bush for added effect; it works, Chan gets the point.

“Okay, no gaslighting, you’re right,” Chan concedes as he pulls himself out of the bush as if nothing happened. “I could never keep away from my future wife from that long anyway, and I definitely don’t want her to forget about me.”

“You don’t even know her name.”

That gives Chan pause, quite literally. He stops on the grass and Hansol continues on obliviously towards the house. Or more likely, Hansol knows that his best friend is no longer actively following him and is enjoying the moment of calm while he has it.

It’s a few minutes before Chan has caught up with Hansol where he’s waiting on the back porch, dogs all shuffling around his feet and the door as they wait to be let back inside. But Hansol knows his mother hates the winter air and feels it so much easier than most people, so he doesn’t want the door to open more than necessary so that there’s less cold being let in to attack his mother.

“What’s her name?” Chan asks as soon as he’s clambered up the few wooden steps. Hansol just rolls his eyes, and now finally opens the door to let the dogs dart in first, then follows with Chan at the back. Automatically, once the door is shut, Chan nudges the draft excluder back into place along the bottom of it, also aware of Hansol’s mother’s weakness for the chill, and not wanting to make his pseudo-mother face it without reason.  

The pair are removing their shoes when the woman herself shuffles into the entrance hall. “How’re the ewes?” she checks. Hansol just gives a thumbs up, but that’s all she needs anyway. “Oh, Channie, what happened to you?” She frowns as she frets over the leaves and tiny twigs in his hair and dotted over the long coat.

“Sol pushed me into a bush,” Chan answers, then grins smugly when Hansol’s mother turns to scold her son, who glares harmlessly at his best friend before toddling off to the kitchen, drawn in by the scent of fresh, spicy food sure to warm him up. “Hey, you know the new vet?” Chan checks as the woman helps him out of the coat, picking off the bush debris as she goes.

“Mm, she’s lovely, isn’t she?”

“The loveliest,” Chan enthuses, head bobbing with his thorough agreement, and the woman smiles at him in an amused, knowing way that Chan doesn’t even notice. “I didn’t catch her name.”

“Oh, no?” She grins, hanging up the coat before turning and following her son’s path into the kitchen. Chan follows her little a lost little duckling. “You didn’t catch the good doctor’s name, love?”

“No,” Chan complains, dropping into his usual space at the breakfast table with a pout. “Will you tell it to me? Sol’s being a butthead.”

“You’re 25 years old and you just said butthead,” Hansol’s father comments from his own place. “Call him an asshole, Chan, go on.” Which earns the man a light slap to the back of his head from his wife, but he’s grinning, and Hansol is grinning, and Chan can’t help but join in.

“Don’t encourage bad habits, mister!” the woman exclaims.

“Ah, but you used to love my bad habits, my beautiful wife,” he coos, hooking one arm around her waist as she passes, to pull her in while giving her a sleazy look.

“Seriously, dad?” Hansol complains. “I’m trying to eat, don’t bring up your youth together, it’s gross.”

“Excuse you! We were hot shit in our youth, even hotter together!”

“Disgusting,” Hansol comments, not even pretending that he’s not grinning amusedly, before he puts a spoonful of warming, spicy soup into his mouth, makes a pleased sound, then tuckers in, closing out the rest of the world around him.

Having known Hansol for his entire life, the three know he will be a useless conversationalist until he’s finished his bowlful— and probably a second, maybe even third— and naturally turn away from him to continue talking without him.

“I’ve seen photos of you both when you were young,” Chan comments, nodding along. “I think you were both hot shit for sure.”

“Thank you, Chan,” Hansol’s father replies, and reaches over to approvingly pat Chan’s arm. “Knew we kept you around for a reason.”

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” Chan grins, then abruptly turns serious. “But seeing as you both love me so much and consider me your baby boy—”

“We do?”

“Yes, dad,” Chan confirms, and the couple just smile, amused and fond of their pseudo-son and his weird, shameless personality.

“Okay, son, what of it?”

“You’ll tell me the name of the new vet, right?”

The couple share a look before Hansol’s dad nods and tells Chan your full name. Immediately, Chan lets out a dreamy sigh and props his head on his palm, elbow already braced on the table. He thinks it’s the most perfect name to have ever existed, and he can’t wait to spend the rest of his life saying it.

It’s a week before Chan sees you again, purely because every time he’s tried to oh so casually enter the vets and cross paths with you, he quickly realises that you’re out at another farm being competent and beautiful where he can’t admire you; a great shame, really.

Still, he’s persistent and has far too much time on his hands outside of his own working hours, so he keeps trying until he peers in through the glass wall at the front of the building, and spots you standing on the other side of the reception desk, looking at a file.

Without hesitation, Chan quickly scuttles to the door and enters the building, doing his best to be cool and confident. And it works, he genuinely looks very suave and put together, at least until you lift your head upon hearing someone approach, and he almost trips on his own foot the moment your eyes meet his.

He’s too busy flailing his arms out to catch himself on the desk and straighten up to notice the way you smile in amusement and something that looks an awful lot like you think he’s cute in his foolishness.

“Good evening, how can I help you?” you greet, leaning onto the high desk on your elbows only a few feet from Chan.

He squeaks when he realises how close you are, and jumps back, hands rapidly straightening out his coat— his own this time, and actually suited to his body, not drowning him. “Hi–hi.”

“Hi.” You grin.

“I uhm, I’m Chan!”

“Mm, I know; we met at the Choi farm last week. Hansol introduced us, but you were mumbling about lady sheep.”

“Ewes! Lady sheep are called ewes! I know animal stuff!” he insists, sounding like a child trying to convince an adult that they have knowledge they don’t really have.

“They are, well done, Chan,” you approve, and Chan positively beams, straightening up proudly. “Did you come in to introduce yourself?”

“No, no, I would like to volunteer.”

“Here?” you check, leaning up to stand straight, his eyes following you as if he can’t bear to miss a single moment. It’s all very obvious, and honestly, you think it’s adorable.

“Yes, here. With you.”

“With me? I specialise in farm animals, so I’m not here a lot,” you inform.

“I love farms.”

“Right.” You snigger and move over to the filing cabinet to grab a form, then return to hand it to him. “Here, fill this out.”

Chan nods and moves forward to take a pen from the pot a little to his left, and diligently fill out the volunteer registration form, while you return to looking at your files. Or, at least, you try to look at your files, but you’re honestly very intrigued by the man; and yes, he’s very attractive and you’re not blind to that, or his clear interest in you.

Admittedly, you wouldn’t be against going on a date with Chan to get to know him, there’s something so endearing about him— and once again, he’s very visibly pleasing, so that’s always a happy bonus. However, he flusters so easily that you think it’d be so entertaining to watch him flounder around you for a while until he gains the courage to ask you on a date himself.

Plus, you could do with a helper, and you know he’s only pretending to care about animals to be near you, so you think it’s only fair you take advantage of that and put him to good use while you can.

“There, all done,” he announces a few minutes later, lifting his head and shyly offering you the completed form, which you immediately look over just to make sure that he’s suitable for the role, at least on paper. He doesn’t seem to have any medical issues that could cause a problem, and he’s stated he has a lot of hours to put towards volunteering, so he definitely seems to be a good fit.

“What are you willing to do exactly? There are a lot of misconceptions that people come in with when they want to volunteer; they think they’ll essentially get to just play with cute puppies and kittens that come in for treatment, and they fail to consider all the shit they’ll have to handle. Often, literal shit. Especially if you’re with me and the farm animals; I don’t think I need to tell you that you will step in shit on a farm, even if you try to avoid it.”

“I know. I grew up with Hansol; his parents are my second parents, so I was sort of raised on the farm too,” he assures, nodding. Which is the truth, technically. Chan did spend a lot of time at the Choi farm growing up, and still does, but mostly in the house or orchard around back, not with the animals so much. And he certainly doesn’t know how to look after them in any way, but he doesn’t think you’d be reckless enough to leave him to look after animals, so he’s not worried about that.

“Have you tended to the animals there?”

“No,” he admits a little sheepishly. “But I’m willing to learn and do whatever you want me to.”

“Whatever I want you too, huh?” you repeat, lips turning up a little.

Chan blinks at you, lips parted slightly due to the sudden, seductive expression that makes him feel a little like he’s been dipped in a pool of warm, melted wax. Fuck, he hopes you’re into wax play because he suddenly is really into it, even if he’s never participated or been interested before. He thinks he’d probably try everything at least once if you asked.

It’s only a second that the smirk lives on your lips before it melts away as if it was never there, and Chan briefly wonders if he imagined it and the insinuation, before he gathers his brain back up and nods.

“Good to know. When can you start?”

“Now. Right now. I have nothing to do.”

“Nobody waiting for you at home?” you wonder, moving to grab your coat from where you earlier put it on the back of a chair, knowing you’d need it again soon.

“I’m single!” he blurts. “Very, very single.” You just giggle amusedly and tuck the files and his form into the cabinet before locking it up, grabbing your bag, and circling the desk to hold it out to him. Chan takes it without question, big, round eyes locked on you from only a few feet away.

“Come on, I’ve got a patient to visit,” you inform and head out of the building.

Chan lets out an excited gasp as he realises that you’ve agreed to spend time with him— he pointedly doesn’t focus on the fact that it’s for work, not personal reasons— and scrambles after you with a grin, determined to be the best assistant ever so that you’ll fall hopelessly in love with him and let him remain by your side until the world stops spinning.

As it turns out, Chan is a very competent helper, as long as you don’t watch him for too long because then he gets flustered and forgets how to function like a normal human being. Other than his mishaps, he’s actually pretty proud of himself for doing such a good job. Sometimes, he’s even so focused on the work that he forgets that he stepped into the vets that day with the sole purpose of being near you.

Though, even with his original plan often being forgotten, it still works in his favour, and the two of you spend so much time together that friendship soon blooms.

When Chan’s not flustering or just staring at you dumbly as if he can’t believe you’re real, he’s actually very naturally charming and friendly, and very skilled at making you laugh. The first time he made you properly laugh, he mentally declared your laughter to be one of the great wonders of the world, and that he’ll do what he can to earn it at every chance. Which is something he achieves almost effortlessly. He thinks that when the two of you aren’t focused on work, you’re both laughing away together and chatting happily as if you’ve known one another for years, not just a month.

It gets to the point that, although he is still utterly enamoured with you and would love to hold your hand and kiss your pretty face, he is more than happy to just spend time with you, making you laugh, and seeing you smile as you tend to patients with nothing but love and care in your touch and eyes.

Even when the two of you start to hang out outside of working hours, it’s nothing but platonic, nothing he wouldn’t do with Hansol because Chan truly doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, or risk losing your friendship. He’d rather be at your side like this than not at all, and he has no intention of even trying to change anything, despite what his friends say.

“So, how’s the woman of your dreams doing?” Seungkwan asks, fiddling with Hansol’s hair where it pokes out from his beanie, and Hansol just lets him, long ago used to Seungkwan’s fussing.

“Dreamy,” Chan replies, sighing happily as he slumps forward over the table at their usual bar, leaning his chin on one palm as his other hand mindlessly traces patterns into the condensation on his glass of coke. Usually, he’d be drinking some kind of alcoholic beverage, but he knows that you’ve gone out with some friends tonight, and he told you that you can call him if you need a ride, no matter how late, so he’s refraining from drinking tonight all for you.

“Right,” Seungkwan replies with a snigger, then turns, done fussing with Hansol, yet doesn’t move away and Chan isn’t so caught up in his own pining to not notice that the pair are even closer than normal. Which says something, because Chan thinks the two are almost attached at the hip when the three of them hang out.

“What’s going on?” Chan asks as he straightens up, giving the pair a suspicious look. Hansol, for his part, doesn’t really react, just continues looking over at Chan as he sips at his beer.

Seungkwan, however, has never had a good poker face, and gives Chan a too innocent smile as his ears redden. “I don’t know what you mean, Channie.”

“You two–” Chan starts to point out their position— and the fact he’s pretty damn sure Hansol’s hand is on Seungkwan’s thigh under the table— but he hears a familiar, heart fluttering, angelic sound, and he sits upright, head swivelling to search the bar for the one person he would happily ditch his best friends for.

“Oh, you’ve turned into a meerkat,” Seungkwan muses, relaxing in his place and giving Hansol a relieved look while Chan is distracted. Hansol just smiles at him, then they both focus on their best friend, who is practically climbing up onto his chair on his knees to get a higher vantage point. “Okay, too far,” Seungkwan declares when Chan’s leg lifts as if he’s going to plant a knee on the table to climb up. Or piss like a dog with his leg cocked, though Seungkwan is pretty sure that Chan needs to be much drunker to try that…again. That was a dark day for Chan’s new trainers.

“Noo, let me find her,” Chan whines, batting at Seungkwan’s hands, head still trying to peer around the fairly busy room.

“How about you go get us a fresh round, and you can scope the place like that?” Hansol suggests after draining the last dregs of his beer, before pushing the empty glass across the table.

“Good idea!” Chan quickly snatches the empty glass and gets up, whining at Seungkwan wordlessly as the man tries to down the last of his own beer without spilling it. “Finally!” Chan exclaims exasperatedly as he takes the freshly empty glass and darts off, while Seungkwan’s chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, and Hansol rubs his back, soothing and amused at the same time.

As Chan crosses the room to get to the bar on the opposite side as the tables, skirting around the dance floor as he goes, he makes sure to keep his eyes open for you— and only walks into three people, which he thinks is a very low number for how busy it is mixed with not paying attention. Yet, no matter how hard he looks, he can’t find you, or hear your familiar laugh again, so he slumps against the bar and waits to be served.

He’s only there a minute and the bartender is working on refilling the glasses when someone approaches and leans on their elbows on the bar to his right. Naturally, Chan looks over and immediately lights up upon spotting you already grinning at him.

“I knew I heard your laugh!” he declares, and although it would probably be creepy from anyone else, you just find it cute from Chan and let out one of those laughs he loves so much. “Yeah, like that.” He sighs dreamily and leans one elbow on the bar so that he can fully face you.

“What happened to keeping yourself available for me tonight?” you muse.

“I’m always available for you,” he says, looking so serious and almost offended that you’d suggest otherwise. The audacity to think that he wouldn’t do literally anything to spend more time with you. It’s crazy talk.

“Oh yeah?” you question, and he nods, then looks to his left at the bar top when you motion to it. He spots the beers and understands.

“Those aren’t mine. They’re for my friends. You remember Hansol, right?”

“Yeah,” you laugh. “We were at his farm yesterday.”

“Well, yeah, him and our other best friend, Seungkwan. I think they’re dating or something now,” he announces, leaning in closer conspiratorially. You mirror his action with a grin, more than happy to go along with it. “They’ve always sat close, but tonight, they’re even closer, and I’m pretty sure Sol’s touching up Kwan under the table.”

“That doesn’t sound very public friendly,” you muse.

“Oh! Not in that way; I just meant has his hand on Kwan’s thigh. But now you’ve said that… I really hope it’s not in that way.” Chan isn’t sure what exactly his expression does, but it makes you laugh, so he doesn’t care, and just grins at you. “So, where are your friends?” he wonders, peering around curiously yet finds nobody looking in your direction as if they’re waiting for you to return.

“They were touching each other up under the table, so I ditched them,” you joke, and Chan laughs.

“Well, you can join us, if you want?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Will there be under the table touching?” You smirk, and Chan’s mind blanks as he stares at you dumbly, making you giggle. “Sure, I’d love to join you, if your friends won’t mind, that is.”

“They won’t. Kwan wants to meet you, and Sol already likes you.”

“Ah, that’s cool, I like him.”

Chan suddenly pouts at you, but you don’t notice, you’re too busy leaning forward onto the bar to flag down the bartender and order yourself a drink. Even when he hands his card to the bartender— without looking— Chan is still pouting at you. You look at him as you spot his bank card appear, and raise a questioning eyebrow at him, both for the paying for your drink, and the expression.

“What?” you ask, deciding to just accept the drink and face the pouting instead. You can always buy him a drink later anyway.

“You like me better, right?” he questions without losing his pout. You huff a soft laugh. “No?”

“Yes, idiot,” you assure, and Chan breams, despite you just calling him an idiot. “And if you must know, I think you’re very likely my favourite person in his town,” you declare, tone a little quieter, lower, as if it’s just the two of you, before you pick up your drink and turn away. Though Chan doesn’t follow, so you stop after a few steps and look back at his stunned, gawping figure. “Well, come on then, introduce me to the man Hansol’s touching up under the table.”

“Right!” Chan darts forward, intending to take you to the table as requested, yet you put a gentle hand on his chest to stop him, giggling amusedly. “Huh?”

“Didn’t you forget something?” you remind him and motion behind him at the bar, so Chan looks over and notices the two glasses of beer sitting there with his bank card left on the surface beside them.

“Oh, shit.” He rushes over to pocket his card, then grabs the drinks and turns to face you with an embarrassed little grin. “This way.”

At the table, Seungkwan lights up when Chan introduces you and says you’re joining them, and you grin back before joining them and easily get into conversation with Seungkwan as if you already know each other. As if you’ve always been around. As if you’re supposed to be here with them, right by Chan’s side.

Since the day in the bar where you spent hours with Chan, Hansol, and Seungkwan, Seungkwan has bugged Chan to ask you out at every available opportunity.

Because he’s a meddling little shit, Seungkwan has arranged many hang outs for the four of you. Which, to Chan, are increasingly feeling like double dates, despite the fact that Hansol and Seungkwan are still evasive about whatever is going on between them, and you never bat an eyelid about the growing romantic vibes to the hang outs.

You don’t even question it or back off when you arrive to Seungkwan’s apartment set up with slow, romantic music and candles. Or when Seungkwan insists you and Chan slow dance together after dinner. Okay, maybe that’s Chan’s fault. After he offhandedly mentions how he hasn’t danced with someone in a while, you say the same, and then Seungkwan goads the two of you on until you relent, pull Chan to his feet, and put his hand on your waist— Chan’s pretty sure he astrally projects for a second when that happens— in the middle of Seungkwan’s kitchen while the man himself watches on with a shit-eating grin.

Still, Chan doesn’t give in and is happy to continue as you are. Admittedly, he could be even happier if he got the chance to romance you, but he’s more than content being such good friends with you.

He really doesn’t expect you to feel otherwise, though.

It comes to a head completely out of the blue one morning, when Chan is using his day off to help you organise your so-rarely-used office at the vets. The fact it’s so rarely used is why it’s such a mess. Well, mess in the way there’s no obvious system and things are just placed everywhere, yet you always manage to find what you need quickly enough that you hadn’t wanted to block off any of your appointment times to tackle the task earlier. But it’s spring, and the local ewes have all started to pop out lambs left, right, and centre, so you haven’t been accepting appointments other than emergencies, just in case you get the call about a sheep in labour.

Chan isn’t aware of it, he’s too busy frowning in concentration down at the pile of books on the floor in front of him where he’s sitting as he tries to decide which ones you should display on your shelves and which should go in the closed cupboard, but you’ve been staring at him contemplatively for a good few minutes already.

When you speak, Chan jolts in surprise, first at the sudden noise, but then at the words that come out of your mouth. “Okay, are you going to ask me on a date, or am I going to have to do it?” You wait for a response for only a few seconds before taking his dumb expression and wide eyes as answer. “Alright, tonight at 6:30, pick me up and we’ll go to that Italian place Seungkwan keeps telling us to try. Okay?” It takes a few moments, but Chan manages to shut his mouth and nod in confirmation, slowly at first still in disbelief, but then the enthusiasm catches up and his head bobbles cutely, making you smile. “Good. Dress pretty for me, yeah?”

“Y–yeah,” he almost wheezes out, voice so pinched and quiet. But you just giggle and return to your work, so Chan takes a few moments to admire your smile and wait for his thundering heart to calm before he turns back to those books and then sighs forlornly. He wishes it was 6:30 already. Only eight hours left to go. Fuck.

Chan would like to say that he’s been cool and calm for the past hours. He’d like to say that he easily picked his outfit for the date with minimal deliberation, that he didn’t have three almost breakdowns, and that Seungkwan didn’t almost shake Chan’s brain out of his ears when he did nothing but stand in his shower for half an hour without even turning the water on— yes, Seungkwan did barge in on him, and no, Seungkwan doesn’t understand what privacy is.

Truthfully, Chan thinks he’s never been so nervous for anything in his life. He doesn’t think he’s ever looked at himself in the mirror and picked out every little thing someone could find as a fault, as a reason to leave him in the middle of a restaurant with only breadsticks and ice water to soothe his broken heart.

Realistically, Chan knows you’d never be so cruel, but he’s not Realistic Chan anymore, he’s Scared-That-The-Woman-Of-His-Dreams-Will-Realise-He’s-Not-Good-Enough-For-Her Chan. And Chan hates being Scared-That-The-Woman-Of-His-Dreams-Will-Realise-He’s-Not-Good-Enough-For-Her Chan, it’s too much of a mouthful.

So, Chan does what Chan does best, and deludes himself into thinking he’s a normal, functioning young man entirely capable of going on this date and not acting like a love-sick freak.

Well, he deludes himself until the moment you step out of your house and steal his breath away. You’re wearing a pretty dress that stops just above your knees— as if that’s not reason enough for Chan to lose his mind like a Victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time—, with a neckline that hints at cleavage without dipping low enough that Chan will be completely distracted all night having a staring contest with your boobs. You’ve even done your hair and put on some makeup that makes you look like a literal goddess. Chan isn’t going to be normal about this at all.

“Oh my god, you’re an angel,” he blurts as he scrambles forward to meet you a few metres from his car. His freshly washed and waxed car that he had previously been leaning against like the stud of a male lead in a cheesy rom com while feeling very much like one, and like he might have the upper hand and make you swoon for once. He was evidently, very fucking wrong about that.

“Oh,” you respond, surprised by how intense and genuine his reaction is. You had expected him to react pretty strongly, but this is so honest that it makes your heart flutter— more than he already makes it anyway, you just haven’t let him know that. You look down at your feet as you giggle shyly, and Chan positively melts. “Thank you. You look very handsome,” you compliment as you look at the man donned in a black shirt with maybe one button undone too low on his chest to not be on purpose— though you really aren’t opposed to the teasing glimpse of strong chest—, neat, dark trousers, and a nice jacket perfect for the weather, which he only brings out for special occasions. A date with you is the most special occasion as far as Chan is concerned. Honestly, you’d have to agree.

“Oh, really?” Chan asks, genuinely surprised, having not expected the compliment, and quickly looks at himself. “Seungkwan picked it; I…was too nervous to be useful.”

“Chan,” you start to say, and move forward to gently tilt his head back up so that he’ll see the truth in your eyes. “I always think you’re handsome.”

“Oh,” he exhales, eyes big and round, and cheeks warming softly.

“Come on, let’s go, I’m starving,” you encourage as you let go of him and step around his almost frozen figure to approach his car.

Before you can even reach out for the passenger door, Chan is suddenly there, scrambling to open it for you, then offer his hand to help you into your seat like a true gentleman. The best part is that you know he isn’t putting it on to impress you, Chan is just like that. It makes your heart flutter, and you giggle softly as you swing your legs into the footwell once seated to allow him to shut the door.

Chan all but falls into his seat moments later in his rush to join you. He gives you an adorably embarrassed smile as you laugh, endeared by his clumsy actions, and then he settles himself and pulls his door shut. “Okay, let’s go!” he cheers once he’s plugged his seatbelt in— and double checked yours is also securely in place—, then starts the drive to the restaurant.

Despite how nervous he was— and remains—, Chan has to admit that the date goes well. Like, really well.

Although it could be awkward, especially with his stammering, and gawping, and blurting out compliments at the most random times, it isn’t. It takes him a little while, but he realises that your smile doesn’t change even when he does those embarrassing things, not in a bad way at least. Every time he does something stupid or obviously smitten, your smile softens and your gaze on him turns so gentle that Chan can’t mistake it for anything but the truth; you’re fond of him, and find him endearing, not a giant fool. Okay, maybe you do also think that, but Chan suddenly realises that it’s pretty damn likely that you like that about him.

After a truly delicious dinner that you insist on paying for as the one who asked Chan on the date— which has Chan trying to not to giggle dopily into his hands like a swooning maiden at the reminder, and your no-nonsense, doting words and actions—, the two of you head outside to his car, only to divert before even reaching it as you motion to the nearby park. Chan’s more than happy to toddle after you, and all but squeaks when you gently grab his hand at the road to tug him across quickly so that you don’t have to wait until after the incoming stream of cars to cross.

Unfortunately, you let go of him once you’re both safely across the road with both feet on the path. Chan thinks he does a very convincing job of pretending to not pout about no longer having your hand in his. He doesn’t. It’s incredibly obvious, and you’re further endeared, though decide to wait and let him reach out to reconnect your hands.

But as it so happens, Chan is a coward and doesn’t make any sort of move to hold your hand, leaving it up to you. After almost twenty minutes of waiting as the two of you leisurely stroll through the mostly empty park, talking and giggling away like you’ve been doing all evening, you realise that you’ll be waiting for the rest of your life for Chan to make a move, so you reach out and take his hand into yours.

“Oh,” Chan says, dumbly looking down at your hands, making you grin to yourself, which only grows when you adjust your hold to slip your fingers between his own to secure the affection and Chan inhales so suddenly that he almost chokes on air. “Hands,” he wheezes out.

“Mm, do you mind?”

“No! Always hands!” he insists, looking up at you with wide, imploring eyes, and emphatically nods.

“Okay, always hands,” you agree with a giggle and tug him that bit closer so that you can all but hug his arm to you, right hand still connected with his, and your left hand holding his upper arm. Of course, you take a chance to cop a feel of his strong bicep, and, of course, Chan doesn’t miss the chance to flex the muscle, making you giggle. He smiles, pleased of himself— and proud of his body for gaining your interest—, and finally curls his fingers to hold your hand in return as the two of you let the conversation naturally ebb out for a calm, content quiet to replace it.

Although it’s only spring and the moon is high in the sky, it’s not as cold as it could be outside, so when you spot a bench just a little off the path, you lead Chan over to it so that you can sit by his side and lean into his side, resting your head on his shoulder, and happy to spend the rest of the night by his side like this if he’ll let you. You’re pretty confident he has no arguments about it. Especially as he holds your hand that bit tighter as he rests it on his thigh, thumb rubbing over your skin absently, and tilts his head against yours with a content sigh.

“Thank you,” Chan’s gentle tone breaks the quiet a little while after sitting down, making you hum questioningly in response. “I know I act like an idiot around you, but it’s just because I like you so much that I just…get stupid. Well, stupider than normal, if you ask everyone else.”

“It’s cute.”

“I’m glad you think so. And that you asked me out. I didn’t think you were interested in me, would ever be interested in me; you’re just so…” he lets out a dreamy sigh that makes you turn your face to hide your dopey grin in his shoulder.

When you turn your head back around after a few seconds to gather yourself and stop smiling so stupidly cheesy, Chan is quiet again, and happily softly smiling ahead at nothing in particular, just letting his feelings show unabashedly on his features. You can’t help but straighten up so that you can lean in and kiss his cheek.

“Thank you for liking me so much,” you say, gently grateful. “I’m lucky to have your interest, and I don’t plan to let you move on to anyone else.”

“I won’t,” he promises, so seriously as he nods to back up his words, making you smile a little wider, so endeared. “You’re everything I never knew I wanted, and I know I’ll never find anyone better than you.”

“Good.” Your grin is cheeky, and Chan can’t help but chuckle softly, fond.

For a few long moments, the two of you do nothing but hold adoring eye contact, little smiles on your face, and neither shying away from this, from what this could turn into if you give it the chance. Chan wants to, with everything in him; he’s had a taste of what it’s like to be blessed with your entire romantic attention, and he wants to keep that privilege for the rest of his life. He’d also really like to get a taste of you, and his eyes drop down to your lips as that thought settles in his mind.

A soft, surprised inhale slips from your lips when you notice that Chan is leaning in. The man who didn’t have the balls to even hold your hand despite very obviously wanting to, is tilting towards you, aiming to kiss you. You want him to; fuck do you want him to. You’re tempted to lean in just so it’ll happen quicker, but you also want Chan to make a real move entirely on his own so that it’s not always you doing it, and he realises that he can do it without you guiding him.

And then, just as he’s mere inches away, your phone starts to ring, and you both freeze. If it was your personal phone, you wouldn’t even hear it right now, you put it on do not disturb before leaving your house for the date. But you can hear it and that can only mean one thing; it’s your work phone, and it’s important.

“Shit,” you whisper before turning to your bag to find out your work phone while Chan leans back into his own space, a little upset about being interrupted, but mostly understanding and also a little worried it’s a serious animal emergency. “It’s Hansol,” you inform after looking at the caller ID, then swipe to answer while lifting the device to your ear. “Hey, what’s going on?” you ask, already getting up, knowing that regardless of the reason Hansol is calling, you need to get to his family farm sooner rather than later; he’s far too experienced and level-headed to call you for anything minor.

“Sheila’s gone into labour,” he announces.

“Alright, I’ll be there soon, you know what to do until then.”

“Got it, see you soon, doc.”

You place your phone back away and turn, expecting Chan to still be sitting on the bench, but he’s already standing close by with his car keys in his hand.

“Let’s go,” he says, taking your hand into his free one to quickly lead you back through the park, both of you rushing to get to his car sooner.

Without you saying a word, Chan drives straight to the vets, and though you don’t tell him to, he follows you inside to help you grab everything you need— the man now well versed in what exactly you need to help bring a lamb or two into the world—, then leads you back to his car.

“You missed the turning,” you comment a few minutes later, pointing dumbly to the road that leads towards your house.

“No I didn’t.” He briefly gives you a look as if you’re stupid, before focusing on the road out of town. “Sol’s place is this way.”

“Oh…I thought you were taking me home and then going home yourself,” you admit.

“I’m your assistant, aren’t I?” He grins cheekily. You let out a soft little laugh, so relieved and beyond glad to have this lovely man by your side and reach out to hold his hand into your own. He smiles a little brighter without looking away from the road.

After hours of waiting, when the sun has chased the moon away and started to rise up and smile down on the two new lives blessing the Choi farm, your job is done.

“I’ll never get over it,” Chan comments as the two of you head back towards his car, both of your outfits completely ruined from the birthing fluids, dust, and hay of the barn, and your hair in a messy, barely still together bun Chan had tied it into hours ago while you pulled on your long gloves.

“Hm?” you wonder, glancing at him quickly, then looking at his car as he unlocks it, allowing you to open the boot so that he can put your bags inside— which he insisted on carrying with the excuse that you carried the weight of bringing two new lambs into the world, so it’s his turn to carry; luckily, he’s cute enough to get away with such bullshit.

“You just helped that mama bring her babies into this world, and you let me assist you. No matter how many times I help you do this, I’ll never get over how incredible it is.”

“It’s a good feeling, huh?” you muse.

“Beyond good. I might just quit my job to do this full time,” he declares, making you laugh. “What? I’m serious!”

“Channie, lambing season is spring, you’d be out of a job most of the year if you quit just for this,” you reason.

“I meant work with you in general, really. And there are other animals to help through labour, too! I wanna help bring a baby cow into the world.”

“Alright, next time I get that call, I’ll let you know.” Chan beams at you, looking so genuinely happy at the offer that you can’t help but be further endeared by the man.

“I should probably call off work today,” he muses after checking the time on his watch— that has been tucked safely in his jacket pocket out of the way for the past few hours to not risk ruining it, and the jacket hung up on a post in the barn far from the splash zone at your insistence; he had practically sprinted to do as you told him to when you said you really liked how it looked on him and hope to see him wear it again. “I’m due at work in like two hours.”

“Mm, yeah, call off,” you agree a little distractedly as you watch him meander around the car after shutting the boot, his eyes on his phone as he types a message to his boss one handed, and the other blindly reaching for the passenger side door long before he’s close enough to grasp the handle.

“You’ll at least take the morning off, right?” he checks as he slides his phone into his pocket and looks at you.

“Yeah, I won’t go in until the afternoon. Unless there’s an emergency, of course,” you answer, soothing him of his worries.

“And you’ll call me if you need me, right? For anything.”

“Anything?” you tease, and he nods so seriously that you can’t help but chuckle as the euphemism goes right over his adorable head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.” He motions to the seat, then offers his hand to you like he’s been doing all night to help you in and out of the car— like he’s always wanted to but felt it would be overstepping as a friend to do so, but he’s your…date-man now; he has no idea what he is to you at this point, but whatever it is, he wears the label with pride.

You take his hand and start to move towards the seat, only to back up and turn to face him so suddenly that he jerks back in shock, only to lean back in, eyes round in curious wonder. “So, I know this isn’t the most attractive look or anything.” You motion to yourself vaguely; Chan’s gaze follows to take you in head to toe, and when his gaze returns to you, he’s got a little smile on his face that makes you blush softly. “But I don’t want to wait until an undetermined later point.” Unsurprisingly, Chan’s expression turns puzzled. “I would very much like it if you did the thing you were going to do before Hansol called.”

Somehow, Chan just look even more confused, features scrunching cutely, and head tilting to the side— maybe it’s the animal loving vet you in you that absolutely loves it when he gains this dumb, puppy-dog look. After rolling your eyes at his reaction, figuring you’ll have to spell it out and you’d rather just get to it, you lean in to press a kiss to Chan’s lips. It’s only a quick thing, nothing but a sweet barely-longer-than-a-peck kiss, before you pull back. Chan’s making some strange, strangled, shocked noise as he stares at you with wide eyes, making you snicker out a laugh.

To your genuine surprise, Chan suddenly snaps out of his daze and lifts both hands to cup your face, secure yet still gentle, so that he can connect his lips with yours in a kiss so perfect that you never want it to end. You all but melt against him, hands lifting to hold onto his wrists so that he’ll not let you go before you’re ready; he just kisses you more thoroughly. For someone that’s been so awkward and cowardly about making a move until now, the man can kiss. Holy fuck can the man kiss.

Only when both of your chests are heaving to try and suck in some oxygen do you naturally pull apart to dopily stare at one another under the rising sun with lamb birth dried on your nicest clothes. It’s probably pretty gross for a first kiss— ignoring your peck—, but you still think it’s perfect, and you’d never change it for the world.

“For the record,” Chan starts after a minute; once you’re both breathing almost normally again and his thumbs are consistently brushing soothing arcs over your cheekbones as his palms refuse to leave your skin. Not that you’ve tried to make him stop and would happily let him touch you so tenderly until the sun sets again. “You’re always attractive to me.”

You smile and tilt your chin up to press a short kiss to his lips. “You say that now but wait until you see me first thing in the morning, hungover, with only two hours sleep.”

Chan grins and cutely taps his nose against yours. “Just sounds to me like you’re already planning to share the bed with me,” he points out cheekily, making you giggle. “I already look forward to it.”

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “Me too.”

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle, @jaja-salute

[choisanstiddies]

𝕳𝖔𝖜 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖞

[[mermaid/royalty au]] MDNI

“There you are, Your Majesty. Your entertainment for the evening.” "A mermaid dancer, how quaint," You say with dripping sarcasm. For if you revealed how your heart dropped, seeing the creature from your childhood caged for your amusement, you would tear this entire court apart for the simple act of touching him.

.⋅ ۵♡۵ ⋅. In which Yang Jeongin, a mermaid for whom you used to be friends with when you were a simple princess, appears as your evenings entertainment. You must hide how it pains you so but you will make everyone who had a hand in his pain pay for this travesty.

A post for MerMay~~

[sanjoongie]

𝔐𝔶 𝔎𝔢𝔢𝔭𝔢𝔯

🕯Pairing: Incubus! Song Mingi x Caster! Reader (f) x Tiger Shifter! Kang Yeosang x Necromancer! Choi Jongho x Earth Elemental! Jeong Yunho 🕯Genre: Smut 🕯Au: Supernatural 🕯Trope: poly 🕯Inspired by Morgan B. Lee's Cursed Legacies world 🕯Rated: 18+, MDNI 🕯Warnings: battlefield descriptions killing the Undead, dismemberment, bodies squishing, imagery of bodies being shredded, the violence is real it's a battlefield, lots of sexual innuendos, oral (f), sir/brat dynamics, dom! members/sub! reader, voyeurism, masturbation(m), tasting yourself on your matches tongue/kiss, sex with no protection, there is NO mxm, orgasm denial, clit play, cum as lube, cum play, sloppy seconds (and thirds and forths), slight degradation kink, overstim, oral (m), eiffel tower between the twin towers (duh), mingi's into dacryphilia but it doesn't happen in this fic, face fucking, begging, aftercare, oral kink (f), orgasm upon demand 🕯Word Count: 2,354 🕯Summary: after fighting Undead on the frontlines, brutally taking out your enemies, it's only fair you enjoy the fruits of your labours. aka the bodies of your four matches. 🕯Divider by @cursed-carmine

At the front lines, it's all fun and games until an Undead touches you. “Touches you” isn't quite the right term.

“Did it bite you?” Jongho demands with gritted teeth.

Yeosang in tiger form snarls as he launches himself at said Undead. I’ll maul him to death, his quiet tone echoes in your mind through your bond.

The Undead loses its head as Yeosang’s powerful jaw descends over it and wretches it off.

Two three story slabs slam and grind together as a group of lesser Undead become…

“Zombie ground meat?” You pose to your earth Elemental.

Yunho tosses his head back as a belly laugh escapes him. “That’s a good one, Pretty.”

Mingi sends a wounded look, one minute in Limbo the world of dreams, and the next snapping into existence by your side. He grabs your arm and exhales. “How dare you let anyone harm your beautiful limb?”

Only I’m allowed to bite you, Yeosang reminds you.

“Can we focus on the task at hand, please?” Jongho barks.

His fingers darken with his necromancy as he pulls life from nearby plants and dark tendrils race across the battlefield. A lake pools around more Undead and they are shredded to pieces in an instant. 

Mingi pulls you to his body tightly. “Close your eyes, Dream,” He whispers. 

Travelling through Limbo makes anyone other than an incubus or succubus mad. You gladly push your head against Mingi’s chest, close your eyes, and your match transports you away from the battle to a more advantageous spot.

“Be my good little keeper and maintain our battle strategy from up here, ‘kay?” And with a gratuitous wink, Mingi flings his arms wide and falls backwards from the clifftop he had transported you to.

You run to the lip of the cliff just in time to see Mingi wink out of existence and back to where your other matches were. 

“Show off,” Yunho rolls his eyes.

“Can we all focus on ruining the Undead so we can go home?” Jongho barks. 

Sir, yes, Sir, Yeosang says sassily before he’s snarling and launching himself at another Undead, ripping this one's arm off first this time. 

You send a hex that gathers a few Undead together like catching fish in a net. Except the net cuts through all their flesh and leaves them in perfectly symmetrical cubes. 

“Much better,” Jongho says with satisfaction. Several Undead are simply undone as the necromancer unravels the threads of their existence. 

Yunho’s eyes swing towards your high-ground position. “That’s because our Keeper is perfection on legs.”

Mingi smirks. “I prefer those legs around my head.”

Jongho laughs in embarrassment. “Focus!” he yells instead. 

Mingi sighs, sweeps some hair off his forehead and then begins to pull Undead into Limbo, one by one, teleporting to a high height, only for the Undead to drop and crumble with a bone-crunching noise. 

The faster we finish, the faster you’ll finish, you send to your entire quintet. 

Suddenly, the battlefield is a fury of men killing, with even more fervor than before. Yunho is creating sinkholes that swallow legions whole. Jongho controls the Undead and they rip into each other. Yeosang is using his claws to slice through sinew to disable the Undead, growling with fierceness. 

All with the exception of Mingi. His eye is on the prize. Your incubus match appears at your side once again. His shirt’s lost an extra button--no, scratch that--he’s got no buttons, only the fabric tucked against his stomach holding it from flying open in a light breeze. 

“Like what you see?” Mingi flirts with you. “I’d say take a picture but those don’t do me justice.”

You wrap your arms behind Mingi’s neck, drawing him closer to you. “Why are you here and not taking out more Undead, Dreameater?”

Mingi shudders delicately at your petname. “You know I fade into nothing without kisses from my Keeper.”

“The only sustenance you require are dreams, Mingi.”

“That’s not true!” Mingi protests, eyebrows furrowed slightly. “I also need your cu--”

“Mingi, you son of a nightmare!” Jongho shouts from his place on the battlefield. “Why do you always play dirty?”

He plays to win, Yeosang replies solemnly. The tiger shifter launches himself from rock to rock, arriving second to your spot on the clifftop. He shifts back to his human form, nary a stitch of clothing on him of course. His muscles gleam in the moonlight. “As do I,” he finishes. 

Yunho forces the ground to spring him upwards to bring his body to the top of the cliff as well. “Just finish the rest off and join us, Jongho,” the earth elemental yells cheekily over his shoulder. 

You laugh silently as Jongho curses loudly, the last to join. Shadows flow almost like an escalator until he steps lightly to the top of the cliff. “You are all dicks,” He sniffs, insulted that he's the last man standing. “I should report you.”

You gently break out of Mingi’s hold and move to console Jongho. “Don’t be angry, love.”

Jongho melts at your words but then his eyes sharpen down at the bite mark still on your arm. “Why didn’t you heal yourself?!”

“Oops.” With a wave of your hand, green magic emanates from your fingers and soon the bite mark fades away. 

Jongho crosses his arms over his generous chest. “You’re going to pay for that.”

You squirm slightly. Yunho laughs at the sight. “I think she likes the thought of that.”

Jongho wipes his face tiredly. “Brat.”

Yeosang pulls your arm up and huffs at it, smelling no rot or infection. He promptly licks your arm, eyes rolled up to watch your reaction. He groans when he smells your arousal instead. “Heart,” he says, his voice tight. 

“I’m thinking of that tongue in other places.” You press your lips inwardly. 

“Teleport us out of here, Heart, before I take you in the battlefield,” Yeosang growls. 

“That wouldn’t be the worse place we’ve fucked,” Yunho shrugs. Jongho eyes him in disbelief. “What? It wouldn’t be! Remember, there was the blood-drenched castle full of vampire traitors we killed and then Mingi--”

“I want a bed, please,” You beg with your eyes as well. All your matches smile benevolently. Each grabs onto each other, and you teleport everyone back to the cottage you call home. 

Your quintet has been posted near the Divide to battle everything the Entity spits out from time to time. You fight to keep the humans safe and the other Legacies enjoy their comfy life. Luckily for the five of you, you all enjoy a good battle, so it’s your pleasure to do so. 

But if you’re not busy wiping the Undead from the mortal plane, you’re usually fucking each other’s brains out. 

It’s not long before Mingi’s proving his point, licking your cunt like he requires it to remain alive. Jongho’s stroking his cock in time with Mingi’s tongue, eyes hooded and taking in every shake of your thigh and gasp that escapes your lips. Not that you’ve got a lot of room to gasp because Mingi suddenly moves up your body to exchange a kiss. 

Do you taste yourself on my tongue? Mingi sends through your bond. You’re so fucking sweet. 

Yeosang takes Mingi’s place, replacing tongue with cock. Your head tosses back as Yeosang enters you. “So fucking wet, gods, I don’t even have to fight your sweet cunt for room,” Yeosang’s eyes roll into the back of his head. 

Yunho pulls off your nipple, leaving it covered in his saliva. “Pretty, are you going to come around Yeosang’s cock?”

You swallow hard and nod down at Yunho. He smiles happily and then descends on your other nipple to cover it in his spit and tease it into a stiff peak. 

“Don't let her come yet--!” Jongho moans loudly and you get to see the necromancer come all over his fist. His jaw is on display and his chest heaves, thighs spread comfortably. 

Mingi releases your lips to frown at Jongho. “Did you really just come before our Keeper?”

Jongho’s face heats up and he avoids Mingi’s accusing gaze. “How am I supposed to hold back when I’ve got that bounty to view?”

“Shit, Yunho, you should--”

Without another word from Yeosang, Yunho sucks on his fingers and presses two onto your clit. “Squeeze Sangie for all he’s worth, okay, Pretty? He's having a hard time holding back.”

Yeosang sends an unfriendly look to the earth elemental before he makes the most beautiful cum face you have ever had the honor of beholding. 

“You’re beautiful,” you say in awe.

“No, Heart,” Yeosang breathes shakily through his come-down. “You’re the beautiful one.”

Yeosang pulls back, only for Yunho to gently turn you around, so you’re on your hands and knees now. He pushes Yeosang’s cum back into you as his cock enters you from behind. “Nothing’s better than this cunt once she’s been used and abused. So warm and wet after you’ve been fucked well.”

You bury your face into your arm, partly from embarrassment at Yunho’s dirty talk and partly because you’re trying to endure your sensitivity.

“It’s too much!” you whine. 

Mingi draws your upper body so that your arms straighten up and you’re no longer head down ass up. His large hands cup your face tenderly. “You can take us both, right? I know you love your oversensitivity, don’t lie, Dream.”

Like a good, obedient Keeper, you open your mouth and Mingi slips his cock against your tongue. You savour the weight of it as it slides along your tongue and then pushes at your tender throat. 

Mingi lifts an eyebrow in question towards Yunho. “Slow down, Loverboy. I want to fuck her face. She can’t focus on her breathing if you’re rearranging her guts.”

Yunho’s grip on your hips lessons as his pace moves to treacherous pace. “Whatever, just make sure she doesn't choke this time. Yeosang almost killed you when you brought her to tears.”

“But her tears are just so pretty,” Mingi coos mockingly down at you. 

Please fuck my throat, you plead. Your entire quintet groans loudly as you send that through your entire bond by accident. 

“Fuck, Dream, you know I’ll give you exactly what you want, you don’t have to ask,” Mingi says gruffly before gripping your head between both of his palms and does as you command. 

Yunho fucks you without any care in the world, caressing your ass, hips and lower back as Mingi roughly face-fucks you. For a time, the only noise in the room is the wet noises of your throat being fucked before Mingi is crying out and spending his seed down your throat. 

Mingi falls back, ringed hands running absentmindedly over his chest. “Fuck, Dream, you’re always exactly that. My type of dream.”

Yunho draws your upper body so that your back is flush with his chest. “Pretty, you know I can’t come unless you squeeze me tight,” he murmurs against your shoulder, placing an open-mouthed kiss there. 

“I don’t think I can,” you admit.

Yunho pretends to gasp in insult. “You don’t think you can come because of my cock rubbing against the one spot no one else can reach? Is that really how you feel?”

Your eyes search out Jongho's. He's cleaned up now, in soft pajamas, waiting for Yunho. His arms are bent behind his head. His mouth is in a hard line and it doesn’t bode well for you.

“Can I come, please, Sir?” 

Yeosang has put on a pair of boxers for the sake of the rest of the quintet. Not your preference, for your tiger shifter is beautiful naked. “Come on, Jongho. She's lasted this long. She's been a good girl.”

The praise and “good girl” comment makes you clench down on Yunho, who thrusts roughly into you from behind with a grunt. You beseech silently to your necromancer match.

“I can't fill up our Keeper without her having a mind-blowing orgasm, Jongho. You know she's my kink.” Yunho's chuckles rumble through his chest and warms your heart.

“You can be my cuddle buddy when we sleep tonight,” you offer as a last ditch offer.

Jongho sends a quiet prayer to the ceiling. “Fine.” 

“Such a softie,” Mingi teases, blinking to lie on his side on the other side of the bed to watch the final show.

“Shut up, you nightmare slut,” Jongho snaps.

Mingi winks at you. “A nightmare to most, but a slut for only one.”

The tips of Yunho’s fingers play with your lower lip before you open up to take him into your mouth. You moan around his fingers and feel at peace.

“That's right, Babe, suck down on my fingers,” Yunho says huskily.

His hips start back up, slowly rolling against your ass at first, all the while his fingers pressing gently down on your tongue. You begin to push your hips backwards against Yunho’s thrusts, finally with permission to come. Your eyes are locked with Jongho’s, panting with your pending orgasm. It’s only when he says “Come, you damn brat,” that your pleasure unlocks and then you’re screaming around Yunho’s fingers as you come. 

You squeeze around Yunho. The earth elemental grips your hips harshly and you know there’s going to be bruises later. He moans loudly and unloads into you, the third load you’ve taken today. He pulls his fingers from your mouth as you both catch your breath, Yunho’s forehead taking refuge on your shoulder. 

“Shower,” Jongho announces immediately, swooping you up and taking you to the bathroom. 

“Hurry up!” Mingi shouts after you. “I want to give her wet dreams so I can feed off them. I’m starving!”

Jongho rubs his cheek against the top of your head, easily balancing you in his arms and turning on the shower. “You’re going to do better next time and not get yourself harmed with our next run.”

Your fingers skim his strong jaw and he leans into the touch. “Yes, Jongho.”

Jongho smiles like a fool in love and then shakes his head. “That’s Sir, to you, Brat.”

You grin. “Yes, Sir.”

[nothoughtsjustfic]

Mr. Min Part Six: Love and Lambs -M.YG

🎶Who: Min Yoongi (BTS) x female reader. 🎶What: Some humour. Some fluffy parts. Slow burn. Strangers to Friends to Lovers. Child Taehyung. Ex husband Mingyu. Best friend Mingyu. 18+ 🎶Word count: 6.4k 🎶Warnings: Disabled characters— both mental and physical in various ways. Taehyung has a few emotional moments. Other children portrayed by idols. Namjoon is Jimin’s dad, and even I didn’t know that was going to happen until it did 🤡. Yoongi isn’t in this chapter, so he’s not mentioned in the “what” section, but it’s still a Yoongi story! The 18+ warning is because the series overall is 18+, so I’m applying it to every chapter regardless of content. 🎶Summary:

Even before you meet him, Min Yoongi owns a piece of your heart.

Minors do NOT interact. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio. I also block blank blogs.

My general masterlist

🎶Mr. Min Masterlist. Previous Chapter. Next Chapter.

A/N - Honestly, this story seems to be turning into just reader loving tiny Taehyung, and I don’t blame her, he’s so precious 🥺 Forget Yoongi and the romance aspect, let’s just focus on Tae 😌 (That is a joke, I’m not changing the plot, don’t worry)

On the very first day of October, Taehyung comes home even more excited than usual, and you soon understand why. Well, once you’ve gotten him to calm down enough that you can make sense of his rushed words and also stop his arm from waving something around in your face in an excited attempt to show it to you.

“I go, mama?” he asks when you’ve accepted what he’s been waving around and realise it’s two small envelopes, one plain white with Taehyung’s name written on the front in neat— though still child-like— handwriting, and the other you think was once white, but it’s been entirely scribbled over by a whole selection of coloured pencil as far as you can see while it’s behind the other.

“Give me a minute to see what they are first,” you muse with a chuckle as you open the top envelope— the white one— and pull out the little card within. “Oh, a party invitation,” you realise, smiling at the thought of Taehyung being invited to his first birthday party at this school. Or, at least, the first birthday party he’s aware beforehand that he’s been invited to. Though spotting that the date on the invitation is only two days away, and noticing that it’s from Jeonghan, your smile lowers a little in worry that the little boy has purposely left it so late to give Taehyung his invite. “Baby, this is on Friday after school,” you point out, looking up at Taehyung.

“Hannie gave ‘em us all lunch today,” he says, unintentionally soothing your worry that Jeonghan had singled out your little boy again, but it seems as if that’s not the case at all, and you relax a little. “I can go?”

“Mm,” you hum thoughtfully as you look at the invitation again. “It’s for pizza and movies at Jeonghan’s house, you’d like to do that?”

“Yes!” Taehyung cheers enthusiastically, so you glance around in search of Mingyu and find him leaning in the living room doorway, clearly waiting knowing that Taehyung had something to show you, that the pair of— as Taehyung’s parents— would need to discuss. Not that you discuss it now, Mingyu just nods with a little smile on his face, silently giving his consent to your son attending the party.

“Okay, baby, you can go,” you confirm, making Taehyung let out an excited noise before bouncing happily around for a moment. You take the chance to grab your phone from the side table to send a text to the number listed on the invitation to confirm Taehyung’s presence and specify any requirements— as requested on the little card.

Once you’re done sending the text and saving the number as “Jeonghan’s mother”, you turn your attention to the rainbow scrawled envelope, noticing that this time, Taehyung’s name was obviously written by an adult, no five-year-old has handwriting that neat. Your son bounces back over when he notices that you’re pulling the folded paper out. This one is printed in a farmyard theme and is also covered in shiny animal stickers on the back, making you smile a little.

“Who’s Jimin?” you wonder once you’re read the invitation fully and realise that you don’t recall Taehyung mentioning anyone called Jimin before, and you’ve also never seen the name printed on the cubbies in the few times you’ve been in their classroom. Perhaps it’s a new student.

“He’s with the little kids but we are same age! He’s all smiley like Soo, but he is like a little kid like Cheolie’s little brother, he’s three,” he explains simply, and you hum in understanding. It makes sense that you’ve not heard of Jimin before, not if he has a much younger mental age than his same-aged peers, so he’s with the younger children who are at the same mental age as him.

You assume he and your son have only recently met, likely on the playground as you don’t think the students mix during any other point in the day. “And you’ve played with him at breaktime?”

“Yeah!” Taehyung nods. “He call me Tete, and we play aliens, and pirates, and run lots! Cheolie can’t run lots, so Hannie say we can’t play run games, so I play with Chim!” he explains, not seeming at all bothered that he can’t run around with his best friends, and instead happy to have another friend to play with. “Jimin says Chim, not Jimin. I think he can’t not say Jimin, but Chim is cute!”

“It is,” you agree, smiling at your son and his clear adoration for Jimin, for his lack of issue about the same-aged boy’s younger mentality and skills. You’re glad Taehyung doesn’t linger on what others struggle with, just accepts them and focuses on their strengths, and how they can be happy together. “Jimin’s party is at a farm, is that something you’d like to do?”

Taehyung’s smile lowers and he slumps as nerves appear on his adorable little face. “Just me?”

“No, baby, I’ll go with you,” you assure, glad that the invitation requests that a parent or adult guardian attends as well— free of charge— to watch over their own child while the children play together. You think it’s pretty safe to assume that Jimin himself needs a fair amount of attention and care, and the chances are that he’s invited other children from their school too, who all have their own needs. It would be an awful lot for Jimin’s guardians to watch over multiple young children with varying needs alongside trying to keep the party going smoothly, while somewhere that could easily be overstimulating with all the scents and sounds.

“And daddy?” Taehyung asks, looking over to where you assume Mingyu must still be, based on the fact Taehyung stares in that direction questioningly.

“When is it?” Mingyu wonders as he approaches to lean over the back of the sofa and peer at the paper in your hands, which you lift higher so that he can easier read the information. “Ah, no, sorry, baby, I’m in New York then,” he apologises, sounding genuinely upset to have to let down his son for the sake of work.

“Oh, can we farm some time? You, me, and mama?”

“Of course,” Mingyu easily agrees, and you hum, nodding your own agreement when Taehyung looks at you, making the boy light back up.

“For my birthday?”

“I think it’ll be too cold on your birthday for the farm to be open for visitors,” Mingyu responds, and you both watch as Taehyung deflates all over again with a disappointed little “oh.”

“I thought you want to go see the snowy mountains for your birthday?” you remind him of the idea he had in Japan once he saw photos of the snow-tipped mountains and immediately became enamoured.

Taehyung nods enthusiastically. “With Chim, and Cheol, and Hannie, and Soo, and Ji?” he requests.

“Jihoon?” you question, a little surprised that he wants his newest friend present for the trip when you can’t imagine they’ll see each other much between now and December when Taehyung’s birthday is. Honestly, with Jihoon not going out onto the playground during breaktime and Yoongi’s refusal to swap numbers with you so the boys can hang out, you think the only time the two will get to see each other will be thanks to Jin. Though as it’s been all these years already and you’ve only just met the father-son due through your mutual friend, you don’t imagine Jin will invite your two families to any gatherings at the same time unless it’s something big and important again.

“Yeah! I want fun see Ji times like huhwhywee.”

“Hawaii.”

“Yeah!”

“I don’t think seeing Jihoon outside of school is possible, baby,” you inform gently, knowing it will upset your son to hear.

“Why not?” He frowns sadly, making your heart break a little. If Yoongi wasn’t so good to Taehyung at school and a genuinely wonderful teacher and support system for the boy, you’d mentally curse him out right now for being the reason your precious boy looks so defeated.

“Because his daddy is your teacher, so it makes things difficult. He can’t really do things like that,” you answer, hoping that Taehyung will understand and not ask for further clarification; you really don’t know how you’d explain it to Taehyung when you honestly don’t understand Yoongi’s aversion yourself.

“Oh… Then not Ji and just Chim, and Cheol, and Hannie, and Soo?” he requests.

“As lovely as that would be, it’s not possible to take your friends to Japan for the Christmas break, baby. Their parent’s wouldn’t agree, and even if they did, daddy and I can’t look after you all on our own; you all needs lots of special care and deserve more attention than the two of us can give you in another country like that. We’d have to invite their parents and siblings, and that would cost a lot of money, baby.”

“We not have a lot of money?” he asks curiously. “You and daddy are be famous.”

“Ah, I’m not really, not now,” you correct, knowing that these days, although your name is still fairly known in your world, you don’t really do the jobs anymore to keep that recognition going. Though, you still have enough respect in the fashion circuit to earn more than a pretty penny when you do accept a job that strikes your fancy. “Daddy is the famous one,” you point out.

Mingyu can’t deny it, his photos are pretty much part of the furniture in the majority of magazines in the country, and many internationally too. It’s more surprising to go to a shopping centre and not see a blown-up photo of your ex-husband showing off some product or another; it’s another reason you’re so glad you’re still friends. It’d drive you insane to not be able to go buy a new pair of underwear without your ex-husband’s giant, handsome face leering at you from a display in the men’s section.

“But have little money?” Taehyung asks confused.

“We have enough money,” Mingyu answers. “But to spend all that would be like showing off how much we have, and your mama and I never want to do that. Most people don’t have as much money, and so we don’t want to rub it in their faces, okay? So don’t tell anyone that we have lots of money please, Tae.”

“It is secret?”

“They can probably guess we have money because of my job, and your mama insists on driving a big, fancy car–” he cuts off with a laugh when you hit his arm. “Ow! It’s true!”

“I drive a big, fancy car to fit your giant ass in it!” you point out.

“I fit in smaller cars,” he defends.

“And complain that your legs are squished. And this car will last me for years, long enough that Tae will be grown at least, and I’m betting he’s going to be tall like you, so he’ll need space for his long legs too!”

“I be very tall!” Taehyung decides, lifting up onto his tiptoes with one hand held as high as he can get it. “Like this!”

“Wow, you’re going to be super tall,” Mingyu enthuses.

“Like you, daddy!”

“And super handsome too, huh?!” Mingyu teases then darts around the sofa to pick up Taehyung and playfully nuzzle and bite the boy while Taehyung giggles and wiggles away, more than happy to be playfully eaten— a very common occurrence in your house, by both you and Mingyu, Taehyung is just too cute to resist.

While the pair play, you copy the number for Jimin’s dad from his invitation into your phone and send a text confirming Taehyung’s presence at the farm for the party. The two are still playing when you’re done, so you decide to get up and go to the kitchen to make a start on dinner even though it’s Mingyu’s turn to cook tonight; but you know he’s unlikely to remove his focus from your son for a while yet and you’re already getting hungry so would rather eat sooner than later.

It’s almost twenty minutes later that Mingyu darts into the kitchen and dramatically tells you off for taking his job from him. Before you can argue, he picks you up and carries you into the living room to deposit you on the sofa beside Taehyung, then strolls back to the kitchen to pick up where you left off.

As soon as you’re settled on the cushions, Taehyung wiggles into your side to curl up with you to watch his current favourite anime.

“Mama, if we no go see snowy mountains, can I have birthday party?” he requests after a few minutes, tilting his head back against your arm to peer up at you cutely.

“You want a party enough to cancel the trip? You were really looking forward to that,” you comment, brushing his hair out of his eyes. You mentally make a plan to convince Mingyu to get a haircut so that Taehyung will also get his cut and stop the strands from hanging in his eyes, making him strain to see and giving him headaches.

Although the two don’t have matching haircuts and never have, as Taehyung likes his hair longer and Mingyu has his in a range of lengths and styles, Taehyung always refuses to let the hairdresser near him until Mingyu has gone first. Even though you’ve taken to Taehyung to the same shop to see the same hairdresser his whole life— the same man Mingyu has been seeing the whole time you’ve known him—, Taehyung always looks at the man as if he doesn’t know him and refuses to come out of hiding behind you until Mingyu has taken his turn in the chair first. Thankfully, Minghao is nothing but understanding and so unbelievably patient, even when he has to be extra careful due to Taehyung’s struggle with sitting still, so the boy still shuffles regularly in his seat. Mingyu does too, but he’s been friends with Minghao for so long that the man flicks his ear in scold; though only when Taehyung isn’t looking, not wanting to scare the boy into thinking he’ll be flicked if he gets the wriggles.

“I want party with my friends,” he answers.

“Mm, well, how about once we’re back from the trip, we’ll have your friends over here for a late birthday party?” you suggest, and all you need is to see the way Taehyung’s whole being lights up to know that he’s more than happy to agree.

Admittedly, you’re worried when Friday after school comes around because you still have that fear in your mind that Jeonghan will leave Taehyung out despite there having not been another issue since the first.

You’ve met Jeonghan before a few times and he’s always seemed like such a sweet little boy, even if he always looks halfway to asleep and like he probably has no idea what’s going on due to his constant fatigue— though he’s got a clever glint to his eyes, so you’re pretty sure he’s more alert mentally than his body physically is. Looking at the boy, you wouldn’t be able to guess he has a jealous streak where his lifelong best friend is concerned, you wouldn’t be able to guess he’s capable of being mean. But then again, you thought the same about most of the children at Taehyung’s old school, and they turned on him pretty easily.

Although you don’t want to worry so much about your son’s heart around his best friends, you can’t help it. Not after how hurt Taehyung was those weeks back, and how sensitive you know he can be, especially with those he loves so much. He puts his whole heart into everything that he leaves himself unprotected, so you can’t help but be worried and internally cautious in his place. You’ll never hold him back, but you will always keep an extra close eye on him when you can’t be certain he’ll come out unscathed.

To your genuine joy and relief though, you don’t receive a call to pick up Taehyung before time stated on the invitation for the end of the party, and he comes bouncing over to you with a bright grin, his school bag bouncing on his back, a party bag in one hand, and a balloon in the other.

You’re standing in the driveway talking with Seungcheol’s and Jisoo’s parents as you all arrived a good ten minutes before the pickup time, so decided to let the boys have those final minutes together. Though someone must’ve spotted you all outside as now the boys are all rushing out to excitedly blabber away about the party and their gift bags.

“Wow!” you hear Jisoo’s mother enthuse where she’s squatting down in front of her constantly smiling son. You’ve not had much chance to meet the woman before, especially not to talk to her for more than a quick greeting at pick ups and drop offs, but now that you’ve had the chance, you can say she is probably the sweetest person you’ve ever met. Looking at her with her son, you can so easily see the clear resemblance in the purity of their smiles.

“Look, a little Ponyo!” Seungcheol exclaims to his parents and little brother, taking a small dog plushie from his giftbag to show.

“Ponyo!” Hansol cheers and bounces towards his brother, grinning when Seungcheol lets him hold the toy that looks like their new puppy, before the toddler attaches to his big brother with a bright, gummy smile.

“Mama, can we buy many lots balloons?” Taehyung asks you after enthusiastically showing you his red balloon printed with golden stars, which he seems more interested in than his bulging party bag.

“You want more balloons?” you muse and then laugh softly when he nods with nothing but a serious expression on his face. “They make loud noises when they pop, remember?”

“Oh,” he murmurs, frowning as he recalls his last memories of a balloon popping and how much it scared him, prompting him to declare he hated balloons after. In fact, that last incident was almost a year ago and he hasn’t been near a single balloon since; at first, it was on purpose because he avoided them, but then he just didn’t have the chance to be near them, and you can assume he forgot about his newly unlocked fear. “We get quiet balloons?”

“I don’t think they exist.”

“Oh.” He deflates into a deeper frown and looks at his balloon as if it’s betrayed him. “This one loud pop too?”

“Not if you’re careful with it.”

Taehyung perks up again and nods determinedly. “I will be extra careful!”

“Okay, just don’t let your dad near it, you know how clumsy he is.”

“Clumsy, clumsy daddy,” he agrees, nodding, making you laugh quietly.

“Alright, let’s get going, grandma and grandpa are waiting at home for their favourite boy!” you enthuse and Taehyung’s whole being lights up, smiling big and bright and he bounces.

“Grandma and grandpa!” he cheers then turns to his friends still standing nearby to talk to their parents, with Jeonghan and his own also amongst the group now talking. “I–I can see my grandma and grandpa now!” he announces excitedly. Adorably, Taehyung’s friends all cheer as if they’re just as excited as him about the news. “Bye! See you Monday! Thank you for fun party Hannie, and Hannie’s mama and daddy!”

“You’re very welcome, Taehyung,” Jeonghan’s mother replies, smiling at him in the way most adults do honestly, in a way that means they think he’s utterly sweet and a joy to have around. It always makes you privately puff with pride. “It was lovely to have you here, thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for coming to my party, Tae,” Jeonghan agrees with a little smile then moves forward to hug Taehyung. Taehyung, of course, hugs back, then breaks into giggles when Seungcheol and Jisoo bounce over to join the hug. Then Hansol decides to join too, and wiggles himself right into the centre, making you all laugh.

“They’re so cute I might get cavities,” Jeonghan’s dad jokes, then looks at the baby monitor in his hand when a soft noise comes through. “I got the little princess,” he announces to his wife, then waves in farewell to you all before jogging into the house to care for the just-woken baby.

Somehow, you manage to get Taehyung in the car and strapped in despite the fact he refuses to let go of his balloon, scared it’ll float off up into space and an alien will get scared by it— you have no idea where he got that idea, but you decide to just awkwardly and very cautiously work around the balloon until he’s strapped in securely.

After a final farewell to the group still standing in the drive chatting, and a final thanks to the Yoon family, you get in your car and head home, listening to Taehyung retelling every second of the party happily from the backseat. Words you know you’ll have to hear at least twice more tonight as he repeats them to Mingyu’s parents, then the man himself once he’s home, but you really don’t mind.

On the day of Jimin’s birthday party, Taehyung is clearly very nervous about it. He’s never been to a farm before, so he doesn’t know what exactly to expect, even though he’s watched nothing but farm related programs and videos for the past two days to try and prepare himself and also asks you endless questions about farms and farmyard animals. You’re not ashamed to admit that you’ve had to defer to the internet many times, but you’ve learned a lot too. You’ve also ordered a couple of books that look interesting even to you. You have no idea if Taehyung will stop caring about how a farm works after today, but you think the books will be good to have anyway to give the boy a little more knowledge about something different than his current books do.

Even with a head full of fresh knowledge, and a printout of the farm’s map that you found on their website, Taehyung is anxious enough that he almost has a meltdown when every piece of clothing he owns are suddenly all wrong. Though when you literally offer him the t-shirt off your back— upon noticing how much he’s fiddling with the worn soft material and inhaling your scent off it to self soothe— Taehyung perks back up a little. Your t-shirt falls around his thighs and swallows him up, but he looks more at ease than he has all morning, so you don’t mind. It’ll be hidden under his coat, jumper, and dungarees anyway, so nobody will be able to tell that your five-year-old is literally wearing an adult’s t-shirt out all day.

Taehyung calms a lot after that, wrapped up cosy in your scent and the soft material, so getting ready goes smoothly, even if he keeps repeating the same questions about non-farm related things. You’re pretty sure he asks how old he was when you and Mingyu got your matching “T” tattoos, at least five times ever since first catching sight of it on your chest over your heart when you removed your t-shirt to give to him. Of course, it’s covered again now with another t-shirt, jumper, and coat as you head out the house to leave for the farm, but Taehyung still asks again.

“We got them on your first birthday,” you repeat, strapping him into his seat— after strapping the gift bag with Jimin’s present into the space at Taehyung’s side, at his concern he’ll drop it or it’ll fall to the floor.

“For me?” he asks.

“Of course, baby. You are the most important thing in the entire world to your daddy and I, so we got your initial tattooed over our hearts so you’re always close.”

“I get tattoo for both you when I am big,” he declares, making you smile.

“That’s sweet, baby. Maybe the three of us can get matching family tattoos,” you suggest, then giggle at the excited gasp Taehyung lets out.

“Yeah! Matchy match!” He starts to chatter away about the potential future family tattoo design. Even when you close his door and move to get into the front, he still talks away, and you just leave him to it with a little smile on your face as you drive.

It isn’t until you’ve parked at the farm and are crossing the lot to head to where you can see a group gathering that you really understand Taehyung’s concern for today.

“Mama,” Taehyung says, tugging on your hand so that you’ll stop and turn to look at where he’s standing and nervously staring off at the group— mostly smaller children, but you can spot a couple of older ones, though only one that looks to be around Taehyung’s age, and he’s wearing a birthday badge, so you safely assume that’s Jimin.

“What’s the matter, baby?” you ask, crouching down to be at his height, and hold both of his hands, even if one is already holding the handle of the gift bag.

“I am bigger,” he says, still staring at them. “What if they like not me because I am bigger? Or I hurt them playing?”

“You’re such a sweet boy, Tae, everyone loves you. And you’re always so careful. You played with Hansol at Seungcheol’s house, didn’t you? And Ponyo.”

Slowly, Taehyung turns his head to look at you as your words settle in his mind. You can already see the fear melting from his eyes as his tense expression softens out. “Yeah. I was super careful.”

“See? You know how to behave with smaller beings. You’re even so gentle with spiders when you move them for daddy.”

“Daddy is really scared of spiders,” he says, then giggles at the memories of all the times Mingyu has called for you or Taehyung, a literal child, to save him from a spider. Admittedly, you usually leave it to Taehyung to deal with as you’re not very keen on spiders yourself, but you at least don’t lose all ability to function like a human being like Mingyu does when faced with one.

“He is,” you confirm with your own little giggle, glad Taehyung is more like himself again. “Shall we go join the others? You can introduce me to Jimin,” you suggest.

“Okay, mama,” he agrees, so you get up and let go of his gift holding hand, before the two of you finish walking down the slight slope to get to the group. “Chim!”

“Tete!” the birthday badge wearing boy cheers, then darts over to almost tackle Taehyung in a hug. “I six!” he declares proudly to his friend, beaming a bright smile, eyes crinkling. Then he turns to you. “Hi! I Chim! I six!” he holds up one hand with all of his tiny fingers extended.

“Silly Chim,” Taehyung giggles and hands you the gift bag to help Jimin hold up his thumb on his other hand too. “This is six.”

“Oh.” Jimin stares at his hands then shows them to you while beaming again. “I six!”

“Wow, you’re getting so big, huh?” you enthuse, and he nods, grinning proudly and dropping his arms to his sides. “I’m Taehyung’s mama, thank you for letting us celebrate your birthday with you, Chim, it’s very kind of you.”

“You’re welcome!” he chirps, then gasps as Taehyung hands him the gift bag. “Present for Chim?”

“Yeah!” Taehyung replies, then giggles as Jimin plops on the gravel right then and there to start looking through the bag. Taehyung squats down next to him and happily watches his friend excitedly look at his gifts— which you had asked Jimin’s dad for advice about via text, just so that you didn’t get Jimin anything inappropriate for his abilities and interests, or something he already has.

“Hey, I’m Jimin’s dad, Namjoon,” the man that approaches you greets, offering his hand. “Well, stepdad technically, but I’ve been around since he was a baby, so we don’t generally specify that, but people can get weird about it if we don’t clarify upon first meeting,” he’s rambling a little, looking embarrassed by it too, but he can’t seem to stop himself.

“I get it, some people can be weird about the oddest stuff,” you muse, hoping your smile assures him that you don’t mind the awkward clarification or slight rambling. “It’s nice to meet you, officially, I mean,” you add your name in response, only now realising that while texting Namjoon, neither of you had actually told the other your first name.

“You too.” He smiles, dimples popping out. “We’re just waiting for one more person, then we can go in. But if he’s any longer, we’ll leave him behind,” he informs while looking down at his watch. He backtracks quickly upon noticing your alarmed expression when he lifts his head again and looks at you. “Oh! It’s not a child; it’s my best friend, he’s Jimin and Hyejin’s godfather. Hyejin’s my daughter, by the way, she’s nine,” he motions over to the oldest of the children, standing with who must be Jimin’s mother, the woman and little girl wearing matching coats. It’s only now that you realise that Jimin and Namjoon are also wearing matching coats and beanies. It’s precious.

“Ah, that makes sense, him being your friend and not a child, I mean,” you giggle amusedly, then look over when you hear a car pulling into the lot a little behind you.

“There he is, just on time. Usually, he’s late,” Namjoon muses.

“He must really want to see some cows,” you joke, and Namjoon laughs.

“He’s a big scaredy cat; he’ll likely refuse to go near the pens.”

“I’m here, I’m here!” the man that exits the now safely parked car exclaims as he rushes over, though upon spotting you, he lights up and calls your name. It takes you a second to recognise him bundled up in his layers, even if it’s not quite cold enough for that many.

“Oh, Hoseok,” you realise, and wave in greeting.

“What’re you doing here? Wait, Tae knows Chim?” Hoseok gasps, already ignoring both you and Namjoon to squat down with the two boys and hug them both at once, which the boys both happily and enthusiastically return with calls of “Hopie!”.

“Well, I guess introductions are not needed here,” Namjoon chuckles, looking bewilderedly between you and Hoseok questioningly.

“I’m a photographer, and Hoseok seems to like booking me for all his album shoots,” you muse.

“Oh, wait,” Namjoon gasps, eyes wide. “You did those? They’re incredible, I don’t blame him for booking you as j-hope’s exclusive photographer.”

“Ah, thank you.” You blush a little at the unexpected and very genuine praise; the man truly seems awed as he gawps at you.

“Honey!” The call makes Namjoon look over at his wife. “Time to go in.”

“Oh! Right!” Namjoon gives her a thumbs up then crouches down to help Jimin pack his gifts back into the bag before he stands up. “Come on, boys, let’s go meet some sheep!” he enthuses brightly, and the two boys cheer before marching after the tall man, their little hands happily clasped together and swinging wildly between them.

“So, Tae goes to the special school?” Hoseok wonders as the two of you follow behind the three a few steps, watching them with fond smiles on your faces for the cute boys. You hum in confirmation. “He’s five too, right?”

“Yeah.”

“What class is he in?” You give him a questioning look. “I know one of the teachers. Joon and I used to work with him, and he still produces my albums with me; doesn’t come out the woodwork for much else, honestly.” He chuckles.

“Would that happen to be Min Yoongi?”

“Yeah,” he confirms with a soft laugh. “He teaches Tae? I know he’s partly subbing a class around that age right now, but I wasn’t certain.”

You nod in confirmation with a soft hum to match. “He’s Tae’s favourite teacher, absolutely adores the man, and Jihoon.”

“Oh, you met Jihoonie too? That’s surprising.”

“Not at school, at a wedding, Jin’s. You know Jin, right?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I was in the middle of Europe on tour though, so I couldn’t make the wedding. He sent me a bunch of photos to rub it in that I missed it though,” he tuts, though he’s still smiling, not at all bothered by the older man’s childish actions. “Oh, wait!” He gasps, hands lifting to flap for a second in excitement before lowering. “Does that mean Tae was the ring bearer? Jin said a close friend’s son had the job, but not Jihoon because he would hate it. I don’t think he’s got any other friends with kids though.”

“Yeah, it was Tae.”

“You have to send me photos later; Jin didn’t send me any with Tae in, but I have to see him in his little suit. I bet he outshone the groom.”

“Of course he did,” you reply with a playful scoff that makes Hoseok laugh. The conversation ebbs off naturally there, and you both tune fully into the farm and the purpose of the afternoon.

As it turns out, Taehyung loves the farm. Of course, he’s not too fond of the smells really, but he is far too invested in the animals to really pay much attention to it.

Unfortunately, Taehyung loves the animals a bit too much, and when it’s time to leave, he doesn’t want to.

The last stop on the tour— which included a stop for a lovely picnic beside the play park the children had a blast in— is the petting barn, where all the youngest animals are kept for visitors to meet. And Taehyung has fallen completely in love with a lamb that seems more than happy to be wrapped in his arms where he sits on the dusty ground with the animal between his spread legs.

It takes a few minutes for you to convince Taehyung to let go of the lamb as tears roll down his cheeks. Even then, he only lets go when Jimin toddles over, looking like he wants to cry because his friend is, and hugs Taehyung tight.

Thankfully, Taehyung gets up and holds Jimin’s hand all the way back to the parking lot at the front, sadly peering at the gift shop as you pass. The store has been cordoned off due to a bad leak in the roof that is being fixed in off hours to not disturb visitors with the noise, making it impossible to go inside like Taehyung— and admittedly, you too— love to. His gaze is forlornly stuck to a sweet little lamb plushie on display, barely visible at the back of the store, but as Taehyung’s longing, tear wet gaze finds it, a fresh sob leaves his mouth, and your heart aches.

Many may call you utterly insane for it, may call you a push over of a parent spoiling your child, but you don’t care. So what if you spent three hours driving around in search of a lamb plushie for Taehyung, so what if it’s half the size of him. You’d buy him all the lamb plushies in the world if mends his broken heart even a little.

The entire three hours in the car, Taehyung had cried and asked to go back to the farm to “my baby”. You truly never expected your son to fall in love with a lamb of all animals and want to adopt it as his child, but a part of you isn’t entirely surprised and can’t blame him. The lamb was genuinely so sweet, so cute, friendly, and full of affection for your son in particular. Even before Taehyung had sat down, the lamb had trotted around after him as he did his best to give every animal in the petting pen attention and affection. It seemed the bond went both ways, and you did worry for a second that the lamb would also be distressed, but then you figured it probably does that with someone out of every group that visits the petting barn, and it won’t remember Taehyung by the time the next group arrived.

Even around the toy stores that you had carried him into to search the soft toy sections, Taehyung cried into your shoulder. You did find a few little lamb plushies in stores, but you knew before showing Taehyung that they wouldn’t be accurate representations of the current love of his life— eyes too beady, fur too scratchy, legs too short.

Though as soon as you saw the big, fluffy, and slightly weighted soft toy, you knew it was perfect. Taehyung had wailed when you put him down on his feet on the floor, but you had to in order to reach the toy off the shelf and present it to him. His tears didn’t immediately stop when he opened his eyes to look at the toy, but he did calm a lot, and by the time he was strapped back into the car with the lamb clutched in his arms and entirely covering him from your view, he was making content little sounds.

And now, he’s curled up on the sofa, half laid on his lamb with his leg wrapped around it as they both watch TV, and you know you’d drive three hours just for a soft toy without hesitation all over again when it clearly means this much to your son.

“Mama?” he calls, voice hoarse from all the crying, as you get up from the other end of the sofa to answer the door for your late-dinner pizza delivery.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you,” he says, tilting his head to make eye contact with you, and melting your heart into a gooey mess in your chest with the clear adoration in his gaze on you.

“I love you too, Tae, with everything in me,” you assure, and walk over to kiss his head before going to the door with your chest full of warm, gooey love.

Without a doubt, you’ll always do whatever you need to make your son happy, even if others would call you crazy for it. Nothing matters more than Taehyung’s happiness to you, and nothing will ever mean more. He’s your everything, even if he does make you an early grandmother to a lamb, apparently.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle, @jaja-salute

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[aeristudios]

—This Town

ᯓ★ Summary: You swore you would never come back to this foggy town. It reminded you of the past you longed to forget, the cozy small town aesthetic being a facade for how it really is— connections and influence get you far, and if you were born on the wrong side of the tracks, good luck.You fell in love once, with the boy from the sunny side of this place, who gave you the best summer of your life. But a scandal forced you to break up and you left, and now years later, you're back to handle family business and he's still there, at the music store, where you first met.

ᯓ★ Pairing: ex boyfriend!jihoon x f.reader

ᯓ★ Genre: 18+, angst, smut, fluff, exes to lovers, small town au (riverdale/twin peaks kind of vibe)

ᯓ★ Warnings: PLEASE READ ALL OF THE WARNINGS—heavy angst (ya'll know me by now), grief, parental loss, family trauma, social prejudice (small town vibes, classism, etc), trauma, graphic violence (fighting but not between Jihoon and the reader), talks of murder, toxic parental dynamics, gang affiliations, smoking (cigs, weed), drinking, very sexual content: lots and lots of kissing, dirty talk, unprotected sex, breast play, oral (f. receiving), jihoon gets jerked off a little lol, nail digging, clit stimulation, rough missionary, multiple orgasms, praise worship (sorta), pet names (if I miss anything lmk)

ᯓ★Words: 34K (don’t look at me)

ᯓ★AN: This story is apart of the Carats Ridge collab hosted by @imnotshua, @starlightkyeom and @100vern. Thank you for coming up with such a fun idea! Check out the other amazing stories here. This story was a labor of loveeeeeee and I enjoyed every bit of the headaches I got from it lol. I cannot thank @hannieoftheyear, @gentleisa, @/starlightkyeom and @yoongihan enough for listening to me bitch and complain and cry about this story being good. You always catch my mistakes and I cannot thank you enough for reassuring me that this did not suck. Especially thank you to Thea for dealing with my atrocious grammar and not booting me off the island a long time ago lol. Love you guys 🤍 The reader is nicknamed Blue :)

Playlist: Pink + White- Frank Ocean, Heavy- The Marias, Show Me How- Men I Trust, Something Along The Way- Nirvana, Violet- Hole!, All I Did Was Dream Of You- Beabadobee ft. The Marias, Sunsetz- Cigarettes After Sex (more songs on the playlist here)

You hate it here.

The fresh scent of petrichor hangs in the air after the morning rain. The fog is unrelenting, swirling around in the backyard of your childhood home, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. It’s too quiet, eerie, as if Mother Nature knew you were coming and wanted to give you a cruel reminder of why you haven’t set foot into Carats Ridge in ten years. The memories, the hurt, and the pain are still fresh in your mind and linger in your heart, and now there is one more that can be added to the list: your father is gone.

He died of a heart attack, and it’s tearing you apart. Your dad had health issues, and you begged and pleaded for him to come live with you in New York City, to let you take care of him, and finally leave this god-forsaken place behind. Your mom died when you were barely three, with debilitating breast cancer that took her as quickly as it came. He was all that you had. But he always said this place was his home, his community, and he couldn’t live it behind, after everything.

Well, now he’s gone and done it anyway, and he’s left you too.

His ‘community’, as he so lovingly called it, is The Zodiacs, aka a gang. He led it for as long as you can remember, and his dad led it until he passed, and so on. You were never meant for that lifestyle, as you always kept your head in books and wrote in your journals until your heart was content. You were destined to leave this town, become a writer, and make your voice heard. Being the next in line to lead the new generation of degenerates was not in your plans. Your father knew that and loved you anyway.

God, this hurts.

The Zodiacs aren’t terrible people; they’ve done a lot for the community here on the Southside of Carats Ridge. Sure, they have petty thieves and criminals in their midst, but they are always first in line to pull together money for children, single mothers, and the needy. When your best friend, Lola Apple, had her house burn down, the Zodiacs rallied together and fixed up her childhood home free of charge. They are a family that sticks together, and you do admire that. You try not to think ill of them, even though you are technically a legacy member. But it doesn’t take away your anger, your grief, and the pain that’s etched in your heart. Daddy told you just over a week ago, I have all the time in the world to see you, kid. Just you wait.

Well, you did wait, you kept your promise. But he broke his.

You stay on the balcony a little bit longer, watching the fog slowly disperse as the sun forces itself through the clouds, revealing grass that is dead and gone, as if the soil underneath knows that he’s gone too. The urge to smoke a cigarette floods your veins, the intense craving to feel your lungs burn as you inhale on a stick of death. A little bit ironic, you think. You quit several months ago, wanting to be a good example for your dad. What good is that going to do now?

You hear the motorcycles from a mile away, alerting you that your little peace is going to be cut short. You take a deep breath, inhaling deeply from the pit of your stomach, hoping to take away the anxiety you feel. It doesn’t do much, but it helps. You stare far away into the trees, reminiscing about the time you and Daddy would play hide and seek in the woods until you ran out of breath. You remember fondly the deer and rabbits that would come by from time to time, greeting you like an old friend rather than an enemy. You wish they were here, sitting with you in solace as you remember the few good memories you had about this fucked up town—most of them here at your home, at the music store, and the lake.

“Hey, there, Bluebird.”

You turn slowly, recognizing that throaty voice that you’ve grown up with all your life. Facing Lola, you glance at her and stare at the woods again, noticing the pained expression on her face. You know she’s worried about you, and she means well, but the last thing you want is to hear how people are sorry for your loss. Quite frankly, you want to fucking scream.

“I’m not going to say it, because I know you don’t want to hear it,” Lola says, hugging you from behind. “But just know that I love you, okay?”

You acknowledge her words, blinking away tears that threaten to fall on your face. “The kids aren’t here?” you manage to ask.

“No Blue,” she responds softly. “They’re at home with Vernon.”

Everyone has been calling you Blue or some variation of it for as long as you remember, partly because you prefer blue pens over black, and the journals you kept buying were always some shade of blue. You don’t know if it's your favorite color, but looking at it brings you peace. It makes you feel whole.

“Is everyone here?” You sniffle. “I guess I should go out there and pay my respects, huh?”

Lola scoffs. “If anything, they need to pay you respect.” She shakes her head, a small smile on her face. “Look, I know you never blended into the lifestyle, and let’s be real, you weren’t meant to be in this place. But you’ve brought a great deal of pride to the Southside and showed others they could make something of themselves. Who would’ve known a Zodiac legacy would be one of the best-selling authors in the world?”

You know she is right, but you don’t feel that right now. You want to grieve and be alone, and scream into the void. You want to sit in the darkness and let it swallow you up like a cocoon. But your father, in all his suffering, led the Zodiacs with pride, and you will do right by him, even if you don’t want to.

“I-I’ll be in,” you breathe, wiping your wet eyes. “I just need a minute.”

Lola nods, pulling you into a hug that you know you need, but don’t quite feel like you deserve. “Take all the time in the world.”

You hear her feet retreat, the creaking of the door loud and grating before it swings shut with a thud. Staring out into the woods again, you watch the sun disappear behind more ivory clouds, the thunder making itself heard. You know you should go back inside and get this over with, ripping off the bandaid of sympathies and wellwishes you are going to be flooded with.

But instead, you stay out here a little bit longer, and cry.

A week later, you stand outside the church, the one tall building in this town that has been kept up over the years. Standing in brown and white, it has a red illuminated sign in front that reads “Jesus Saves”. Your dad was a lot of things, and religious wasn’t one of them. But he was loved and respected by everyone here, and it was the pastor of New World Baptist Church who reached out and offered to hold the funeral services. He was best friends with Pastor Matthews growing up, and even though their paths diverged, they remained close until the end. You could have had the services anywhere, but you know deep down, this is right.

Your black dress sways in the light breeze, the warm, humid air passing beneath it. Drawing a cigarette to your mouth, you light it and inhale until your throat burns to your liking, hoping to kill the nerves that curdle in the pit of your stomach. It does nothing but aggravate you further. You scoff at the irony.

“There you are,” Lola steps out from the church, joining you to your left. She takes the cigarette from your hand, inhaling it and exhaling with a deep sigh. “I thought you were quitting.”

“So did I,” you murmur with a shrug. “But promises are meant to be broken, right?”

You make the mistake of looking at her, and the pity on her face cuts you deep. You don’t want people to feel sorry for you; if it were up to you, Daddy would have been cremated and his ashes scattered across the lake. But it’s not what he wanted, and you have to be the good daughter and respect his wishes, after all.

“I’m not gonna break, Lola,” you say aloud, as if you are reading her thoughts.

“I never said you would, Blue.”

The church doors creak open, followed by heavy footsteps. You turn to see Pastor Matthews approaching with a slight limp, a result of a car accident that partly led him to turn his life to God. Or at least, that’s what Daddy said.

“Ladies, we can get started whenever you get ready.”

You nod, gazing at your surroundings one last time and taking in a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

Lola puts out the cigarette, linking her arm with yours as you enter the church together and walk past the pairs of wet and red eyes. You make eye contact with Vernon, who gives you a half-smile while holding his two twin girls, Amethyst and Ruby, whom he shares with Lola. Lola and Vernon have been together since they were kids. They have the kind of love that makes sense for them: it’s familiar, warm, and unique in their own way. Lola was always the spitfire of the two, ready to give anyone a verbal lashing to hell and a fist to match. Vernon is her anchor, keeping her still in many storms, and a part of why she has mellowed out. Vernon is also a part of the Zodiacs, with his father as the vice-leader of the gang and your father’s right-hand man. Since everyone knows you didn’t have any interest in being more involved in the Zodiacs than you are now, you imagine Vernon will be picking up the mantle now, legacy and all that.

The funeral proceeds as planned. Pastor Matthews leads a prayer, and the choir sings about the afterlife, heaven, and things you can’t relate to. You start to zone out when community members pay their respects, not because you don’t care, but because your heart can’t take it. Daddy meant a lot to this side of town, and he was so clearly loved. Seeing the sadness in their eyes and their tear-stricken faces is a stab to the gut. You want to lie down and pretend this day never happened. You want to rewind back to last week when your father told you he loved you for the last time. It’s time to give the eulogy, but your head is spinning. You want to leave—

“I have something to say.”

Whipping your head back, your breath falters, your heart beating wildly against your cage like a captured bird. Walking to the front, his eyes locking with yours, is Jihoon, the boy who changed the trajectory of your life. It’s been ten years since you’ve seen him or heard that voice. He’s not the eighteen-year-old boy that you fell in love with at the music store. His hair is longer, he’s bulkier, and time seems to have been kind to him. Jihoon strides to the front of the church, wearing a black suit and matching rimmed glasses.

“What is he doing here?” you whisper in Lola’s ear.

Lola looks confused for a moment, beckoning you to lean closer. “You didn’t know? He was helping your dad from time to time.”

You stare at her blankly, barely registering what she is saying. Jihoon and your dad? Hanging out? Your dad never mentioned it. Focusing back on Jihoon, you study him, waiting with bated breath.

“This was a man loved by everyone, from the Southside and even the North,” Jihoon recalls fondly. “Well, almost everyone.” The light laughter echoes in the small church as he continues. “He showed up to every town hall, ready to speak for everyone in this community, and wasn’t afraid to ruffle feathers to get his point across. I worked with him at the center, and he was just a nice guy to be around. I know I live on the other side of the tracks, but I know I am not alone when I say, he will be missed.”

The members hum and nod in agreement. Jihoon quietly walks towards the back of the church, exchanging a look with you one last time before he disappears from your peripheral view. The church falls silent, and the small movements of shuffled feet and chirping birds are heard. Lola nudges you softly, beckoning toward Pastor Matthews as he moves to the front of the podium.

“Now it is time for the eulogy.”

Taking a deep breath, you walk towards the front, feeling the sympathetic eyes burning into your skin. You make no effort to look up immediately and face the en masse, instead keeping your head down to maintain your composure. Pastor Matthews comes over to you slowly, offering what was supposed to be a comfortable presence, but instead, you feel smothered.

“My father was a pillar of strength,” you begin. “He was a master of everything, and a carbon copy of none. Daddy was original, one of a kind, and the greatest thing in my life.” Your voice cracks towards the end, clearing your throat before continuing. “He was hardworking and gentle, and most importantly, fair. As you all know, I was not meant for the Zodiac life, and he could have made me stay and forced me to be something I wasn’t, or ever would be. But he was a true parent who saw me for who I was, not what he envisioned for me. He saw the good in everyone in this room, and this town, even when they treated him like shit.”

You glance at the closed mahogany casket, surrounded by the most expensive lilies you could buy. You’re filled with a mix of sadness and anger, thinking of the memories where you and he suffered, and the possibility of what could have been if he had left when you asked. “That man is the heart and soul of Carats Ridge, and I don’t give a damn what anyone else says.” Your voice trembles as your vision blurs. “He chose you over me, his own daughter. His only family. That’s how much he valued you, and it is a testament to his character. My father served this place until the day he died, and I hope that if you truly cared about him, you carry his memory in your hearts for the rest of your lives and the next.”

You didn’t mean to come off as angry. You planned to stay calm and get through this in one piece. But damn it, you are mad as hell. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. You were supposed to have at least twenty more years with him. None of this is fair.

You wobble as you walk back to your seat, laying your head on Lola’s shoulder as the funeral drones on until the choir sings the last song. The pallbearers, fellow members of the Zodiac, carry his casket as you lead it, holding a frame of you and him at your high school graduation. The cemetery is behind the church, a plot of land and a tombstone already prepared, as if he knew his time was coming. Dark grey clouds swirl around, dangerously, as everyone gathers around the grave. Daddy will be buried six feet deep, covered with dirt, and never seen again. Your heart tears at the seams.

The wind picks up cruelly, a spirit of madness at play, as it slightly lifts the tent where the burial is happening. The rain follows, warm droplets hitting your body and soaking your dress. The weather called for sunshine and blue skies. What a wicked game Mother Nature is playing on you. You observe everyone, with bowed heads and sorrow, as Pastor Matthews recites more Bible scriptures you can bear. After the final “amen, " men surround your father’s casket, preparing to lower him into the ground. Your breathing is labored and shallow as you clutch the front of your dress. You want to crawl out of your skin.

“Fuck this,” you mutter, shaking your head furiously.

You run, letting your feet guide you through the heavy rain, your hair and makeup ruined. Your expensive dress sticks to your body like wet paper, your bra strap slipping to the side, but you don’t care. You keep running until you can’t anymore, finding yourself at the very end of the road. There are no houses around, just woods and what lurks in them. You let out a guttural wail, letting go of everything you’ve been holding in since you got that call. They say grief comes and goes like waves, and maybe that’s true. But right now you are drowning, struggling to breathe. Veins pop out of your neck as you scream, banging your hands on the ground until they are dirty and slightly bruised. You told Lola you weren’t going to break—another lie told.

You hear the engine through the loud rain, a yellow classic pickup truck speeding towards you and drifting to the right. The passenger door swings open, creamy leather seats appearing first.

“Get in the car before you catch a cold.”

The rain makes it hard to see, the feeling of soft hands pulling you up off the street and leading you into the car. But you know that voice oh-so-well. It’s one you could never get.

“Jihoon.”

He stops, his eyes locking with yours as he wants to say what’s on his mind. But instead, he grants you a mercy, reaching over you to buckle you in, his cologne light and putting you at ease.

“Let’s get you out of this rain, yeah?”

Jihoon wasn’t sure if he should come to the funeral. He hasn’t seen you in a decade, and he thought maybe it would be an icy reunion between the two of you. But here you are, lying on his futon with his t-shirt on and wrapped in a blanket, beautiful and more refined than the last time he saw you. Maybe that’s what happens when you become a best-selling author and the access that comes with it. As it stood in the rain, he saw you running away from the burial. Lola looked distraught, and everyone else watched on with sympathy and curiosity, as though having never seen anyone mourn before.

So he went after you.

There weren’t many places you could have run off to, as the church stands in the middle of a cul-de-sac. The main road would have been too far to run, which left you headed towards dark Sinbrook Forest. When he found you, you were sitting on the street under the pelting rain, lost in your own storm. You didn’t say much while in the car, and he didn’t expect you to—Jihoon knows all too well what grief feels like, and he knew you shouldn’t be alone.

Jihoon was in another city, living his life, when his mother called with the news about his father’s stroke. He worked as a mixer at a music studio and dropped everything to take care of him. It meant working at his family-owned music store while his mother cared for his father, and Jihoon hoped he would eventually be able to return to his new life and arrange better care for his father. That was five years ago.

When his father died a few years later, it tore his mother apart. He supposes losing the love of your life will do that to someone, but it broke her. She refused to leave the house most days, and she wanted him to stay in Carats Ridge forever. He fought tooth and nail to keep living in the small apartment upstairs from the music store rather than in his childhood home. The overbearingness would have been too much, and Jihoon needed time to process his own feelings.

Jihoon thought about you over the years, wondering how you had been and whether you were happy. The last time you saw him, you promised to keep in touch and never to lose that connection. It worked for a few months, then the communication slowed and ceased altogether. He understood you were busy, living in New York, and having a busy life, or maybe you felt like you needed to move on. He was happy for you, truly. But he also felt left behind, forgotten, and, deep down, even now, hasn’t gotten over the girl he'd fallen in love with at the music store.

Ten Summers Ago

Oh, my life

Is changin' every day

In every possible way

And oh, my dreams

It's never quite as it seems

Never quite as it seems

"Dreams" by the Cranberries blasted through the speakers when you walked in, wearing a faded Simpsons t-shirt with dark jeans and sneakers. Jihoon was at the front, strumming the strings on the guitar as he worked on that Saturday. He planned to go to college for music and needed to practice whenever he got the chance. But you were a distraction.

He knew who you were because you attended the same high school, had shared classes over the years, and had graduated just two weeks earlier. You weren’t in the same social circles, so you never actually had a conversation. But as he watched you flip through albums and pick up a variety of them that wouldn’t go together, he became curious. You didn’t seem like the type to listen to Spice Girls, Phil Collins, Nirvana, or Coolio. Now that he thinks of it, he didn’t peg you as a music lover at all. Whenever he saw you, you had a journal in your hands, scribbling away as if you didn’t want to be disturbed.

You also picked up Hot Tub Time Machine and Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist, two movies Jihoon hasn’t seen. As he scanned the items, he saw you looking at the keychains that had just arrived. Your eyes lit up as you touched the bluebird one, taking it off the latch and setting it on the counter. Something odd stirred in his chest, and he wasn’t sure what to call it.

“I’ll take this one too,” you announced, digging in your purse.

You handed Jihoon a $20 bill on the counter, your fingers accidentally touching with a light shock. You jumped back, aghast, as Jihoon stood there, unsure of what to make of it. “That was weird,” you muttered, eyeing him carefully.

“Well, don’t look at me,” Jihoon tittered, scratching the back of his hand. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Do you make it a habit of shocking girls on their eighteenth birthdays?” You pressed, folding your arms.

“N-no,” Jihoon sputtered, at a loss for words. “But happy birthday?”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, your lips pursed together. Then your face broke into a throaty laugh that echoed throughout the store, a contagious one that almost had him joining in. “I’m fucking with you,” you catch your breath. “I mean, it is my birthday, but I don’t think you are going around shocking girls on purpose.”

He broke the bill and placed the change in your hands. The spark didn’t happen again, and he couldn’t help but smirk. You counted the change back quietly, slipping it into your wallet.

“See, no spark,” Jihoon said, holding his hands up and wiggling his fingers.

“Okay, “ you scoffed, grabbing your items off the counter. “Thank you for not shocking me again, I guess.”

He watched you walk out of the music store, leaving an impression in your wake. This was the most you had talked in all the years you had been in the same vicinity as one another; now he was more curious about you than ever.

Your body is dead weight when you finally wake up. It almost feels like you are one with the futon, your body leaving a deep imprint on the cushion. The sun is just now rising, blinding you with its infectious light. You sit up, stirred and slightly shaken as you recount the last day. The funeral, the pelting rain, the six-foot grave your father was supposed to be put in, and Jihoon, who came and took you here, to his place above the music store. Much of it is a blur after that, as all you remember is changing into an oversized shirt and sweats Jihoon had randomly before crashing on his couch. You were too catatonic to speak, your energy drained from experiencing the worst day of your life. Jihoon didn’t force you to speak, and you appreciated it. He just let you be.

You stumble through the apartment, not one hundred percent awake, looking for the bathroom. Finding the door askew, you rush inside, relieving the pressure you felt in your lower abdomen. Jihoon was always a neat freak, and having a clean bathroom is no surprise to you. Everything is in order and in its place where it belongs without a smudge of fingerprints or dust in sight. The decor is simple—white shower linen paired with a clear curtain, black mats, and a black-and-clear soap dispenser. The medicine cabinet is hidden behind the mirror, but you don’t bother going through it. Finishing your business, you wash your hands, splashing more water on your face to stay alert.

Sauntering back to the couch, you observe the layout of the apartment—an open space with brick walls, a bookshelf full of vinyls, CDs, and other standard furniture that makes it his. You can tell he took extra care to form this in his style, and you would expect nothing less from him. Finding your phone on the floor, you grab it and plop back onto the futon. Your eyes widen at the dozens of notifications you received, most of them from Lola, some from Vernon, and one from your agent. Your heart pangs at the messages you received, and maybe you shouldn’t have run off the way you did. It was irrational and maybe a little selfish. But you couldn’t stay there another minute—you felt yourself sinking into the ground with him.

Stifling a yawn, you respond to Lola’s messages with four simple words: “I’m okay. With Jihoon.”

Your phone rings shortly after, Lola’s name displayed on your screen. Taking a deep breath, you prepare for what she is about to give.

“Listen, I’m sorry—”

“I’m not mad,” Lola interrupts, her voice unusually calm. “I understand why you ran off. I mean, I was scared half to death, but I would be more worried if Jihoon didn’t already tell us where you were.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you walk towards the windows, peering at everyone below, going about their normal lives. The street and sidewalks are still wet with rain, but the flowers in bloom make it worth being outside. You remember the first time you smelled tulips and how its sweet fragrance tickled your nose. The only pharmacy in town stands across the street; next to it are a flower shop and a boutique for fine dresses. You remember walking past them, wondering how the people who ran their shops lived their lives.

“I didn’t realize you had each other’s numbers,” you say, breaking out of self-induced nostalgic trance.

“We’ve worked together a few times, for some events around the Southside,” Lola discloses. “And he and Vernon hang out.”

You mull over her words, trying to grasp Jihoon and Vernon in the same room, actually talking to each other. Even the idea of him being around your father makes your head buzz. “How did that happen, anyway? Daddy never mentioned any of this to me.”

“I’m not sure if you knew this, but Jihoon gave guitar lessons to the children at the community center,” Lola begins. “Your dad helped out around the center, like he always did, and I guess they became acquainted that way.”

Your tongue pokes your cheek, giving this some thought. “I guess. It’s just weird to think about, and Daddy said nothing to me about it. He knows how I feel about this town, but… I don’t know.” Sighing deeply, your heart pierces at the thought of everything that has happened. This town is plaguing you, and you are desperate to get out of it. “I will not be here long enough to dwell on it anyway, so.”

“Oh yes! Speaking of,” Lola’s voice jumps an octave. “Vern and some of the Zodiac are going to help clear out the house before we start doing open houses.”

“Okay,” you murmur.

Lola is also a real estate agent, the only one in town, and gets clients from both sides of Carats Ridge. She is the only one you trust to handle the sale of the house, as it’s too much to bear. Lola is good at what she does, and you know you are in safe hands. It wasn’t what she had set out for herself; she saw herself as an actress starring in movies. But when the fire happened, she stayed behind to care for her mom until she passed. Lola never got that chance to live her dreams, but she seems pretty happy despite that.

You barely hear the front door unlock behind you, turning to face Jihoon as he walks into the apartment, carrying coffee and a large paper bag from the local diner, Mansae. Locking eyes briefly, your stomach does somersaults, unsure of what to make of this moment. “Lola, I have to go. I’ll see you at the house later.”

As you disconnect the call, you smile sheepishly, fidgeting with your hands. Jihoon sets the bag and coffee on the table, rubbing his hands together. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been hit by your truck,” you answer honestly. “But I’ll be okay and out of your hair soon.”

“There’s no rush for you to leave,” Jihoon responds, pointing at the bag. “I brought breakfast in case you were hungry.”

He pulls the contents out of the bag, revealing a container of various donuts, all of which happen to be your favorite. You eye the chocolate one sprinkled with nuts, taking you back to the first time you had one. Your dad brought you to the diner as a treat, letting you have whatever you wanted for getting good grades in elementary school. You chose that donut because it reminded you of a Snickers bar, and you were pleasantly surprised when you bit into it and found it filled with caramel. It was one of the best days of your life.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you eventually respond, grabbing the donut out of the container. “Thank you, though.”

“Of course.” Jihoon nods, reaching into the bag. “Come sit down and eat.”

He holds a breakfast sandwich in his hand, motioning for you to sit at the dining table. Outside, the clouds shift, spilling a sudden, warm glow across the wood table.

“Please? he asks, gentler this time.

Reluctantly, you take a seat at the table, taking a bite out of your donut. The warm velvety caramel oozes onto your tongue, making you involuntarily moan in gratification. You glance at Jihoon, who watches you in amusement. You haven’t had a donut this good since you’ve left town, and you live in New York City. There are some things that you can only get from one place, and donuts are one of them.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a good donut,” you disclose, wiping the corner of your mouth. “Mansae is as good as ever.”

“You know, Mr. and Mrs. Sherbet still run the place?” Jihoon imparts, unwrapping his sandwich. “I still go by there every Sunday with Mom.”

You take another bite, hiding the grimace forming on your face. His mother, Mrs. Lee, had it out for you from the very beginning. Maybe it is because you were from the Southside and dressed like it, but she always gave you a look or said unpleasant things that would have hurt your feelings if you cared. Mrs. Lee isn’t the only person to treat you unfairly in this town, but she adds to the list of reasons you hate it here.

“Looks like nothing has changed much in Carats Ridge,” you say. “I can’t say I miss being back here.”

Jihoon falters just for a moment, briefly, but you caught it. You’re instantly filled with regret. “I’m sorry, that was mean—”

“No, don’t apologize,” Jihoon waves you off. “You are just being honest, right?”

Your mouth opens and shuts without any words coming out. Frustration hits your chest like a sharpened arrow, penetrating your heart deep in its core. Jihoon could never understand how you feel. He’s never had to deal with the prejudice you faced just for being born on the wrong side of town—being accused of thefts, the dirty looks, passersby assuming you weren’t smart, and you weren’t going to amount to anything. He couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to wake up and have strikes against you just for existing. He had the privilege of doing whatever he wanted; you didn’t.

“How have you been?” You change the subject. “It’s been a long time.”

Jihoon leans back in his chair, adjusting his glasses as he mulls over your question. “I’ve been okay. I left town for a while and came back to take care of Dad for a while.”

“Take care?” Your ears perk up. “Is he okay?”

A pained expression is on his face, glancing down as he adjusts his glasses again. “So I guess you haven’t heard then.”

He didn’t have to say anything else; you knew what he meant—his father is gone. The pain of losing a parent, someone you love forever, leaves a permanent, ugly scar on your soul. You never heal from it, but you learn to deal with it, and it becomes a part of you.

“I’m sorry, Jihoon,” you murmur. “Mr. Lee was a good man.”

You mean what you said. Mrs. Lee always gave you a hard time, but his father was always kind to you and made you feel welcome. They were opposites, and you used to wonder how that even happened. You like to imagine that’s where Jihoon got his warmth from.

“It’s okay,” Jihoon sighs. “It’s been a couple of years now, and I have taken over the music store for my mom.”

“Wow,” you respond, nostalgia hitting you soft like a pillow. “I used to love it there.” All those weekends you would spend at the store, listening to Donna Summer, Nirvana, Usher, falling in love with him—

You shake your head, bringing yourself back to reality and ignoring the sudden heaviness in your heart. “You’ve been well?” You smile.

Jihoon’s eyes soften, followed by a slow, tentative headshake. “I guess? It could be worse.”

There is something in the back of his voice that makes you believe he isn't being entirely truthful. But you choose not to press it.

“I’ve seen you on TV,” Jihoon reveals, clearing his throat as he unwraps what looks like a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich. “I watched the interview for the anniversary of Blue Valentine. You looked good.”

The heat creeps up on your neck, and you try your best to ignore it. “Oh?” Your mouth curves into a smirk. “As opposed to now?”

He lets out a snort, shaking his head. “You aren’t roping me into that one.”

“Roping you into what?” You giggle, batting your eyes. “I’m innocent.”

You jointly break into peals of laughter, rumbling from the pit of your soul. For a moment, you’re lighter, brighter than you have felt in days. You haven’t felt the disease of grief for almost an hour, and it’s nice not to have that dark cloud over you. But eventually the laughter dies down, and it’s quiet, and the thoughts in your head become louder, urging you to say what’s on your mind. Jihoon glances at you before looking away, busying himself with his sandwich. You finally take the lid off your coffee, expecting to add your fixings, only to realize it’s already there, with whipped cream on top.

“I didn’t forget how you like your coffee.”

“I see,” you murmur, ignoring the light butterflies in your stomach. “Thanks.”

You eat another donut in silence, watching the birds perch outside the window. They flap their wings happily, without a care in the world. It must be nice to live carefree like that, not being plagued by loss. You gaze at Jihoon, studying him for the first time since you’ve been with him. He’s broader, finer, and has grown into his looks, but some things remain the same. Like the style of his glasses, his truck, and the vinyls that are plastered on the walls. He is still a neat freak, with every spot in this loft clean and items placed with purpose. Hanging on the hook is his letterman jacket from Carats Ridge High, where he played football. Most importantly, he still has the same guitar, castaneous and worn as ever, but still in good shape.

You don’t think much about this town, but you have thought about him and how things ended. You never dwell on it long, though, because then you'd be forced to feel it all, and that makes you vulnerable. You can’t afford that.

“I think I am going to head out,” you say, scooting out of the seat. You glance at him before looking away, rubbing your left temple. “I appreciate the coffee and donuts. You didn’t have to do that.”

Jihoon nods, neatly setting down his sandwich. “I know, but I wanted to.”

You don’t look him in the eyes. You don’t want to acknowledge the current of emotions that are pumping through your heart. You nod in response, grabbing your phone and your shoes. You look around for your dress, but it's nowhere in sight.

“Hey, have you seen my dress—”

“Oh! Wait a minute.”

Jihoon scurries out of his seat, disappearing into a closet you didn’t notice, emerging with your dress, dry and without a wrinkle.

“I put it in the dryer while you sleep,’ he explains. “I figured you might not want wet clothes to take home.”

Your fingers rub against the soft material, the faint smell of fabric linen lifting off the cotton. It brings you back to the first time you were in his truck that summer, one he proudly bought, with the same scent hanging from the rearview window. He said it was the only scent that made sense—guess that hasn’t changed.

“Thank you, again, Jihoon.”

Your hand is on the door, almost turned to pull when it’s pushed open, almost smacking you in the face. Standing on the other side is someone you did not want to see: Jihoon’s mother. She eyes you up and down, her face drawn with disgust and contempt as if you were the vein of her existence.

“Hmm, I see you are back in town,” Mrs. Lee remarks, entering the loft and forcing you to move out of the way. “Are you here to cause trouble again for my boy?”

You are taken aback, letting out a scoff as you regain your composure. “No, Mrs. Lee,” you respond, rather short. “My father is dead.”

She pauses for a second before letting out a hmph, throwing her bag on the futon that was still laid out as a bed. “Jihoon, is this how you live now?

“Mom, what—”

Redirecting her attention back to the living room, she waves him off, as if what he says doesn’t matter. She fusses with the blankets drawn on the futon, throwing them aside and folding the futon back to make it a couch. She mutters under her breath, no doubt obscenities about you. You shouldn’t be surprised by this behavior; this is who she has always been. But it opens up an old wound that hasn’t quite healed, and you are one minor inconvenience away from being ready to let her have it.

“Bye, Jihoon,” you say, shaking your head. “Thank you again.”

“Let me walk you out—”

“No.” You insist, harder than you intended. “I can walk out by myself. I’m not a little girl anymore.”

Though you smile at him softly, you’re screaming inside for space to breathe.

“Okay,” he reluctantly agrees. “Call me when you make it back, please?”

You nod, letting out a small breath. “I’ll get your number from Lola.”

“Okay.”

You stare at each other, the silence stretching a little too long, tension filling the air with unspoken thoughts and truths that you’ve kept locked away in a box that you never planned to acknowledge again. Jihoon looks as if he has something to say, his brows furrowing, and you stand there, waiting to hear what comes out of the end of it.

“Can I ask you something?”

His eyes shift to something softer, familiar, making your stomach flutter. “Yeah, shoot,” you reply cautiously.

He exhales softly, running his fingers through his hair. “Blue Valentine… was that about us?”

Your breath hitches, the question catching you off guard. Blue Valentine was your debut novel, which was met with immediate success. You were #1 on the best-sellers list for a year and are still in the top 20, earning numerous accolades and achieving success you never thought you could. But that book is personal, about two teenagers who met one summer and had the best time of their lives before they parted ways and never saw each other again. You’ve been asked numerous times who the muse was behind the book, and you’ve never answered it directly.

“Jihoon, I—”

“Aren’t you supposed to be leaving?”

Mrs. Lee’s thin voice cuts through the moment, sounding like chalk screeching on a board. Oddly, you appreciate the irony in this; at least you don’t have to reveal the deep, uncomfortable truth.

Shaking your head, you throw a look at Jihoon before peeking into the doorway. “Mrs. Lee, always a pleasure.” You salute sarcastically, shutting the door behind you.

One Summer Ago

“It’s the fifth anniversary of your debut novel, Blue Valentine. How has life changed since then?”

You sat up straighter, adjusting the blazer you wore over your soft satin shirt. The lights were bright, almost blinding, as you tried to look happy and composed on television. You are on Good Morning America, and you were invited to discuss your book with legendary anchor Ginger Snaps.

“I am much busier,” you laughed. “But I am really grateful to all of my readers who have been on this journey with me. I wouldn’t be here without them.”

“True,” Ginger responded. “But your writing, your penmanship even, is one of a kind. You would have been successful regardless.”

You blinked, unsure of what to say to that besides “Thank you.”

“Absolutely,” Ginger beamed while flipping to the next card. “Now Blue Valentine is about two teenagers from opposite worlds who spend one summer together that changes their lives. So many people have been inspired to find their own Blair and Jackson, and some fans have even sent in personal stories (which we will send with you later).”

“Wow,” you said, astonished.

Ginger smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye that gives you pause. “Take us back to when Blue Valentine was being written,” Ginger presses. “Tell us a deep, hard fact that we don’t know.”

You glanced at your agent, Anna, who gave you a tight nod. Your mind suddenly went blank, a little too long. You saw the questions before the interview and even rehearsed your answers. You’ve done this a million times, yet you are struggling to remember a single thing. Your mind traveled back to him, that summer, where you sat at the lake and listened to Jihoon playing his songs on the guitar. That same summer when he kissed you for the first time, and fireworks sparked in your chest. That very summer, when you blossomed like the cornflowers in your yard and truly felt alive.

But thinking of him also brought you pain. It was a harsh reminder that you haven’t connected with anyone on that level, and to be honest, do you even want to? Get to know someone, experience the highs and lows of a relationship, the heartache—

“Y/N?”

You slowly came back to focus, shutting the doors on those memories and throwing away the key. You can’t afford to feel that right now.

“I’m sorry, Ginger.” You gave her your best smile. “Could you repeat the question?”

“Mom, what was that?”

Jihoon walks to his mother, who is busying herself with folding the blanket you laid in. She takes a sniff of it and gags, throwing it on the floor in disgust.

“That perfume is gross,” she begins, waving her hand in front of her face. “You will need to re-wash that blanket three times.”

“Her perfume smelled fine,” Jihoon lets out a resigned sigh. “And you’re avoiding the subject.”

His mother throws him a look before huffing, stepping around him to the kitchen table. “I’m not avoiding anything; I just simply do not want to talk about her.”

Jihoon shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. His mother has always been like this: pushy, haughty, and truly believes no one is good enough for him. He has tried to date, sure, and has had a relationship here and there, but his mother never liked anyone he brought around, especially you. Mrs. Lee hated you for no reason besides that you lived on opposite sides of the tracks. For whatever reason, when you came around, it burned an ember inside of her that just wouldn’t let up. Jihoon never understood it, which led to constant tension between them because he always defended you. She detested that.

“I don’t want her coming back here,” his mother announces, dusting off her hands. “She is nothing but bad news, Jihoon.”

“Firstly, this is my place,” Jihoon scoffs. “And how, Mom?” He pushes back. “She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Mrs. Lee stops, glancing at you and then looking away. “That apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Jihoon stands there, bewildered and scratching his head. His mother has shown early signs of dementia, which is also another reason why he stayed behind. As much as he wanted to pursue music still, he couldn’t be selfish and leave her.

“Yeah, sure, whatever you say,” he accepts, not wanting to push it further. “Do you still want to go to the farmers’ market in the next town?”

Looking at the set of donuts on the table, she grimaces. “Yes. I want to go before the fresh strawberries and cream cart runs out.”

Grabbing the keys to his truck, she takes one last look at the place, scoffing as she opens the front door. “I’ll be waiting in the car. It’ll serve you right to clean up this mess before we leave.”

The door shuts with a thud, and Jihoon lets out the breath he’d been unironically holding in. He loves his mother, truly, but she leaves him with an anxiety that cracks his chest and fills his stomach with rumbling stones. She doesn’t give him room to breathe or just to be. Her words strike to hurt and are passed off as maternal love. He’s used to it by now, but sometimes, he wants to leave this town and never come back. But he wouldn’t be a good son, and he promised his father he would always protect her.

So he does what’s told, because what else is he going to do?

You’ve been a recluse for the past couple of days. You stayed in your house unless you needed to leave, cleaning it until your fingers were pink and blistered. You undoubtedly smell like lemon-scented cleaning supplies and bleach. You threw away numerous bags of trash and set aside food to donate to the local food pantry. You even mowed the lawn, even though Vernon was supposed to do that. You're sweaty, gross, and in need of a shower—but they’re still so much to do.

The truth is, you have a lot on your mind, and the adrenaline coursing through your veins is keeping you going—otherwise, you would have crashed. Your heart is heavy, and the walls you’ve had built up for so many years are starting to crack. Daddy, Jihoon, this house and the memories, everything is closing in, and it’s suffocating at times. You look at the living room and remember the times Daddy tried to do your hair so you would look nice for school, or when Monday night wrestling was on, and he would order pizza as a weekly ritual. The old stove in the kitchen, where Daddy used to make dinner on the nights he was home. Everything reminds you of him, and throwing Jihoon in the mix, you want to run into the woods and disappear.

Whether you are ready to admit it or not, Jihoon has always been in the back of your mind, and somewhere deep in your heart, buried under a bed of budding flowers. Every once in a while, when you’re in your bed and everything is quiet, you think of the time you shared with him and the warmth that filled your soul. It was young love, sure, but it was still love, and the only time you have ever truly felt it. Experienced it with free will. When you left this town, you hoped to continue, and it festered into a stronger, deeper love that lasted forever.

But it didn’t end like that, and that’s okay, you guess.

You collapse on your childhood bed, wiping the sweat off your forehead with your head down, catching your breath. You still have to go through your rooms and decide what to keep or give away, but first, you need a shower.

“Hello?”

Your attention is on the door, the sound of heels clacking on the hardwood floors you just finished shining. Irritation bubbles in your chest, but when Lola comes into view, it evaporates quickly.

“I didn’t know you were coming by,” you say, pulling off your cleaning gloves.

“Well, you would have known if you answered your phone,” Lola ripostes, raising an eyebrow as she looks around the house. “I told you Vernon and the boys were going to clean this up for you.”

“I know that,” you answer. “But I just needed to keep busy.” You sniffle, the cleaning products making your nose run. “I have a lot on my mind, you know?”

Lola’s face softens, a gentle half-smile appearing. “I know, Blue.”

She sits next to you on the bed, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. “I came to get you out of here, anyway. You are coming to eat with us.”

You knew what “us” meant: Lola, Vernon, and the twins. You wanted a day to yourself, to think, to clean more, and to avoid the world. To not have to see the pity looks you get when you walk to the courthouse or go into Jollibee’s to get a burger and fries. But you don’t want to hurt Lola’s feelings, and you know she means well.

“I need to shower and change first,” you say, looking down at your worn, bleach-stained black shirt and sweats. “I feel gross.”

“Do what you need to do,” Lola nods, plopping off the bed. “I assume that the food in the container needs to go to the community center? We’ll drop it off on the way.”

She leaves you to your thoughts and privacy, shutting the door softly behind you. Blowing a raspberry, you begrudgingly get off the bed, tearing off your shirt and the rest of your clothes, throwing them in the corner. The cool air from the a/c hits the back of your legs like a nice reprieve. You’ve been on autopilot for days; you are slowly starting to feel it, finally—the small aches in your knees and hands, the constant dull pain in your lower back. Maybe you should have let the gang clean the house after all.

You study yourself in the mirror for the first time in days; dark circles surround your eyes from the lack of sleep, and your skin is dull, begging for hydration. Your naked body shines in the golden light of the sun, the most light you have let touch you in days. You’re falling down a rabbit hole, deep into the wonderland of avoidance, and the chasm of you not giving a fuck grows wider with each passing day.

“Shit,” you murmur to yourself.

You step into the shower, letting the water pressure hit your lower back until it goes numb. The steam quickly fills the small bathroom as you inhale, filling your lungs. The tension slowly leaves your body, as if you are floating in a dreamy oasis, standing there for a while, letting your mind go blank as you slowly turn off your emotions. You could do this forever—stand here and be non-existent to the world, and get the peace you truly want. No pain from the constant grief that cuts you open like a fresh wound, or anger from being back at the one place you hate the most. Most importantly, no deep late-night thoughts of what could have been with Jihoon.

You don’t allow yourself to think of that summer often. You try to let the past be the past, move forward, and enjoy your success. You’ve even tried dating, getting under someone new, to get rid of the faint nagging in your heart when you think of him. You ignore the way your heart beats when you think of the times at the music store, sitting on the counter and listening to Pearl Jam on the vinyl. Or the rush you felt when you jumped in the lake together, hand in hand, fully clothed and not caring about how you looked. The silly songs he sang in your ear or the way his fingers ran through your hair—

Knock! Knock!

“Blue, are you alright?”

Lola’s voice snaps back into reality, a jarring mix of white tiled walls and the smell of wet plastic outside a blue shower cocooning you from the rest of the world. Pressing your forehead against the cold, slick tile, you exhale a breath that feels far too heavy.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you lie. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

There is a brief pause, nothing but the running water hitting the porcelain tub as the sun shifts west. Then finally she responds, “Okay. Change of plans: Vernon is bringing the kids here.”

Slight irritation bubbles in your chest at the change of plans, but you will live. “Okay,” you breathe. “I’ll be out in a few.”

A few minutes into twenty as you wash your body and stand under the water until it turns cold. Your mind is full of noise, an annoying static, and you'd give anything to return to that dreamy oasis. You want to call it off, tell Lola to go home, and see her another day. The adrenaline has worn off, and you want to fall into your bed and sleep until next week, when all of this will be over, and you can leave this place for good. You haven’t known peace since you got that call, and you crave it so much it’s cemented in your bones.

Turning off the shower, you grab a towel while refusing to look at the mirror again. You know what state you’re in, and you don’t give a damn about fixing it. You dry yourself from head to toe and throw on the most comfortable clothes you have, sweats, and an old Spice Girls t-shirt. You’re on a mission to reclaim your life, your peace, and you swing the door open to say exactly that.

“AUNTIE BLUE!!”

Two little girls sprint down the hall and tackle you on both sides, making you falter back into your room. Lola’s twins, Amethyst and Ruby, hug you tightly, and you can’t help but lean down and pull them close, your eyes prickling with tears. You have met the twins before when Lola came to visit you in New York a few times, and when she was pregnant, she asked you to be their godmother. You love them like an aunt would their niece, and you would never want to hurt them in any way. A deep shame floods your body at the thought of sending Lola home without regard for them. Their happy smiles and excited looks seep a light into your black heart, and you are grateful.

“Why are you crying?” Amethyst asks, pulling away slowly. “Did I do something wrong?”

You shake your head, the weight of shame deepening in your chest. “Oh no,” you assure her, brushing her little curls back with a gentle smile. “I had a really long day, but I am so happy to see you two.”

You gaze at Ruby, who studies you carefully, a slow smile spreading on her face. Out of the two, Amethyst is the outgoing twin with Lola’s spunk, whereas Ruby is quieter and more observant with Vernon’s eyes. You can see it now, how she looks you over without much to say.

“Don’t tell me they got all the hugs.”

You know that voice from anywhere, glancing slowly at Vernon, who is standing in the doorway with three boxes of pizza and wings. You, Vernon, and Lola were a trio growing up—nothing could separate you all, even when Lola and Vernon started dating. Vernon is your best friend, too, in a way, though you don’t talk to him as much as Lola. But your relationship is the type where you don’t have to talk all the time. What you all went through, all those years ago, created a bond that could never be broken.

Releasing the twins from your grasp, you walk over to help Vernon with the boxes. Despite his dark brown hair being cut into one of those modern mullets, he still looks the same, even down to his signature boots and jean jacket. He’s always been lean, tall, and has a face that should be in magazines, not slumming it out here on the Southside. But that was never his style; he’s always viewed Carats Ridge as his home, and with a successful bar, Shadow, that has been passed down through generations in his family, he never plans on leaving. He reminds you of Daddy, in a way.

“Hi Vern,” you greet him with a hug. “I dig the cut.”

“Yeah?” Vernon responds with a slight smirk. “Tell Lola Bunny over there that. She hates it.”

You glance at Lola, who rolls her eyes playfully, and an unexpected giggle erupts out of you, taking you by surprise. Slapping your hand over your mouth, you’re filled with uncontrollable laughter, tears in your eyes over such a silly joke. This has always been the dynamic among the three of you. It reminds you of the times when the three of you would come here and hang out with Daddy, eating pizzas, watching The Simpsons reruns, or playing games. The nostalgia is strong and fleeting, making you feel lighter than you have in days.

“Are you okay?” Vernon asks, exchanging a nervous glance with Lola. You sniffle, trying to hold it together from the laughter, the irony of it all. The kids have gone into the backyard, the screen door swinging shut with a slam.

“I’m not okay at all,” you chortle, the shaky breath of laughter dying in your throat. “I’m completely fucked up.”

Saying it out loud shatters you. The pain cracks your composure, and you shatter, crying from the depths of your soul. Vernon pulls you into a hug, letting you sob loudly into his shirt. You are feeling everything, everywhere, and all at once. Through the haze, you hear him tell Lola to check on the girls as he hugs you tighter, holding you together while your chest caves in.

“Let it all out, Blue,” Vernon says gently. “I got you.”

The truth is, no one prepares you for losing a parent so majestically, and how it flips your world upside down. They don’t warn you about how grief is an ugly parasite that eats at you painfully until you’re empty. They don’t tell you that the misery will crush you until you can’t breathe and your world turns black. Your candle, your guiding light, is snuffed out. How do you get that back?

Ten Summers Ago

“Vern! Pass me that spliff, will ya?”

It was after midnight, and you were lying in the back of Vernon’s truck with him and Lola, looking at the stars that decorate the sky. It was supposed to be a shower of shooting stars tonight, and you wanted to see this once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon. It was seventy degrees, and the breeze was just right as you’re sitting on the other side of Sinbrook Forest, in front of the field. Taking the joint from Vernon’s hands, you inhaled until your throat burned something fierce, coughing heavily while the others laughed.

“Careful there, Blue. I don’t want your dad stringing me up a pole.”

You lolled up, throwing a look at Vernon while handing the spliff to Lola. “I’m fine,” you breathed. “It just went down the wrong pipe.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Vernon teased, falling into a peal of laughter.

You reached over to pinch him when you heard a crunch of leaves, stopping you dead in your tracks. Lola and Vernon sat up suddenly, turning off the music on the speaker and grabbing a flashlight. Your heart raced as you tried to see through the dark, squinting your eyes at the figure moving down the field. Vernon tapped the flashlight hard on his leg, the light flickering a few times before finally illuminating the darkness. You noticed the familiar faded jean jacket first, the tension in your body leaving you slowly as you recognized the person in front of you.

“Jihoon?”

He stopped, looking in your direction as he covered his eyes from the light. You called his name again, and before you knew it, you were hopping out of the bed of the truck and walking towards him. You were going to the music store a lot more often, but not just to buy music or DVDs. Sometimes you just came by to hang out, listened to undiscovered vinyls with Jihoon, and talked about what you like about each record. You quickly realized Jihoon wasn’t as stuck-up as everyone else on the Northside, and you started to become friends. His mother was sometimes there and gave you a stink eye, but it’s nothing you aren't used to. You still felt the shock in the center of your palm from the first day you met. The feeling is ingrained in you now, and it’s hard to ignore.

You finally reached him, with the light of your phone in your hand, wading through the knee-length grass as it shifts with the wind. “Hey there,” you greeted him. “‘Didn’t know you liked stargazing.”

“I didn’t know you were into stars either,” Jihoon quipped, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Smells like you are having a get-together.”

You felt the heat creep onto your neck, painfully aware of his reference to the smell of weed on your clothes. “Yeah, well, what’s a party without party favors, you know?”

You turned back to Lola and Vernon, who had the flashlight adjusted enough to illuminate the truck. They were locked into an intense make-out session, and you grimaced, knowing better than to interrupt that.

“Well, I guess I’ll be watching the stars with you then,” you decided, turning your focus back to Jihoon. “That’s not a problem, right?”

Jihoon was taken aback, but he recovered quickly. “Do you usually invite yourself to other people’s activities?”

A giggle bubbled through your throat, amused by his question. “No,” you answered honestly. “But I usually make them more fun.”

Walking towards the middle of the field, you helped Jihoon unfold the blanket he was holding and lay it flat on the grass. The sky has somehow gotten brighter, a milky blue never seen before in this town. You marvel at it, your eyes twinkling like the stars above. It’s more beautiful than what you could describe in your journal.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” You murmured.

“Yeah. It is.”

You glanced at Jihoon, only to find his gaze had shifted from the sky to you. When your eyes lock, a warm tide rushes through you, making your stomach flutter with the sensation of flying. This isn’t the first time you have felt this, being around him, but here under the night sky, it’s overwhelmingly prominent.

“Do you come here often?” You posed, drawing a circle on the blanket. “I come here a lot, and I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

Jihoon shakes his head, folding his legs and resting his hands on his knees. “No,” he responded. “I usually go down to the lake, but I didn’t feel like being by the water tonight.”

Sugarmore Lake is the only lake in Carats Ridge that runs north to south through the town. It’s the unofficial ‘Switzerland ‘ of the town, where everyone managed to get along and enjoy the lake. Not that a fight or two hasn’t broken out once or twice there, but it’s an unspoken rule that everyone leaves their bad vibes at the entrance.

“I see.” You nodded, leaning back on your elbows. “I don’t go there much, and the last time I went I was fishing with my dad.”

Silence fell between you for a moment, the only sound heard coming from the grass blades moved by the slow breeze. It was comfortable to sit next to Jihoon in a different environment. “Well,” Jihoon muttered. “Maybe you should come with me sometime.”

Your eyes danced at him, curiously, a slow smile spreading on your face. “Are you asking me on a date, Jihoon?”

His laugh tickled your chest, and you couldn’t help but join in. What a silly thing to assume. But then he slowed, and he looked at you seriously, his eyes softening under the low light.

“What if I was?” Jihoon said slowly, looking nervous. “Would it be a bad thing?”

You looked at him with regard, realizing he is serious. You’ve never been asked out on a date before. You’ve been on one or two and have experiences, sure. But no one has formally asked you, at least not in this way. The truth is, you like Jihoon. You liked seeing him at the music store and listening to 60s rock. You liked arguing with him about why disco is overly hated or how 90s grunge is one of the best genres of all time. You loved sitting in the chair while Jihoon strummed his guitar, humming a song he'd come up with the night before. You enjoyed his company. You enjoyed him.

“I don’t think it would be a bad thing at all,” you whispered.

Jihoon smiled at you warmly, his hand shifting towards yours as it brushes against your thumb. A familiar zap is felt between you two, and you throw him a look, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Here you go, shocking me again,” you teased him.

“Oh, please, it’s from the blanket and the stars aligning—”

“Oh, you’re an astronomer now, Jihoon?” you quipped. “Please, tell me more.”

“Well, obviously not, but—”

“—What are you two yapping about?”

Vernon and Lola appeared on your right, holding a blanket and what’s left of the weed. He stumbled before he fell, reaching over you and handing it to Jihoon, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Come on, Lee, take a puff,” Vernon goaded him. “Join the fiesta under the stars.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to Jihoon. “You don’t have to—”

Your words died down in your throat, watching Jihoon take the small blunt and smoke it. Your mouth parted in shock, watching him inhale and exhale the smoke from his mouth expertly, forming a perfect ‘O.’

“Oh! He gets down!” Lola cheered, raising her fist in the air. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Jihoon chuckled, handing the blunt back to Vernon. “I’m not a square, you know. I know my way around a joint or two.”

“Touche,” Vernon responded, leaning back against the blanket. “My bad. I didn’t know the Northie had it in him.”

Gazing up at the sky, you saw the stars twinkle, brighter than you have ever seen. Then one shooting star came down, followed by two, and then a series. You gawked in awe, a tear streaming down your cheek as you watched the phenomenon happening in front of you. Who knows if you will ever see something so wondrous ever again?

Jihoon’s hand covered you, and instead of a spark, you felt a warmth that made your skin prickle. His skin is soft, you smell his cologne, and the magnetism in the air pulls you closer to him, almost touching shoulder to shoulder. You had so much to say, and it overloads your brain. It’s hard to contextualize anything else you feel other than one word: happy.

“So, the lake?” Jihoon asked, beholding the show in front of him.

Smiling softly, you answered him. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

Jihoon never thought he would see you again, and now you’ve taken over his every thought.

Ever since you stayed at his apartment, he has been replaying the memories you have together. Every corner of the music store reminds him of you, with headphones over your ears and bobbing your head to whatever album you haven’t listened to before. It’s been a few days since you’ve spoken, with you letting him know you made it home. He’s wanted to reach out, his fingers flicking to your contact in the moments where it’s quiet, but his thoughts get the best of him. It’s been so long—would you even want that?

Jihoon has seen your interviews here and there and heard the news about you from Vernon. It’s funny how he and Vernon became close when you left town, realizing they had a lot more in common than recreational weed. When Jihoon started teaching music at the community center on the Southside, Jihoon got to know your dad better. He never understood why his mother didn’t like him—he thought he was cool, a fierce leader, and a protector of the youth. He gave Jihoon words of encouragement when his father passed, and when his health started to decline, Jihoon offered to take him running errands if he needed it. Maybe, subconsciously, it was Jihoon’s way of staying close to you, through him.

The thunder rumbles outside, shaking the windows in his loft. Jihoon watches the lightning strike near Sinbrook Forest, the wind picking up, and trees thrashing around violently. Shaking his head and sighing softly, he picks up his worn guitar and strums a soft tune that echoes in the living room, a melancholic melody that has been stuck in his head for the past twenty-four hours.

I remember when I realized I had feelings for you

We were riding in my truck, driving down to the lake

With the windows down, sunlight turning gold on your face

I knew then what I was feeling was not a mistake

I miss you

It’s always been you.

You’ve been here two weeks, and time isn’t going fast enough.

You handled all the estate stuff for your father, retrieving the death certificate and signing the necessary paperwork to ensure the house was sold and everything else was in order. Vernon and the Zodiacs came to help you clean up the rest of the house, repair the childhood swing set in your backyard, and give the house a fresh coat of paint. Little by little, the pieces of your childhood are taken out, and you aren’t sure how to feel. Relieved? Sad? Numb? Your emotions are a clusterfuck, and that’s not even throwing Jihoon into the mix.

You are grateful for them—the Zodiacs, this community, for coming through for you in your time of need in the name of your father. Your relationship with the idea of being a Zodiac legacy is complicated, but you aren’t ashamed of where you came from or who your dad raised you to be.

“What’s on your mind, Blue?”

Vernon stands next to you, beer in hand, as he supervises the younger crew loading the last bit of furniture into a box truck. He takes a swig, the sweat dripping from his forehead and down his neck on this unusually warm day.

“Just watching the place I grew up change right before my eyes.” You let out a heavy sigh. You eye the glistening beer in his hand. “I see nothing’s changed. Is it noon yet?”

“It’s noon somewhere, Bluebird,” he responds, taking another gulp.

You shake your head, chuckling and folding your arms. One of the older gentlemen, nicknamed Pop, carries out buckets of paint from around the house. His boots squish in the wet grass, walking towards you and setting them down with a whistle.

“Everything is all painted up, Blue,” Pop announces. He turns his attention to Vernon. “It’s a little too early to be celebrating, don’t you think?

Your brows furrow in confusion, darting between Pop and Vernon. “Celebrating what? Is Lola pregnant again?”

“What?” Vernon’s eyes went wide, followed by a dry nervous laugh. “God no. Lola and I can barely handle the two that we have.” He suddenly goes quiet, looking down at his feet, almost ashamed. “The uh.. crowning ceremony is tonight.”

It takes a while to register what he means, but once it clicks, it’s like you’re hit with a heavy stone as you’re caught off guard. The crowning ceremony takes place when a new leader is appointed. It takes place at the Viper, and while the ceremony itself is short, it involves lots of booze and partying afterward to honor the new king of the Zodiacs. You know that your father couldn’t be the leader forever.

“So…” your voice shakes, trying to hold it together. “I take it you are going to be the new leader then?”

“Y-yeah,” Vernon mutters, kicking an imaginary stone from his foot.

When you finally glance at Vernon, the tears come down fierce and hot. You know you shouldn’t feel hurt, you understand this is the way of things, but it’s not his father who just died. It’s not Vernon’s home that is being sold and turned into something you don’t even recognize. Most importantly, it’s not his heart that is being trampled on a thousand times over.

“Blue, I—”

“Don’t worry about it, Vernon,” you sniffle, furiously wiping your wet eyes. “I’m happy for you, truly. I know you will lead the Zodiacs well.”

You walk away before he can respond, the harsh sunlight beaming on the top of your head. You’re seething with anger, a sense of betrayal stirring in your gut. Your father is barely settled six feet under, and he is already being replaced. It feels so fast, too soon. You can't wrap your mind around Daddy being replaced—just like that.

You walk without a clear destination in sight in an angry haze, just with a drive to get away from everyone and think. Cars whiz by you, passengers looking at you curiously, but you couldn't care less. Your head is humming with static, unable to get a coherent thought together that isn’t laced with profanities. Being mad as hell is an understatement.

Your stomach aches from the anger, but you push through as the sweat swims down your neck. You cross the train tracks that separate the north and the south, and your throat feels like sandpaper, begging for a drop of water to take you out of your misery. But you keep walking, face hot until you see the familiar sign that says “Lee’s Records Store”, red lights illuminated in front of the yellow and white building. It wasn’t your intention to come here, but your body feels more at ease as you come closer to it, the static in your head lessening as you think about listening to music and mellowing out.

Pulling the doors open, the cool air hits your face, and you exhale, feeling relieved. Your eyes scan the door, looking for Jihoon, but instead, you are met with the scornful eyes of Mrs. Lee, standing behind the counter.

“What are you doing here?!” She demands, the disdain clear in her voice.

“I was looking for Jihoon,” you respond, an eyebrow raised. “Is he around?”

“No, he’s not,” Mrs. Lee answers shortly.

You nod slowly, thumbing through the albums to your left. You pick up Nevermind by Nirvana, your thumb caressing the cover's plastic. The first time you listened to this album was here, with Jihoon, sitting on top of the counter. You will never forget the grittiness of Kurt Cobain’s voice blasted through the speakers, the guitar riffs that gave you life, and the drums that stayed in your head well into the rest of the day. It was one of your happiest moments.

“I think you should leave,” Mrs. Lee says suddenly, snapping you out of your reverie. You observe her waddling from the counter, walking towards you with determination. “You’re not welcome here.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, walking around her. “I’m sure Jihoon would disagree.”

A tug on your arm yanks you back, and a nail digs into your forearm. You glance at Mrs. Lee in shock as you quickly pull your arm away. “I told you to leave!” Mrs. Lee shouts, pointing at the door. “All of you Southside people are the same, coming over here, causing chaos, and not caring who gets hurt in the process.”

You stare at her incredulously, feeling wetness drip from your arm. Glancing down, you see the blood trailing down from her nails penetrate your skin. “Lady, what the fuck is your problem—”

Her face gets redder, the anger mounting with each second. "You’re just like him, you know—you come in and take away people’s joy and then leave. You don’t care about my boy and how much you hurt him. You were trash then, and I praised God every day when you left.”

You’re rooted in place, stunned into silence. A discomfort spreads in your stomach, and you refuse to accept what you're hearing. “When you say him, I know you aren’t talking about my father—”

“Yes. Him,” Mrs. Lee sneers. “He was shit then, and I suppose he’s being turned into shit now, six feet under—”

The slap echoed off the walls of the store, your hand stinging as if a wave of fire washed over your knuckles. A red imprint was visible on her face, her glasses askew and about to fall off. You heave, an anger surging through you like no other, your other finger pointing in her face.

“I don’t know what your deal is with me, or my father,” you breathe heavily. “But if you ever disrespect us again, I will snap your neck and throw you into the fucking lake.”

Her laugh bellows throughout the store, her smirk triumphant and all knowing, pissing you off more. "There she is," her voice laced with something sinister. "I knew the Southside trash were still in you, girl."

The front door rings open before you can respond, and there stands Jihoon, holding a large brown bag from the pharmacy. He scans both of you, the smile on his face disappearing quickly at the scene. Shaking your head, you walk around Mrs. Lee towards the door, the adrenaline you had earlier waning quickly as you take in everything that has occurred in the last day.

“What happened?” Jihoon asks, pulling you aside. “You’re bleeding.”

You beckon your head towards his mother, unwilling to look at her without seeing red. “She was disrespectful, and I reacted,” you say simply. “I will not tolerate her bullshit for my father or me anymore, whatever her imaginary beef is with us.”

Jihoon lets out a deep sigh, raking his fingers through your hair. “You’re bleeding. Can you please go upstairs to my place? I have Band-Aids there.”

You gaze into his eyes, your walls breaking down little by little. You are tired, frustrated, and in need of a hard drink. You also feel Jihoon’s sincerity, and you are tired of fighting—your day has been hard enough as it is.

Slipping out of his arm, you head towards the door, grabbing the nearest CD nearby.

“Fine. I’m taking this as my compensation for damages.”

Jihoon observes the state of the store and his mother, putting the pieces of what happened together. His mother’s face has a crimson handprint, her clothing is disheveled, and her glasses hang from her face. She rants and raves, her shrill voice echoing around the store. Snapping out of it, he quickly turns the sign on the door to “closed”, locking the doors with a swift click.

Walking over to her, he gently adjusts her glasses and slips them over her teary eyes.

“Oh, Jihoon,” she cries, letting her shoulders hang in defeat. “That woman is the devil. I don’t want you seeing her ever again!”

It hurts him to see his mother so crestfallen and upset. Jihoon does not appreciate his mother being hit, and a slow ember burns in his chest. His mother is a lot of things, but that's his mother. If it were anyone else, they would have been dealt with already.

But he also knows you, even if it’s been years, and you would have never laid a hand on her. What the hell happened?

He ushers her to the back office, sits her down, and digs through the top shelf, pulling out a first-aid kit. Retrieving a medical wrap, he takes a cold pack from the mini fridge he had stored in the small space, then wraps the cloth around the pack until it’s completely covered. Pressing it on her face, his mother let out a low hiss.

“I want to press charges,” she announces, leaning back into the office chair. “She had no right to hit me.”

Jihoon shakes his head, feeling tension in his right temple. “Mom, I saw the blood on her arm, and it doesn’t look like it came from you,” he discloses, sitting back. “I need you to tell me what happened.”

His mother shifts in her seat, gripping the ice pack in her hand. Her eyes shift nervously, taking a beat too long before she answers. “She comes in the store, looking for you, and I said you weren’t there,” she begins. “Then she starts raving at me, and I asked her to leave… then she slapped me.”

Jihoon nods slowly, searching his mother’s eyes for confirmation, anything that says the truth. Her eyes focus everywhere but him, and it sets an uneasy feeling in his chest he can’t ignore. “So she just slapped you for asking you to leave?”

“Yes.” She nods fervently. “That’s right. That girl is nuts! I don’t care how many books she writes.”

“What about the blood on her arm?” he probes, the imagery clear in his mind.

“It was already there when she came in.” She shrugs.

Her voice fades on as Jihoon zones out, lost in his turbulent thoughts. His mother has said worse things to you in the past, and you’ve never resorted to violence or even raised your voice. Why would you haul and hit her all of a sudden? It doesn’t smell right.

The small monitor that hosts the store's cameras shines under the fluorescent light. He stares until an idea dawns on him like a warm glow. Jihoon moves before he realizes what is happening, opening the work laptop and logging into the security systems. The recordings from the last hour come into view, his index finger thumbing over the mouse pad before clicking play.

“Jihoon? What are you doing?” his mother asks suddenly.

He doesn’t respond—he fast forwards until you arrive at the store. Jihoon watches intently, the audio at max volume as he listens to every word. His mind turns cold, and his chest constricts lightly, watching his mother dig her nails into your skin until it bled. He notices the shock and hurt on your face as you pull away, piecing the missing holes in his mother’s story. Jihoon glances at his mother, who looks ready to pop out of her seat.

“Jihoon—”

He raises his hand as he focuses on the screen, watching in horror.

“When you say him, I know you aren’t talking about my father—”

“He was shit then, and I suppose he’s being turned into shit now, six feet under—”

Jihoon jumps up as your hand connects with his mother’s face, watching her stumble back in shock as you give her a piece of your mind. Disappointment isn’t even the word to describe how he feels. He still doesn’t agree with his mother being slapped—but you were provoked, and that was conveniently left out of her story.

“Jihoon, I can explain—”

‘What is there to explain?” he snaps, pointing at the screen. “You lied to me and had me ready to go up there and defend your honor.” His chest rises and falls in his hurt as he paces back and forth. “How could you say that?”

Her mouth opens and shuts, at a loss for words. Jihoon has never raised his voice at her, let alone been angry. All his life, he has dropped everything to appease his mother, and it’s cost him great things—opportunities, relationships, and most importantly, you.

“God, Mom, you’re unbelievable,” Jihoon laments, shaking his head. “You are cruel, can’t you see that? You have been nothing but unkind to her ever since she started coming around. What has Blue done to you to make her hate her? Why can’t you get to know her? I’ve had it with this Northside vs. Southside bullshit.”

“Lee Jihoon!” His mother astonishes him. “Watch your language?”

Looking at her incredulously, he scoffs hard. “You just lied to me and made someone bleed, and you want to get on me about my fucking LANGUAGE?”

Jihoon’s cup is running over, and he can’t contain it. It’s more than just her treatment of Blue; it’s the infantilization of him and the refusal to allow him to be who he wants to be. It’s always been about what she wants, and what he thinks is best—never about his desires and his dreams.

“Jihoon, I’m sorry.”

He gazes at her slowly, the anger in his chest escalating to hurt. The walls feel like they are closing in, and there is only one thing on his mind—he needs to leave.

Shaking his head, he grabs his keys and his wallet.

“Lock up on your way out.”

You pace back and forth in Jihoon’s apartment, biting your nails as you revisit everything that has happened. The blood on your arm has dried, and you haven’t bothered to wipe it off. Mrs. Lee is a lot of things, and after that encounter, you wish her nothing but an economy middle seat straight to hell. You’ve always thought she was a grade A bitch for how she treated you back then, but you’ve always bit your tongue, not wanting to ruin your relationship with Jihoon, and to keep the peace. You’ve talked to your dad about it, of course, and he’s never had much to say, aside from “I see she hasn’t changed much” and “if she says anything out of line, you come get me.” She had said plenty of things then that were out of line, but you kept those details to yourself, partly afraid of what your dad would do.

But now you are done sparing her, especially after what she said about your father. Fuck her.

You hear the door open before you turn, watching Jihoon storm in with his face red and contorted with anger. Your breath stutters as his chest rises and falls, unsure how to handle this side of him. You’ve never seen him angry, much less at you.

“Jihoon, before you go on, let me explain—”

“No. Don’t,” Jihoon cuts in, raising his index finger in the air. “I have two things to say.”

A slow sting steeps closer to your heart as you stand there anxiously. “A-Alright,” you sputter. “Go on.”

“Don’t you ever put your hands on my mother again,” Jihoon states, his voice tight with conviction. “That is my mother. If it weren’t because it’s you, I would be handling this a lot differently.”

Your lips purse together, a small sliver of guilt puddling in your chest. All you can do is nod as Jihoon’s expression softens, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips.

“Second: I’m sorry,” Jihoon says, finally looking at you. “I saw what happened on the cameras. What my mother said was beyond disrespectful, and she shouldn’t have hurt you and provoked you like that.”

You slow blink, registering what he is saying. Your eyes well up, the tears falling before you can stop them. You turn quickly, avoiding his gaze as you sob in your hands. You are tired of holding on, trying to be strong for everyone, not to be seen as this broken woman who lost her dad. This town has brought you nothing but hell, and the sooner you can wrap up Daddy’s affairs, the sooner you can go back to your life.

Jihoon’s arms wrap around you, holding you tight as you sob. His fresh linen scent is strong but comforting, and slowly but surely, the tears stop. Turning you around, he gently wipes the tears from your face, studying you until he is done, his fingers tracing down to your mouth.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Jihoon murmurs. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You bite your lip nervously, unable to say anything else. Your head spins, you are exhausted, and you want nothing more than to lie down. You also want to be held, comforted, and to feel the warmth of someone who cares about you, without any hidden agenda.

“Thanks.” You sniffle, your voice raspy and shaky. “I’m not going to say I’m sorry for hitting your mom, but I understand where you are coming from.”

Jihoon nods, caressing your cheek. “I know. I wouldn’t want you to lie to me, anyway.”

A half smile creeps on your face, gazing into his eyes. Unexpected thunder rattles in the distance, startling you. Turning to the windows, the clear blue sky has been replaced by dark ivory clouds, with lightning striking in several places. Looking back at Jihoon, you step out of his embrace, scratching your arm that still has dried blood on it.

“I should probably go back to the house,” you announce, clearing your throat. “It looks like a bad storm is coming.”

“Blue, don’t be silly,” Jihoon says, shaking his head with a slight frown. “You’re staying here.”

“What?” You jerk your head back. “No, I can make it back—”

“God damn Blue, quit being so stubborn,” Jihoon snaps, running a rough hand through his hair. “It’s too dangerous out there, and I would be sick if you had to walk home in that.” Taking a deep breath, he presses his palms together in a gesture of desperate plea.

“Please, just stay the night. “

You mull over this proposition, gazing into his eyes for any reason to say no. You’re a stubborn bull, you know that, and you know you can make it home, in rain, heat, or snow. But as the thunder booms again, shaking the windows, you let out a heavy sigh, realizing you will not win this round.

“Fine. I’ll stay.”

Jihoon’s eyes light up like a beacon in the sea, and you involuntarily smile in return. Unfortunately, your walls are too beaten down to mask how you feel.

“Are you hungry?”

Your eyes shift nervously, acknowledging the ache in your stomach from the lack of food you have had all day. Adrenaline has kept you full, but you realize you should have had more than just a coffee at Jolibee’s.

“Yeah,” you respond, biting your lip. “I could eat something.”

Jihoon nods, heading into the kitchen. He rummages through his fridge, pulling out different deli meats, cheeses, and a hoagie roll.

“You still like Italian subs, right?” Jihoon asks, glancing at you.

You smile softly, your body relaxing as you watch him assemble your favorite sandwich. “Yeah, I do.”

The rain beats on the window, heavy, angry pellets dropping outside. The light flickers momentarily, stopping Jihoon in his tracks. Glancing at each other nervously, you step closer to the window and look at the damage outside. There wasn’t any mention of a major storm tonight; just light rain that was only supposed to last for an hour. The storm rages outside, tree limbs flying through the air and people scurrying into buildings to stay dry. The thunder booms again, followed by a lightning strike that hits the building's fuse box, shutting the power off completely.

‘Well, there goes that,” Jihoon says, followed by a clap of his hands. “I have some flashlights in here that can help us out.”

Turning on the light on his phone, he walks towards the closet by the front door, shuffling through a box until he pulls out two black flashlights. He places one in your hands, your fingers brushing against each other, creating a spark that makes you both jump back. The first time was a coincidence, the second time is suspicious, but this is the third time—and this has never happened with anyone else.

“I see you still have your powers, Electro,” you tease him, rubbing your hand on your shirt.

“You’re still fixated on that,” Jihoon dismissively says, jokingly rolling his eyes. “Maybe it’s you who’s shocking me. Have you considered that?”

 “I doubt it,” you reply, blowing a raspberry. “Why does this only happen with you? Riddle me that.”

Jihoon doesn’t respond. He instead taps his flashlight until it turns on, teasingly shining it in your face.

“Hey, you jerk,” you laugh. “I can’t see.” 

You raise your hand over your eyes from the light, reaching out to him with the other, and move to grab the flashlight from his hand. You miss and grab his wrist by mistake, pulling him close to you. Jihoon finally lowers the light; the luminance bounces off the wooden floors and illuminates the living room. The smiles on your faces slowly disappear, the storm rolling on in the background like an ambiance.

“Sit with me?” you ask softly, pointing towards the futon.

“Yeah, let me put the food up,” he murmurs, retreating to the kitchen.

Plopping on the futon, you close your eyes, recalling the day’s events in your mind. Mrs. Lee, Vernon, the crowning ceremony—all of this alone would give anyone a major headache. You pinch the space between your eyebrows, rubbing it gently until the pain fades, the storm slowly fading in the background. A wet cloth suddenly brushes against your left arm, making you jolt.

“Relax,” Jihoon says softly. “I’m wiping the blood off your arm.”

Your body relaxes as your breathing slows, and you lean back against the futon. “Thank you.”

He mumbles something inaudible, adjusting the flashlight on his lap to look at your arm and removing every stain of crimson until it’s gone. He takes the band-aid he had placed between his fingers and tears the thin paper off, placing it carefully where you were wounded. Jihoon’s thumb presses against it softly, making you wince.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

“It’s fine,” you whisper.

Glancing at him, you inch closer, as if something is pulling you together at all costs. The air is thick, your heart and your mind on the same page for once, begging and wanting what’s been in the back of your mind for ten summers now. His hand places over yours, familiar and warm, just as you remembered it.

“Do you think, if what happened didn’t happen all those years ago, you would have stayed?”

You think about the question carefully, searching in your heart for the truth. Smiling softly, you gaze at him again, tightening your hand in his. “Maybe?” you answer, your voice shaking. “Or maybe you could have come with me, and we would have had different lives.”

You lay your head on his shoulder, intertwining your fingers with his. You feel comfortable and safe with Jihoon, and for the first time in a long time, at peace.

Ten Summers Ago

Your father was accused of murder.

Mayor Peppersnitch was found dead in a tub full of water and blood, and it wasn’t an accident. The mayor’s mansion was riddled with broken glass and bullet holes, a gnarly crime scene that shook the quiet, shady town. The FBI swarmed every corner of this town, infiltrating your fave hideouts and monitoring the hallways in your schools as if the killer was going to show up at the school the next day. It was madness for those couple of weeks, and it escalated further when your dad was carted out of your house in handcuffs, shoved in the back of the police car, and taken somewhere hours away. You didn’t understand it; you and your father were home, and you told them that. Why is all of a sudden the number one suspect?

Apparently, someone had a tip that they saw your father and his motorcycle leaving the mansion in the dead of night, though there was no proof. You had to find a lawyer who was willing to take your case, and if it weren’t for a camera from a neighbor’s house that showed your dad was home at the time of the murder, he would have been thrown in prison for life. That month he was gone was hell, and everyone who wasn’t a Zodiac or Jihoon treated you like some pariah, as if you were wrong for defending your father. You weren’t welcome anywhere on the Northside, and people made an effort to cross the other street if you were coming. You felt lonely, abandoned, and most importantly, hurt.

The worst part about all of this? The day he was taken away, you just found out you were waitlist accepted into NYU.

“I’m not going to go to New York.”

You stood in front of your father with your head held high, absolute in your decision. He just came home the day before, the bruises on his wrists still rough from the handcuffs the feds shackled onto him. He sat up on the couch, giving you his undivided attention.

“You just came back home, and I don’t think it’s the best time for me to leave,” you continued. “I will get a job and help around the house. Maybe I will go to junior college in Shiningdale—”

“No.” Your father rose from the couch, all six foot four of him towering over you. “You are not going to miss out on this opportunity because of me.”

“But Daddy—”

“NO!” The bass in your father’s voice deepened, sending a chill down your spine. “You will go to New York, attend that university, and make something of yourself. I didn’t raise you alone for fourteen years just for you to throw your life away.” Taking a deep breath, he motioned for you to sit on the couch. You sauntered over, and he ambled, pulling you into a hug and holding you close. You could smell the husky smell of his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke. It made your nose tingle.

“You have a gift with your pen, Blue.” Your dad’s voice was softer, hitting you hard and soft in your heart. “You have a way with words that I could never even think of. Just like your mother.”

You glanced at him, the mention of your mother making your breath stutter. He rarely talked about her, and you don’t remember her much, aside from her laughter, which you sometimes hear in your dreams. You were three when she died from cancer, but she has always had your dad’s heart.

“Mom used to write?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“Absolutely,” your father confirmed with a smile. “She used to write me poems all the time.”

He got up suddenly, went into his room, and shuffled around, rummaging through papers and boxes. He returned with several notebooks, each with different hand-drawn blue flower decorations. “I kept her poems, thinking one day you would want to have them,” he explained. “I… still read them from time to time.”

“Daddy, no..." You smiled, leaning into his warmth, taking a notebook as you bite your lip. "I can’t just take this. It feels wrong.”

“Kid, you gotta quit worrying about your ol’ man,” he gruffed, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Your mother would want you to have them… and I want you to take them with you to New York.”

You studied him carefully, understanding that there was no changing his mind. Taking the rest of the notebooks, you cradled them to your heart, feeling a little closer to your mom.

“I’ll take good care of these, Daddy.”

Jihoon is stirred awake by the flash of electricity that turns on the apartment lights and by a loud beep from the microwave. Rubbing his eyes, he feels around for his glasses, patting around softly while you lie on his chest, still asleep. He finds them lying with a grasp underneath the futon, sliding them smoothly on his face. He lifts you gently as he gets up, laying you back comfortably on the futon as he stretches. You hardly stir; your face is relaxed, asleep, and somehow more beautiful than he remembered.

You didn’t talk much more during the storm. Jihoon held you close while it went on, and eventually you fell asleep. He could have slept in his bed, but he wanted to hold you just a little bit longer. He never thought he would have this chance to do it again; to know this grown-up, famous person you’ve become. He wasn’t as angry with you for hurting his mother anymore. The more he thought about it, the more he understood why you reacted the way you did. It opened his eyes to his mother’s behavior, and he knows down the line, decisions will have to be made.

Jihoon starts cleaning the apartment, meticulously wiping the counters and returning everything to what it was before he left. He likes order, putting things back where they belong, and making sense of what is out of place and why. It’s the way he goes through life, as he feels there is a reason for everything, even if the answer isn’t found yet. It’s what keeps him going, he supposes.

“Hey.”

The soft, groggy voice made him pause. He glances in your direction, setting the towel on the counter. “Hey,” he breathes. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

You shook your head, sitting up slowly and smiling sheepishly. “No,” you confirm, your voice still thick with sleep. “The microwave was loud; I just lay there for a bit.”

Jihoon's laugh is light, chuckling at the irony. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It woke me up, too.”

Your hand covers your mouth as you stifle a yawn, your free arm stretching as you rise slowly from the futon. Your hair is disheveled, you have sleep in your eyes, and Jihoon thinks you’re the prettiest woman he has ever seen. He stares longer than he should, watching you adjust your shirt and scroll through your phone. You shake your head with a groan, shoving it in your pocket.

“Do you want some tea?” Jihoon asks, leaning casually against the counter, trying to keep his gaze from lingering. “I have a few things here.”

You don’t answer right away; you stare at the floor, lost in thought. “Blue?” he calls out softly, unfolding his arms. “Are you okay?”

Slowly snapping back into focus, your gaze lifts to meet his. You offer him a small smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Oh. Yeah.” You nod. “Tea is good.”

Jihoon mouths ‘okay’ and pulls out a teapot he got from the Wen Thrift Store down the road. The family that runs it has a son named Junhui who is about the same age as him. Junhui travels a lot, sends things from time to time that they could sell at the shop, and that’s how he came across this antique teapot. He uses it almost every day, preferring to wake up to tea rather than coffee. He prefers to drink more natural, herbal drinks, and having a tea does his body good.

Jihoon pours water into the pot and sets it on the stove to boil. “I have a lemon zinger tea. Is that cool?”

“Mhm,” you hum, eyes focused on your phone again. “Whatever you have is fine.”

Jihoon busies himself with making your tea, trying not to focus on your sad and sleepy eyes. He tries not to think about how comfortable you were lying on his chest, how nice it was to hear you deeply breathe on him, not crying, hurt, or in a rage. He avoids noticing the moments stretch whenever he is with you, and how your hair still smells like vanilla and cream.

Jihoon hasn’t had many regrets over the years, but not fighting harder to keep in touch with you, to resume what you had that summer, has been one of the biggest regrets of his life. The dull ache of missing you that he thought he could put away and move on from has stuck with him ever since.

Sneaking a glance at you, he notices your sour disposition, sulking with your phone clutched in your hand tightly, “What’s wrong?” He probes, wiping his hands with a kitchen towel.

Your mouth opens and shuts, words failing to come out. You shake your head in disbelief, rising from the couch and handing him the phone instead. “I’m sure you knew about the ceremony that happened tonight?”

Jihoon looks confused, looking at what’s displayed on the screen. It’s Vernon being raised in the air, holding beers in both hands, with a caption that says “our new leader”. Jihoon watches your body shift uncomfortably, a slow fire starting in your eyes.

“I don’t know what this is,” Jihoon states, handing her back the phone. “What is that?”

“It’s a ceremony that announces the leader of the Zodiacs,” you explain, folding your arms across your chest. “Vern was made the leader.”

“Oh,” he responds, brows furrowing as he understands the situation. “Isn’t that a little early? Your dad just died.”

Your eyes widen, lighting up significantly as you look relieved. “See! You get it!” you exclaim. “I was so mad when Vernon told me (which he didn’t tell me until Pop mentioned it to him in front of me), and I just started walking until I saw something familiar.”

Your shoulders relax as you lean against the counter in thought. “That’s how I ended up downstairs,” you explain, with a softer tone. “I thought maybe I was crazy for feeling hurt by it. I know they have to choose a leader eventually, but Daddy is barely six feet in the ground.”

You blink furiously as you try to hold back tears, wiping your eyes furiously. “Did anyone give a fuck about my father?” You break out in a sob, covering your face with your hands as you start to cry. Jihoon immediately pulls you to him, rubbing your back as you cry into his shirt. He knows all of this too well. When he lost his father, he was sad and missed him, but Jihoon had time to process that he didn’t have long to live and make peace with that. You didn’t, and everything is being thrust onto you with no remorse. And now the world is moving on while you’re stuck in the same place. He knows how that feels.

Jihoon pulls back slightly, lifting your face and wiping your tears away. He notices the way your chin trembles and the light is gone from your eyes, replaced with a hurt that cuts deep. He wishes he could take your pain away, put it in a jar, and throw it in the ocean, never to be seen again.

“Look at me,” he whispers, catching droplets from the corner of your eyes. “I know everything feels shitty right now, and you take all the time you need to heal. But I have your back, okay? I always have. Whatever you need.”

You nod fervently, your breathing slowing as you start to relax. Jihoon makes the mistake of gazing into your eyes, seeing the woman he’s longed for a decade, standing in front of him with a history that can’t top anyone else that he’s connected with. His thumb brushes against your lip by mistake, wet from tears. You nod slowly, as if you read his mind, and you feel the same thing he does, inching closer until your noses barely touch. Smiling gently, you brush his hair back, regarding him with a look of adoration.

“Why are you so nice to me?” You murmur, locking your eyes with his. “You have very well have told me to fuck off, but you still stick around.”

Jihoon studies you for a moment, weighing the scales in his mind. He wants to be honest with you and tell you how he feels, but he also knows you’re vulnerable, and he doesn’t want to take advantage of that. Gazing in your eyes makes him want to forgo his inhibitions and tell you what’s in his heart and mind. Taking a step back, he looks at his floor conflicted.

“Jihoon.” You breathe his name in a way that invokes something wild in his spirit. “What is it?”

He shakes his head, looking past you at the brick wall. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“What’s fine?” You question him, reclaiming space in front of him. “You aren’t being very clear.”

Jihoon’s feet are planted to the floor, unable to move. He’s acutely aware of how close you are to him, and he fights every nerve in his body to reach out to you. But you touch him instead, lifting his chin to meet the same, warm face that he fell in love with.

“Tell me,” you plead with earnest eyes.

Jihoon exhales lightly, anxiety eating at him from the inside. “I have to say something, and I don’t want you to freak out,” he reveals, his heart beating wildly as he gauges your reaction. Your brows knit in confusion, but you nod slowly, giving him the space to say what’s on his mind. “You’ve been on my mind a lot, even when I tried to forget you. You’re everywhere I go, and not just because you are a big-time author now. I know this is a shitty time to say this, and I’m sorry. But you are hard to forget and to get over, Blue.”

Your expression is calm, as if you’re processing what he’s said, and it makes his stomach drop. Did he say the wrong thing? Did he say too much? It stays quiet a beat too long, and he shifts nervously, shoving his hands in his sweats.

“Is that how you feel?” You ask gently. “Did you mean all that?”

“Yes. I miss you.”

Before he can blink, you kiss him.

It’s needy, titillating, and fills his veins with a high he has been chasing since that summer. His hands cup your face, embracing your soft lips against his, and walking you back until your back hits the fridge. Everything disappears, fading in the background as he deepens the kiss, elated that he might have his girl back. Your hands run through his hair, tugging it softly and moaning in his mouth. He has not experienced this side of you before, so sensual and in control of yourself, but he is willing to learn all of it for you.

“I need you,” you murmur, your eyes snapped shut as you pull on his shirt. “I need you, Jihoon, please.”

He pauses, holding your gaze and needing direct confirmation. “Are you sure? We don’t have to do this.”

A smile tugs at your lips before kissing him again, slipping your tongue into his mouth, and grabbing the back of his neck. “It’s what I want.”

Smirking against your lips, his kisses travel to your neck, sucking on the soft skin that he’s being given the honor to touch.

“Whatever you need, Baby.”

You moan earnestly in his ear, stuck in the trance set by Jihoon. He never imagined he would ever see you again, let alone touch you, kiss you, and profess his feelings to you. See, Jihoon is not an emotional guy and doesn’t say more than he needs to, and that’s always been fine by him. The less you know, the better. But you make his heart want to burst out of his chest. You make him want to feel love and not be afraid of it. You make him feel alive. You make him whole.

Jihoon’s lips return to yours, desperate and commanding, kissing you with everything he has. Every moan from you drives him closer to the edge, and he craves you more. With a quiet, searching look, he waits for your nod of approval before his hands move to the buttons of your jeans, sliding them slowly down your legs. Throwing them out of view and not caring where they land, his breath catches at the sight of your legs, completely enamored.

“What are you doing?” You ask softly, biting your bottom lip.

A slow smirk flirts on his mouth as his fingers travel up your thigh, moving dangerously close to your clothed center. Your breath hitches as he leans in closer, delicately pulling your panties to the side. Your pussy is dripping already, your sweet essence barely staying contained. His mouth waters at the thought of your taste, his tongue begging to lap in between your folds.

“Please, Jihoon,” you whine, massaging the back of his hand. “I want this.”

Jihoon doesn’t hesitate; he dives in, moaning with gratification as he tastes your sweet, warm cunt. You taste better than heaven, a delicacy that he could never get enough of. He pauses briefly to take off your panties and discard them. He wants to see the full picture, this slice of heaven in between your legs. Taking a long swipe in between your folds, you let out a mewling moan, much to his satisfaction.

“Y-yes,” you purr with heavy eyelids and a smile. “God, yes.”

He growls in between your legs, sucking and eating you salaciously with a fervent hunger he can’t contain. His cock hardens in his pants, begging to be touched. He lifts, roughly shoving down his sweats and springing it free, and rubbing his shaft with his free hand. His face is smothered in your cunt with your juices dripping down his chin, and your sweet moans are a melody from his own doing. Jihoon never wants this to end.

“J-Jihoon. Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

Teasingly, he nods with his lips wrapped around your clit, smirking as your eyes flutter to the back of your head. Jolts of pleasure shoot through his cock as he gradually picks up his own pace, his hand tightly wrapped around his girth. He continues to chase his high feverishly and yours, slipping his tongue into your hole. You gasp, shuddering at the sudden switch-up. Your hips slowly wind to his rhythm, your moans echoing louder in a crescendo, whimpering incoherent sayings over and over.

“I got you,” he grunts, lost in his own pleasure. "You can trust me.”

You come undone on his tongue, gripping his hair tightly as you give him everything he wants and more. You are a sight to behold, your toes curling as he works you through your intense high while also chasing his own release. Jihoon is in a haze of lust, vigorously jerking himself off to your wet pussy lips, tipping over the edge.

“Oh, fuck,” he cries out, his orgasm gushing out of him and spilling over his hand. His gaze locks in with yours, continuing to stroke himself until he is spent, his load freely landing on the floor. Resting his head on your leg, his chest heaves as he comes out of the bliss, leaving soft kisses along your calf. The sensation makes you giggle, then you let out a deep exhale.

“Wow,” you say with a dazed look. “I don’t think I have experienced that before.”

Jihoon looks at you slowly, with curiosity. “You’ve never orgasmed before?”

You shook your head, your eyes shifting nervously. “Not like that.”

The teapot whistles loudly, startling you and making Jihoon jump up, forgetting all about it. The steam blows angrily out of the hole, indicating the water is ready to be served with the tea. Quickly turning off the stove, he grabs the cleaner and paper towels, wiping the mess that he made on the floor until it is gone. He notices you watching him with an expression he can’t make out.

“Are you okay?” he asks, glancing at you as he pulls up his sweats. You don’t answer right away, and the silence stretches on that gives him pause. Setting the teapot off the hot stove, he saunters over to you, caressing your forearm. “Blue, are you with me?”

He can tell you’re lost in your own thoughts, his heart racing as he hopes they are happy ones, and of him. Your eyes fix on him, a slow, relaxed smile on your face. He slowly releases the breath he was holding, feeling more at ease. “Yeah,” you finally respond. “I’m with you.”

“Okay,” he nods, feeling more at ease. “I’ll make your tea.”

Your eyes scan the room, undoubtedly looking for your panties and your pants, thrown on the opposite ends of the apartment. Jihoon busies himself making your tea, adding the herbs, and letting it sit in the hot water. Hearing you say that no one has ever made you orgasm in that way does something to him. He’s not a prideful guy, but he will not lie and say he didn’t like the sound of that. Jihoon hasn’t been with many partners, and he has experience, but he hasn’t made love to them the way he did with you.

You’ve officially made him a pussy-drunk fool in love.

Jihoon notices it’s too quiet and sneaks a glance at you as you slide your jeans back onto your body. He notices the way your hands press against your jeans as you rub your thighs. Your hair is messy, your eyes are glossy, and he finds you so fucking irresistible.

“What’s on your mind, Blue?” Jihoon probes, finishing preparing your cup. Walking over to you, he places it in your hands with a towel underneath. “It’s hot.”

You mouth thank you, taking a sip cautiously. Your brows furrow, observing the porcelain cup in your hand. Some of it drips down your chin, and before you could react, Jihoon is wiping it away with his thumb. “This is good,” you finally say, a small smile on your lips. “I’ll have to get this brand for my apartment.”

The air sucks out of him a little, a jarring reminder that you will be leaving here soon, and who knows if you will come back. He studies your face, noting how you close your eyes with each sip, as if you are going to place in your mind that brings you peace.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, softly nudging your knee.

You lock eyes with him, and your sleepy eyes fill him with an infectious warmth and a familiar adoration that is only for him. “For the first time since I’ve been back here, I can breathe.” You hesitate, setting the cup in your lap and locking your eyes with his. “Thank you for that.”

Jihoon feels the sincerity in your words, falling deeper into your orbit and this moment. “I’m glad I could do that for you.”

Ten Summers Ago

“So you’re leaving, huh?”

You were with Jihoon at the lake, throwing rocks along the dark waters as time passed by. The sun beamed on your heads in the mid-afternoon without a cloud in sight. It was your last day in Carats Ridge, and your car was packed to the brim, ready to go. Your last days were spent getting ready for your journey, tying up loose ends, and grabbing anything you could take with you. You spent time with Lola and Vernon with Jihoon in between, and your father threw you an unwanted going-away party at Shadow. You smiled through it, knowing that his intentions were in the right place, and he wanted to show off his only daughter going to college. He deserves the bragging rights, you think. He’s been through a lot after all.

“Yeah,” you confirmed, the word right in your throat as you throw another pebble. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

You glanced at Jihoon, acknowledging his glum expression and instantly regretting your flippancy. “I’m sorry, Jihoon. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes, you did,” he responded quietly, his gaze fixated on the water. “But I don’t hold it against you. This time hasn’t been exactly kind to you.”

It still didn’t stop you from feeling bad. You had feelings, real feelings, for Jihoon, and the last thing you wanted to do was hurt him. He made you feel seen, he understands you, and treats you like he loves you, not someone he tolerates. Your heart twisted at the thought of not seeing him every day or touching his skin or hearing his voice. Jihoon had single-handedly made you believe in love and in your right to good things. He’s changed your life.

You’ve played a lot of scenarios in your head, wondering if you could truly make a long-distance relationship work. Jihoon was attending college in the next town over, pursuing a bachelor's degree in music. He wanted to travel the world and make connections while he is studying, and he can’t do that here in Carats Ridge. His mother tried to make him stay home and work from the music store, but he insisted on leaving, saying he needed a “fresh start”. Jihoon said that if it weren’t for his father finding his acceptance letter in the mailbox, he wouldn’t have known he made it in.

Ultimately, your worlds are about to become far apart and distant, and you both agreed that this had to end.

A slight wind picked up, gently shaking the leaves in the tall trees. There is no one else at the lake for miles, almost too quiet for your liking. The birds that were hidden in the trees fly east, as if the wind had disturbed them from their rest. You gazed at Jihoonhrow as he threw more pebbles and successfully made them skip. Your thoughts were loud and chaotic; your heart pounding in your ears. You didn’t want to leave him, but you couldn’t stay here anymore—too many bad memories, too much hurt.

“Hey,” Jihoon’s deep voice brought you back to the present. He wipes his hands on his pants from the dirt, coming behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. You lean into him automatically as he presses a soft kiss on your shoulder. “We’ll still keep in touch. You will not get rid of me that easily.”

A chuckle bubbles in your throat, temporarily relieving the tension in your chest. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you tease him, keeping your voice light. “I bet you are going to miss me while I’m gone.”

Jihoon doesn’t respond right away, as if he is considering the weight of your words. “You have no idea.”

Turning to face him, you take his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers together. Your time together may have been short, but it’s changed you in the best way. It frustrates you that this didn’t happen years before, when you saw each other at school almost every other day and shared classes. Imagine how those years could have been different if you had this connection.

“You won’t forget me, right?” you whispered, resting your forehead on his.

“Of course not,” he responded, lifting your chin to meet your eyes. “Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know.” Your voice shook. “I mean, we’re going to be on different sides of the country, and who knows when we will see each other again, and I—”

“Blue, stop,” Jihoon interrupted, calm but firmly. “You act as if we are not going to keep in touch. I don’t care what happens from here on out: you are unforgettable. One of a kind, baby.”

You took in what he said, letting it seep deep until it penetrated your soul. You wanted to believe him, that you would keep talking and would keep what you have going until your paths cross again. But you were also realistic, and you came from a different life than he does. Eventually, he would’ve found someone his mother would like and who he’d love like no other. You’d be an afterthought, a blip in the history of Lee Jihoon.

Maybe it’s better to cut ties, for good.

“You know I love you, right?”

Nodding slowly, you bit your lip, looking down at the ground. “I know. I love you too.”

“Okay then,” he asserted, caressing your arm. “We will just focus on school, and everything will work out. We’ll still talk all the time.” Jihoon pulled out his phone and looked at the time. “Alright, I need to take you back home. I don’t want your Dad to skin me alive.”

You let out a chortle, imagining the thought of your dad going after Jihoon for making you late for your trip. Kissing your cheek, he led you away from the lake and down the rocky path back to his truck, holding your hand along the way. You were going to miss this, being in his company and just existing with him. To think you came to the music store looking for music and left with a life-altering connection and a love you never felt before. It was funny how life is like that.

The ride back to your house was silent, nothing but the wind in your hair and your arm outside the window. You weren’t afraid to admit you were happy to leave this place and see what New York has to offer, but not at the expense of losing this—losing him. He could say that you will keep in touch, but you know how these stories usually end.

Maybe it was for the best.

The morning sunlight blazes through the window, shining directly onto Jihoon’s face. In an effort to shield his face from the sun, he accidentally slaps his face, making him sit up quickly in reaction to the pain.

“Ah, fuck,” he groans.

Jihoon slept on the futon again with you, falling asleep shortly after you had your tea. There wasn’t much conversation after that, and he thinks, after everything, it’s what you needed. That was your first sexual experience together, and as intense as it was for him and as much as he enjoyed it, the dynamic has changed. Jihoon knows you’re going through a lot right now, and you’re leaving here soon, but he can’t help the way that he feels. He’s in love with you still, and what happened several hours ago intensified it. But where does that leave you and him?

Patting around on the futon, he instantly notices it’s lighter and colder than when he fell asleep, compared to you in his arms. Grabbing his glasses off the floor, he shoves them on his face, clearing his vision and leading to impending disappointment; you were gone.

Jihoon groggily rises from the futon, folding it upright from its bed position and folding the blanket. The bathroom door is askew, and he knew you were gone, as the apartment isn’t big enough to be anywhere else. A piece of paper flies from the blanket, swinging lightly until it lands near his foot. Curiously, he picks it up, turning it over and reading the cursive-written words:

I’m sorry.

Jihoon stares at the paper before letting out a harumph that itches his throat. Shaking his head, he shoves the note into his sweatpants as he is filled with the resolve to handle this in person. He will not let you run away from him that easily.

The same thing happened before when you left town. You promised to keep in touch, and you did for a while, but then his calls started going unanswered, and he was left on read. Jihoon was hurt about it, especially having to get updates from Vernon and Lola about your life and how you were doing. Eventually, he stopped asking and started to move on. He’s dated other people and had one serious partner, and he thought he was finally getting over it and could stomach seeing the color blue again.

But then you came out with your book, a story about you and him, and he was sucked back in. Jihoon ignored his feelings and kept them under the rubble in his heart and mind for so long, but soon you were everywhere, and he couldn’t escape you. Your book was on every shelf, and when the rumors of you dating a certain Buck Layton were swirling around, you were on every news station. When Jihoon came back to Carats Ridge to help his father, you were the talk of the town. Everyone was proud of you, which he found ironic. But unfortunately, you were stuck in his head.

Eventually, that relationship ended; they grew apart, and they left town shortly after. Around the same time, your father started coming into the music store, looking for tunes to play on the speakers at the community center. Naturally, they struck up a conversation, and somehow Jihoon found himself helping at the center, teaching guitar lessons to the kids there. Jihoon discovered that your dad was a cool guy who was liked by everyone, despite being from the Southside. Well, almost everyone. His mother didn’t like that he was friends with Vernon or went to the Southside as often as he did. “I don’t want any of that trash to rub off on you” were her exact words and then some. But he didn’t care—he felt for the first time in a long time that he belonged somewhere.

And it somehow made him closer to you.

Jihoon doesn’t know whether this is divine intervention or a clear sign from the Universe, but you’re back in his life after almost ten years. He wasn’t letting you go that easily.

With a renewed resolve surging through him, Jihoon makes quick work of straightening up his living room and kitchen before racing to get ready. He brushes his teeth as if he is running out of time, and showers until he feels clean and good enough for you. Through all of this, you are locked in his mind, and he can't help but wonder how the conversation will go and if you feel that electric shift, too. He figures you have to, right? Blue Valentine is clearly their story—you have to admit that at least.

Throwing on a white t-shirt and a pair of boot cut Levi’s, he slides on his favorite boots, brimming with excitement.

Knock! Knock!

Jihoon freezes, staring at the red mahogany colored door. He wasn’t expecting anyone over, and he didn’t over anything, but he is a man on a mission, and he will have to deal with it on his way out. Unless it’s you, and you have decided to come back.

Heart hammering and grabbing his keys, he swings the door open, hoping to see your face. Instead, he is met with mild disappointment that curdles in his chest like milk.

“Jihoon.”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, stepping out of the way to let her in. “Mother.”

She waddles inside like she owns the place, setting her bag down on the clear end table. She looks tired, bleak, as if she didn’t sleep at all. Jihoon is upset with her, sure, but he still wants her to be healthy above all else.

“I was about to leave,” Jihoon’s voice is flat. “So, unless this can’t wait, I have to go.”

“Jihoon, I…” Her voice falters, as if something is holding her back. “I think it’s time for you to know some things.”

Jihoon’s stomach drops, caught off guard by the sudden reveal. The air has left the room, replaced with a tension that slowly suffocates. Clutching the keys in his hands, he curses internally and shuts the door behind him. He bites the inside of his cheek, motioning for his mother to sit down on the futon. Taking a deep breath, he asks the fated question, “What do I need to know, mother?”

His mother’s fingers danced nervously in her lap, her eyes fixed on the ground and on everything but her son. “July 30, 1994. That’s when Raymond made his promise to me.”

Jihoon stares at her, the wheels spinning in his head. “Raymond?” Then it clicks. “Blue’s father?!”

She nods solemnly, finally looking at him with prickling eyes. “Yes, the very one.”

He stares at her incredulously as he tries to make sense of it. “What promise are you talking about, Mom?”

She stares into the void as if recounting memories, a faint smile on her lips. “He was the love of my love. My first love.”

“You… and Blue’s father?” Jihoon asks slowly.

She confirms with a nod, looking away in shame. Jihoon blinks profusely, shaking his head in bewilderment. He doesn’t know what to believe, whether his mother is even telling the truth. He knew she had a hatred for Southside people in general, and he assumed that the hate for your father was because of the adjacency, not because of a sour past.

“Back in those days, things were different,” his mother begins. “He was the star football player, and I was the cheerleader and president of the student body. We were great on paper, and I thought we were great together, too. He was my first boyfriend, and we understood each other better than anyone, especially both being from the Southside.”

Jihoon’s jaw goes slack, hit with another revelation that jumbles his thoughts even further. “YOU are from the Southside?”

His mother finally looks at him, affirming with sad eyes. “Yes.” Clearing her throat, she continues. “We were one of the few from there who were going to make it out of this town and make something of themselves. I was going to fashion school, and Raymond was going to go to MSU for football, make it big, and we would start our lives together. But some things happened at home with his old man, and he had to stay home, but he still encouraged me to go. We agreed that I would leave and pursue what I wanted, and then I would come back, and we would resume our lives together.”

His mother pauses for a moment, then rises from the futon and walks to the window. Jihoon is at a loss for words, processing everything that’s been said. “So what happened after that?” He frains softly.

“We wrote letters to each other here and there, and I thought he was the one. I wanted him to be the one. But when I came back home after graduating, I found out he didn’t feel the same way.” She sniffles, wiping a lone star from her right eye. “I expected everything to go back to what it was, but I found out he was with Camille, and turned out she was pregnant with their daughter.”

Jihoon stiffens, piecing everything together and finally making the connection. “Camille… Is that—”

“Yes,” his mother confirms shortly. “That’s her mother.”

He sits back slowly, his eyebrows raised at the revelation. Jihoon’s mind is going a million miles a minute, replaying every moment and everything his mother has said about the Southside and how she acted. At first, he’s numb, but slowly he fills with a cocktail of sadness and anger, appalled by this betrayal. This is worse than his mother being cruel to you for the hell of it—this was personal for her, and now personal for him. You didn’t deserve this.

“So,” Jihoon breathes, trying to keep his emotions in order. “All this crap you said about the Southside and how there were no good people there, were you speaking from experience?”

His mother whips around, wrinkles of surprise on her forehead. “Jihoon!”

“No, mom, let’s talk about it,” Jihoon retorts, raising his voice. “You told me all my life that the Southside people were nothing but thugs and degenerates, and you damn near had a heart attack if I even looked at someone from there. I am glad I never listened to you—I would have missed out on the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Surely you don’t mean that?!” His mother gasps. “Not over that tra—”

“I would watch very carefully what you say to me next,” Jihoon says firmly. The color drains from his mother’s face, and he couldn't care less. “You treated her like crap ever since she started coming around, all because you and her father had some old fling. Did you even love Dad at all? Or was he just a rebound to make yourself feel better—”

His mother marches over to him, slapping him across the face, leaving his left cheek stinging and his ears ringing. He stumbles, placing his hand on his cheek to soothe the pain. He wants to cry, but he’s too stunned to speak, gawking at the audacity of his mother.

“Don’t you ever, EVER, say I didn’t love your father,” she says through gritted teeth. “He knew what I was, and he loved me anyway. Your father is a godsend.” Her chest rises and falls in anger, her ears turning beet red. “Your father was better than me in so many ways, and I thank God he came into my life when he did. I did love your father, and that’s a cruel thing to say.”

Slowly regaining feeling on his face, he stares at the ground, his chest aches with an indescribable hurt that has changed the trajectory of their relationship. “Is it?” Jihoon says solemnly, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “You loved Dad but not enough to forgive Raymond and spew your prejudice bullshit, right?” He cannot stomach looking at her anymore, his insides churning the longer he stares. “I need you to leave.”

His mother’s eyes widen, taken aback by his request. “Jihoon, you have to forgive me. I am your mother.”

Mother. A six-letter word that would usually make him feel warm and appreciative of the one he was given. But instead, he’s filled with anger and a hurt that will take away if he lets it, and he is done letting her get away with her misgivings under the guise of knowing what’s best.

“You are my mother in name only,” Jihoon responds bitterly, enunciating each word. “I love you, and I will continue to care for you as the duty of your son, but that’s it.” He stomps towards the door, swinging it open with a force that rattles the papers on the dining room table. “Go.”

His mother hesitates for a moment before stalking towards the door, stopping in front of him with furrowed brows and a crestfallen expression. “I love you, Jihoon.” Kissing him quickly on the cheek, she rushes out of the apartment, waddling down the steps as fast as she could.

Jihoon exhales a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding, though no sign of relief came. You left him; his mother just dropped this bomb on him and hit him with all her might. He woke up today intending to get you back, to match the energy of the sunny skies outside his window. Instead, the day is crumbling, frustration looming over him like a heavy cloud.

Undeterred, he waits several minutes, allowing his mother time to exit the building; not eager for another blowout. Once he thinks the coast is clear, he bolts out of his place, hopping into his truck and revving the engine with a renewed focus.

I’m coming to you, Blue.

You know you’re a coward for leaving the way you did. It was necessary, though.

You let yourself slip for one night, feeling sad, grief, loneliness, and wanting to be touched and feel good, which led you to make some choices. You didn’t mean to lead Jihoon on, not that you’re saying you don’t feel the same way about him, and did not equally enjoy what you share. You loved every minute of it, and as you lay in his arms, with your back pressed against his chest, you wanted more. Even now, you crave him like a bad habit; the images of him in between your legs will undoubtedly be seared into your brain forever. But to be quite frank, you’re a hot fucking mess.

Jihoon deserves someone who has their head on straight and isn’t running on empty. He deserves someone open and willing to love him wholeheartedly and committedly. He deserves the sun, the earth, and every single shooting star in the sky. You love him enough to admit that if he accepts you for who you are right now, you will hurt him. You aren’t the same person he fell in love with back then. You know deep down, he will leave you, and that’s another heartbreak you aren’t willing to go through.

You approach your childhood home at the end of the street, standing tall, bright, and almost unrecognizable with the new coat of paint. You slow your pace before pausing to take in your old neighborhood for the first time since you’ve been here. The houses look mostly the same, and you are willing to bet you have the same neighbors. The air even smells the same, earthy, almost like pine. You hate the smell of pine now, after growing up with it for so many years—the last thing you want is to be reminded of here.

A red pickup truck pulls up to the driveway, with "Choi’s Movers" displayed in bold white font. Your stomach twists as you're not prepared for whoever is coming out of the truck—and it would be your luck that Lola and Vernon are both here.

“Hey, there, YN,” Vernon says sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You glare at him sharply, letting out a gritty scoff. "Really, Vernon? First name bases now?" Your eyes flick to his leather jacket, noticing a new patch that says ‘prez’. "Congratulations are in order," you remark dryly.

“Come on, Blue, you aren’t being fair,” Lola cuts in, now standing in front of Vernon. “You know this is how we do things here. Eventually, someone was going to have to take over.”

“Lola, it’s not even about the ceremony. I don’t care about the stupid ceremony—”

“Yeah, we fucking know—”

“—What the fuck is that supposed to mean, Lola?!”

“You know exactly what I mean, Blue,” Lola snaps, frustration etched on her face. “You never wanted to be a part of this, and that’s fine, but don’t sit here and act like you get to pick and choose when operations resume. YOU know, eventually we would have to move forward.”

You turn away from them, shaking your head in frustration. “You don’t get it,” you mutter.

“Well, help me understand that because from where I stand, you are being a little ungrateful.”

Before today, you could confidently say that Lola and Vernon never hurt you. You were the best of friends, as close as thieves, and made a pact always to support each other, no matter what. You never thought the day would come when there would be conflict, let alone you versus them. But now, it’s clear that the Zodiacs come first, even over you.

“Wow.” You stare at them, your hands clenching as you try to control your temper. “I’m ungrateful? I didn’t even want to have the fucking funeral. If it were up to me, I would have cremated his ashes, kept him with me, and been satisfied. But I know Dad didn’t want that.” Your blood boils as your anger mounts, and you saunter closer to Lola. “It was never about you guys moving on or Zodiac tradition—it was about the fact that you couldn’t wait to have the ceremony at least until I was out of town. It would have hurt a lot fucking less.”

Slowly, Lola’s expression shifts from anger to understanding, then to shame. The pulse in your temple twitches, heavy and agonizing, making you pause. The heat does you no favors, making you stumble back. Lola and Vernon move faster than you can blink, breaking your fall.

“Let’s get you inside,” Vernon suggests, grabbing hold of your arm.

“I’m fucking fine,” you bite, attempting to snatch yourself away from their grip.

“Blue, quit being fucking stubborn and let us help you.”

“Whatever,” you mumble, your vision disoriented by the second. Lola unlocks the front door, and the rush of cool air hitting your face is welcoming. Most of the furniture is gone, sans the lone air mattress and suitcases that you have stored in your bedroom for the time remaining you had here. You arranged for your dad’s things to be stored in New York, so his memories will never be forgotten.

Vernon leads you to your bedroom and lays you softly on the bed. You avoid contact, not ungrateful for the help, but still too mad to acknowledge it with a thank you. Lola comes in shortly after, handing you an ice-cold water bottle, presumably from the fridge, and a couple of Excedrin. You take it from her, drinking slowly due to the slight nausea you feel in your stomach.

“It seems like you’re dehydrated,” Lola observes, giving you a once-over.

“Maybe,” you pant, drinking the last bit of water. “I’ve been doing a lot of walking back and forth between the Southside and the Northside.”

Vernon’s brows furrow in confusion. “You could have asked us for a ride, you know?”

Cutting your eyes at him, you roll them and fold your arms. “Yeah? With all the party planning you had going on?”

Vernon’s eyes shift, looking down with a look of shame. “I’m sorry about that, alright?” He clears his throat, scratching the back of his head. “We didn’t think about the timing of everything, and how you might feel about it.”

“Yeah, Blue,” Lola adds, sitting on the foot of the bed. “We weren’t trying to hurt you.”

You let out a heavy breath from deep within, rubbing your temple with your finger. The pulse still throbs, but the pain is lessening. The anger slowly seeps out of you along with the rest of your energy. With heavy eyes, you nod. “I think we said a lot of things, and I’m not really in the headspace to talk more about it,” you say honestly. “I appreciate everything you have done for me since I have been back in town, and it’s not lost on me that you lost a great leader. But I lost my dad, and it’s barely been two weeks. So I apologize if I’m not always showing I’m on my best behavior or grateful.”

Guilt washes over their faces, and you look away, feeling your own regret. Maybe you were too mean and could have tried to talk to Vernon instead of walking away. Maybe you could try to see things from their point of view. You hate this contention. Above everything, they are your best friends, and even though the wounds are still fresh, you don’t have the energy to fight with them anymore. Your soul is tired, and it’s not something that a bed and sleep can fix.

“I’m going to try and get some rest,” you announce, shuffling around in the comforter. Vernon and Lola exchange nervous glances, hesitant to leave. You let out an exasperated sigh, straightening your posture. “I’m tired, okay? I had a long day yesterday and today, and what I really need is a shower and rest.”

“You almost collapsed out there,” Lola points out. “I don’t feel right leaving you here alone.”

“Lola, please,” you respond. “I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah, you’re doing a bang-up job of that,” she quips, adjusting your blanket. “I’m not leaving you here alone. You could be dehydrated.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Blue, quit going back and forth and accept our help,” Vernon cuts in with a clipped tone. “It’s two against one. We’re not going anywhere until we know you’re okay.”

You shake your head, huff, and look at the wall. The stubborn bull in you wants to keep going, push for your way, and not accept anything else. But you also know them, and they will not back down. Your head throbs again, your vision starting to blur. You’re exhausted and haven’t been sleeping much since you’ve been here.

“Fine,” you reluctantly concede. “But I would like to get some sleep. It’s been quite the twenty-four hours.”

You sink lower into the air mattress, covering yourself with the blanket as you try to get comfortable. Vernon leans and rubs your shoulder before he leaves, the echo of his boots gradually fading in the almost empty house. Lola climbs on the other side of the mattress, pulling you into a backward hug. “You know I love you, right?” She murmurs. “I would do anything for you, Blue.”

You nod sleepily, your words caught in your throat. Lola and Vernon mean well, and you know that, but you can’t help being a clusterfuck of emotions right now. They say grief comes and goes like waves, but your emotions have been nothing but high tides since the day you got the news. When will things get better?—When will you get better?

“Vernon and I will be right outside the door,” Lola assures, slowly rolling off the mattress. “Just holler if you need us, okay?”

Your sleepy eyes finally get the best of you. Your mind is half there, and in another dimension. “M’yeah,” you manage to mumble before exhaustion finally takes over, and you fall into a deep, satisfying sleep with Jihoon and the lake being the last image you saw.

Ten Summers Ago

The wind whipped through your hair as Jihoon drove down the long road that led to the lake. It was the perfect weather, with the sun peaking through the clouds, occasionally giving you a reprieve from its harsh light. Your hand hung out of the window, pretending you were pressing keys to the beat of the song playing on the radio. Jihoon glanced at you occasionally, asking if you were okay, and you nodded or responded with a ‘yes’, hit by the bottle of nerves that settled in your stomach. It’s not like you hadn’t hung out with him before; those times were different, under friendly circumstances. Whereas this is more romantic, a real date, something that could change the trajectory of your relationship forever. You were scared to death of it changing for the worse, and you wonder why you even agreed to this, but in the back of your mind, you think you would’ve regretted not taking that leap and finding out whether this is more or if it was all in your head.

Jihoon played a mix of 80s, 90s, and early 2000s songs from a playlist that he made on the iPad specifically for the trip. He said it was for the “vibes,” but you think he wanted to impress you. Little did he know, he didn’t need the playlist to do that—you already fell for him.

“We’re almost here,” Jihoon announced, lowering the sound of the music.

“I know,” you replied, sitting up in your seat. “I’ve been here before, remember?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon returned, a smile tugging on his lips. “But you haven’t been with me.”

Feeling the heat rush to your face, you looked away, pursing your lips to suppress the smile he put on your face. “You’re a real Casanova, you know that?”

“No, I’m just Jihoon.”

You rolled your eyes, a chuckle escaping your lips. He pulled into the lake shortly after, driving to the far end next to the dock. There was no one else around, and the trees were in full bloom, giving you the right amount of shade and privacy. Your skin prickled as the car slowed to a stop.

“Wait here.”

Jihoon hopped out of the truck, coming around to the other side and opening your door. Taking your hand, he helped you out of the car, his eyes traveling down to your short shorts and freshly shaven legs. You can’t say you didn’t like the attention, as it was nice to be desired. You were thankful you had applied baby oil before leaving the house.

“Do you like what you see?” you queried, following his gaze. “I just shaved this morning.”

Jihoon’s face turned beet red and embarrassed, stepping back considerably. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ogle at you—”

“Jihoon, it’s fine.” You waved him off with a giggle. “I want you to ‘oggle’ at me. At least I know you think I’m hot.” Reaching into the bed of the truck, you grabbed hold of the cooler. “Now show me where we are taking this thing?”

“Oh, I got that!” Jihoon exclaimed, hastily taking the cooler. “Let me show you we’re going to be.”

He led you away from the usual rocky, earthy path that leads to the docks, instead taking you to the grassy patch dotted with dandelions and daisies. There lay the same blanket he had when you watched the shooting stars, accompanied by pillows and baskets. You faltered, touched by the detail and thought that he put into this. You gazed at him with an affection that warms you to your core, observing the satisfied glimmer in his eyes.

“Jihoon, you didn’t have to do all of this.”

He didn’t lose his pace when he reached for your hand, connecting his soft fingers with yours. “I know. But I wanted to.”

Reaching the blanket, he motioned for you to sit as he took out the contents of the cooler. You noticed he had your favorite sandwiches and snacks packed, and even managed to grab chocolate-covered strawberries because you once mentioned you'd never had them. You watched him set everything in place with care, your face beaming with joy.

Pulling out a Bluetooth speaker, he returned to the playlist he made for this day, setting it farther away to create an ambiance. He wore a simple black t-shirt and light blue jeans, but you found him incredibly attractive. His glasses were clipped to the top of his shirt, and a strand of his hair kept falling on his forehead. His muscles flexed as he moved things around, heightening his appeal. You pinned your knees together, ignoring the heat in between your legs.

Then suddenly, you had an idea. “Let’s go for a swim!”

Jihoon stopped in his tracks, looking at you, bewildered. “You want to go swimming now?”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, dropping your purse onto the blanket. “We can swim and then work up an appetite after.”

Jihoon hesitated, his eyes scanning the spread he was almost done setting up. You knew it was impulsive of you to do this now, but if you stared at him any longer, things were going to happen on this blanket. At least you weren’t offering to take your clothes off in the lake.

“Okay,” his voice trailed off, his eyes widening as he watched you take off your shorts. You didn’t want to get all of your clothes wet, so you figured that at least having dry shorts and a wet t-shirt was a good trade-off. But what you didn’t expect was to see him undress, taking off his shirt and undoing the button on his jeans. The heat surged through your neck, and it’s not just because of the weather.

“I always keep a change of clothes in my truck,” Jihoon explained. “I can change into something else.”

“Uh-huh,” you mustered, staring at his abs. “Let’s go get wet, yeah?”

Realizing how dirty that sounded, you mentally slapped yourself in the face, shaking your head as you walked toward the dock. Jihoon is to your right, slightly ahead of you, looking into the dark blue waters. The wind swayed the leaves on the trees, but otherwise it was quiet, and you had the lake to yourselves, it seemed like. Making it to the end of the dock, you kicked off your sandals, the soles of your feet gracing the warm wood.

“I have to ask,” Jihoon said suddenly. “Why go swimming now? You could have said something before, ya know?”

You stared at him, caught off guard. “I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted to take a dip.”

“Maybe,” Jihoon responded. “Or there is something else going on here?”

“Nope.” You shook your head fervently. “Nothing more is going on.”

Jihoon perused you, and in that moment, you knew he thought you were full of shit. But you held on to your poker face as best you could, stepping closer to the end of the dock. “I guess we should probably—”

Jihoon carried you swiftly and jumped into the water, the surprisingly cool water surrounding you whole. It was refreshing and cool, and it put you at ease. Rising to the surface, you heard Jihoon laughing, splashing water on your face.

“Hey!” you cried, returning the favor. “At least give a girl a chance to wipe her eyes.”

You couldn’t help but join in on the laughter, feeling liberated and no longer shackled by the bundle of nerves you felt earlier. You realized, in hindsight, it was stupid to randomly suggest swimming right when you were about to eat. You thought Jihoon was sexy, and maybe you should have accepted that instead of trying to run away from it.

Jihoon swam closer to you, his face wet with water droplets and his hair slicked back. He looked even better wet, almost unethereal.

“So are you going to be honest with me, now?” Jihoon goaded, swimming in a deliberate circle around you. “I’m not going to judge you, you know that, right?”

“I know,” you responded, trying to sound casual. “But it’s honestly silly.”

He stopped his circling, treading water directly in front of you. “Try me.”

“I don’t want to ‘try you’—”

“—just tell me, Blue.”

Your chest tightened as you bit your lip, the familiar clench of anxiety coiling in your stomach as the bundle of nerves floods back. “You were sitting there, putting everything together, and you looked really hot doing it, and I didn’t know how to handle it. So I suggested we swim. I didn’t know you were going to get naked—”

“—I’m not naked.”

“You know what I mean!” you exasperated. “ Honestly, this was stupid, and we should just go back and eat—”

He shut you up with his lips on yours, and it was like fireworks went off—a sudden, explosive burst of sensation that echoed through every fiber of your being. Your chest sparked with an euphoric joy that made you dizzy, and you almost didn’t believe you were kissing Lee Jihoon, the boy who had your affection for the past month. You deepened the kiss as his hands graced your waist, your heart racing a million miles a minute. Your feet were impossibly light in the water, and you felt like you were floating, untethered and completely suspended in this moment. You’ve never experienced this before, and you don’t want it to stop.

Jihoon pulled away, leaving a lingering kiss before taking your hand and leading you to the dock, pulling himself up effortlessly, and then helping you up after. You were in a daze, your mind still reeling from that one kiss, and though you’d had kisses before, none of them felt like that.

“Next time, don’t hide from me,” Jihoon remarked with a cheeky grin. “I want you to be open with me, no matter what.”

You didn’t bother defending yourself; you knew exactly what he meant. “Mmhmm.”

“Good.” He nodded with a satisfied look on his face. “Now is your appetite worked up, or do you want a round two in the water?”

You scoffed lightly, shaking your head. “You are never going to let this go, are you?”

Jihoon took your hand, leading you back to the blanket, where your shorts and food awaited. “A Southsider at a loss for words for a naked Northie?” He let out a chortle. “Never.”

You wake up slowly, the blanket protecting you from the golden hour light shining through your blinds. It takes a minute for your eyes to adjust, filled with crust from the deep sleep you endured. You reach around lazily for your phone, finding it beside the air mattress and connected to a charger. Weird, you thought to yourself; you don’t recall connecting it to one before you fell asleep. Tapping the screen, your eyes widen at the time, realizing you have been out cold for almost five hours.

Fuck. You didn’t mean to sleep this long.

Sitting up slowly, you accidentally knock over a fresh bottle of Gatorade, the plastic bottle rolling until it hits the door with a soft thud. You’re still in a haze of sleep, repeating the events that happened within the last twenty hours—the ceremony, Jihoon’s mother, the argument with Lola and Vernon, Jihoon, and the intimacy you two shared. Regret eats at you as you think about how you left, yearning for the warmth you felt in his arms, the softness of his lips when he kissed you, and, most importantly, his voice, and how it soothed you when you needed it most. Your bed is unbearably cold now, a deep chill settling in your bones as you force yourself to face the truth: you miss him.

Sitting up slowly, you let out a loud yawn, relieved to be cured of the nagging headache you had earlier. You hear shuffling outside your door, giving you only a moment’s notice to cover yourself with the blanket before the door opens. You see Lola’s chocolate brown curls before you see her, a worried look on her face as she comes with a sandwich and fries opened in a to-go box. The bread smells fresh, a warm invitation to your stomach as it grumbles loudly.

“I take it you’re hungry?” Lola teases, sitting at the foot of the mattress. “You were dead to the world for a while, girl.”

“Yeah, apparently,” you snort, sitting straighter. “I feel a lot better, though.” You eye the sandwich again, your mouth watering at what looks to be your favorite, an Italian sandwich on rye bread. “You didn’t have to go through all this trouble.”

“It’s never trouble to make sure my best friend is okay,” Lola states, waving you off. “Plus, it wasn’t me who brought the food.”

Your head ticks, your brows burrowing in confusion. “Was it Vernon?” you ask gently. The weight of guilt sags your shoulders, thinking about the argument earlier. The ceremony still hurts you, but after sleeping, the thought of falling out with your best friends makes your stomach flip. “I’m sorry,” you say meekly, unable to look her in the eye. “I feel like shit.”

“I know,” Lola responds, closing the box on the sandwich. “I’m sorry too, for calling you ungrateful and not thinking about how having the ceremony while you’re still here would have affected you.” Her eyes glisten as she blinks profusely, her voice wavering. “You’ve been through a lot and had to handle most things on your own, and I should have thought about you more. I’m sorry.”

Your heart twinges as the tears fall on her cheeks. “Oh, God, Lola, no.” You panic, shuffling out of the blanket and scooting next to her. “You have done more than enough for me. I couldn’t have gotten through the house affairs or handling my dad’s estate without you.” You wrap your arms around her, your own eyes stinging.

“Yeah?” Lola sniffles, quickly wiping her eyes.

“Of course,” you murmur, laying a kiss on her cheek. “When have I ever told you a lie?”

You manage to get a chuckle out of her, and it puts you at ease. Her arm wraps around you, and you sit in silence, simply existing with each other. Lola has been in your life forever, and you could never thank her enough for being your rock throughout all of this. Vernon, too, by extension, in his own way. This is undoubtedly the hardest thing you have ever gone through.

Lola reaches over, handing you the forgotten sandwich and placing it on your lap. “Make sure you eat that. I know you’re starved.”

Your finger brushes against the styrofoam box, a small upward curve on your lips. “Tell Vernon I said thank you for this.”

“Oh, um, it wasn’t from Vernon,” Lola says, biting back a smile as she rose from the bed. You stare at her, waiting for her to reveal where it had come from, but she stands in silence, her hands behind her back like a schoolgirl unable to keep a secret.

“So this came from my fairy godmother, then?” you joke. “Or maybe it was the twins—”

“If you have a fairy godmother, then so do I,” Lola chortles, shaking her head.

“Then who was it from?”

Always dramatic, Lola takes her time to respond, keeping you in suspense as she tries to suppress her laughter.

“Come on, Lola, spit it out—”

“Jihoon dropped it off while you were sleeping.”

You freeze, not expecting to hear his name. You nod slowly as shame overwhelms you, causing you to fall back onto the mattress with a grunt. “I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” Lola interrogates, pulling you upright. “Is it the sandwich or him?”

You throw her an annoyed look, slightly irritated that you have to answer the question. “Him, obviously.” You roll your eyes.

“Well, what did he do?” Lola surmises, her voice rising. “Do we need to kick his ass? I’m gonna call Vernon.”

“What?!” you exclaim, staring at her incredulously. “No. He didn’t do anything. It was me.”

“Oh,” Lola realizes as she sits back on the mattress. “What did you do?”

“That’s kind of a loaded question, Lola,” you reply with a groan. “A lot has happened in the past day.” You pick at the cotton on your shirt, focused on the small string that’s sticking out of place.

“Try me,” Lola suggests, gently taking your hand. “What happened?”

Sighing heavily, you meet her eager gaze. “Do you want me to start with when I slapped Jihoon’s mother or skip to when I kissed Jihoon?”

Lola’s eyes widen at your revelation, and a smirk spreads across her face. “You've certainly been busy.”

“Oh shut up,” you roll your eyes. A knot tightens in your stomach, and you fold your legs to your chest, hoping to ease the guilt penetrating your abdomen. “I feel bad enough.”

“About hitting his mother?” Lola gibes. “Because don’t. That woman has been a bitch since Jesus was alive.”

You let out a laugh that comes from deep within. “God, no.” You shake your head. “I will never feel bad about that, especially after the shit she said about my dad.”

“What the fuck?!” she gasps, shaking her head back. “What did she say?”

So you tell her everything—from the moment you left the house to storming out of the record store with blood dripping down your arm. You showed her the flesh wound from Mrs. Lee’s nails puncturing your skin, now puffy and swollen. You wince when Lola touches it, the tarrying sting still taking some time to get used to.

“You have a lot more restraint than me,” Lola comments, examining your arm. “I don’t think I would have been as nice and walked away. Is she crazy?”

“She’s batshit,” you grumble, anger simmering in your gut. “I could have maybe forgiven or tried to be nice to her for Jihoon’s sake, but fuck that. I am successful, not broke, and have a great life. She could die today, and I would gladly spit on her tombstone.” Lola’s eyebrows shoot up, throwing you a tickled look. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“I’m just saying,” you say straightforwardly. “Being back here has brought me a lot of clarity.”

“Uh-huh,” Lola hums, nudging her knee towards yours. “Would any of that clarity have anything to do with Jihoon?

Your breath catches in your throat as a sharp pain blooms in your chest at the thought of him. You dislike feeling this way about him, wishing you could see him as just an old memory without residual feelings, the intense desire that surges through your veins, or the longing in your heart that yearns to kiss him again. You never intended for this trip to become complicated; your only goal was to bury your father peacefully. But returning here has scrambled your thoughts and disturbed your peace, making it even clearer that you need to leave.

“Things with Jihoon and me are… interesting,” you admit, drawing a circle on your hand with your finger. “I don’t know if what I feel is the same love I felt when we were kids or if this is gratitude, but fuck, Lola, I haven’t been with anyone else who makes me feel the way he does.” Sighing deeply, you stand, pacing back and forth. “I keep thinking about that summer and how, for those few short months, they were the happiest of my life. Even with Daddy being accused of murder, he was there for me. Never treated me like I was dirt or someone beneath him. Jihoon made me feel seen as a person; he loved me, genuinely, and I can never forget that. Or get over that, ten years later.”

Lola hangs on to your every word, motioning for you to go on. “Even now,” you continue. “He sees me. I don’t have to be on with him all the time, reserved, or anything other than who I am. God, Lola, when he kissed me, it sparked something in me. He made me forget about all this shit with my dad and my pain and made me feel like a person again. I wasn’t just this grieving daughter, but someone who was desired and needed and maybe still loved. I don’t know what this is, as I said, it’s fucking complicated. But I know that I haven’t stopped thinking about him all this time, and after cutting him off the way I did, he is still here, wanting to be with me, I think. And that says something.”

Your chest heaves, realizing you’ve been talking without taking a breath. Your heart beats heavy and hard, as if you have several horses stomping against your ribcage. You desperately grab the bottle of Gatorade that was forgotten on the floor, untwist the cap, and guzzle it down. Lola looks at you, amused, folding her arms with a knowing look.

“What?” You pant, wiping the corner of your mouth. “Speak your mind.”

“Well, I don’t think this is complicated at all,” Lola states, rising from the mattress. She places her hands on your shoulders, leaning closer to you with a smile. “You, my friend, are in love.”

The room seems to tighten, your heart beating loudly in your eardrum. “What?”

“Love. L-O-V-E,” Lola asserts. “It’s a different kind of love, obviously, from back then. Not the same puppy love, that new feeling you get when you realize you love someone for the first time. This one is more mature and aged, and you have the beauty of a decade apart and some time spent together to bring you clarity. Why do you think your relationships haven’t worked out, Blue?”

You twist your mouth with a grimace. “They didn’t work out because they weren’t the right people for me.”

“Right, my point,” Lola points out. “Listen, they didn’t work out because you know, deep down, they don’t make you feel the same way Jihoon did. You’ve had some great potential relationships that could have lasted. Remember Solar? She was crazy about you. Or that actor who bought you roses every week just because—”

“—I told him I didn’t like roses,” you interject. “He had comprehension issues. And Solar was great, just not for me.”

“Sure,” Lola says, rolling her eyes with a soft laugh. “But every time, you say you didn’t feel fulfilled. But guess who does?”

Your spine stiffens as a wave of revelation washes over you. You’ve had a few relationships and casual dates here and there, but they just never clicked with you. You’ve been trying to fight it all this time, hoping to get somehow rid of these feelings and thinking maybe if you left town, they would leave too. But the feelings have lingered, and now you’re forced to carry it on, and accept the truth—maybe you are still in love with him.

“I have to go,” you say suddenly, the words bursting out of you before you can second-guess yourself. You dig in your bag and pull out a change of clothes and your toothbrush, undressing and throwing your shirt aside as you storm into the bathroom.

Lola blinks, surprised by your abruptness. “And where are you going?”

You peek out of the door with a gentle smile and a wink, your mind made up and your decision set. “I have to have a talk with someone.”

Jihoon sits in his truck, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, lost in thought. When he arrived at your house, Vernon met him at the door, telling him what happened. He wanted to see you first thing, and he offered to take you back to his apartment, where he could watch over you. Lola came around then and said you needed the rest and to check in on you later. He stood there, struggling with the idea of leaving you there instead of bringing you home, here, like he wanted. But he didn’t want to do too much, and he agreed to leave you be, only to come back thirty minutes later with your favorite sandwich and fries from Jollibee’s. All he could do was worry about you and hope you didn’t almost faint because of him and what happened the night before.

“Blue is going to be fine, bro,” Vernon assured Jihoon then, placing a supportive hand on his shoulder. “She’s tough, and Lola will not let anything happen to her.”

Taking Vernon’s word, he left and came to the music store, tidying some things and opening for business. It is unusually busy today, with new people coming to town for the Founders Day celebration this weekend. It slipped his mind, with everything going on, and after the days he’s been having lately, he doesn’t feel much like celebrating—all his thoughts are filled with you. He played Donna Summer in your honor, nostalgia hitting him hard as he thought about the debate you two had over disco. You were a staunch supporter, and he hated it, but by the time you left the store, you made him a believer and a lover in Studio 54 and the Bee Gees. The way you reveled when you played the extended version of “I Feel Love” by Donna Summer is something he’ll never forget. It was as if you were enshrouded in dark purple light, dancing slowly to the vinyl's lyrics. Who would have known the Southsider in the graphic t-shirt, faded jeans, and sneakers was so well-versed in music?

Jihoon closed up at six on the dot, counting the money made and tidying up the store all under thirty minutes. He’s been sitting in his truck for almost an hour, wondering whether to give you space and let you rest or come back to check on you. Sure, he could easily text Vernon or Lola to get an update, but it wouldn’t be enough. Jihoon wants to be with you, even if you are asleep. He wants to relive the light snores he felt on his chest last night, when everything was good and perfect. He’s had a taste of what it’s like to have you again, and Jihoon doesn’t want to give that up so easily.

Fuck it, I’m going there.

Jihoon turns the ignition in the trunk, set to pull off and head south, when a familiar red truck pulls up to his left. The passenger side opens, followed by a pair of legs he knows so well, hopping out of the truck in jean shorts and a tank top. Jihoon’s heart patters; happiness is not even close to describing how he feels as he watches you wave goodbye to Lola. He’s starting to think maybe this is some fate.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Jihoon calls out, pleasantly surprised as he rolls down his window. “I heard you had quite the day.”

“Yeah, something like that,” you respond sheepishly, locking eyes with him. You bite your bottom lip, and he can tell you’re nervous. Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out the CD you took from the store, a limited-edition “Abbey Road” album by the Beatles. “I believe I owe this back to you,” you say, handing it over. “I just grabbed anything in my haste of anger.”

“Nah, you can keep it,” Jihoon laughs, shaking his head. “I think it’s the least I can do for my mother’s behavior.”

With a smirk, you nudge the CD against his chest. “Oh, I know,” you say. “But I deserve better than the Beatles.”

A chuckle slips out of his throat, taking back the CD. “Yeah, you definitely deserve a lot better.”

Noticing the glow on your skin and how relaxed you are puts him more at ease. You seem more well-rested, happier, and, dare he say, at peace. You smile at him softly, your eyes twinkling with something that makes him feel warm. Jihoon is enchanted, and if he stares any longer, he will get lost in your eyes.

“So you came all the way here just to return the CD?” Jihoon asks, tapping the plastic cover. “I mean, that’s nice of you and all.”

“Maybe,” you tease him, stepping closer to the truck. “Or maybe I wanted to see you.” Your smile fades as you place your hand on the rim of the lowered window. “I think we have some things we need to talk about.”

Jihoon’s pulse quickens when your fingers brush against his, the smell of your perfume intoxicating and hard to ignore. “I agree.”

“Some things were said…” Your voice trails off.

“Mmhmm,” he hums, gazing at your beauty. The wind blows randomly, swaying your air in its direction. “Some things happened as well…”

Eyeing his apartment window, you return his gaze with a knowing smile. “So, do you wanna do this at your place or mine?”

The air shifts when you walk into Jihoon’s place. Everything looks the same, still in order, but there is a tension that you can’t deny, a pull of gravity that wants to collapse in his arms and kiss him until you’re out of breath. You are the type of person who needs to understand your feelings before you believe them, and for the longest time, it didn’t make sense why your equilibrium felt off when you were with him. You were supposed to be wild beyond grief and not capable of feeling anything else but that. But damn Jihoon for making you feel good things, for making you feel what Lola thinks might be love. You left him and cut him off, and he wants you anyway. You don’t deserve him.

“Are you hungry? Do you want anything to drink?” Jihoon points towards the fridge. “I can make you another sandwich if you want.”

“No, I’m okay,” you assure him. “I’m still kind of stuffed from the sandwich you dropped off.” A warm wave washes over you, thinking about how good that meal replenished you when you needed it the most. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” he responds. “I went there to go see you, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He lets out a chuckle. “ Vernon and Lola told me to beat it.”

Your eyes widen, amused by this revelation. “Oh, did they?” You laugh. “That doesn’t surprise me. They had me locked in there like I was at Fort Knox.”

“I bet,” he surmises. “They were just looking out for you.”

You nod, glancing at your feet before looking at Jihoon again. “I know.”

It falls quiet between you two, punctuated only by the faint sounds of cars and people heard from below. Your thoughts whirl like a tempest, each one vying for escape, but your words are caught in your throat. Ironic, considering you’re the best-selling author here.

“Blue, what are we doing?”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, “I don’t know, Jihoon.”

You study the way his brows furrow as he rubs the back of his neck. Your stomach free-falls, feeling guilty. Maybe that was the wrong answer, but you don’t want to lie to him either. “Jihoon… I don’t know what we are doing or what’s happening,” you begin. “I thought I would bury my Dad and go back to New York and pretend Carats Ridge doesn’t exist, as I have been. I didn’t expect to come back here and reconnect with you, and to feel all these things.”

Jihoon stares at you, registering what you said. “What do you feel, Blue?” Jihoon harps on your last sentence. “When you look at me, what do you feel?”

Butterflies in your stomach as you nervously step closer to him. “Present,” you answer honestly. “I don’t feel numb or dead inside when I’m with you. You make me warm and bright, and I swear to God sometimes I hear birds sing. You make my heart beat in ways I didn’t think were possible. You were the only one who went to look for me when I ran away from the funeral. You kept me safe, you keep showing up for me when I don’t deserve it, and when you kissed me, Jihoon? What we did? I have never felt that alive with anyone. It fucking scares me.” Wrought with all the pent-up feelings you kept locked in, tears fall down your face as your walls start to break. “I don’t know if what I feel is the same love that we had years ago or if it’s something else entirely, but—”

Jihoon kisses you heatedly, knocking the wind out of your chest. Jihoon, the more thoughtful, composed, and calculating of the two of you, is kissing you like his life is on the line. You’re being set ablaze all over, your hands digging in his hair and matching his same intensity. You tug at his shirt, pulling it off and throwing it out of your line of sight.

“I love you,” Jihoon breathes in between kisses. “It’s always been you, even a decade later.”

His confession makes you pause, pulling away from him slightly. “What?”

“I-love-you,” Jihoon enunciates. “I know you don’t know what kind of love you feel for me, but I can tell you mine: it’s the same way I felt ten summers ago. The same love that wanted you to stay, the very love that held out for months and years, hoping to hear from you again. I tried to bury it away, push it to the side, to pretend it didn’t exist because you weren’t in Carats Ridge. But it’s always been here, deep in the crevice of my heart, and I’m tired of fighting it. I want you—and I’m willing to take whatever you’ll give me.”

Your heart hammers against your ribs, your mind reeling as you take in his confession. Jihoon loves you and has never stopped; it’s exhilarating and terrifying. You spent a decade creating a life without him, chasing the high of falling in love with someone who makes you feel safe. When you tried to forget this town, you tried to erase him too, keeping his memory in a heart-shaped box. But some things are meant to be revisited, and you’re ready to stop running.

“I love you, Blue,” Jihoon repeated, softer this time. “Don’t leave me hanging here.”

You stare into his eyes, those same familiar, kind eyes that saw through your defenses and your bullshit. Lola was right; this isn’t the puppy love that you experienced when you were teenagers. This love is deeper, richer, packaged with time and separation that brings you more clarity. You were empty when your dad died, and yet Jihoon managed to spark something unexpected in you, and you are almost whole again.

“I love you too,” you whisper, releasing the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “God, I love you, Jihoon, and I don’t think I’ve ever stopped.”

A visible wave of relief washes over him, a slow smile beaming on his face. “You love me?” he asks, closing the space between you two.

“Yeah,” you say, giving him a once-over. “I do.”

You kiss again, but this time it’s tender, softer, and it sets your soul on fire. Your hands trail along his abs, fiddling with his belt as his hands are on the button of your jeans, undoing in one swift move. A giggle erupts in you, happiness not even the word to describe how you feel. Something blooms in your chest, an unfiltered joy, a light finally appearing in the circle of darkness you’ve been shrouded in for weeks.

Jihoon walks you back to the futon, helping you out of your shirt and shorts before laying you down gently on the cushion. He’s enamored with you, watching you unhook your bra and slide out of your panties. You feel raw, sexy, and wanted. Taking your lips again, he lowers you onto the couch, towering over you. trailing his kisses down to your neck. He finds the sensitive part of your neck and sucks hard, sending chills throughout your body and arousal to your core. You moan in his ear, your hands finding your breasts and caressing them. You’re on an unadulterated high.

“I want you,” you mumble, lifting his face to look in his eyes. “Fuck, I need you, and I don’t want this to stop.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Blue,” Jihoon says earnestly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kisses you again with a hunger that gives you a further high, his tongue dipping in your mouth. You help him out of his jeans, shoving down his briefs that freed his hardened cock, dripping with precum on your stomach. Instinctively, you reach down, thumbing it along his shaft and watching him shudder. This new side of him, surrendering to you... You like it.

“You keep doing that,” his voice wavers. “And I’m not going to last long.”

“Yeah?” you goad, pumping faster. “What if that’s what I want?”

He chuckles in your ear in short pants. “You’ll get that. But I want to taste you again.”

Jihoon slides down your body, leaving trails of kisses on your breasts. His eyes are crackling with hunger, sucking on your sweet mounds insatiably. Your legs part eagerly, anticipation sitting in your stomach. His hand brushes against your folds, feeling the slickness of your dripping heat.

“Already?” Jihoon smirks.

“Yeah, yeah.” You roll your eyes playfully, slightly embarrassed. “I can’t help it.”

He licks his bottom lip, fixated on your center as he lowers himself. “I’ve been thinking about this since last night,” he coos, blowing a cool breath on your clit. Your legs shudder, your cunt begging to be touched, teased, and tasted. “I think I’m addicted.”

Before you can respond, his tongue flattens along your slit, lapping up your juices and sending electric jolts throughout your body. Your hips buck in response as your moans carry throughout the apartment. Jihoon groans in your cunt, so enthralled with your taste as his fingers dig into your waist. You melt further into the futon, riding a wave of the abyss you don’t want to come down from.

“Jihoon, I think…” you whine. “Fuck Jihoon, I’m—”

You cling to his hair viciously as you scream his name. He holds you down with a firm grip, refusing to let you go until he has had his fill. “Fuck, Jihoon,” you whimper. “I can’t stop cumming.”

He lifts his head slowly, his lower face covered with you as he licks his lips. “Good.”

You pull him into a fervent kiss, tasting yourself on his lips and falling deeper under his spell. His cock pokes against your leg, and it earns a giggle out of you. “Aren’t we eager?” Your finger draws a circle on his chest, right above his heart. You give him a sly grin, pulling him into another heated kiss that sets you on fire. Jihoon’s hand creeps against your leg, lifting it up slightly to give him space. Leaving you with a brief, parting kiss, he lines himself against your entrance, his tip graciously pressing against your sopping hole. You’re still coming down from your high, but you want more of this and more of him.

“I’m ready,” you smile softly. “I’ve waited so long for this.”

He enters you slowly, allowing yourself to adjust to his size, letting out a sigh of satisfaction. His thick cock makes your walls flutter, begging for Jihoon to go deeper. As if he read your mind, he picks up the pace, his eyes fixated on him going in and out of your pussy. “Give me more,” you beg, digging your nails in his shoulder. “I want all of you.”

“Whatever you want, baby.”

Jihoon pulls out and slams into you, making you gasp in surprise. The futon creaks beneath you, shoved out of place and knocking into the end table. The lamp titters before finding its balance, the light spinning in a small circle. “Careful,” you mutter. “We don’t want to go breaking things.”

“I don’t care,” he groans, forehead falling against yours. “You feel so good.”

In this moment, you realized you forgot to ask about condoms, but the way he drags his cock in and out of you as he thrusts again, throws the thought out of the window. He fucks you hard, deep, knocking the air out of your lungs. The pleasure is gratifying and dizzying, spreading through your veins until you are completely overcome.

“That’s right, baby,” Jihoon murmurs against your mouth. “Feel it.”

You kiss him hard, your nails raking down his back and leaving angry red streaks across his skin. He hisses at the sting before kissing you again, this time messy and desperate. “You don’t know,” he pants, thrusting slower, “how long I’ve thought about this.”

His hand slides between your bodies, fingers brushing against your clit in tight circles, and your entire body jolts. You gaze into his eyes, strung and fuck out, a babbling mess as you cling to his shoulders. “You…fuck” you breathe. “Don’t stop, please.”

The room fills with skin-to-skin slapping against one another, shaky breaths, and the shaky moans you’ve been trying to restrain but failed miserably. You’re completely into it all, the only thing that matters being your world in this tiny apartment and the man you never truly got over.

“You’re so beautiful, Blue,” Jihoon says suddenly, his thumb brushing against your lips. “You’ve always meant everything to me.”

Your chest aches at the sincerity in his voice and the softness in his eyes. No one has ever looked at you the way that he does. He sees all of you and loves you anyway.

Pulling him down into another kiss, you whisper breathlessly. “Then show me.”

JIhoon lets out a rough laugh that dissolves into a groan when your hips roll against his. He buries his face into your neck and loses the remaining composure he had, thrusting into you erratically, sucking on your neck hungrily. The futon edges into the end table again, knocking the lamp down and shattering it. Your bodies stayed in rhythm, your body rocking into every snap of his.

“Jihoon,” you warn, your voice throaty and wet. “I wish you could fuck me forever.”

“Good,” he mutters. “That’s the plan.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and Jihoon curses under his breath. His hand slips down your body, fingers pressing into your hip hard enough to bruise.

“That’s it, baby. Take it.”

His words spark something in you quickly, your orgasm crashing through you suddenly, hot and violent. You unravel loudly, barely catching your breath as your thighs shake uncontrollably. Jihoon kisses you everywhere—your forehead, the corner of your mouth, your cheek, wherever he could. He whispers he loves you over and over as his thrusts turn sloppy and desperate. With one final, deep thrust, he pulls out quickly, emptying himself on your lower stomach, letting out a deep, guttural moan. You watch him with hooded eyes, his expression turning into something tender that makes you melt. There is no one in the world who makes your heart beat the way he does.

“Are you okay?” He breathes, leaning to kiss you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You shake your head with a gentle smile on your lips. “You could never hurt me.”

For a while, neither of you moves. You are still coming down from your hazy cloud nine, your skin is damp, and he breathes heavily in your ear. You wish you could stay here forever, in this apartment, and not have to deal with the real world and the reality that the happiest moment of your life took place in this fuck ass town.

“Stay with me,” Jihoon murmurs sleepily. “I’ll ask Lola to bring your stuff here until you have to leave, but please, just stay.”

A laugh escapes you, quiet and breathless as your fingers strum through his hair. “Now, why would I do that?”

He lifts up slightly, one eye closed with a lopsided grin meant just for you. “Because you love me.”

Because you love him. He isn’t wrong about that.

“Throw in breakfast, and I might consider it,” you quip, nestling back on the cushion.

A deep chuckle rumbles from him as he lays his head on your chest. This is the love that you want; the type that makes you warm and safe, with your heart in his hands without a care in the world because you know he’ll protect it. It feels like home when you’re with him. Like the summer that you never moved on from, that you will now get to experience for the rest of your life.

Three Summers Later

“We’re back with the critically acclaimed author of Blue Valentine, back with a new book and its sequel, ‘Ten Summers Later’. Welcome back YN.”

“Thank you for having me, Ginger,” you greet her warmly.

It’s been some time since your dad died, and although time heals all wounds, the scars are still there. Sometimes it’s a commercial, movie, or simply looking at your mother’s journals that remind you of him, and how much he sacrificed for you. You have your moments, especially around the anniversary of his death, but you breathe easier now. You know Daddy is looking down with your mother and is proud of you, and you will see them again when your time comes. But at least you didn’t have to go through it alone.

“I have to say,” Ginger begins, “The last time we spoke, you said ‘Blue Valentine' was one and done, and you were looking to write other things. What changed your mind?”

A slow smile slinks on your lips, your head nodding slightly as you think about your reason. “It was time, I think,” you say thoughtfully. “It’s been a long time since I revisited that story, and I thought about the place I was in when I wrote it.” You pause briefly, clearing your throat before continuing. “Some things have changed.”

“Would you like to expound on what has changed?” Ginger inquires. “I mean, look at you. You’re glowing!”

You chuckle, straightening your posture. “Thank you… And I mean my father died, and I had some time to process things and address hidden feelings that I thought I would keep buried forever. Now I’m free from that burden, and I’ve let that bloom into something beautiful.”

“Would that beautiful thing be your relationship with Jihoon, the platinum-selling recording artist?” Ginger presses. “You’ve been seen around the world together, at his shows, and it looks like you grew up together.” Ginger pulls out a yearbook from your high school, already having a page bookmarked that shows you and Jihoon’s pictures. “Was he the inspiration behind Blue Valentine?”

You smirk with a shrug. “Maybe.”

You glance at your agent, Anna, and the live audience is full of your fans who have signed copies of your new book. If someone had told you three years ago you would be where you’re at now in life, you would ask them what they were smoking. Sometimes it feels too good to be true, and you will wake up tomorrow, and it will have all been a dream. But you’re still here, still breathing and standing strong… and a part of that is because of Jihoon.

You went back to New York as you planned, and your relationship was long-distance for a while since he still had the music store. Jihoon decided to pursue music again and went viral by chance for a song he came up with in the shower. Everything was a blur after that, and he found himself with a new record deal and fame beyond his dreams. He eventually made it to New York City, to you, and you’ve been together ever since.

During that time, Jihoon had to straighten out some things for his mother, who needed full-time care for her dementia. He eventually told you about her past with your father, and it shook you to your core. Your father never talked about Mrs. Lee unless it was in relation to you, and he was so nonchalant about her that you almost didn’t believe Jihoon. It wasn’t until he pulled out an old yearbook that had them photographed as prom king and queen that you saw the truth for what it was. It didn’t change your perception of your dad, and you don’t have his side of the story, but it was something you had to sit with for a while. In a way, you could understand Mrs. Lee’s hurt and bitterness, but it doesn’t erase the way she’s treated you. You could never forgive her.

Regardless, you and Jihoon worked through it all, determined to stay connected and make it work, whatever it was. You even found yourself going back to Carats Ridge from time to time to see him, Lola, Vernon, and the kids. You still hate that town and don’t stay more than you have to, but you’re more at ease when you drive in, and you’ve learned to accept Carats Ridge for what it is. You’ve had some good memories mixed in with the bad, and with the help of your therapist, you’ve been at peace with it.

“So what should we expect with this next beginning?”

The rest of the interview flows smoothly, and when the cameras shut down, you unhook the mic before the producer can make it to your chair. Sliding out of your seat, you give a hug to Ginger before walking to your agent, who is busy typing on her phone.

“That went well?” you probe, adjusting your blouse.

“That went better than expected,” Anna beams, showing hashtags on social media. “There is a lot of buzz about your book and, of course, your relationship.”

“Yeah, I bet,” you scoff, shaking your head. “It still feels weird, being out in the open like this.”

“Aww, I can only imagine,” Anna rubs your shoulders. “But you two are solid, and it’ll get easier, I’m sure.” She looks at her watch, her eyes widening. “Oh, we have to get out of here.”

Anna rushes you into the dressing room, grabbing your belongings and practically shoving you out of the door. You wave goodbye to your fans who were waiting in the hall before getting on the elevator. It hums quietly as it goes down, the chill of the a/c sending goosebumps throughout your body. Glancing at your phone, it’s a quarter till 10, and you stifle a yawn. You’ve been up since six am getting ready, and you haven't seen Jihoon in a few weeks due to his tour. You don’t sleep well when he’s not around, and you’ve had to substitute with buying a body pillow to hold until he comes home. You miss him a lot, and there’s not enough FaceTime calls in the world that could make you feel better.

The elevator dings at the lobby, and you step out swiftly, with Anna trailing you from behind.

“So what’s the next stop?” you ask, turning to face her. “Are we doing a bookstore, or do I have a small break for a nap?”

“Neither,” Anna confirms, with a mischievous glint in her eye. '“You have other plans, ma’am.”

“Huh?” Your brows furrow. “What do you mean—hey!”

Anna slinks her arm with yours and takes you outside, taking you to a suspiciously yellow pickup, a very familiar truck that you know all so well. Standing outside of it, waiting for you is Jihoon, who looks at you with a tenderness that makes you melt. He is supposed to be on tour, across the country in California, and yet here he is, pulling you towards him with that sexy smile.

“Hi, Blue,” Jihoon greets you with a kiss. Your eyes flutter, and your knees buckle, placing your arms on his shoulder as you kiss him back. Your heart is ready to beat out of its cage, your body buzzing with excitement to finally hug your man.

“Hi,” you coo, running your fingers through his hair. “I thought you were going to be gone for another week.”

“I was, but today is an off day,” he explains, placing his hands on your waist. “And I missed you.”

“Yeah?” you respond, licking your bottom lip.

“Yeah.”

You have so much to say, but the words are caught in your throat. You take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his as you lean in for another kiss. You love him, truly, madly, and deeply, and you don’t regret the decade it took to bring you back to him. What you have is so much better than the love of that summer, and this time, you will never let him go again.

“Alright, I’m done here,” Anna announces, already walking towards the parking lot. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Mhm,” you murmur, returning your attention to Jihoon. “Let’s go home.”

taglist: @livelaughloveseventeen @lovelylonelinesssvt @j3nnch3ls3a @shadowkoo @gyupremacy @woo-wonwoo @midariiii

[sanjoongie]

Sweetness in Disguise

✿˖˚ ༘𐙚 For May's Blooming Garland, Lily of the Valley. theme chosen: sweetness ✿˖˚ ༘𐙚Pairing: Survivor! Lee Minho x Survivor! Reader (f) ✿˖˚ ༘𐙚Genre: romance ✿˖˚ ༘𐙚Au: zombie apocalypse ✿˖˚ ༘𐙚Trope: tsundere love ✿˖˚ ༘𐙚Rating: 18+, Minors/Ageless blogs Do Not Interact ✿˖˚ ༘𐙚Word Count: 1,511 ✿˖˚ ༘𐙚Warnings: descriptive violence with a blunt weapon, descriptive violence with a sharp weapon, zombie biting violence, description of throwing up, mentions of nightmares, a slight panic attack ✿˖˚ ༘𐙚Summary: living in the brutal world of a zombie apocalypse never prepared you for the rare sweetness of an otherwise cold, killing machine ✿˖˚ ༘𐙚Divider by @/thecutestgrotto

“Mother! Fucking! Piece! Of shit!” Between each word, you slam your barbed wire baseball bat into the head of a zombie over and over and over. You’re breathing heavily over the now-still corpse. “And stay dead!”

You glance at your silent partner, who is wiping his machete off the chef’s towel he keeps tied to the waist band of his pants. “Done your half I suppose?”

Minho shrugs his shoulders, eyes scanning the 7/11 you had been raiding. 

You breathe in deeply to calm yourself but that’s the wrong move. You get a lungful of rotting flesh from the zombie you just de-brainified and it makes you gag. You are unsuccessful in keeping your lunch in your stomach, and empty it out over the floor. You groan, in both sickness and embarrassment. 

You cough and move to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand but Minho stops you. “Here,” he says quietly, offering you a ragged but clean cloth.

You frown in confusion but take it from him. Minho was known as the stoic, almost cold member of the small community that had banned together in the restaurant where you called home. 

God’s Menu was just that, a VIP rooftop restaurant. Because of its exclusivity, it offered a good foundation for a safe place from the zombies. Minho, one of the chefs there, along with a few of the staff and its clients, maintained it. Once upon a time, you had been a simple maitre d’. But now? You were a bonefied zombie executioner. 

You wipe your mouth clean and tuck the piece of clothing into a pocket. “Should we go back?”

Minho hefts the backpack full of junk food that seemingly never expired. You swear you see a flash of something pink but you shake your head. It’s obvious your mission is complete. You follow his back as he slips through the broken back door. 

“You know, you didn’t have to come out with me for this jaunt,” You can’t help but say, catching up to Minho. “I know you went out with Innie last night. You could have taken a break.”

Minho’s eyes side eye you for a moment before going back to keeping an eye out for any random zombie. “You said I was the best.”

You flinch and find yourself rooted to the spot. A couple of nights ago, you had been joking with one of the servers and Seungmin. You had admitted that you’d prefer to be paired with Minho if you were going to go on a raid because Minho was the best. And he was. For some reason, the often silent man was deadly with his machete that used to crack lobsters backs. 

“Come on, the sun’s setting,” Minho says when he notices you're lagging behind. 

You frown but jog to catch up with him again. “When did you hear that?”

The tiniest of tiny smiles pulls at one corner of Minho’s lips but it’s gone as quickly as it appears. “Kitchen’s aren’t exactly the best place to have a conversation. Sound carries.”

You knew that. But why would Minho have been around to listen to what you were saying?

“Hey!” Felix greets you with a big grin as he unlocks the heavy doors to the restaurant. “Good raid?”

Changbin helps him haul the door open and wrinkles his nose. “You smell like shit.”

Minho shoulders Changbin in response. “We killed zombies, do you expect us to smell like lilies?”

“It was good,” You murmur, hand moving to your pocket where Minho’s offering still was. 

“Did you get my ramen?” Felix hurries after Minho as he heads to the kitchen. “Please tell me you found some.”

Minho unceremoniously dumps out his treasures to the stainless steel island of the kitchen. 

“Yes!” Felix shouts in triumph and does an end-goal dance. He had been a famous soccer player dining at God’s Menu when the apocalypse had hit. 

You smile at the silliness Felix exhibits until your eyes zero in on something pink. Was that…?

Minho’s eyes widen slightly, and before you can get a closer look, he sweeps some items back into his pack and mutters about going to get some shut eye. 

“Geez, what’s his deal?” Changbin says as he chomps through some shrimp chips. 

“Shut up, Changbin,” You cluck your tongue at him. “Leave Minho alone.”

You make your way to a sink and use some rain water to wash the cloth that Minho had given to you. There’s embroidery on it. It’s faint, but you realize it’s one of the restaurant napkins, God’s Menu still there in thread worn by use. You find yourself smiling to yourself. Who knew the resident badass was so sweet and sentimental?

“Chan and Hyunjin are on first watch,” Felix lets you know. “You should go follow Minho and get some sleep while you can.”

You nod and head towards the previous booths that you used to deliver diners to. You strip off your jean jacket and shimmy out of your baggy pants and crawl into the makeshift bed where you rested your head most nights. You’re exhausted so it’s not long before you drift off to sleep. 

But like most nights, you’re not met with a soft slumber. You often dream of that night. 

“This has got to be a joke,” Hyunjin, the famous painter, shoves his dish towards you. “I ordered hors d’oeuvre, not this shit.”

You duck your head and paste on your best customer service smile. “I assure you, Mister Hwang, this is the best Chef Lee offers. I’m more than happy to bring it back if it’s not to your palate.”

“Better yet, bring him out here. I’ll give him a piece of my mind,” Hyunjin emphasizes his point, tapping his finger on the expensive fine wood’s surface of the table. 

“Certainly, sir.” You bow at the waist and back away. 

You weave through the busy restaurant, through the halfdoors to the kitchen and search out Chef Lee. “Minho, the VIP at the front is having a tantrum.”

Minho looks at you with cold eyes. “Who?”

Jisung bursts through the halfdoors before you can answer. “There’s something wrong!” His eyes roll wildly with fear. 

Without further adieu, screams erupt as Jisung barely dodges out of the way of a customer. Who immediately lodges their teeth into one of the server’s arms and pulls tendons with it. 

Minho’s eyes narrow down at the customer, raises his machete and brings it down at their neck. The geyser of red splurts over you and you blink in surprise. You’re covered in their blood. 

“What the fuck?” Seungmin demands, wiping his hands on his apron. 

“I…” you raise your hands that are shaking violently. 

“Out of the way,” Minho says tonelessly, shoving you to the side.

Another customer, no two, three, four, come pouring into the kitchen. Minho takes them down ruthlessly, while Jisung shouts bloody murder. 

“No no no no,” You start to chant.

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. You were going to wake up at any moment and be in your comfy bed--

“Hey.”

You sit up with a gasp, bonking heads with whoever has woken you up from your reoccuring nightmare. “Fuck,” You pant, your heart beating a million miles per second.

“It’s okay,” Minho’s quiet, steady voice reassures you. “You’re not there anymore.”

“Th-thank you,” You can’t help but stutter.

Minho adverts his eyes. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, getting off the bench in the booth that served as your bed.

“It’s not nothing!” You protest. “You saved my life.”

Minho looks a little bit uncomfortable, shifting on his feet but remaining in front of you. “I just did what needed to be done.”

You find the napkin that Minho had given you to wipe away the sick from your lips. “And this?”

You watch with bewilderment as MInho’s ears turn red. “It was nothing,” he insists again. 

You find yourself slowly smiling. Was there a sweet centre to the typically blank faced zombie annihilator? “Well, it meant something to me, Minho.”

“Take this and shut up,” MInho grunts, shoving something at you and leaving your booth.

You blink down at your hands. The pink item was your favorite coconut treat. How did he know? And more importantly, did he grab it for you specifically?

You unwrap the treat, crinkling the plastic and moaning loudly when you take a bite. It’s sweet flavor floods your tongue and puts you at complete ease. It was your comfort food after all. 

“I could make something better than that, you know,” comes MInho’s voice out of nowhere. Clearly he hadn't gone too far… had he been waiting to hear your response to getting your treat?

“I thought it was nothing,” You giggle under your breath. 

“Just eat it and go back to sleep,” Minho snaps. 

You ate your treat with a huge smile on your face. Was the chef-turned-zombie-killer sweet on you? You kind of liked the idea of that. You wanted to see what else would make his ears turn red.

[nothoughtsjustfic]

You Make Me Glow - X.MH

🌷Who: Xu Minghao (Seventeen) x female reader 🌷What: Fantasy. Fluff. Some humour. Strangers to Friends to Lovers. Neighbours au. Witch Minghao. 🌷Word count: 7.6k 🌷Warnings: Reader is somewhat recently divorced at the start, but she’s more than okay with that! Mentions of past cheating (reader’s asshole ex). Mentions of pre-story death of previous tenant. Some profanity. Minghao is a bit of a dick at the start ngl. Reader is kind of a mess at times, and I think it’s highly relatable of her. A couple very innocent kisses. 🌷Summary:

After divorcing your cheating asshole of an ex-husband, you use the very generous money you gain from the ordeal to buy a house on the complete opposite side of the country to make a fresh start. The online photos of the house are beautiful, and the gardens even more so, though the reality is a little different by the time you arrive. Still, you love it and are determined to turn this house into a home. It’s just a matter of doing your best to ignore the man who seems to have serious issue with you moving into the house, and makes his feelings known with glares that are the furthest thing from neighbourly as a person can get. It’d be a whole lot easier to ignore him if he wasn’t so damn attractive.

I block any blank blog that interacts.

Masterlist

A/N- This was written as part of @dorereef’s spring event, The Reef In Bloom! This event has been such a joy to participate in, the other members have been so lovely and enthusiastic that I really hope to join up with them for another event soon 🥺💗

Almost two months ago, you moved to a sweet little town— barely bigger than a village really—, into a house that had been left empty and untouched for over a year. Although it was a little run down, you fell in love with the images of the homely-looking building on the estate agent’s website and bought it without even visiting.

Of course, your urge to get as far away from your ex-husband and everyone you once knew probably drove you to snatch up the house so quickly; you probably would’ve at least asked the agent in charge of the sale some questions about why the house was still unpurchased after a whole year when it truly is beautiful. But you were desperate to leave and start a new life, your own life, that you didn’t even try to ask.

It doesn’t take you long to realise that you really should’ve asked.

Finally, after over seven weeks of cleaning from top to bottom, redecorating every room, and buying and assembling furniture, your home feels complete. At least, on the inside because the garden is another matter entirely.

Part of what first drew you to the house wasn’t the building itself, but the beautiful garden that wraps around the entirety of it, full of lush, green grass, and so many flowers and plants that you couldn’t hope to even try to name them all. You had seen the carefully curated gardens in the photos and fell in love.

What you failed to consider though, was that the photos were taken over a year ago, when the house first went up for sale, and now it’s been neglected for at least that long.

The once tidy and obviously adored garden has turned into a veritable jungle that you have no idea what to do with, but you need to try if you want even a semblance of a chance of returning it to its former glory.

Which is all well said and done; you’re sure even a half decent home gardener would be able to tackle the tangle of leaves and stems, however, you are not a half decent home gardener. In fact, you’ve never handled a single flower that wasn’t already cut and tied up in paper, topped with a bow and a little card full of false promises and love declarations from your ex-husband.

Having been born and raised in the middle of the city, always living in blocks of pristine apartments, you never had the chance to own even a single little potted cactus. When you were younger, you were never particularly interested in plants anyway, so you really didn’t mind growing up without any in your home. Then, you got a job and didn’t even think about plants. Even the ones you walked past to work, you never considered them really, more that you were just used to them being dotted around, just part of the scenery.

Unfortunately, by the time you developed an interest in growing plants, you were married to a man that point blank refused to bring anything dirty into the spotless apartment. All you wanted was a single potted plant to keep you company during the day at home until he returned, unable to even socialise with the staff he hired to keep your shared home exactly as he liked it. You had been so lonely even as the staff bustled around day in day out; all you wanted was something alive to tend to and bond with, but you weren’t allowed, and you were left with a heart aching for something you believed you’d never have.

Yet now, you have more plants and garden than you know what to do with. Still, you’re determined to give it your best. After a few days of research and buying all the supplies you may potentially need, you step out of your front door ready to do your best to return the gardens to their former glory.

Only to immediately freeze upon noticing your neighbour walking past your house, his head already swivelled to glare in disdain at you, at your mess of a garden.

“G–good morning,” you greet, waving a little awkwardly.

As expected from the sour man, he only grunts in response— it’s such a vague sound, but you can feel the contempt rolling off of him towards you—, and then he sharply turns his head away and walks to his own home, all but slamming the door behind him.

From the very first day you moved in, as soon as you stepped your foot out of your car and onto your driveway for the first time, you just knew with everything in you that the man had scared off every potential buyer when they had visited the house for a viewing. He had been standing on his front doorstep, arms crossed and dark eyes staring you down. Which honestly, scared the shit out of you, it was such an evil look; but you had already bought the house, so you didn’t turn and run away despite the urge rearing up within you.

You had hoped that your neighbour would get used to your presence, would soften up, and at least stop glaring at you like he’s trying to curse your entire bloodline with a look, but he hasn’t. You even tried going old school and baked some cupcakes to take over to gift him while introducing yourself the next day. Yet he had sharply refused the gift, claiming to not eat sweets; only for you to spot him returning home the next day, chewing on a chocolate chip cookie the size of your hand.

The man hadn’t even introduced himself either, so even though it’s been almost two months, you have no idea what the name of your nearest neighbour is. You know the names of at least a dozen people who live in the town already from your shopping trips and walks— all of whom are lovely, to your joy—, yet not his.

Although you should be used to the man’s obvious hatred for you at this point, you’re not. Every time you catch him glaring in your direction, or when he only grunts in response to your greetings, it hurts. You’ve done nothing to warrant such hostility, and you don’t know how to fix it. The last thing you want is to spend the rest of your life living next door to man that despises your entire existence for reasons unknown, but you’ve put too much into making this old house a home that you refuse to leave.

You hope that with a little more time, he’ll at least lose a little of the fire in his sharp gaze when it’s directed towards you, but you’re not going to hold your breath, just the hope cupped close in your chest.

It takes a few days of you wandering around the garden to carefully inspect every inch and do further research on the plants already settled there before you actually start to work on the garden. You hadn’t wanted to go barging in, digging, and pulling only to kill any of the life buried in the soil; you wanted to do your best to find out which plants you need to carefully work around to keep alive, and the ones you need to pull up to stop them from hurting your other plants.

Even when you’re pretty sure that the plant you’re kneeling before is, in fact, a weed that you need to pull up to save the flowers it is winding around, you hesitate; so scared that you’re wrong or will hurt the innocent flowers getting strangled.

You’re entirely unaware of the man peering down at you from his upstairs hallway window, that he’s been watching you meander around the garden the past couple of days, utterly puzzled about what you’re doing.

“Come on, you can do this,” you mutter to yourself before taking a few steadying breaths and leaning in to carefully start unwinding the weed from the stem of the flower closest to you.

Honestly, it’s a lot harder than you thought it’d be, you have to be so careful— or maybe not as careful as you’re being, but you’re inexperienced and scared to do something wrong—, and the strangling weed is a complete asshole. Just when you think you’ve freed a plant from it’s grasps, you notice another tiny, easy to miss vine curled around a stem, and you have to lean even closer, work even slower and cautiously to make sure you only pinch the weed off and not the stem of the flowers you want to save.

It takes hours for you to finish that one small flower bed, but when you get up ready to go indoors for a late lunch, you could swear the flowers look brighter, look like they’re standing tall and happy. Although they’re just plants, and they can’t possibly have such feelings, the thought still makes you smile, and you practically skip into your house with pride in your chest from your hard work.

On the third day of practically crawling around your garden on your hands and knees amongst the overgrown grass and sprawling stems and vines, you find yourself interrupted in the midst of a very one-sided conversation with a particularly happy looking weed. Honestly, you think it’s rather pretty and don’t want to remove it, but it’s greedily sucking all the water from the soil before the surrounding plants can get any, so you don’t really have a choice.

“Are you ready?” you ask the weed, after a very thorough pep talk to you both, letting the plant know that you have every intention of replanting it in the large plant pot you found hiding amongst an overgrown blackberry bush at the bottom of the back garden.

You don’t realise that you’re being watched in utter bewilderment until a truly unexpected voice meets your ears when you’ve got one hand in the already loosened soil, fingers amongst the thick roots of the weed, and the other hand carefully wrapped around the bottom of the main stem to keep it upright as you lift.

“What the fuck?”

Immediately, your head whips around, and your wide, startled gaze finds your neighbour standing on the other side of the low wall separating your side gardens— his much smaller than your own, and barely big enough to get his bicycle down the grassy strip to the shed in the back garden. He’s looking at you with eyes wide and mouth parted in what looks like astonishment.

“Uhm, hello,” you greet, shuffling on your knees a little, awkward, and not sure how you’re supposed to respond to the man. It’s the first time you’ve seen him face on without his gaze piercing down to your very soul.

“Did you just pull that weed out with your bare hands?” he questions, dumbly pointing to it, so you also look at the weed; the thick roots tangled between your fingers further than you realised, and soil covering your skin. Initially, you did wear gloves— and still do with the potentially harmful plants— but it’s easier to feel around the delicate plants without the thick material in the way, so you mostly don’t bother to wear them.

“It’s not poisonous,” you clarify, looking at the man. “I checked.”

“I didn’t mean that. I know it only harms other plants by stealing their water, but it’s stubborn. I’ve never seen anyone pull one without the use of some very strong tools, and even then, they usually need help.

“Oh, really?” you wonder, turning back to the plant, not noticing the roots gently winding around your wrist; the sensation too light and your focus elsewhere to notice. “I guess this one is a gentle soul,” you muse, then shuffle over to do as promised and carefully replant the weed in the waiting pot already full of fresh, damp soil. “There, now you can have all the water you want without hurting the others,” you declare once you’re done after pouring more water onto the soil.

When you get up and stretch, getting ready to relocate the pot a few metres away to a spot you think the weed will like a lot, yet not be a risk to other plants, you’re shocked to find your neighbour still standing there gawping at you. You’re not sure what to do or say. You want to move the pot and return to the flowerbed, but you know that you’ll have to awkwardly shimmy and shove the heavy pot, and you really don’t want the pretty man to watch you look so foolish, especially the first time that he’s shown an interest in you.

Honestly, you kind of hate that even when he’s done nothing but be icy towards you these past two months, you still think he’s so unbelievably beautiful. You don’t think it fair that people can be so mean without reason and still be blessed with such beauty. It’s unfair. Even a few weeks back when you told yourself you’d stop looking over whenever you notice him outside, you couldn’t help but want to catch a glimpse of his features, loveliness unmarred by the scowl etched into his expression whenever he met your gaze. You really did try to stop looking at him, but such a stunning masterpiece deserves to be admired, and you’ve always been a lover of art.

“How did you do that?” he mutters, still staring at the happily replanted weed. You really don’t know what to say, and you think miming the actions would entirely freak the man out, so you just stand there, twisting your soil dusted fingers together awkwardly, and blinking innocently, hoping he’ll move on already. Unfortunately, he doesn’t. “Seriously, what kind of charm did you use?” he enthuses, eyes widening in awed interest as they lift and land on you, as if he’s trying to look into your mind for his answers.

“Uhm…I don’t understand the question,” you admit. “Is…is this flirting?” you ask, pulling an uncertain face. You feel your heart drop a little at the way he rears back as if even the mere idea of him flirting with you is absurd.

“What? No!” He straightens up, levelling you with an expression that’s half boggled and half bewildered, with a little befuddlement thrown in.

“Oh. Sorry, you said charm, and I just…that’s a flirting thing, isn’t it? When someone uses their charm?”

For what feels like minutes, the man just stares at you, as if he needs time to fully register and absorb the words you’ve said. “Oh, you’re not using any magic.” There’s realisation in his tone as his whole posture changes, something a little awkward now, especially when he realises that now you’re staring at him as if you need time to understand what he’s said to you. Though when you do speak, it’s clearly not what he expects, if the way his eyebrows lift in surprise is anything to go on.

“Is that flirting?” you mumble a little dumbly, feeling so lost and out of your depth. A feeling that only grows when the last thing you expect to happen, happens. The man giggles. It’s a light, airy sound, melodic and so pretty, and so truly unexpected from the man who has done nothing but glare at you for two months. It makes your entire being malfunction, brain shutting off, heart racing, stomach flipping, and mouth moving to make some garbled attempt at words before your legs make you dart off inside, slam the door behind you, and then curl up on the floor against it in the strangest display of self-preservation you’ve ever enacted.

For the man’s part, he just stares after you in surprise for a few moments, then lets out another one of those giggles before he turns and heads back into his own house.

It’s almost twenty minutes before you’ve recovered enough to get up and stealthily peer out of the window overlooking the area of the garden that you had dedicated this morning to. You have the perfect view of the low wall splitting your land from the neighbour’s and let out a breath of relief to find him nowhere in sight.

“It’s fine, he’ll go back to glaring and I’ll never have to face him again, it’s fine,” you mutter as you tentatively return to the door to edge outside, convincing yourself to not hide in your house for the rest of your life so that you’ll never have to face your pretty neighbour again after making such a colossal fool out of yourself.

For the first hour of returning to gardening, you feel on edge, like the man will appear at any moment and question what kind of strange place you must be from to act like that. Thankfully, you get lost in your work and forget all about looking over your shoulder, returning to your plants with a content smile on your face.

To your horror, the very next day when you step out in the morning for another day of work, your pretty neighbour is standing on the other side of your closed gate as if he’s waiting for you, a tiny smile tilting his lips, and a cake box in his hands. It’s wrapped with a pretty orange bow the same colour as the little apron you tie around your waist every day to hold your most used gardening tools for easy access, and though you vaguely notice that, you quickly dismiss it as coincidence. There’s no way your neighbour purposely asked them to wrap it in that colour ribbon to match. No way. You also ignore the fact that you’ve bought from that bakery yourself a few times since moving to town, and you’ve only seen them use pale blue ribbons.

“Good morning,” he starts, shuffling the box a little so that one hand can lift, and his slender fingers can wiggle at you in a wave. You wave dumbly back, and his smile lifts. “I think we really got off on the wrong foot, and I’d like to make up for it. May we start over?” You don’t say anything, still too busy staring in shock. “My name is Minghao; I’m your neighbour, and I’d really like to get to know you,” he informs, tone gentle, and tags your name on the end as if you’re not already halfway to a mental breakdown from his mere presence.

The fact that he had actually paid attention when you introduced yourself that day— before shutting the door in your face— and remembers, feels like a much bigger deal than it is. You just genuinely hadn’t expected him to ever call you by your name, to even willingly talk to you, so hearing it fall so effortlessly, so easily from his lips, stuns you a little.

“I’m not a good baker, but I bought cupcakes; you know, sweeten the deal?” he jokes, smiling a little embarrassed by his own words, and cheeks so endearingly pink.

You squeak, then abruptly turn into your house, and hide behind the closed door.

When you recover moments later, you knock your forehead against the door and berate yourself for making a fool of yourself again in front of the man. If this is going to become a regular thing, you think you’re going to have to move away to save yourself endless future embarrassments.

It’s utterly out of character for you too; you’ve never made such a fool of yourself because of a pretty man before. Then again, you’ve never seen such a pretty man before, and you think that means you probably get a pass or two for not being able to react like a functioning human at the sound of his giggle, or your name said in his gentle voice, or a shy blush. Really it’s his fault for attacking you with sweetness after so much sour. You thought that was the man he is: nothing more than a bitter, unsociable asshole, but it seems that he has seriously mislead you.

The more you think about it, the more you want to know why he acted so coldly towards you, only to turn his attitude around all of a sudden. You think that you deserve an explanation, and you certainly won’t get one hiding away in your house.

With a renewed sense of determination flowing through your veins, you straighten your posture and open the door, only to lose a little of that strength and shrink slightly upon spotting Minghao still standing on the other side of the waist height wooden gate, leaning his right elbow on the thick top, chin propped on his palm, and amusement sparkling in his eyes as he watches you.

“Hi,” he greets, smiling as you step out of your home like a newborn lamb taking their first steps; uncertain and about ready to drop on your ass in a mess of weak legs if he keeps looking at you like this.

“Hi,” you reply, a barely audible croak, but he smiles wider and straightens up.

“I wasn’t sure what ones to get, so I went the safe route and bought lemon raspberry,” he informs as he holds the box over the gate in offer.

“That’s the safe option?” you wonder bewildered as you slowly get closer, approaching cautiously as if he’s going to reach out and sucker punch you in the throat. Or giggle; that’s potentially more dangerous, at least for your juddering heart and apparently very weak mental state when faced with gorgeous men. Or this gorgeous man in particular, you should say.

“Well, it’s sweet and sour, best of both worlds if you ask my friend. Though, I think he’d still rather more lemon, but he’s a freak, so we don’t consider his opinion where sour is concerned.”

“You do realise you just contradicted yourself, right?”

Just as you accept the gift into your hands, Minghao giggles, realising you’re right, and you almost drop the cupcakes. He flails his arms out to help, his hands settling over yours on either side of the box, and you can only stare dumbly up at him at the touch, how close you are. Dammit, he’s even prettier up close.

“We saved them,” he grins playfully at you.

And you, in all your brainless state when faced with this man and his smile, say perhaps the dumbest thing you possibly can right now. “My ex-husband cheated on me,” you blurt, and immediately turn wide eyed when Minghao recoils in shock, his hands leaving yours and his eyes widening to match yours.

“Uh—”

“I mean that I’m very single!” you declare, brain still apparently offline as you only make things worse. “I–I mean–” you stammer out a mess of panicked, jumbled words as Minghao’s expression melts, then twists into something that’s half amused, half utterly insanity inducing where it’s tucked into his smirk.

“Is this flirting?” he teases, leaning on his palms on the gate, tilting in towards you as he repeats the words you asked him less than 24 hours ago.

“Fact!” you sputter, shaking your head.

“Ah, I see. Well, if we’re exchanging facts, I’m very single too.”

“Good!” His lips turn up into a toothy grin, a little dark around the edges as his gaze remains utterly entertained and teasing on you. “I–I mean–”

“Do you have tea?” he asks, nodding towards your house, making you peek over your shoulder at it naturally to follow his prompt, then turn your head back to look at him and nod dumbly, head wobbling loosely and mouth still open from being cut off from your nervous, embarrassed rambling. “How about I come inside for tea?”

“Is that a euphemism?” you whisper, and he cracks up, leaning down onto the gate as he laughs bodily.

“Oh, you are precious,” he giggles, peering up at you from his hunched over spot.

“Thank you.”

He giggles some more before gathering himself and straightens up, cheeks bunched with how big he’s grinning. “So, tea?”

“Why did you glare so much?” you blurt, brain kicking back in enough to remember the whole reason you stepped back out of your house. You think that if you don’t take the chance to confront the man while you can, you’ll lose the will and ability and just get swept along with his sweet giggles and teasing gaze.

Minghao’s amusement melts away bit by bit at your words, until he’s looking aside with what appears like guilt on his features while he stares at the garden to your left, right where you left the pot with the pretty weed yesterday. “I’m not sure I can really explain, not in a way you’ll understand,” he admits, tone quieter, uncertain almost. “I can imagine it will be a lot for you to take in, to accept even. You’re not…” He sighs and returns his gaze to you. “I’m sorry for how I acted, it wasn’t kind of me at all. I suppose in simple turns, I was jealous. I’ve wanted this house for the garden since it went up for sale, but I couldn’t afford it, so when you moved in, I assumed you wouldn’t care for the garden at all, that you didn’t deserve such a place as this. But I was wrong; you deserve it more than I ever could, that proves it.” He points to the pot, confusing you.

“How does that prove anything?” He just gives you a little smile that you somehow just know means he has no intention of elaborating at all. “Right.” You frown a little, confused, and not sure what is the correct thing to do here when there’s clearly something Minghao is refusing to explain, but you also don’t think it’s your place to push.

When you reach out, Minghao steps back slightly, eyes widening, though he relaxes when you just unlatch the gate and pull it open in silent offer.

“Thank you,” he says, sounding so genuinely grateful and pleased that you quickly turn to lead the way into the house, and only trip slightly on the step leading into the house. “Oh, careful,” he worries, hands on your upper arms, having reached out to steady you.

You just hum vaguely in response, too scared to open your mouth in case something stupid comes out again, and rush to the kitchen to put the cupcake box on the table and get started putting the kettle on to boil.

“Oh, it’s beautiful in here,” Minghao comments, sounding awed as he looks around where he’s standing just inside the kitchen, seeming genuinely interested in the décor and little knickknacks you’ve placed around to make the place yours.

“Thank you.”

“It’s a huge change from how Elodie had it.”

“Elodie?”

“Oh, right.” He looks at you and smiles softly. “The previous owner. She had lived here for decades, ever since she married her husband. They raised all of their children here, helped raised grandchildren, and then he passed, and she followed not long after, too empty without him in this house to have the strength to go on.”

“Oh, that’s so sad.”

“In a way, but it’s beautiful in others; how much love they shared. They lived a long, happy life together, full of love and joy, and they’ll continue that in their afterlife. I think that’s the best life a person can live; finding love and true happiness like that, do you not agree?”

“I do, but I don’t think it’s possible for everyone, for most of us.”

“Respectfully, I disagree.” He moves over to help you set up the table as the kettle signals it’s boiled.

Although it makes no sense, although it shouldn’t be possible— especially considering the strained and awkward relationship the two of you have shared until now—, you and Minghao move around your kitchen together as if you’ve done this a million times. Of course, he doesn’t know where you keep items, but he asks in a gentle tone you naturally match without thinking when you answer. It’s calm; the two of you gathering everything needed without bumping into each other once and sitting down at the table opposite one another to share the cupcakes.

“So, what do you think?” he queries when you’ve taken a few bites of your cupcake, his own in a similar partially eaten state on the cute little plate before him. Plates you could not walk away from once you saw them in a second-hand store only last week. They’re too small to use for an actual meal, so you had been worried you wouldn’t find a reason to use them, but you just couldn’t leave them in the store; they’re far too cute, and you had immediately fallen in love with them.

It had made your heart flutter in a funny little pleased way when Minghao had also seemed to fall in love with the plates once he spotted them in the cupboard and excitedly grabbed two to set up for the pair of you to eat your cupcakes off. Honestly, you had intended to not bother with plates at all and just sweep the crumbs from the table after, you hadn’t even considered using the plates, but you’re more than happy that Minghao had suggested it.

“Hm?” you hum questioningly, and he points at the cupcake on your plate. “Oh, delicious. Sweet and a little sour, perfectly balanced.”

“Yeah, I think so too,” he agrees, smiling at you in an almost tender kind of way.

For a few moments, the two of you just hold gentle eye contact, share matching smiles, before he looks down, cheeks dusted pink. Neither of you say anything more, falling into a content, calm silence that feels so right that you hope this won’t be the last time that the two of you share tea and cupcakes at your kitchen table as if there’s nothing but this table, this moment, in the whole world.

Somehow, after that day, spending time with Minghao suddenly becomes such an everyday routine that not seeing him feels so wrong that you don’t quite know what to do with yourself when it happens.

“Missed me that much?” Minghao’s voice teases from right behind you where you’re sitting in your garden, aimlessly moving around the freshly sprinkled soil in the flowerbed in front of you, mind stuck on what Minghao has been doing for the past three days he’s not been home.

“Hao,” you gasp, turning to look up at him with rounded eyes. “You’re back. You said you’d be gone a week.”

“Mm missed your tea too much. You make the best tea, you know?” he replies as he sits a little to your side on the grass you cut only a few days ago.

It’s been weeks of tackling the garden— often with Minghao close by—, removing all the weeds, and pruning away until you could reasonably drag a lawn mower over the grass. Surprisingly, the grass is in great condition for the most part, only a few bare, patchy sections where you’ve had to remove harmful weeds and move decorative rocks to make it easier to mow.

“I do?” you ask, perking up a little at the compliment. You know it’s a huge compliment too, Minghao is something of a tea connoisseur, which you found out the very first time you entered his kitchen and saw his impressive collection of teas. He even has multiple tea sets which he uses depending on the vibe he wants— his own words.

“You do,” he confirms as he smiles at you in that same gentle way he always does these days, ever since the second time you ran away from him when overwhelmed by his pretty face and precious smile. You’d like to say that it hasn’t happened since, but that’d be a lie.

Even after these weeks of being friends with Minghao, he still finds ways to fluster you and make your brain stop functioning. Honestly, you’re pretty sure that he does it on purpose, finding your reactions funny; but you never have it in you to scold him, not when he’s gained the habit of reaching out to hold you in place so you that can’t run away. Sometimes, it’s just his hand holding yours securely that pins you down, but others, if it’s physically possible, Minghao’s arms find their way around you, and he holds you close to his chest with his head tilted to rest against yours. Maybe, sometimes, you pretend that you’re going to run away just so that he’ll pull you close, but you won’t tell him that.

“Though, I didn’t just miss your tea,” he adds as he watches his hand brush over the freshly cut grass.

“No? The garden?” you assume, knowing how much Minghao loves your garden, how he wanted to buy the house purely for the garden, yet couldn’t financially manage it.

Minghao’s house is half the size of yours, only built for two people really, with a much smaller garden to match; and so, even if he sold it, he wouldn’t have had the funds to buy your house when it was available. He had been trying so hard to save up though; hence why he scared potential buyers away, hoping he could keep the house free long enough to gather the funds. But you bought it, and he burned with envy.

He’s let it go now and even admitted to you that he knew he’d never realistically be able to afford it. But hope can be a dangerous thing at times, and it took him until he watched you genuinely love and care for your then neglected garden to let that soured hope free and accept the facts.

Though, only days into your friendship, when you gave him permission to help you tend to the gardens and allotted him an area to grow whatever he wants there— having overrun his own modest garden—, you saw something lift in him, and he’s been nothing but grateful and so lovely since.

Not that Minghao isn’t a genuinely lovely person— when he’s not being a jealous asshole, that is. He’s truly such a wonderful man that you find it impossible to calm the butterflies in your stomach every time you find him looking at you with that soft gaze. But there’s something even sweeter in his smiles now, something that lightens his steps and makes him almost float into your garden every single day when he spots you out there.

Logically, it makes sense that, other than your tea-making skills, Minghao has missed your garden. In fact, you’ve never seen the man happier than when he’s sitting in your garden, smiling contently at you over a cup of tea, and soil staining his fingers around the porcelain.

“No, not the garden either,” he replies, utterly bewildering you. He glances at you from under his lashes, smiles, then lifts his head just enough to lock his gaze with yours, let you see the truth in his eyes. “You, I missed you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and your heart skips probably about five too many beats to be healthy, but you don’t care, barely even notice. Especially as your mind shuts down and focuses entirely on the beautiful man before you, his words.

As soon as your body starts to move, tries to run away to hide, Minghao reaches out to grab your arms and pull you in. So naturally that it feels like you were made for this, you curl up against him, tuck up against his chest as he settles you between his spread thighs, your left shoulder pressing to his chest with your arms curled up, fingers loosely grasping his t-shirt. Minghao’s arms settle around you, his head rests against the top of yours, and you never want to be anywhere else. The content little breath he lets out makes you think that maybe, he feels the same way.

After some minutes, when your brain decides to come back online fully instead of floating around on Minghao shaped clouds, you try to sit up. Minghao makes a noise of displeasure and tugs you back, earning a little giggle to fall from your lips. You feel his cheek bunch against your hairline as he smiles.

“Let me go put the kettle on for tea,” you say, smile evident in your light tone.

“Tea can wait.”

You gasp and lean back enough to look at him in shock. “Tea can wait?”

“This is more important,” he assures. One arm breaks your comfortable cocoon as he lifts it so that he can tenderly brush his fingers over your cheek. He says nothing, but he doesn’t need to. You tilt into his hold, prompting his palm to curve against your cheek, and he lets out another one of those content sighs. “You’re so beautiful, you know?”

“Says you,” you return, tone matching his gentle one, only loud enough for the pair of you, nothing mattering past your garden, your little bubble of home. “You’re so pretty it makes me do and say dumb things.”

Minghao giggles, and you whine a little, unable to stop it, or the way your eyes round out, so enamoured by his adorable giggles that you can’t keep it off your face any longer. Not that you’ve ever been good at hiding it, but this close with one of his slender hands still reverently caressing your skin, you couldn’t hide your adoration if you tried.

“Mm, I noticed that,” he muses teasingly and leans a little closer as he grins softly. “But I like it, like how honest you are with your reactions.”

“Even though it makes me look like a fool?”

“Even though,” he agrees with a nod. “Maybe especially because it does. It’s so cute and strokes my ego.”

“I’d love to stroke you,” you mutter dumbly as his thumb brushes the edge of your mouth. Minghao snorts a laugh, leaning back so he doesn’t laugh directly in your face. “I didn’t mean like that…not that I’d say no…if you want to do that.”

Minghao giggles again and leans back in to press a kiss to your forehead that makes you gasp softly and grip his t-shirt tighter, pulse thrumming under your skin from the unexpected affection. “Let me at least take you on a date first,” he teases. You can’t nod fast enough, setting him off into giggling laughter all over again as he curls around you and holds you closer, as if there’s nowhere he’d rather be.

A year and a half ago, you moved to a sweet little town, into a house that had been left empty and untouched for over a year, and you turned it into your home.

And now, after almost a year since that day in the garden when Minghao first asked you on a date, the house next to yours is empty. You can’t help but frown a little as you peer at it from your bedroom window, recalling all the memories you made with the man who once lived there, how much happiness you created together there.

Though, the arms winding around your waist from behind, the lips that press a tender kiss to your temple as you lean back against a familiar chest, makes the frown lift into a sweet little smile. “Stop looking at it like that, or I’ll start to believe you regret asking me to move in,” Minghao teases against your skin, tightening his hold on you a little as he leans closer into you, both of you always moving to be tucked up as close as possible in these moments of affection.

“Ridiculous man,” you scold, scoffing, yet the smile on your face only grows.

“You love this ridiculous man.”

“I do,” you confirm without hesitation, with nothing but truth in your tone. “And he loves me too.” You turn your head so that you can meet his adoring gaze.

“With everything in me,” he agrees, with just as much certainty as you spoke with, then leans in to press a kiss to your lips. “Now, come to bed, it’s our first night in our shared home.” He giggles, sounding a little giddy at his own reminder, then quickly ushers you over to the bed after closing the curtains to block out the night and give you the privacy to be able to sleep comfortably.

The pair of you excitedly clamber under the covers and cuddle up, though you both know neither of you are ready to sleep yet, too full of joyous energy thanks to this big step in your relationship, this start of a new life together; a life you both hope will be as happy and full of love as the life of previous family who lived here once upon a time.

“Hao,” you prompt after a while of content quiet between you, happy to just lay basking in one another’s love and affection. He hums questioningly in response. “I think, considering that we now live together, it’s about time you tell me the truth.”

Minghao’s hand trailing mindlessly over your waist immediately stops. “What? What does that mean?” he asks, sounding confused and a little upset. “I haven’t lied to you.”

“I know, but you haven’t told me the truth either.” You adjust, wriggling around until you’re leaning up on your elbows on his right and peering down at his furrowed features looking at up at you in the dull lamp light. “The very first day we became friends, when you told me your name and invited yourself over for tea–”

“You opened the gate,” he reminds, sounding a little petulant, making you giggle shortly before continuing.

“You told me I wouldn’t understand why you hated me so much for buying this house.”

“Oh.” His expression turns into understanding, and he tugs you back down, making you return to your rightful place at his side with your head on his chest— not that he ever needs to make you cuddle up to him, you’re always more than happy do to that. “I guess it is time I tell you, huh; you’ll learn soon enough anyway, now that we live together and I won’t be able to keep hiding it from you.”

“Wait, hiding—” you try to question him, but he shushes you and holds you tighter, places a kiss on your hairline to placate you into falling still and silent.

“You know how I always say the garden is special? Things grow and thrive there in a way they wouldn’t in my old garden, despite it being only a wall away?” You hum in confirmation, easily recalling the words he’s muttered many times over the past year you’ve been tending the garden together. “There are things that can only grow in this garden, in this soil, and Elodie used to grow them for me, knowing I needed them for my work, and it’s very expensive to get them shipped in from other places.”

“So you were pissed that you had to keep spending all that money to get your fancy flowers for your teas?” you reason, assuming that the plants Elodie used to grow, the plants Minghao now grows in the garden, are ones he dries and makes up into the homemade tea blends he runs a rather successful business selling mostly online, though some locals would turn up at his house— old house— asking for wares.

“Sort of, but not exactly,” he giggles. “They’re not exactly teas, my love.”

“What do you mean? I’ve seen them, we have them filling a cupboard in the kitchen.”

“We do and those are teas, nothing more.”

“Nothing more?” you repeat, wanting to lift up to give him a suspicious look, but he holds you firm, knowing exactly that you intended to do that.

“The ones I sell to the locals and special clients, my real source of income and true job, are potions I make as a witch.”

“A witch?!” you shriek, rearing up so fast that Minghao’s arms fly off you. Then again, the man is too busy laughing away on the mattress to hold on, finding your reaction so hilarious. Especially when he can tell that you believe him entirely, don’t even think he’s joking with you despite how a part of him thought you would accuse him of playing around. But it makes him happy, makes his heart swell, so full of love for the woman who trusts him with her entire heart and soul. He’s eternally grateful for that.

“Yes, I’m a witch, born and raised,” he confirms through his giggles, beaming up at you. “This house was built on magic soil, or the ground became infused with magic over the years, nobody really knows.”

“Is that why you glow here?” you wonder, tilting your head curiously as you sit cross legged by his side.

“Glow?” he repeats, looking utterly bewildered. “Magic doesn’t make a person glow.”

“No?” Your features scrunch a little in confusion. “Then what’s that about? Ever since you started to spend more time here, you look like you glow, not physically, but like…from within.”

Minghao’s expression turns into understanding; he sits up to cup your face and presses a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “That glow is my love for you, growing stronger each day I spend by your side. You make me glow, sweetheart, not magic.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, cheeks warming, and eyes round and sparkling on him. “I want to make you glow like that for the rest of my life.”

“Good, because I’m never leaving your side,” he promises, and seals it with a kiss that makes you feel so warm and fuzzy, like maybe, he’s not the only one who glows.

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[nothoughtsjustfic]

A Daydream Away - K.SJ

👨‍🏫Who: Kim Seokjin (BTS) x female reader 👨‍🏫What: Smut (18+). University au. Teacher Seokjin x student Reader. 👨‍🏫Word count: 6.5k 👨‍🏫Warnings: Power imbalance (in that he’s her teacher). Ages aren’t specified exactly, but it’s said that Seokjin is barely a few years older than the majority of the students. Profanity. Kissing. Dom Seokjin. Sub Reader. A single spank. Grinding. Fingering (female receiving). Oral (male receiving). PIV sex. Unprotected sex. Dirty talk. Cum swallowing. Praise. Seokjin calls reader: little one, baby, good girl. Reader calls Seokjin: Sir. I think that’s it! 👨‍🏫Summary:

The problem with having such an attractive teacher is that it’s hard to focus on anything but your dirty fantasies starring him. Though, maybe it’s not such a bad thing when he has you stay behind one day after class, and he finds out exactly what’s been keeping you distracted for the past months.

Minors do NOT interact. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio. I also block blank blogs.

Masterlist

A/N- This was originally on my old account @/whipped-for-kpop-fics, but I decided to entirely rewrite it move it over to here.

Usually, you’re a pretty good student; you rarely get in trouble, and even then it’s only for forgetting to complete work at home. Your grades are always passes at the lowest; you’re not the top student, but you’re certainly in the top section of every class you take.

Except for the one taught by Mr. Kim Seokjin.

Now, Seokjin isn’t a bad teacher, not at all; he’s incredibly smart in his subject, and all of his students tend to pass. All except you. It’s nothing against Seokjin, you think he’s a brilliant teacher, and you love attending his classes.

The problem is that he’s too fucking attractive. You spend more time ogling his handsome features and broad shoulders than paying attention to the topic; fantasising about how it’d feel to have your legs hooked over them as he pounds harshly in–

You’re snapped from yet another daydream staring Kim Seokjin, by the man himself as he calls your name firmly. You can’t clear your mind of the aroused fog it’s in fast enough to even attempt to give him a sheepish smile, embarrassed about once again getting caught with your head in the clouds during his class. “Can you at least pretend to pay attention for once?” he scolds, giving you a stern, disapproving look.

“Sorry,” you mumble, tongue flicking out to wet your suddenly dry lips. You could swear that Seokjin’s eyes follow the movement of your tongue as it peeks out. But can your horny mind be trusted to see things correctly right now? Not really.

“Hm, right; you say that every time,” he returns, scoffing in disbelief as he puts his hands on his hips. “Stay after class,” he demands, and you can only nod meekly; his dominant aura making your thighs clench. The sign of agreement satisfies Seokjin enough to allow him to return to his teaching, believing that he has your attention, at least for the remaining twenty minutes of class. Oh, how wrong he is.

The moment that Seokjin’s attention is back on everyone but you, your mind is already slipping back into your fantasies, his demand for you to stay behind only fuelling your dirty thoughts. Seokjin is known throughout the university for letting his students out of class early, he never asks anyone to stay behind. He isn’t much older than the majority of the students, so he remembers how tough university was, and he doesn’t want to give anyone extra stress by being forced to stay after class. So, the fact he’s told you to stay behind, well, you think you can be forgiven for letting your mind run away with that thought.

If only he knew the images of him you hold in your mind, he certainly wouldn’t want to encourage it by keeping you behind. What teacher would?

Only minutes after returning to his lecture, Seokjin’s eyes happen to glance over to you, and he can’t help but sigh as he spots the glassed-over look in your eyes, telling him that you’re already away with the fairies.

He hasn’t the faintest idea why you struggle to pay attention in his class. He worries that he bores you, so he’s tried to move around the room more; has brought in more hands-on activities to keep you, in particular, focused.

You’re the only student failing his class and he doesn’t understand why. He’s paid you so much attention, left you notes with tips on studying and websites for extra information. During class, without fail, he always places a copy of the lessons notes— his personal notes— on your desk in front of you; but you either ignore them entirely or push them into your bag mindlessly at the end of class with your own papers without even looking at them. He always sees masses of paper sticking out of your notebook every class, but they never seem to move.

He can’t help but wonder if you even look at the worksheets he’s spent so long making specifically for you. He even had a friend teach him how to draw the characters he’s seen on your clothing and accessories, so that he can doodle them onto the worksheets in hopes of catching your interest. But the worksheets never move, and your grades are getting worse.

To make matters worse, Seokjin knows that you pay attention in literally every class you take and never fail any assignments for any but his. One day, he had searched up your class schedule on the university system and stood outside various classroom doors to peer through the window and watch you, just to see if you have the same issue of losing focus in other classes. You never do.

Seokjin takes your failing and absent mind personally, as if it’s something he’s done to warrant such a response, and he wants to get to the bottom of it. No way will he allow such a capable student to fail yet another term of his class.

Unlike every other day, you don’t come out of the fantasies when Seokjin dismisses class, making your fellow students get up and scramble to leave. The class is already a late one, finishing at 6pm, so all of the students are eager to get out of the university and go about their personal lives.

Seokjin watches you curiously from where he’s leaning against the edge of his desk. Even as other students leave, bigging him goodbye and wishes of a good evening, his eyes don’t leave you despite his mouth moving to return the well wishes.

For a further five minutes after everyone has left, he continues to silently watch you in curious wonder. Though, realising that you’re too deep in your mind to notice that the room is empty other than the two of you, he pushes his body off the furniture to stalk over and stand in front of your desk. For the first time, your eyes follow his movement, yet they’re still glassy, and he knows your mind isn’t with him, even if your sight is.

As he leans down to grip either side of your desk to be closer to eye level with you, he suddenly realises just how pretty you are.

Of course, Seokjin isn’t blind, he can tell when a student is attractive, but that’s it; his mind registers an attractive student in an abstract, off handed kind of way, and that’s where it stops. Despite student-teacher relationships in the university not being against the rules exactly— therefore, not a fireable offense—, they’re still greatly frowned upon. Seokjin knows this, so he’s never once even considered a student in any way but as a student; someone to teach and guide academically.

But standing over you like this; your eyes wide and glossy as you stare up at him, cheeks flushed, and lips parted; for the first time, Seokjin’s mind wanders. He can’t help but think how pretty you’d look spread out by his hands under his body, utterly fucked out.

Before the thought can progress into a fantasy, he shakes his head softly and clears his throat— it’s suddenly too dry considering he had gulped down the contents of his water bottle at the end of class.

The sudden noise breaks you out of your fantasies with a little jolt. Blinking rapidly, your gaze comes back into focus. “Oh,” you breathe out, finding Seokjin so close to you, causing excitement to crawl through your body. You’ve never been so close to the man, and he only looks even more delectable the closer you get. “Mr. Kim.”

He says your name in response, once again clearing his throat when his voice cracks on the syllables. “Are you finished with your daydreaming now?” You suck your bottom lip between your teeth as you nod shyly, embarrassed as per usual about being called out. Without even having the chance to try to stop it from happening, Seokjin’s gaze drops down to eye your mouth, in a way far too obvious to miss.

You watch his throat bob heavily as he swallows thickly while watching your lip slowly slip out from the light grasp of your teeth. “Sir?” you question softly. Your voice sounds so innocent, barely a whisper, and it sends Seokjin’s mind whirling.

Oh, how he’d love to fucking wreck you; hear his name tumble so sweetly from those pretty lips of yours.

“Go home,” he suddenly says when he realises how his mind is running away with his filthy thoughts. He drops his head down so that he doesn’t have to look at you; he fears he’ll lose all sanity if he looks at you a moment longer.

“Sir?” you repeat, more bewildered this time. After all, he told you to stay behind, and now he’s telling you to leave. What’s his problem?

Seokjin’s mental strength slips a little further out of his grasp. Why do you have to keep calling him that in that innocent voice? You’re pretty much begging him to bend you over that very desk and have his way with you. He can’t handle that and needs you to stop before he truly loses his mind.

If only he knew you’ve imagined that very scenario many times already.

“Why are you calling me that?” he groans, almost whining.

“What? Sir?” He nods, and you tilt your head, confused eyes glaring into the top of his head. “Because…you’re my teacher,” you answer simply.

“And?!” he snaps, lifting his head to stare at you with wild eyes that dance madly over your features. The crazed expression makes you jolt a little in shock; he genuinely looks seconds away from losing his mind. “You shouldn’t call men things like that so easily!” he lectures. “Don’t you understand what it does to a man when a woman like you calls him such a thing?” Seokjin doesn’t know why he’s being so blunt, so open and honest with you, but he simply can’t stop himself.

“A woman like me?” you question, suddenly feeling self-conscious. You look down at your seated form with a little frown. “What’s wrong with me?”

All at once, Seokjin’s body cools down instead of burning up, and he calms dramatically. “What? Nothing is wrong with you. Why would you think anything is wrong with you?” he questions in an utterly bewildered murmur.

“You said a woman like me shouldn’t say those things,” you explain with your eyes glued to your fingers as you fiddle with the hem of your hoodie, thinking about what could be so wrong with you; maybe you could dress better; maybe you could make more of an effort. The thought makes you shrink dejectedly. A guy like Seokjin could never find a woman like you appealing.

“And that made you think something is wrong with you?” You don’t respond, you don’t need to. Your answer is obvious by the way you’ve curled in on yourself; an attempt to make yourself smaller, less visible. Seokjin says your name gently, gingerly reaching out to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger, though you turn your head away out of his touch to prevent him from tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “Look at me,” he demands firmly.

Just like that, you stop pulling away and allow him to direct your line of sight to his face. You submit so easily to him, and it makes his cock twitch in his pants.

“Don’t you ever think that something is wrong with you,” he says, voice so soft and soothing, so honest, full of unspoken meaning, that your heart thrums and your cheeks speckle with a pretty blush. “You’re beautiful.” His gaze dances over your features, taking his time to memorise every little freckle, every little imperfection for when he’s home alone and needs to remember how your face alone has sent heat tingling through his body. “So beautiful.”

How has he gone through so many months already with you in his class without truly noticing your beauty? He doesn’t know, but he knows he’ll never stop noticing now.

“Sir…” you gasp at his words; never could you have expected the living definition of beautiful to utter such words to you. You can tell he means them too.

“I told you not to call me that,” he reminds, eyes turning stern again as they lock with your own.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why I can’t,” you reason, lips pouting in confusion. He has to fight the urge to pounce forward and suck your bottom lip between his own.

“How can such a beautiful woman be so clueless about the effect you have on men?” He chuckles softly and then backs up in fear that he won’t be able to take his hand from your face if he hovers a minute longer. Your head tilts in confusion, and eyebrows furrow. “I think it’s best you go home now,” he declares, turning on his heel and returning to his desk, where he has a stack of papers from another class that he needs to mark before he can go home.

“Not until you tell me why I can’t call you sir,” you argue, voice surprisingly firm.

As Seokjin sits in his chair, he looks up at you with raised eyebrows, finding you still sitting at your desk, stubbornly refusing to pack up your belongings to leave. “Go.”

“No.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch in amusement. You’re being so unbelievably stubborn for someone who was so quick to obey his words only minutes before.

“I’m not moving, Sir.”

Seokjin’s smile drops, and he sighs heavily. “Fine, but you’re not getting an answer. Sit there all night for all I care; I have papers to grade.” With that, he gets to work, picking up his trusty marking pen, and bending over the first assignment in the stack.

Yet knowing that you’re sitting there, only metres away, he can’t focus.

A groan of frustration leaves his throat, and he rubs his neck as he fights the urge to look up at you. He can feel your gaze locked on him, and it kind of irks him; you’re suddenly paying him so much attention at the one time he wants none of it.

“Stop staring,” he mutters, easily loud enough for you hear in the otherwise silent room, while he tries to reread the student’s answer for the fifth time. He still can’t make sense of it though; his mind is entirely stuck on you.

“I don’t want to, Sir.”

He knows you’re doing it just to wind him up. You want your answer and intend to play up until you get it. You’re being a little brat, and he kind of loves it.

“You don’t want to push me, little one,” he warns, glancing up at you over his glasses, giving you such a dark look that you visibly shiver. Fuck, you like it. The realisation forces him to put his hand under the desk to try to resituate the growing problem in his pants into less of an annoyance. “Are you going to be a good girl and go home?” he tries.

“I’ll leave when you tell me why I can’t call you sir, Sir,” you retort. And it makes him give up with marking, with restraining himself.

Seokjin leans back in his chair while tossing his pen onto the desk carelessly. “Get over here,” he orders. His cock twitches at the enthusiastic speed you scramble out of your chair to rush over and stand on the opposite site of the desk to him. “No, little one, here,” he corrects, motioning to his side.

You’re a little hesitant at first but obediently shuffle around the desk to stand beside his chair. “Yes, Sir?” you ask, wanting another order so desperately.

“Hands on the desk.” You tilt your head questioningly. “Be a good girl.” You nod and turn to place both palms flat on the desk so that you’re facing out over the empty room. “Hmm, lean over.” You do, leaning further over the desk, meaning your ass sticks out, and Seokjin watches closely, appreciating the way your little shorts cling to your backside. “Stay like that until I tell you to move. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” Seokjin smiles in approval and pushes his chair back, grinning when you don’t even try to look over your shoulder and see what he’s doing. You listen so well; it makes him so fucking hard.

Seokjin wheels his chair until he’s directly behind you, then adjusts the height until he’s sitting eye level with your ass. “You’ve been bad, you know this, don’t you, little one?” he hums, hands resting on his spread thighs, but fingers twitching with the urge to touch the expanse of your exposed thighs.

“I have?” you question in wonder, truly not aware of what he’s referring to.

“Yes, little one,” he confirms.

“Oh… When, Sir?”

“That is the most recent behaviour; refusing to listen when I told you to stop.” You remain quiet. “Will you admit to that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And yet you still say it?”

“You haven’t explained, Sir.”

Seokjin chuckles lowly; you sure are stubborn for a submissive woman. “You never pay attention in my class,” he continues, allowing his fingers some relief by dancing them along the outside of your thighs directly above your knees, but only an inch or so before returning downwards and mindlessly stroking at your outer knees.

“I don’t mean to daydream, Sir.”

“You pay attention in every other class; I’ve checked up on you.”

That surprises you and makes you pause momentarily. “…You have?”

“Mmhmm, I had to see if it’s just your natural behaviour, or if you hate my class that much.”

“I don’t hate your class,” you argue, voice full of such honesty that Seokjin’s hands stop absently moving against your soft skin.

“You don’t?”

“No; I think you’re a brilliant teacher.”

“Then why are you failing?”

You don’t respond, not wanting to tell him the truth, too embarrassed. Though, as soon as his hands leave you with the intention of relocating his chair, you speak up quickly, not wanting him to move away. “I have trouble concentrating in your class. I try hard, but I can’t. I…have too many fantasies, Sir,” you confess, still a bit embarrassed but also feeling paradoxically shameless. At this point, you’ll confess to anything as long as he keeps touching you.

“Fantasies?” he encourages, voice low as his hands return to your legs. Seokjin never expected you to say that you fantasise throughout his class, and his heart pounds with the hope that he stars in them. It’s only logical to assume that you think about him, after all, it’s only his class that you daydream in.

“Yes, Sir.”

“What about?” You whine softly in response, clearly in no rush to answer, though it quickly turns into a yelp when his palm suddenly connects with your inner thigh. “Oh, shit! Sorry, sorry, I–” he tries to apologise, panicking over his own actions. He had reacted instinctively, wanting to put you in your place; a place you don’t even have being his student, but fuck does he wish you did.

“You! I fantasise about you!” you blurt out the confession, the breathless tone telling him that maybe, you like the situation as much as he does, and you’re far from opposed to the little slap on your thigh. “Sir,” you add on almost as an afterthought, though it doesn’t sound bratty anymore, more like you know that he likes hearing it; that you’ve finally figured it out.

“Fuck,” he curses, fingers digging into your flesh slightly as he grips you as if testing you, testing that the situation is real. “Me? You fantasise about me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Doing what? What am I doing?”

“Me.” If you weren’t already driving him crazy, he would’ve laughed at your simple answer, but it only fuels his arousal. Seokjin groans softly, dropping his head forward to press his face into your lower back. You gasp softly in surprise, but don’t argue or react otherwise.

“You’ve been failing my class because you’ve been fantasising about me fucking you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Fuck!” he repeats, suddenly getting up, kicking his chair aside out of the way. “This is why you can’t call me sir.” For a split second, you’re confused, that is until his hips are pressed against your ass and you can feel his hard length against you. A shuddering, excited breath shakes your chest as you inhale. “You fantasised about feeling this, huh? My cock in you, little one?”

“Y–yes. Fuck, yes, Sir,” you’re almost slurring, mind spinning as you push your hips back to grind against his erection.

“Oh, shit, don’t,” he warns, but his large hands holding your hips tight say the opposite thing to his words. “S–stop.” You don’t.

“Why, Sir?”

“Because I’m your teacher.”

“Then teach me how to make you cum, Sir.”

The innocent tone you use, matched with the dirty words, sends a shudder through his body. “Oh, fuck.” Seokjin’s hands grip you tighter, pulling you back as he rolls his hips against you. “What’s your biggest fantasy? How do you imagine me fucking you the most?”

“On your desk, Sir.”

“Yeah?” You hum in confirmation, head bobbing along too. “Like this?” Seokjin grinds his hips forward, mimicking how he would fuck you. You suck in a shark breath, thighs shaking with arousal. You’re certain your underwear are soaked through and your shorts growing damp; you’re so fucking wet for him.

“Like this.” You move forward to press your hips against the edge of the desk, widening your stance while leaning down onto your elbows around the papers, making your back curve and thrust your ass further out.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” Seokjin groans at the sight of you; his wide, lust blown eyes raking over your figure greedily. The angle of your hips, and that they’re no longer pressed against him, exposes the growing damp patch between your thighs to his hungry gaze. “Fuck, I can see how wet you are already.” He moves one hand to press his fingers to the patch, making you whine needily and press back against him. “You want me bad, huh, little one?”

“Yes, so fucking bad,” you mumble shamelessly. “Please fuck me, Sir.”

Seokjin freezes: he never expected you to beg for it, yet here you are, proving to be the perfect fuck. “You asked so nicely, how can I say no?”

Your thighs shake with excitement, knowing that you’re finally getting to live out your fantasy; something you truly never thought would happen.

“Strip,” he orders as he steps back away from you and starts to unbuckle his belt. You don’t hesitate to respond, straightening up to remove your hoodie and toss it carelessly to the floor. “Wait,” Seokjin says, and you fall still. Suddenly, his hands are on your waist, lips coming down to trace an invisible line along the side of your neck and across our shoulder. “Do you always wear hoodies without anything underneath?” he asks, hands sliding around over your bare stomach to reach up and cup both of your exposed breasts in his warm hands.

“Yeah.”

“Well, fuck; I’m never going to be able to focus on class now I know that.”

“Sometimes, I don’t wear panties either,” you tease with a smirk on your lips.

Seokjin groans against your skin as he grinds his still covered cock against your ass. “Are you today?”

“Yes.”

“Next time, don’t.”

“Yes, Sir.”

As soon as he steps back, you lift your hands to your hips to hook your fingers under the waistband of both your shorts and underwear and slide them together down your legs to pool by your feet, then kick aside.

“I should’ve told you to stay behind sooner,” Seokjin says with a breathless chuckle as he admires the sight of your fully naked back. “Turn, let me see you.” Of course, you do, and turn to face him, only to realise that he’s still fully dressed, his belt is still securely latched into the buckle. He notices where your attention lays and looks down too. “Oh, right.”

Before he can return to work, you’re directly infront of him and pulling his belt free in seconds. Seokjin can only watch gobsmacked by how easily you remove the item; he always struggles with that particular belt.

“You look so hard, Sir,” you comment as your hands work on his button and zipper.

“Thanks to you.”

“Then maybe I should do something about it, hm?” Seokjin opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already on your knees and tugging down the material to free the object of your desire to your hungry graze. “You’re so big,” you coo, reaching out to wrap one hand around his thick length. Seokjin sucks in a shaky breath at your touch. “You’re going to feel so good pounding into me.”

“Shut up,” he groans. “Don’t talk like that.” His head tips back as you start to work your hand up and down his shaft at a leisurely pace, enjoying touching him for the first— and hopefully not last— time.

“Don’t you like dirty talk, Sir? You’re awfully good at it.”

“I–I can’t. Not right now,” he admits, knowing he’ll reach his end way too fast if he allows you to continue talking dirty to him. You make everything sound so delightfully sinful that he can hardly breathe. “Later?”

That makes your hand stop. “As in… We can do this again?” you question nervously, all confidence gone as you look up at him through your lashes. Seokjin lifts his head to look down at you. “What if… What if you don’t like it?”

“I’m this hard without you touching me, I doubt I won’t like fucking you,” he chuckles.

“Are you sure?”

“Just suck my cock already,” he chuckles again, darker this time as he smirks down at you.

And just like that, you’re back to being his submissive little one, ready to please. “Yes, Sir.” Eagerly, you dive forward, taking as much of his thick length into your mouth as physically possible at once, while using your hand to work the rest.

Seokjin chokes on a moan as his tip hits the back of your throat; you don’t even gag. “F–fuck, don’t you have a gag reflex?” he stutters on his words as you bob your head, taking the tip of his cock into your throat. You shake your head carefully, only slightly, while still sucking and bobbing away as if there’s nothing else you’d rather be doing right now. “So fucking perfect for me, little one.” He threads his fingers into your hair as he stares down at the way you work fucking magic on his cock with your mouth. “More, take more,” he demands after a moment, and you do.

Your eyes water at the stretch your throat is being forced to endure but you don’t complain. You love feeling him hot and heavy on your tongue. You’d happily suck his dick all night long if he asks.

Though, after only a few more minutes, Seokjin pulls you off his length, making you pout up at him and whine in wordless complaint.

“You like my cock in your throat that much?” he teases, and you nod shamelessly as he smirks down at you, pleased. “You’re definitely coming home with me tonight.” Your eyes light up, making you look like an excited little puppy, and he laughs lightly. “Get up, let me fuck you.” In seconds, you’re up on your feet and wincing at the pain in your knees from being pressing to the harsh tile floor. “Good girl.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. He places his hands on your waist and steps closer, pressing his erection into your stomach. Your tongue darts out to lick your lips quickly, mindlessly, and his eyes track the moment. And then he spins you around to roughly bend you over the desk. If you couldn’t already feel his erection prodding at your entrance, you’d be upset that he hadn’t kissed you, but your mind is already focused on other things, mainly his cock.

“You’re so wet, little one. I bet I’d just slide right in, huh?” he taunts, rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your dripping folds with one hand wrapped around the base to direct his movement.

You expect him to push in, but he doesn’t. Instead, you feel the tip rest heavy on your clit, applying a teasing amount of pressure, while two of his fingers from his free hand wriggle their way into you.

“So warm,” he hums approvingly, talking to himself as he watches the way your pussy stretches around his curious fingers. He curls and scissors them to prepare you for his cock, while you gasp and writhe against his hand. His fingers feel pretty fucking good, but you want more. Need more.

“M–more, please, Sir,” you plead needily.

Seokjin complies, slipping in a third finger and immediately taking up a brutal pace of pumping and twisting the digits inside you. Moans spill from your lips, and your fingers try to grip onto the wood of the desk yet only slide across.

“You sound so pretty moaning like this, baby.” He pulls his fingers out, only to turn his hand over so that his palm faces the floor, then returns to thrusting his fingers into your pussy at a rapid pace. Now he can curl his fingers forward to press against that sweet little spot inside you and earn himself louder moans. “Ah, there it is, good girl,” he coos, pressing against the spot a few more times in rapid succession, before removing his fingers entirely.

You don’t have time to catch your breath to complain that he stopped when it felt so good. He wastes no time in pressing his cock into you with both hands gripping onto your hips tight to keep you still.

“Ah, Sir!” you exclaim when his hips snap forward impatiently to sheath his entire length deep within your dripping walls.

“Hm?” he can only offer a vague noise in response; his chest is already heaving from the effort of pushing his cock into you. He knew you could take it, you took his fingers so well, without complaint; but you’re so tight around him that he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to fit his full length at one point. And now he’s inside you, he never wants to leave; your walls hug him so well without leaving any of him untouched. He’s never felt something so perfect.

“So big, so good,” you slur, resting your forehead against the desk. You completely give up caring about the neat stacks of paper and push them out of the way so that you can press your chest against the cool wood of the desk for support. The movement has Seokjin’s cock settling a little deeper in your pussy, and he groans lowly in pleasure, fingers curling tighter into your skin. “Please, Sir, fuck me,” you beg, trying to force your hips back on him, feeling like you could get him just a little deeper if you pressed closer, but his grip is too tight.

Your words and desperate movements prompt him to act, at least. Seokjin’s head drops forward to watch his length reappear as he pulls his hips back slowly, before snapping forward and diving back inside. If your chest hadn’t already been pressed to the desk, his sudden, rapid thrusting would’ve made it that way.

Seokjin fucks like a mad man; hips battering against your ass as if fucking you is the only thing keeping him alive. He fucks like he’s on a mission to destroy you, and you love it.

Not once does it even occur to either of you that you’re in a public place with the door unlocked; in fact, it’s still open ajar. Honestly, even if someone was to walk in, neither of you would notice; you’re both entirely absorbed in the intense pleasure rapidly curling in your lower stomachs.

You’re both utterly shameless with your vocals too, moaning, and groaning, and panting heavily, spurring the other on with sounds as you both lose the ability to form words. Which only gets worse when he starts to pull your hips back to meet his thrusts, impaling you that little bit further on his cock and making you all but scream in pleasure as your legs threaten to give out.

You’re getting so tight around him that he’s finding it harder and harder to keep going; both because he’s hurting towards his climax, and because your walls are physically threatening to prevent him from moving. If you weren’t dripping with arousal already, Seokjin wouldn’t have even been able to keep going only minutes after starting.

He can’t wait to take you home and fuck you all night until you’ve soaked his mattress— and whatever other surface he decides to fuck you against. He’s already debating calling in sick tomorrow, just so that he has more time to play with you.

One particularly powerful thrust makes your knees give out with a yelp. Your body sags for only a second before Seokjin lurches forward to wrap his arms around you and pull you upright. “Shit, sorry,” he apologises while pulling out, then carefully turns you to sit you on the edge of the desk.

“It’s okay,” you reply, smiling breathlessly. Seokjin’s already thumping heart flutters at the sight of you. He’s never seen a sight so beautiful. “Don’t stop,” you encourage, opening your legs wide, and pulling his hips back to yours.

Seokjin makes short work of sliding his length back into you, sighing in pleasure at the feeling of having you wrapped around him again. “You feel so perfect,” he confesses, pressing his forehead against your shoulder to watch as his length slowly slides in and out of you. “So good.” He lifts his head to meet your gaze. “I want to kiss you,” he murmurs, eyes still locked with yours, which confuses you as you’re used to people looking at your lips when they want to kiss you. But you don’t mind at all, nor do you refuse; you want to kiss him too. You feel his lips turn up into a soft smile when you press yours to them.

As you both get lost in the kiss, Seokjin continues the slow, deep rolling of his hips, while your hands curiously explore one another. You almost complain about the fact he’s still fully dressed, wanting to feel his skin pressed against yours, but Seokjin happens to choose that moment to pick up the pace, and you simply moan into his mouth instead.

Very quickly, you both lose the ability to focus on the kiss and pull apart, your hands threaded in his hair, and his holding your thighs open as wide as possible to allow him to fuck you harder and deeper.

“I want you to cum,” he pants out when he feels himself getting dangerously close. “Touch yourself.”

You bite your lip nervously, having never touched yourself in front of someone before. But, you figure that if you were going to start, it’d be for Seokjin. Too desperate to cum to think on it for more than a second, you remove one hand from his hair to reach between your bodies and play with your clit, immediately tightening around his cock due to the extra, pleasurable stimulation.

“Shit, hurry, I’m gonna cum,” he urges, syllables slurring together, proving just how close he is to his climax. “Please, baby,” he begs, and just like that, your orgasm shoots through your body, curling your toes and tightening all of your muscles, almost giving your right calf a cramp, but you manage to straighten your leg just in time to prevent the pain; that would really ruin the mood. Seokjin grows still, watching your euphoric expression in awe for barely a second before he replaces his fingers on your clit with his thumb to work you through the pleasure.

When you whine from sensitivity and push his hand away, Seokjin pulls out and steps back while pointing to the floor with one hand, his other wrapping around his throbbing erection. “Down, mouth open,” he demands.

Despite your whole body feeling weak, and legs like jelly, you slide off the desk and lower yourself to the floor, opening your mouth wide in obedient wait. Seokjin groans low and affected at the sight of you, and pumps his hand up and down his length furiously. It only takes a few seconds before he’s spilling onto your tongue; you wrap your lips around him to suck gently, taking all he has to offer you.

When the pleasure has worked its way through his body, Seokjin pats your head softly in silent signal. “Good girl,” he pants, lips quirking in amusement at the way you haven’t yet removed his softening cock from your mouth, seeming more than happy to cock warm him for the foreseeable future. As much as he loves the sight of your lips stretched around him, he’s sensitive right now and doesn’t want to get overstimulated and risk not being up for fucking you again once he gets you home. “Up,” he says as he pulls out of your mouth, so that he can tuck himself away and pull up his boxers and trousers.

Once his zipper and button are secured back into place, Seokjin looks at you, only to find you still kneeling on the floor, watching him with innocent eyes.

“I said up,” he reminds, though you don’t make a move to obey. Instead, you open your mouth wide, showing him that you haven’t swallowed a drop of his cum. “Oh…” Seokjin chews on his bottom lip briefly, more aroused by the sight of his cum pooling in your mouth than he’d like to admit. “Swallow it.”

Obediently, you press your lips together and tip your head back so that he can see the bob of your throat when you swallow. Once you’ve swallowed every drop down, you lift your head back up to look at him, and once again part your lips wide to show your empty mouth.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, making you beam, and he smiles fondly. “Come on, let’s get you decent enough to get back to my place. You can show me how deep you can really suck my cock.” Immediately, you light up and rush to get up to excitedly do as told.

As promised, Seokjin helps you get dressed, before he takes you back to his apartment to enthusiastically lay you out over every possible surface, and even pin you up against multiple walls.

It’s the first time Seokjin has ever received a noise complaint, but all he needs to do is look over at your mischievous grin to know that it won’t be the last.

Don't forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

Permanent taglist: @okiedokrie, @svtiddiess, @codeinebelle, @jaja-salute

[choisanstiddies]

𝓐𝓽 𝓛𝓪𝓼𝓽

[[ Royalty Au] ]MDNI

“They've approved it!” You leapt into Soobin's arms and he swung you around, his laughter like music to your ears. Once he settles you down on your slippered feet, still beaming ear from ear, he says. "Finally, we no longer have to fight each other."

⋆♱✮♱⋆In which Choi Soobin, the King of the opposing lands of your queendom whom you've been fighting for generations, is to become your husband. With the peace treaty approved, you will no longer have to hid your love--or deny it.

For @lapydiaries April Blooming Garland, Lily of the Valley. theme chosen: happiness

[yoongihan]

Life's But a Walking Shadow - SCB - Act I

pairing: shifter changbin x shifter reader (jisung x reader, changbin x chan - mostly off screen/page)

genre: established relationship eventually (friends to lovers), angst, tragedy, boxing/martial arts au

rating: M (smut, violence, dark themes--Macbeth ain't fluffy)

wordcount: 13K (wtf)

summary: you've worked your way from outsider to trusted, you are with the one you love, and life seems to be the best that is can be. but then there are whispers about an opportunity to rise even higher. how can you not seize this chance? it has to be fate.

content warnings (for this chapter): smut in the form of unprotected penetrative sex, hand job (fem receiving) oral (fem receiving), violence (one punch well-deserved), prejudices (animal forms, queerness, the ability to have children) within animal shape-shifter communities, bisexual changbin, mc is a boxer so her body is muscley and sharp (and she is insecure about that), she's an inch taller than changbin, a couple break-ups, infidelity (not from our main couple), a lot of focus on the ability to conceive and have children (from the shifter community), minimal knowledge/research of boxing or taekwondo, extra notes at the end of the fic.

a/n: part of the though kpop be madness collab hosted by me and moni. please read all the lovely fics! this is not beta-read (i did reread and edit, but i know i probably missed stuff). big thank you to @sailorsoons for an early suggestion that sent my brain down this path, and to @peaspeas for her insight. the bolded ages that head some of the scenes are mc's age during that part. for what it's worth, the 00s are a year younger than she is, and Chan & Changbin are a year older. last shout-out to Will Shakespeare because i really love this play of his. so uhhh, happy reading!

dividers from @saradika-graphics

Act I

—Six years old—

You're the first. The first non-wolf shifter to be accepted. This has much more to do with Felix than anyone else. His dad was in charge back then. You don't remember much, you'd been in your animal form for so long by that point, human thoughts were buried under 'eat, hide, run'.

You'd find out later it was Felix and Jisung who found you. As pups exploring while the adults were trying to train the little ones to track and hunt on the pack's reserve. Felix went bounding off, and as they were only a day apart in age, Jisung liked to play the older, more protective one, and followed him.

They found you, shivering and hiding in a culvert of a large rock. You didn't know it was private land. You weren't much to look at; they tell you that you tried to bite and swipe at them with your claws. Felix and Jisung were so young and sheltered that at first they weren't sure what you were. You weren't a wolf, but you weren't a regular animal.

It's hard to explain to any of the uninitiated, but as an animal shifter, one can always sense if another is a shifter, whether in animal or human form.

A coyote pup doesn't look that much different from a wolf pup. It's the ears really.

But Felix, soft and warm-hearted Felix, wasn't put off by your displays of aggression. He avoided your teeth and paw, and curled up beside you, giving you a lick of friendship.

You capitulated so easily.

Jisung was less cordial, growling until Felix had soothed you to whimpers. He was furious at Felix for being so reckless, but Felix, bless him, told him off in his Felix way.

So you were brought into the fold, a kid with no recollection of your life before the pack.

It's the only family you'd ever known.

The Bang family took you in when Felix and Jisung returned with you in tow. Chan and you were only a year apart, and they had the space. Mrs. Bang had always wanted a little girl, and a shifter. It was only a slight disappointment that you weren't a wolf.

Like nearly anyone in the pack, you were required to go to the dojo after school. Especially since Chan was there every day.

The Lee Family Dojo is a landmark in town. Apparently, it was started by Felix's great great, well, something. That building with its open spaces for training and practice combat, along with the few acres on the outskirts of town, were the Lee family legacy. They weren't the only shifters in the area, but they were the strongest and the largest pack.

Even if you were a regular human, seeing a bunch of men and women building muscle and learning taekwondo, boxing, and MMA would be intimidating enough to turn tail and run the other way.

In the beginning, you did whatever the Bangs asked of you, grateful to have a safe place to sleep, and food to eat. There was something nice about the repetition of weight lifting, and cardio exercise.

But when you had to start learning the techniques of taekwondo, you resisted. You were one of the few girls in the dojo (shifters had male babies overwhelmingly so) and the only non-wolf.

—Seven Years Old—

'Dirty yote.'

You didn't know what it meant when you heard it, but you knew it was an insult. You could see it in the reactions of those around you, in the tone of the kid who said it.

So, you did the only thing you could think of.

Punched them right in the nose.

It was so satisfying to see them cover their nose and howl in pain.

You were reprimanded, and moved into boxing lessons over taekwondo.

—Fourteen Years Old—

You're sparring with Jisung when he walks in. He can't be much older than the rest of you. He's broad, broader than Chan. He walks with purpose right up to Lee-nim, speaking loudly enough that you can hear the timbre of his voice, but not loud enough to make out the words.

Jisung hip-bumps you. "What?"

You nod and point to where the newcomer is listening to Lee-nim. The newcomer glances to where the two of you are, eyes wide (the first giveaway that he isn't as confident as his entrance made him appear).

"You think he's one of us?" Jisung asks you, close, nearly leaning against you. It surprises you, how lately Jisung—who you'd assumed at worst hated you; at best tolerated you—seems to always be there when you look around. Offering to spar with you, asking if he can carry your textbooks and walk with you to class, coming over to the Bangs to play video games with Chan, but ends up finding you outside in the hammock.

"I can't tell from here. But Lee-nim isn't turning him away," you reply, noticing how Jisung's arm is touching yours as you both lean against the ropes.

"Lee-nim doesn't look thrilled either."

"What are you two whispering about?" Chan rolls under the ropes and pops up next to Jisung. "Sweet nothings?"

"Shove off," you say, rolling your eyes, waiting for Jisung to also protest. When he doesn't say anything, you look over at him to see his cheeks are red red. You decide not to ask (boys are incomprehensible ninety-nine percent of the time). "We're talking about the boy who just came in."

Chan looks to where you're indicating.

"You think he shifts?" you ask because everyone here grew up knowing what they were (or what they could be—sometimes the first shift came later for some). You don't know when you had yours. Mrs. Bang thinks therapy could help you remember your early years, but you figure your brain knows better and keeps it blocked for a good reason.

"I think so," Jisung finally speaks again. "Something about him."

"Yeah," Chan agrees, voice contemplative. "Something about him."

You look over at your adoptive brother, the quiet of his voice (he's not quiet, especially at the dojo) piquing your interest. He's looking at the newcomer still. When Chan sees you looking at him, he turns to you and Jisung, his cheeks and neck a dark pink.

Even darker than when he's training and lifting.

What is going on with Jisung and Chan?

"Everyone!" Lee-nim calls out over the open room. "We have a new student. This is Seo Changbin. He just moved here." Lee-nim pats his back before leading him over to where Felix and Seungmin are doing their taekwondo moves (you can't even remember what they're called anymore). Felix lights up and greets the new guy, immediately swinging an arm around his shoulder to give him a tour.

"We should…keep sparring," Jisung says. "Might look weird if we're staring."

You shrug, turning back to the mat and tugging your gloves back on.

Jisung is going through one of his combinations when Felix calls you both over.

"You probably heard Uncle-nim, but this is Changbin." Felix beams, but that's not unusual. Changbin listens as Felix recites your and Jisung's name. He nods, smiling at both of you. You can see that his eyes are nervous despite the confident smile.

"Welcome aboard," Jisung says before returning to the middle of the mat. Felix is already leading Changbin to the others, but you catch his gaze on you for a second longer.

Something about him, for sure.

You're the first one to see him. Everyone is out for a beautiful spring day, and Changbin has been invited. There's always some sort of hunt or game or whatever when a bunch of the pack is out.

When Chan explains how it works to Changbin, you see him turn pale. No one else seems to notice that the new guy is extremely nervous. You wait and watch which way he disappears into the trees as the other (the hunters) count to a hundred to give the prey a head start.

You are always cast as prey. You aren't sure if it's because you're a girl or because you're a coyote.

When you're older, you'll argue about it.

You take off after Changbin, who is leaving a trail of nervous scent. You stop and strip as fast as you can, shifting before continuing.

You get turned around once when his scent drops off, but you smell the creek before hearing it. You jump across the creek and pick him up again.

He's hiding in the rotted out trunk of a fallen tree. You let out a small bark for him to know you're there. You shift, aware of your nakedness, but recognize that human you is probably less terrifying than coyote you.

"It's just me," you say softly. "I'm not hunting you." You crawl to the opening and squint until you can see in the dim light.

Pointed nose, sharp ears, and beautiful orange fur.

"You're a fox." You state the obvious. The fox, Changbin, trembles and flashes his teeth. "Look, it's okay, see?"

You shift as quickly as you can. Once you are coyote, Changbin-fox walks tentatively to where you stand, the afternoon light brightening his fur.

You tilt your head, hoping he understands that he needs to follow you. You sniff, smelling Chan and Felix (they often hunt together as Felix is fast and a good tracker, Chan is strong and able to disable someone). You yip and start running. You can sense Changbin following you, quick and right at your back legs. You backtrack, run through water and twist through shrubs to leave any fur that gets caught.

Changbin never falls behind.

Eventually, you slide under a low hanging rock, inching over so he can get in next to you. You both only have to wait until you hear the whistle that will signal that the game is over.

You wish you could talk to him. According to the guys, the wolves can sense each other's intentions when in that form. You can't. Because you're not a wolf.

And neither is Changbin.

You hold your breath when you smell the others. He does too. Minutes seem to pass. The two of you breathing as quietly as you can. His scent isn't as strong, either because you've already gotten use to it, or he's less nervous.

You can feel his eyes drift to you every so often. Waiting for a cue of some kind.

You heave a sigh of relief when the whistle blows. You scurry out, looking back to make sure he's good.

He's shifted.

He's still lying down so you don't really see anything you shouldn't, but you turn away your coyote head anyway. You've only known him a couple weeks after all.

"You won't…say anything? I'll tell them eventually, I didn't…" his voice is rough with disuse and worry.

You shake your coyote head and glance back to see him smile at you, a lift of one side of his lips.

You dash off to where you left your clothes so he can find his own.

Changbin's fox nature is met with…not disgust, though not jubilation. You never hear a derogatory remark against him, and he finds his place among the younger generation of shifters easy enough. You'd resent him for it, but there's something comforting about having him around. You're sure it has a lot to do with the fact that he's the only non-wolf around. It's nice to have the company.

—Eighteen Years Old—

High school's end is on the horizon, and pack rules (never written anywhere, just understood) is that the local university will suffice for anyone wanting to pursue higher knowledge. You apply, your grades are good enough to get you in and your tragic past gets you a solid scholarship. You're never officially adopted by the Bangs, a choice you don't question out loud. The difference between you and Chan is more than obvious in everything; from how the majority of your clothing is his hand-me-downs (minus the one or two dresses you buy with your minimum income from doing laundry at the dojo) to how they've never asked if you like chocolate cake, but since it's Chan's favorite that's what they get you for the day you choose for your birthday.

You can't fault Mr. and Mrs. Bang. You aren't theirs.

You belong to yourself.

"You belong to the pack, or the pack belongs to each other…" Jisung stumbles in his explanation to why your statement is wrong. Both of you are sitting on the reserve owned by the pack. The game of hunting ended awhile ago, the 'real' adults are inside, drinking and talking about the old days or whatever old people talk about, while the youngsters are outside, getting rid of all their excess energy. The tree you've chosen as your spot is large and gives the perfect amount of shade even as the sun sets.

"I'm not a Lee, or a Bang…or even a Han," you tease him, trying to divert his concern at your words.

"But you…I mean, your record is so good," he says tentatively. "I'm so happy we're from the same gym, so I don't have to fight you."

If there is anything you have, it's your boxing skills. You might have resisted early on, but it's one thing that you enjoy. The training and lifting, the repetition of footwork and combinations of jabs and punches. The actual fights with mouth guard in place, head gear on, and your gloves.

So satisfying to watch some guy from another gym or district hit the mat, or concede.

"You scared of me, Jisung?" you ask, grinning at him. He makes a face at you, leaning in.

"I think in general women scare me."

You chuckle and ruffle his hair before pressing your mouth to his. It's unformed, this thing between you and Jisung. Certainly not official and not something you display blatantly in front of the older generation of shifters.

But he makes you laugh, and he's cute. You like the idea that he might be a little scared of you.

He kisses you back, his hand finding your breast like a homing beacon. He really really likes your chest. He squeezes and you shiver, but pull back. You aren't exactly out in the open, here at your tree it's secluded, but it's not private.

He whines when you break the kiss, and you kiss him one more time because he is so cute.

"Tease," he mumbles, his hand dropping to your thigh.

"I am not letting you fuck me on pack property, Jisung."

"You name the place, baby. I'll be there."

You snort at his eagerness and lean back against the trunk of your tree. "Guys are so obsessed with sex."

"I have little else to be motivated about."

You laugh again and flick his forehead. "Melodramatic." He grins at the abuse, kissing your nose then your mouth. His tongue sneaks in between lips and you can't help but respond, hands sliding into his hair to pull him close.

There's a rustle of noise and you both break away, breathing heavy, lips kiss-swollen. You turn at the sound of laughter, to see Chan and Changbin stumbling out from some bushes. They stop at the sight of you and Jisung.

You take in the pink of their faces, the flushed skin, and the scent—their scents mixed. How Chan looks away, shy and Changbin meets your eyes.

Oh.

Your thing with Jisung might be frowned upon if found out by the rest of the pack, but this…these two would get a lot more than a mere scolding.

Continuing the lineage of shifters is one of the most important values (if not the most important) of packs. Any pack.

Especially this one.

You feel how still Jisung is next to you, the gravity of the situation revealing itself to him as well.

"We won't say anything."

You don't look away from Changbin. He nods at Jisung's words, but also at you. You feel like he's trying to tell you something, but you aren't sure what. Something to do with what connects you two.

The non-wolves.

"Of course you won't," Chan eventually replies to Jisung. He looks at you, his kind-of sister. "Uh…come on, Sungie." He grabs Jisung by the arm and drags him along toward the clearing where everyone else is. Jisung looks back at you before Chan throws him over his shoulder in a display of strength, which is something any shifter respects.

"You okay?" you ask softly once they're gone. Changbin hasn't moved. "Changbin?"

"Hm?"

You stand up, brushing off your jeans and shirt. "You okay?"

"Of course." He smiles that smile you recognize from his very first day at the dojo. Nervous eyes, brilliant grin.

"You don't have to pretend with me, Bin."

You wouldn't say that you and he were close. Not like you were with Chan, the consequences of basically being siblings. Or with Jisung, for obvious reasons. Or even Felix, who loved and sought everyone out.

Yet. There is kinship.

"I'm not pretending…" he argues, clearing his throat, looking toward where Chan had disappeared. "You know how…how beautiful he is."

You wrinkle your nose, but yes, Chan is appealing to members of the pack. Even to the human kids at your high school. He's at trade school, but would still come pick you up after school if he needed the car. All your classmates swooned.

"I don't need to tell you how…how not pleased a lot of people will be if you get caught."

He looks over at you now, the dreamy expression gone. "I know." He reaches out to rest his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it once. "I…thanks."

You smile at him. "Want to go do a quick run? You smell like him."

"Good idea."

—Twenty-Two Years Old—

You live at the dorms while at the university, but when you graduate, you want an apartment. Jisung mentions moving in together, but as much as you love Jisung, neither of you (as well as the pack) is ready for that level of commitment.

Changbin's roommate, someone he met at the dojo and befriended, moves out and he offers the empty room to you.

It's a perfect option for you. You can't afford your own place (no one is bankrolling you, unlike Chan), and if you had to choose anyone to cohabitate with, Changbin would be it. He's your friend, and won't be weird when you only eat specific things before a big boxing match.

Hell, he'll probably join you for plain unseasoned chicken breasts.

"Really?" Jisung pouts when you tell him about it later. "I wanted to—"

You kiss him quiet. "We both just got out of school, Sung. Let's work on being real adults for a bit before we take that step."

He pouts even more, but kisses you, hands on your hips.

"Soon."

"Soon," you agree, but even as he presses you up against his car to kiss you deeper, you wonder if someone can move in with a partner when that partner can't even bring himself to have you at his family's home for the holidays.

"I don't care."

"Yes, you do." You're doing your best to keep your voice even, calm, even reasonable. Jisung looks wrecked, but you know, you hate that you know how much he agrees with his family, with pack beliefs. "You want kids, Sung. I don't blame you for that."

"We don't know for sure that it wouldn't—"

"You want to take that risk?"

He plops down on the couch in the main room. You're grateful Bin isn't home to witness this. Not that he'd be dismissive. It's because of his understanding nature and compassion that you do not want him to witness this.

"You're breaking up with me," Jisung mumbles. You walk over to him, hunker down so you are roughly at his height while he sits there on the sofa. "If you say you're doing it for me, or something shit—"

"I think I'm doing it for the both of us," you admit. "We've only dated each other. The pack tolerates it, but your folks hate me."

"I don't care." He leans forward, cupping your face in his hands. "I love you."

"I love you. But it's not enough. I don't want you to end up hating me. Or me hating you." You let him kiss you, salty with his tears (with yours soon if you don't keep it together). "We aren't the same people we were when you kissed me the first time."

"You jerk," he mutters. "You know you kissed me first because I was terrified to try."

You smile against his lips, kissing him back softly. You smooth his wayward hair as you draw out of his hold.

"You would have gotten there eventually."

He snorts, but stares at you, eyes big and wet and sad. "Can we revisit this conversation in a couple years? You know, if we're single and still feeling this way?"

Do you give him hope? When you know almost without question that this is over?

"Sure. When I'm twenty-six and you're twenty-five, okay? No hard feelings if you're head over heels for someone."

He lurches forward to kiss you hard this time, bruising your lips. But you welcome it, the pain with the pleasure of his mouth. You'll miss the cuddles, the laughter, the feel of his skin on yours.

But you can't give him children. And he can't understand you. Not really. Even though he tries.

You'll miss him. You'll miss him even though you'll see him every day still.

When he draws back, you take a deep breath.

"I'll go," he says quietly. "I…I guess I'll see you."

He's gone for an hour, maybe more when Changbin comes home, sweaty and in his gym gear. Working at the dojo seems to fit him, but you wonder what he might have done had he been part of a different pack.

Would you be the boxer you were if you'd landed somewhere else? With another pack?

"Hey," he greets as though it's any other day.

You guess it is, for him.

"Hey."

He might look like a gym rat. He and Chan match in that way, both absurdly broad and beefy, they must have some sort of lovers' competition about how much they can lift.

But despite the appearance, Changbin's always been insightful, observant. The ability to be on the outside looking in.

And he can tell from your greeting that something isn't right.

"What's wrong?" He tosses his bag to the floor and comes round to sit on the arm of the sofa. You're still on the floor, leaning against the coffee table, staring into nothing.

"I broke up with Jisung."

He doesn't say anything, so you turn your head slightly to look at him.

"Did you fight?"

"No. I just…you know how, sometimes, you have to cut shit off before it goes past the point of no return?"

He slides to the ground, stretching his legs out so they run alongside yours. "Theoretically, maybe."

You think about him, and what he has with Chan. They have more obstacles than you and Jisung ever had. If you explain why you did what you did, you might be influencing Changbin in a way that hurts him and Chan.

And it might all be doomed, but that's not your business.

"It had to happen." You smiled at your roommate, even though you're sure it's barely passable as a smile. "Okay, Dinner? That's not plain and boring chicken?" You force yourself to your feet and step over his legs to head to the kitchen.

He catches you by the hand.

"You can talk to me, you know?"

"I know. And I appreciate that." You look down at him. "But it's my stuff."

"I can handle your stuff."

"Yeah, you're so big and strong," you tease, tugging your hand away and heading to the kitchen. "Ramyeon?"

"It'll make my face puffy."

"Diva."

He's up and grabbing his bag. "And a gorgeous one at that." He makes you laugh, a miracle at the moment. "Gonna take a shower then I'll help."

"Absolutely not. You can't even boil water properly."

"Can to," he shouts as he walks to the bathroom.

You don't shout back, even though you're right and he's wrong. You wipe your eyes before washing your hands to start dinner.

It's only heart break. You've survived worse, right?

—Twenty-Three Years Old—

Jisung dates a very pretty girl about six months after you end things. Someone he meets when his family vacations at the beach, six hours away. She's human, but they get engaged several months later, so she finds out about shifters soon enough.

He looks happy. You can't hate him for that.

Humans and shifters can have children; both humans and shifter children in the same family. That's the typical way of doing things. Same for two wolf shifters; children of either type.

But there's no record of two different animal shifters producing any offspring, of any kind.

You don't cry. Not even at his wedding.

"You didn't have to come," Changbin says, standing next to you at the reception. You know he'd rather be next to Chan, but in public, they are very careful.

It's got to be so hard. For both of them.

"I don't begrudge him, Bin. He's happy. She makes him happy."

"I could still punch him for you."

You chuckle before taking a sip of the champagne and grimacing. "I prefer to do my own punching."

He sighs heavily, sliding his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. The whole pack dressed up for this. Jisung is the first one of younger generation to get married.

You glance over at your roommate. He notices and looks back.

"What? Food on my face?"

"You look nice, Bin."

His face heats, ears tipping into a rosy pink. "Uh, thanks."

"I think I'm gonna go."

"I can come with?" he offers, taking your half-drunk glass and setting it and his on a small table. "We can go get a real drink? Drown our sorrows?"

"Bin," you say, shaking your head. "You have been eyeing Chan in that perfectly fitted suit all night. You gonna let it go to waste?"

He turns even more red. It's so cute and hilarious, considering how long he and Chan have been he and Chan.

He says your name. "You're my best friend."

"And you're mine." You didn't know it would happen, but living together seems to have bonded you and Changbin. Whether it's a late night movie and popcorn, or getting stuck at the apartment due to a freak snowstorm and the two of you practice your combinations at home.

It's nice. To have someone like him even closer.

You move to give him a hug, resting your chin on his shoulder. You have about an inch on him in height without heels and you love to rub it in, even when you hug him. He grumbles, but hugs you back.

"I'll see you when you get home. Don't get caught," you say before pulling back.

He makes a face at you. "I don't like you leaving like this."

If he keeps this up, you might cry. Pride be damned.

"I'm okay. Honestly, wearing heels is the worst and my feet hurt."

"Ugh, I bet. They look good." He grins at you. "You look good."

"I'm not that sad-looking, am I? That you're throwing compliments my way?" You move to punch his shoulder, but he moves it quickly.

"Your punches, even when you hold back hurt," he tells you. "And I'm not throwing compliments. I'm telling you the truth." He hooks his pinky with yours. "You look really pretty tonight."

Your face heats. "Thanks." You look over at the main dancing crowd (how often are you and Bin on the outskirts?) and see Chan walking in your direction. "Better go. Use protection."

"Fuck off," he mutters, and you laugh as you head toward to exit doors, passing your adoptive brother.

"Leaving?" Chan asks, taking you by the arm lightly to slow your escape. You move away to keep going, but turn to answer him.

"Yep. Have a good night, bro." You wink at him and he blushes because of course he does. You grin, and turn back around to get out of here.

You don't even look back to see if anyone notices you leaving.

—Twenty-Four Years Old—

The text comes at around one in the morning. It wakes you, and you know it has to be either Felix, Mr. or Mrs. Bang, or…Bin.

» come get me?

«sure, where are you?

»the bar near chans

You don't ask why Chan isn't bringing him home, why he isn't staying with Chan (who has his own place), or why he doesn't get a cab.

Something's up.

When you pull up in your twenty-year-old sedan, Changbin is leaning against a streetlight, staring into nothing.

You recognize that stare. You've worn it before.

You put the car into park and get out carefully. You aren't sure if he's drunk or…well, you don't know.

"Hey Bin."

He doesn't seem to hear you.

"폭스"

He looks at you then. "You came." His voice is rougher than normal.

"Of course I did. You need a hand to get in?"

"I'm good." He pushes himself off the pole and walks to where you stand next the open passenger door. He pauses in front of you. Even in the lack of light you can see that his eyes are red.

"Are you? Good?"

He lets out his breath and it's shaky. "I don't really have to tell you, do I?"

You open your arms and he falls into them. There's one jolt, a shudder that goes through him. Then it's wet on your shoulder.

He's crying.

You wrap your arms around him, leaning back on the car for support. You hold him as tightly as you can, your eyes filling.

"I'm so sorry."

When you get both of you back to the apartment, he's a little more subdued. He tells you the details in an almost monotone.

"His parents figured it out. Too many close calls, too many times seeing me coming from his place, or something." He and you are seated on his bed. You tried to get him to go ahead and sleep, he could talk about in the morning if he wanted. He had to be exhausted which wouldn't help anything (you are also exhausted, so there's that). But he's tucked under the sheets, dressed down in boxers and a t-shirt, while you are in what you'd thrown on when getting his text, minus your shoes, on top of the covers.

"You guys have been sneaking around for what? Six years?"

"Yeah. Inevitable. I don't what I thought. That he'd defy his folks, or the pack's narrow-minded bullshit about legacy and offspring." He thumps his head against the headboard. "I'm an idiot."

"No. You just love him."

He closes his eyes. "We never talked about it. Not really. Not like I assume a real relationship would be discussed. He'd talk about the future. And I was there. But I look back now and he never said I'd be with him…in that future." He shakes his head. "Stupid."

"Being with someone that long, it was more than only the physical. You aren't stupid for caring. For wanting more." You grab him by the chin and make him look at you. "Okay? You're a person. Just like everyone else."

"But I'm not, right? You and I…we're not like everyone else. We're totally fucked."

You can't help that your eyes fill too as you drop your hand. "Well, you're not wrong."

"Fuck, I'm sorry." He brings you in for another hug, almost pulling you on top of him. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's why I broke up with Jisung. I know all this too," you say, moving to draw away, but he holds you firmly. "Bin…we need to get some sleep."

"Stay here? Please?"

Like you could ever say no.

—Twenty-Six Years Old—

You find yourself sitting next to Felix at Chan's wedding reception once dinner and speeches have given way to frivolity and dancing. He grins at you when you offer your second glass of ginger ale. He sips it and laughs.

"No champagne for you?"

"Absolutely not, it's revolting."

"It really is gross," he agrees as you sit down next to him. You both don't say anything for several minutes. Watching the dancing with amusement. Chan is laughing with Seungmin, Jisung, and Changbin.

It's been not even a year since the end of Chan and Changbin, and you assume that more of your pack knows it was going on, but the only person you spoke about it to was Jisung. And you and Jisung don't speak much these days.

He's still in your weight class, so you are often paired for practice bouts. But even that is rare. Jisung isn't spending time at the dojo like he was. Marriage has made him get a real job, spend time with his new family. There's even a little Han on the way.

Your skills on the mat keep you at the dojo pretty much any spare time you have outside of working. You are only at your apartment to sleep. And social get-togethers? This wedding is the first time you've seen Felix outside of training in months.

You sometimes don't even see Changbin at the apartment you two still share, just at the dojo.

It's not the greatest of schedules, but you savor the training, the matches, the joys of victory, and frustration of failure (which happens, though less so lately).

"It's weird, right?" you begin. "That our friends are getting married. I don't feel like I'm in that place at all."

Felix hums while he thinks. "We're in our twenties. It's probably not that weird." He glances over at you. You smile at the picture he makes. Longish blonde hair, slicked back for the formality of the event. When he's doing taekwondo, it's usually in a ponytail, or braided on the sides for matches. His tie is already loose, suit coat off and cuffs undone.

Elegant and casual all at the same time.

"I'll have to at some point," he says.

"Head of the Lee family, the dojo, and the pack?"

"That's the plan." He takes a deep breath, looking out across said pack. "Dad's been talking more and more about me taking over soon."

"But he's in such good health."

"Yeah, but he wants to enjoy time with Mom and his grandkids while he's still in good health." Felix has two sisters who aren't shifters, but have married shifters to stay in the pack. Those kids and others are currently running around the dance floor as "The Electric Slide" starts to play.

"I've never seen you interested in anyone."

He looks away from the crowd back to you. "Cause I haven't been. I don't really…I dunno. It's not a thing for me."

"Which might make it hard to find a spouse."

"Well…" he draws out the word. "I figure I need to find someone who I like well enough to live with and is willing to have my kids."

"To carry on that Lee name."

"Yes."

He still has his eyes on you, so you raise an eyebrow. "What?"

"Want to?"

He starts to laugh once his words sink in and you visible freeze in shock. If you'd been sipping the ginger ale, you would have spit it everywhere.

"I'm not that repulsive am I?"

"Felix…you aren't serious?"

He shrugs again. "You are one of the few in the pack that gets the rigor of my schedule, because you have one of your own. And—" He leans back in his chair. "You're you."

"But you don't…"

"No. Not like that." He reaches out and squeezes your hand. "You've let me hug you since the day we met. So I assume you don't find me disgusting."

"Not at all, just not—"

"I know."

Felix is the prettiest person you know. Easily the prettiest in the world. He's warm, kind, and you know he'll make a good leader in all the ways that defies what tradition says about leadership. Which is one of the reasons you've stayed in the pack since being at adult.

Being married to him would not be a hardship.

Except for one thing.

"I couldn't guarantee you kids. Less so shifter kids."

He nods. "I know. Which is the only reason I haven't mentioned it before now." He doesn't let go of your hand. "Do you know that I've researched it? Any mention of different animal shifters having offspring?" He laughs, but it's sad.

You can't help but stare at him.

"No mention?"

"None."

It doesn't surprise you, but it feels like a punch to your gut.

"In all the years of research, even from other packs and the Shifter Archive."

"There's a Shifter Archive?"

"Yep."

"Can anyone have access?"

"It's a process, but usually. You want?"

"Yes."

"I'll try and get that going for you." He leans close. "Thanks for not laughing at me."

"Felix…" What can you say? Sorry for your biology? "I'll probably never marry."

"You would have considered me?"

"I would have definitely considered."

His smile is effervescent. He kisses your cheek and pulls back before letting go of your hand.

"I am getting some kind of signal from Seungmin, so I better go help him out."

You see Seungmin in the arms of one of the older women, dancing to a slow song. He looks incredibly stressed.

"Duties of heir apparent."

"Never ends. Especially for that one." He winks at you and walks across the dance floor to his close friend.

You don't move from your spot, finishing your ginger ale and his, your brain spinning.

"Hey."

You look up to see Changbin, holding his hand out to you. There was no way he could have declined an invitation to this wedding, and you'd sat next to him during the ceremony. He'd held your hand in a vice grip, but one thing you admire about him is how he can keep so many of his emotions hidden.

Another thing you both have in common.

"Wanna dance?"

"Sure. But then can we go home?" you ask, standing up to take his hand. He leads you to an open spot among the couples. He holds you close, almost a hug.

"Gods, yes, let's go home."

When you get home from a match, you are surprised to find Changbin awake, and not even in pajamas.

He grins at you. "You won?" Then he sees the cut at your eyebrow, the stitches, and his grin drops. "That looks—" He hurries to you, hands gentle on your face to get a better look.

"Gross? Yeah, I know. I got a good look even with blood dripping in my eye." You drop your bag on the floor, toss your keys in the bowl with his. "You're…are those real trousers?"

He wants to shove you for that remark, but you must look rougher than normal because he doesn't. Tussling with Changbin is pretty much daily roommate life.

"Why do you have to ask it like that?" he says, moving back. "I have normal clothes."

"You have boxers, joggers….yep, that's all I see." You go to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

"I had a date."

You look over your shoulder. "Yeah? Well, you're home and not with said date, so I guess it didn't go that well."

"Not much to talk about."

"Who needs talking?"

"A date…not a hook-up, you indecent hussy."

You laugh before gulping down the libation. You set the glass in the sink before starting toward your bedroom.

"Who was he? What was he like?" you ask, half-closing the door so you can strip and grab you robe. You need a shower in the worst way.

You are opening the door, robe-donned when he answers while picking up your bag and making a face (it definitely smells).

"She isn't someone you know…human. And she was nice, but shallow."

You freeze in your journey to the one bathroom in your apartment. Changbin is cleaning up after you; moving the glass into the dishwasher, shutting the cabinet you left open.

He looks over at you when you don't respond. "What?"

"She?"

He rolls his eyes and tosses your bag of gear into your room before sid down on the sofa arm, still in proper trousers and a nice button-down. The buttons strain across his chest.

"She."

"You like women?" Does your face show how incredibly floored you are?

He lets out a breath that tousles his fringe. "Yes."

"Please don't act so casual about this. How would I have known?" You didn't. You had no clue. You only saw him with Chan, and had assumed that the nights he spent away from the apartment were with other men.

"I guess you wouldn't. Our lives are so man-dominated anyway." The dojo is probably eighty percent men, at any time. "But yeah. I like women."

"Huh." Your response does not encompass the shock that you feel. How your mind is running through every interaction you've seen of Changbin and someone else.

Every interaction you've had with him.

Shifter life means that you will see others naked. Clothes do not shift. So have you seen most of the pack without a stitch? Sure. You notice things, like you're sure they notice things about you.

But you try and not give it too much thought. You were sleeping with Jisung, so fantasizing about him didn't seem too concerning, or inappropriate.

And you could admire your pack's, your friends' physiques, right?

"Go take a shower," Changbin pulls you back into the present. "I can smell you from here."

"I still smell better than you," you shoot back, a weak retort, but you aren't at your best. You close the door to the bathroom, and take a moment or ten.

Changbin likes women. He is attracted to them.

This shouldn't affect you. Because he has never treated you differently.

So conclusion:

Changbin is not attracted to you.

You've been punched, actually punched a lot tonight. It's part of the job.

But the metaphorical punch to your chest in realizing that Changbin not being attracted to you, now that you know he can find women attractive in that way, is the most painful of the night.

"Fuck," you whisper, staring at your mangled reflection in the mirror over the sink.

Because if it hurts this much, it means only one thing.

You are attracted to Changbin.

Even more so than that.

You like Changbin.

The problem with having a best friend as a roommate, who you've realized you are very much into, is that it colors everything.

Every time he is gone late, you know he's with someone else. Which is good and fine and he's someone you love, so you want him happy. But it hurts. Every time you see him out of the shower in only a towel, you have to shut down your thoughts with the force of an impressive uppercut.

You have recently avoided running anywhere near where he is during the play-hunts that the pack still enjoys doing once and awhile. Like everything else, these hunts, and get-togethers are fewer than they were five years ago.

Adulting is the worst.

So, in between training, your matches, and your job (you make money from your matches, but it's not consistent or very much, so working is necessary), you try and make sense of the revelation that you want your best friend.

Not that you have anyone to talk it out with…because you want the person you would normally talk this out with.

Felix is the only one you think would hear you out, and not judge you. Probably give you good advice.

But he's rarely around anymore. He's basically taken over for his father, maybe not in full, but the transition from older generation to younger is in process.

"Hey," you stick your head in the dojo office where he sits, reading a stack of paper that looks about five dissertations long. "Oh boy."

He glances up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Hi."

"Can I help?"

"No, sadly this is all me." But he stands, stretching his lithe frame to where he's definitely got several inches of height on you. "Please interrupt me."

"You sure?"

His smile is brighter than the sun that woke you this morning. "Absolutely, I have been keeping up with your ranking. And Chan's, of course. Looks like you might win district this year?"

"Maybe. There's still Yeonjun, who is stupidly fast."

"He is."

"When was your last match?"

"Three months ago." He lifts his hand to stop you from asking the obvious. "The doctors don't want me competing." He touches his neck. "A certain kind of hit, too hard, or not in the right place…really bad news."

"I'm sorry, Felix. I know how much you love it. And how good you are."

He shakes his head. "I would have had to stop sooner or later. Especially with all this mess." He gestures to the papers. "But you came in here for something else, I'm sure."

"It's actually about the Shifter Archive. If you remember, we talked about it at Chan's wedding?" It had been months and you'd definitely remembered, but life was busy and it often was not in your mind when you saw Felix. "I was wondering if you'd started that process for me?"

His smile dims to where it no longer graces his lips.

"It's okay if you haven't."

"It isn't that, 우승자." He actually looks incredibly not happy. "There are rules about who can and who cannot have access."

Rules. So many fucking rules.

"Let me guess. Only certain types of shifters."

"It's not about wolves, not really…" he hurriedly tries to reassure you. "It's more about place in pack. Leaders, maybe lieutenants. It's like security clearance." He reaches out to touch you, hand on your cheek. "I'm sorry."

"I suppose you can't change this when you're officially in charge."

"I can try." He presses his lips together in worry. "I really am sorry."

"It's okay." It's not. You were hoping for some information about coyote shifters, maybe your ancestors or family, maybe any information about being able to have children with someone who isn't just a plain human.

Maybe someone who's a fox.

You shake that right out of your head.

"I appreciate you looking into it, Lixie."

He nods, leaning in to press his forehead to yours. "Any time. You're my first kid, you know?"

It makes you smile. You're older than Felix, but since he found you all those years ago, he likes to think he's your guardian in some ways.

It's cute, if not true.

He draws back, and his insightful gaze takes you in. "Is something else bothering you? You seem…on edge."

You could say it. To Felix, who you trust. But before you get to decide whether you want to or not, one of the younger taekwondo students comes in for Felix. It's time for the class he teaches.

"Oh but—"

"I'm good. No worries," you tell him, getting out of the office and out of his hair. You breath a small sigh of relief.

You don't want to admit it out loud.

It makes it real if someone else knows.

"Home early," you say when he comes in. You have a rare evening alone in the apartment and you're reading a book, curled up on the couch with a cup of tea.

Heaven.

"It was not going well, so I cut it short," he replies. You don't even look to see him walking in, but when he plops next to you, you take in the shirt (unbuttoned to show some skin), the jeans (snug to show thighs), hair (tousled and wavy), and glasses.

You wonder if the date had been someone who wanted a more serious Changbin, hence the glasses.

You love those dark frames on him.

"Not well, how?"

"Just…" He props his legs up on the sofa, his socked feet now on your lap. You give him a glare, but he ignores it. "It feels like regular humans know so little . I guess I'm shocked by the fact that they're so sure there's nothing more out there." He sighs, laying back against the arm of the sofa. "This guy was particularly boring. I think he talked about the stock market half the time."

"Gross."

"Thought maybe I could, you know, have a quick fuck and be done with him, but I couldn't even want after listening to him talk."

You tense at the casual mention of sex, which isn't unheard of from Bin.

"Talking during sex isn't a given."

He chuckles. "But I like talking." He lifts his head to look at you. You have the book open, but you are not reading. Brain too busy taking his words and shoving them in the file that you try and put back in a drawer and slam shut. "You can't tell me Jisung was quiet."

Your face heats at his inference. "No. Definitely not."

He sits up more. "Anyway, waste of a good outfit."

"You do look nice, Bin."

He pokes your thigh with his foot. "I look great."

You roll your eyes and snort. "I don't why I ever compliment you. You hardly need the validation."

"Well, my date wasn't forthcoming about how I looked…outfit wise. He did say a few things about my arms."

You can't help that your eyes go right to them. His arms are impressive. They look like they could lift anything, anyone.

Slam that door shut again.

"I'm sorry it didn't go well. In either case."

"Either case?"

You stare blankly at your book. "Uh, relationship beginning or hookup."

"Oh. Yeah." He swings his legs away, feet on the floor before scooting closer to you. "This would be a lot more fun if you were also out there, dealing with idiots on dates. We could commiserate."

"Like I have time."

He points to your book. "You have time. If you wanted. I don't think you've been out since Jisung, and that's been…like three years?"

"Four."

You can feel his gaze on you, but you're strong. You can stare at the pages in front of you for forever.

"Aren't you interested? At all?"

"In what? Relationship or sex?"

"Either."

You close your book, intent on removing yourself from this conversation as soon as possible. You can smell him right now, how he uses a mild cologne to mix with his natural scent. If you had to describe it, you'd call it spicy floral, which is a good thing you never say that aloud because it sounds stupid.

"Of course I am." You start to get up, but he grabs you by the wrist and keeps you there. "What, Bin?"

"You've been weird lately."

"I doubt it." Has he noticed?

"I know you. You've been jumpy. And it's not work, it's not boxing." He purses his lips, thinking. "It's been since you found out I'm bi."

"Bin, I would never—"

"And you're not an asshole or a bigot or anything like that, so I know it's not that." His thumb brushes over the thin skin on the inside of your wrist. You don't think it's meant to be anything but platonic affection.

It's you, your body and brain, that can't tell the difference. That hopes for something else.

"What's going on?" He lets go of your wrist, but doesn't move, sitting next to you, snug. His arm against yours, thighs flush. There's nothing inappropriate about it. Shifters tend to be more affectionate than not. Changbin especially.

It's you. You are the problem.

"I'm worried about you. I thought maybe breaking up with Jisung would close you off, but you seemed okay. Sad, but okay. Four years is a long time without someone."

"I'm perfectly fine on my own. You don't need to worry."

He chuckles. "Yeah, cause that works." He lays his head on your shoulder before threading his fingers with yours. "Either something is going on with you and you don't want to tell me, or you don't know what's wrong. The first one hurts, the second one really concerns me."

No one would think that Changbin was smart. It's the gym rat look he wears so well. But he is. He pays attention.

You hate the idea of hurting him.

"I…I'm trying not to hurt you."

He lifts his head and you can feel his eyes on you. You're staring at your clasped hands, how his fingers are so different than yours.

"How so?"

You close your eyes so you can't be tempted to see his expression.

He says your name softly. "You can tell me anything. We're a pair, remember?"

A pair of non-wolves.

"When you said you liked women too, it bothered me. I couldn't figure out why. Why would it? Unless…" You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut even tighter. "Unless I was bothered that you did like women, but not me."

He lets out a long breath, you feel it and hear it.

"And that's not on you. I didn't…" Are you going to cry? Are you so unable to be honest without tears? "I'll get over it. I will. I just need to work it out. You don't have to do anything. It's on me. You're too important for me to let something like attraction and lust and whatever this is make you uncomfortable."

He doesn't say anything for a long while. Nor does he move from your side. You eventually open your eyes and look over at him, at his profile.

"If you want me to find another place to crash for awhile, I'd understand."

He turns to you, lifting up his other hand to trace along your jaw line. It's gentle, lingering. It makes your heart jump.

"Bin?"

"Shut up," he murmurs, holding you in place when he kisses you. You can't move, you're afraid to, afraid that you've taken daydreaming about your best friend and made it real. "Kiss me back, idiot."

You do, you taste his soft lips, feel his slick tongue that makes you tense in ways that you haven't in a long while. You soon find yourself straddling his hips while he's flat on his back, you on top. His hands are under your t-shirt, tripping over your sorry excuse for a bra before sliding under your bra to touch your breast. His mouth is no longer on yours, but at your neck while your hands are attempting to undo every button on that shirt of his. When you finally do, there is something that relaxes in you to touch and stroke the skin that you've bared.

Changbin sits up, forcing you into the same position, before he whips off your t-shirt and then half a second later, your bra.

"You're a boob guy?"

He grins up at you, chin on your sternum, eyes heavy and bright all at once. "Truth? I like it all. I like bodies and the souls they shelter." He doesn't wait for you to respond, but presses his mouth to your breast and sucks.

It's been years, he had the right of it. Years since you've been touched by someone else. Your body goes through a lot, it's harder than most female bodies; muscle is necessary for what you do. You know that your body doesn't necessary appeal to a portion of men, due to it not being soft and curvy.

He doesn't seem to be in that portion of men. Not with how his hands skim along your shape, how the linger at the top of your yoga pants before slipping underneath to knead your ass.

What he's doing to you is overwhelming, even though he hasn't even touched you properly. You might come from this. You're clenching, still dressed from your waist down, but he bucks up when you tug on his hair when he sucks particularly hard on your nipple, and you do.

You orgasm.

He draws back, watching you as you tremble in his arms. "You…did you just come?"

You nod, body languid and breath short. "Please don't make fun of me."

"I would never," he says, kissing your lips lightly. "That's the hottest thing I've ever seen." He smiles widely. "Let's do it again."

Your laugh at his enthusiasm is weak, but authentic. His hands grip your ass before he eases you both off the couch.

You weren't wrong about his arms. He can lift you.

"Yours or mine?" he ask before kissing you again, as though he didn't just ask you a question that required an answer.

"Yours, your bed is bigger."

You love his confident smirk.

He tosses you on the bed before ripping off your pants. He does the same with his trousers. He crawls on o the bed so he hovers over you. You're still recovering from your first other-assisted orgasm in years.

"I'm clean, by the way," he says. It's unnecessary, you know he gets tested after being with someone.

"Me too."

"Surprise surprise," he teases before settling between your legs. He smooths your hair out of your face, kissing your brow, your nose, your cheek until you're giggling.

"What are you doing?"

"Enjoying you," he replies before covering your mouth with his. You let your hands wander, along his back, up and down those arms and shoulders, returning to his back and tracing all the way down to his underwear. You might have thought a lot about Changbin's arms, but you also thought a good bit about his ass. You seize a good handful and he jerks, lips leaving yours.

"Oh really?" he says. You shrug, but your hands stay where you want them, molding to the shape of his posterior. "Had no idea."

"Yours is really really sexy, Bin."

He groans like he can't help it before kissing your lips, your chin, your collarbone, chest, and stomach before pausing at your underwear. Which means you don't have your hands on his ass anymore, which is deeply disappointing. He looks up at you.

"Can I?"

"Can you?" you question, brain dazed from his hands, mouth, him. He rolls his eyes before kissing you right over where you ache the most. The fabric is thin and doesn't block the heat of his mouth, nor the wet.

You keen, hips lifting even as he holds you down.

"Yes, yes, please."

Your underwear is gone in a flash, and replaced with his mouth. You are more than aware that the walls of your apartment are not thick, hearing enough from neighbors when voices go above a certain decibel.

That knowledge does little to thwart your gasp and cry when Changbin licks before attaching his lips around your clit. It's so much, and takes so little for you to orgasm again.

So little that when you can hear and breathe again, he's laughing.

You grab a pillow and hurl it at him, which he bats away with ease. He's still laughing when he kisses you again, while you poorly rid him of his boxer-briefs. He laces his hands with yours, pressing you back against the mattress, clasped hands sunk deep in his comforter. He stares at you for more seconds that you are comfortable with, naked as you are.

"Let me grab a condom."

"We're both clean, and it's not like…" It's not like you can conceive together. You stop talking, eyes wide, but he doesn't comment, doesn't dwell with you in that fact of life.

"You sure?"

He brings you out of your thoughts and you nod, needily. "Please, Bin. Please fill me up?"

"Gods, you're gonna kill me." He strokes himself, but you take over, eager to touch him. He groans.

"Morbid."

Even as he gets harder, he tips your chin up so your eyes meet. "You're not seeing what I'm seeing, beautiful." He covers your hand with his, and eases his dick into you. Your eyes shut.

"Full. I feel so full."

He curses before pulling out and thrusting back in. You tether yourself, hands on his arms, his glorious arms. He might say he likes to talk, but neither of you can muster more than gasps, groans, and whines. He makes sure you come for a third time, fingers playing your clit like he knows it perfectly already before he lets himself go.

"Too heavy?" he asks, once his panting and your panting is manageable. He's on top of you, still in you.

"No," you whisper, pushing his sweaty fringe out of his eyes as he lifts his head to see you. "I'm good. You're good."

"I bet you are. I could probably give you another orgasm, but I don't want to set the bar too high."

You slap whatever naked skin of his you can reach and he yelps before giggling and rolling over so he's lying next to you.

"I think…" he says after a few seconds. "We should sleep in your bed. My bed can be the sex bed. Yours can be for sleeping."

"You just don't want to do the laundry."

He rolls to his side, head propped on his hand, looking fondly at you. "You know me so well." He gently kisses you. "Wanna sleep with me?"

It's even more intimate, to sleep next to each other. It takes you aback that he asks. That he's all smiley and not weird about the fact you two just had sex.

"Yes."

As he gets off the bed, he grabs your hand and pulls you up as well. "Shower, then sleep."

When you fall asleep, curled up against him (of course he wanted to be the big spoon), you realize that you don't know what this means for you both. He had hoped for a quick fuck when going out tonight, which you guess you provided.

You admitted how you felt, but he never admitted how he felt.

You can ask in the morning. If you're brave enough.

You're not brave. For a few months you are not brave, in fact. At first you refrain from pursuing the topic in case it's only a one time thing.

It's not.

It happens again the next night. Then a few nights after that. Then three nights in a row, when you have a break in your match schedule.

It happens once at the dojo, in the women's showers after hours.

It's months, nearly six months of fucking (can you even call it that, when sometimes it's so sleepy and soft and gentle and warm?) before either one of you talk properly about it.

And of course it's Felix who notices.

You're on the bench, lifting with your trainer as your spotter.

"I got it," Felix dismisses him and stands over you, looking down with an expression that you can only describe as mischievous.

"What was that about?" You ask once you set the bar and weights on the rack. "You need me?" Maybe he got you access, finally to the Shifter Archive.

"Wanted to talk to you for a second."

You look around, though no one is near, and certainly not paying attention to the two of you. Too noisy to hear much, especially with the moves being called from the taekwondo class across the gym. You sit up and grab your towel to dab the sweat from your forehead before it falls and stings your eyes.

"Okay?"

"So, we have security cameras in pretty much all areas of the dojo. Except like the locker rooms, showers, toilets."

"That's good. That'd be a lawsuit."

He's beaming and it kind of worries you.

"Oh of course. But we can see who goes in and out of the locker rooms."

Your heart stops.

"No one really looks at the footage or anything unless we get a break in or there's something stolen, or other concern. We don't even save it. It's gone after a month."

Felix sits next to you, unbothered by your sweaty, sticky self.

"Want to take a wild guess who went into the women's locker room after you did?"

You close your eyes. "Lix—"

"And came out, looking oh so flushed and satisfied?" He's laughing. "One of our very impressive personal trainers. Your roommate."

You open your eyes and turn to him. "It's not—"

"I'm not stupid, 우승자. I haven't had quite the same experience in either locker room, but I do know when—"

"It's just fucking."

He sobers. "It is?"

"I think so. We've…" You cannot believe you're about to talk about this while sitting on the weight bench, your legs sticking to the fake leather. "We've never talked about it."

"I think it's great."

"You do?"

"You two have always fit. Like your own little club."

You don't remind him that it's because you aren't wolves. He knows that. Everyone knows that.

"I think you're good for each other."

You cover your face with the towel. "I like him so much."

"Yeah, I figured."

You snap his arm with the towel and he yelps, but laughs.

"Tell him."

"Like that isn't terrifying."

Felix cups your face in his hands, bonking your foreheads together, light enough that it doesn't hurt.

"You let yourself get punched on purpose. You're not a coward."

"The point is not to get punched, Lee Felix."

He smiles warmly at you, still holding your face. "Tell him. You'll feel a lot better once you're honest. Also, please stop fucking in my dojo." He pats your cheeks before getting up and walking away.

You have more sets and weights to do, but you can't after that so you change and go home.

It's early enough that even Changbin isn't home, so you spend a couple hours catching up on some of the accounts you run numbers for.

When you hear the door unlock, that's when your heart starts thumping hard.

"Hey, I thought you doing the sauna and stuff after your regimen tonight."

"Change of plans."

You don't turn, finishing the last line of input as he comes round and sits next to you on the sofa.

"You don't change plans."

"I do."

He raises an eyebrow, which is devastatingly attractive.

"Sometimes."

He leans over to kiss you before moving off the couch. "Hungry? We could order something. Or are you restricted this week?"

"I…I could eat something else."

"Awesome, I'll order jjajangmyeon and sweet and sour pork." He taps away on his phone while you save everything on your laptop before closing it.

You can do it.

"My plans changed because Felix came and talked to me."

"Oh yeah?" He sets his phone done. "Twenty minutes on the food. What did Lix want?"

"To tell me that he recently was looking through the security camera feed and—" Why is it so hard to admit? "And saw you walk in after me into the women's locker room."

You look at him through your peripheral.

He smirks. "Did he?"

"Yep."

"Whoops." He ruffles his hair. "What else did he say?"

"Not to fuck in his dojo anymore."

He laughs now, throws his head back and chuckles. "His dojo. Man, he really is the big guy now." He waits and when you don't say anymore, he pokes your cheek. "What?"

"He thinks we're good together."

"He does?"

You can't look properly at him. You keep staring at your hands, how they're rough from lifting, calloused despite taking care of them as best you can. "That we fit."

"He's not wrong."

Now you look at him. Despite his stretched out position, much like a pampered cat, his eyes hold those nerves you've seen throughout your teen years, growing up next to him.

"He isn't?"

He straightens, crossing his legs to sit upright, facing you. "You don't think so?"

You stand up, needing a few moments to organize your thoughts. "When we started all this…i told you how I felt."

He doesn't move. "Something about attraction and lust."

Was that all you'd said?

"You never said anything about how you felt. About me." You close and open your fists, trying to keep the fidgetiness there and not anywhere else.

He stands now, sliding off the couch and onto his feet, hands tucked into his pockets. "You don't think being with you, like we've been, isn't me telling you how I feel?"

"I don't know, Bin."

He scoffs and it pisses you off.

"You're only the second guy I've been with and it's different, so I'm sorry that I can't be sure, when I know how much you like sex."

"You like sex too." He throws it like an accusation, louder than a second ago.

"I like sex with you. I don't want to have sex with anyone else!"

"Me fucking neither!"

Oh.

"Really?"

That timid question takes the wind out of his angry sails. You see him deflate.

"You didn't think I was sleeping with anyone else, did you?" The hurt creeps into his voice.

"No. But mostly because of frequency. We were having a lot of sex there for several months."

His grin is so arrogant you want to wrestle him. But you have a good idea where that will end up.

"When would you had time for someone else?"

"I would have told you if I wanted someone else. Anyone else." His stare is defiant, chin up, mouth a straight line.

"Okay."

The living room is quiet for a few seconds. "So what are we saying?"

"I love you." You say it. You have to. You cannot stand the uncertainty any longer. "Not only as my best friend, my roommate, and the one person who gets it in this fucked up world we live in. I'm in love with you."

He doesn't say anything for what you're sure is several hours. He looks gobsmacked, honestly.

"I thought you might still be hung up on Jisung," he says softly, finally. "That maybe I was convenient."

He looks small like this. His presence, aura, whatever, is big when he's feeling himself, when he's happy, when he's settled.

But when he's unsure, nervous, that's when you see the fox more in him. A scared, ready-to-run fox.

You want to cross to him, hold his face in your hands and kiss him till he's back to knowing how wonderful he is.

But you can't seem to move.

"No. Not even close." You take a deep breath. "I wondered the same about you. And Chan."

His expression changes. "Chan?"

"First love."

"Both of our first loves that couldn't, wouldn't be with us, in public." He takes a step toward you. "This isn't like that."

"We aren't exactly public."

"We can be. I don't care." He reaches out for your hand. "I love you. I have for a lot longer than I realized."

Your face is burning. "I—"

He's holding both your hands now, face inches away, eyes sparkling and lips turned up. "Be with me? Not just in my bed, though let's keep doing that."

You roll your eyes, huffing a laugh.

"But be mine?"

You don't cry. You don't. Not often, and not in front of anyone. But your eyes well up. You bring your hands together, still clinging to his, and lay them over your heart.

"Yes. Please be my family."

He kisses you, letting go of your hands to pull you into a tight hug. The kiss feels more reverent than salacious and you melt into him.

"Bed?"

You do wrestle him after that, and it ends up exactly like you thought: in his bed, in his arms, entwined.

—Twenty-Seven Years Old—

You and Changbin are no longer sneaking around, but as the two non-wolves, the looks you get, the comments they think you can't hear, are not validating.

You think the majority of the pack is pleased that you chose each other and not one of the viable wolves.

They can go fuck themselves.

You don't miss the look of betrayal in Jisung's eyes when he first sees you and Changbin together at the dojo. Changbin kisses you before going to meet with his first personal training session. The kiss is hardly inappropriate, but it speaks of a relationship beyond friendship and living together.

Jisung is by the free weights as you move to the punching bags. He's staring at you, glowering. Since the break up and his marriage, you and he have talked a little, and it's never been anything but amicable.

His expression is not amicable.

You shoot a look at Jisung that you hope he understands. The man does not get to be offended this many years after breaking up, getting married, and having two kids.

And then you put it out of your mind. Because you really don't care what Jisung thinks anymore.

Marriage seems unnecessary when you've been living together for five years, but it's something held sacred in pack life. And you want to take his name. To have a name that you choose.

It's old fashioned, but it's a custom that suits you.

The wedding isn't on pack property, nor is it an event for the pack. It's at the local courthouse and only Felix and Seungmin attend.

Seungmin and Changbin are close, as Changbin handles Seungmin's training outside of his taekwondo. You like Seungmin, though you don't run into each other much, your sports never colliding or overlapping.

Felix is there as pack leader, but for you, too. You have to dissuade him that he can't 'give you away' like a bride's father would. But he stands next to you, and signs the marriage certificate before kissing you then Changbin in congratulations.

You and Changbin move out of the apartment, finding a small house in walking distance of the dojo. It's three bedrooms, one for the king-sized bed you purchase, one becomes an office for you, and the third is a workout room for him (and you when you need it).

Neither of you say anything about whether the office or home gym could be turned into a nursery.

—Twenty-Nine Years Old—

You're not sure how you ended up here.

Both your match and Chan's (you don't box with Chan, as you are in separate weight classes) are over, and the trainers and the rest of the entourage are back at the hotel, but here you are in a strip club because Chan was hungry and hates eating by himself, and according to the receptionist, this place has the best chicken wings.

But you are now in a private room, with very good chicken wings, soju, and three scantily clad men.

"I'm married."

The one next to you, long dark hair, the prettiest face (prettier than Felix? it's a different pretty, but still potent) is lounging, his head on your shoulder.

"We get that a lot in here."

That is deeply dissatisfying about people, truly.

"He is too," you say, jerking your thumb to where your adoptive brother is with another stripper; this one with sharp, flawless features and silver hair. The stripper is on his lap, straddling him, mouth attached to Chan's neck. "With your…friend over there."

"Hmmm, your husband?"

You make a face. "Ew, no. He's basically my brother." You pull away so his head nearly falls off your shoulder, but he moves easily with you. "Look, whatever your name is—"

"Real name is Hyunjin, pretty boxer."

"You know us?"

"Of course we do." The third comes back in with a bottle of makgeolli that you didn't order. He sits at the table a foot in front of where you sit. The couches are red and velour-like, bordering the entire room. "He's the reigning champion in his division. You're second in the country."

"I am not, uh…"

"Jeongin," he tells you, eyes like flint with smoky eye better than you've ever gotten even on your best makeup day. The music is loud, somewhat covering the noises from that side of the room (you don't want to see, you don't want to hear, but you hesitate in leaving Chan by himself as he is heavily under the influence of alcohol).

"I don't know my national ranking at the moment, but it's not second."

"You are second in the country." He pours a small glass of the makgeolli before offering it to you. You shake your head, so he hands it to your neighbor, Hyunjin, who sips it slowly, letting a drop catch his bottom lip. Hyunjin smirks when he sees you notice. He sits up and leans close, face even closer.

"Second in the country. Pack leader. What an accomplished coyote we have here tonight."

You jerk back at his words. They're both smiling at you, and though you've only had one drink, you feel dazed. How do they know? That isn't something you can see.

"I'm not a pack leader, either."

"Pretty coyote," Hyunjin says, tracing a finger down your cheek. "Your husband doesn't have to know, sweet. You've had a rough day."

Jeongin nods, his hands finding your knees, starting to push them apart.

"He doesn't have to know, because there is nothing to know." You stand up, cursing Chan in your head. "No thank you." You grab several bills out of your clutch and toss them on the table with the cooling chicken wings. "Please make sure he gets back to his hotel before seven am." You make your way through the maze of their limbs, the tables, the food and drink to the door. As you open it, you look back at Chan who isn't paying any attention to you or anything else but the man on his lap.

"Chan!"

He must hear you, because he waves his hand at you, his mouth attached to someone who is not his wife, dismissing you.

"It's your fucking life," you bite out, probably not loud above seductive bass line pumping in through the speakers. There is a touch on your shoulder and you grab the hand, twisting the arm before you can think it through.

"Careful, sweet," Hyunjin says from the sofa.

You release Jeongin, who isn't smiling, but wears a expression that makes your heart cold.

"Might be worth listening to us," Hyunjin speaks in sing-song, a lyrical quality to his voice that makes you reconsider staying.

Jeongin, still with that expression, rests his hands at your neck, light but firm. You find yourself unable to move.

"Second in country. Pack leader. Putting all those wolves to shame." With that statement, he lets go, turning and sitting down next to Hyunjin before helping himself to the makgeolli. Hyunjin's eyes are on you.

"Stay or go, sweet coyote. Make a decision."

You swing open the door and hurry through it. It's a mile walk and you should find a cab, but you want the fresh air to purge the haze from the private room, food, and drink. You don't feel remotely like yourself until you get back to the hotel.

When you walk into the lobby, your phone pings with a message. It's from your trainer.

»Look up the national rankings! Kim Sunwoo caught doping, he's out and you're behind Choi Yeonjun. CONGRATULATIONS!

You search the official website to see that yes, everything your trainer told you is true.

But what gives you chills, is that the news was only released in the last five minutes.

They called you 'second in country' and 'pack leader' over a half hour ago.

random notes:

폭스 means fox.

우승자 means winner, champion.

this act ends where the actual play of Macbeth begins.

also, i can share a cast list, as in who is who in the play if anyone is interested, i wasn't sure if that was spoiling or not.

act ii

© yoongihan 2026. please do not steal, translate, repost, or whatever. stray kids belong to themselves and all idols used in this piece are just the inspiration for characters and do not in any way reflect the actual humans.