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@leebitneebit
₊˚ ⋅ ۶ৎ DAISY. twenty three. she/they. changbin & lee know biased. kpop ‘side’ blog. Staytiny. gillit. full time writer. part time poster. engineering student. motor sport enthusiast.
old acct
inbox is always open
toxic solo stans/weird fans dni and go take a shower. gross.
no age -> blocked
© leebitneebit, 2026
I’m sorry the amount of minors in this tag writing or posting smut is actually insane like not even trying to hide the fact that you are a literal kid is wild imo
LEE KNOW in SKZ-Talker Ep.82
I CAN’T WITH THIS MAN 😂
‘Your sister is a bitch’
Seungmin x f!reader (implied poly skz)
Synopsis: When your sister tries to steal Seungmin, he makes one thing painfully clear: he only has eyes for you.
A/n: omgg this took so long to edit ive been putting this off for ages but i finally did it! I also couldn’t help but sprinkle in some poly skz x reader lmaooa
Wc: 20.1k
The first warning came when your sister texted you three times that morning to ask exactly when you and Seungmin would be arriving. The second came when she opened the front door wearing a dress you distinctly remembered her describing as far too nice for family things.
You looked at her. She looked at you.
Neither of you said anything for a moment. Then Seungmin appeared behind you, one hand holding a neatly wrapped cake box and the other resting comfortably against the small of your back. “Hi,” he said brightly. Your sister’s entire expression changed.
“Seungmin.” She smiled as though she had been expecting him personally. “Finally.” You glanced over your shoulder at him. He glanced down at you. His eyebrows lifted slightly.
Finally? You bit the inside of your cheek. Your sister stepped aside to let you both in, although she somehow managed to position herself so Seungmin had to pass close to her. He murmured a polite thank you and guided you ahead of him with a gentle hand at your waist. You had been dating long enough that the gesture barely registered anymore. Seungmin was always touching you in small, absent-minded ways—his fingers brushing yours as you walked, his palm settling on your knee beneath tables, his hand finding the back of your coat when you crossed a road.
It was rarely dramatic. It was simply constant. Your sister noticed. Her gaze dropped to his hand before moving back to his face.
“You look different in person,” she told him. Seungmin paused while removing his shoes. “Do I?” “Better.”
You turned away before either of them could see your smile. Seungmin placed his shoes neatly beside yours, then leaned closer to whisper, “Am I supposed to say she does too?” “No.” “Good.”
You elbowed him lightly. He caught your arm and squeezed it against his side, looking pleased with himself. Your sister was still watching. “You brought something?” she asked, nodding towards the box in his hand.
“Cake,” Seungmin said. “Your mum said she liked the one from that bakery near our flat.” “That was thoughtful.” “She sent him a photograph of it with the address circled,” you said. Seungmin looked offended.
“She provided helpful guidance.” “She threatened to disown me if we arrived without it.” “Still thoughtful.” “You didn’t even pay for it.”
“I carried it.” “You made me carry it on the train.” “For part of the journey.” “You said your arm hurt.”
“It did.” “Because you spent the entire morning playing games.” Seungmin smiled at your sister. “She has no sympathy for my suffering.” “None,” you confirmed.
Your sister laughed a little too enthusiastically. Not because the conversation had been particularly funny, but because Seungmin was smiling while he said it. You noticed. You also noticed the way she tucked her hair behind her ear before asking, “Do you want me to take that for you?”
She reached for the cake. Seungmin shifted it away automatically. “No, it’s all right. I’ve been entrusted with it.” “He’ll cry if anything happens to it,” you said.
“I’ll tell your mum it was your fault.” “You see what I live with?” Seungmin bumped his shoulder against yours. “You love it.” You opened your mouth to disagree.
He looked down at you expectantly, the beginnings of a grin already pulling at his lips. You hated how well he knew you. “Whatever,” you said. “There it is.”
He bent and pressed a quick kiss to your temple before following the sound of your mother calling from the kitchen. Your sister remained by the door with you. She watched him leave. Then she looked at you.
“You never said he was that handsome.” You blinked. “You’ve seen photographs.” “Photographs are different.” “I suppose.”
“He’s taller than I thought.” You stared at her. She stared back, seemingly unaware that there was anything strange about the intensity of her assessment. “Do you need his measurements?” you asked. “I can check the label in his coat.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was only saying.” “Right.” “You don’t have to be weird about it.”
“I’m not being weird.” “You’re doing that face.” “What face?” “The face you do when you think you’re funny.”
“I am funny.” “Seungmin clearly thinks so.” There was something strange beneath the words. Something slightly too pointed. Before you could decide whether you had imagined it, she smiled and linked her arm through yours.
“Come on. Mum’s been panicking over lunch for an hour.” She pulled you towards the kitchen as though nothing had happened. You let her. At that point, it was easier.
౨ৎ
Your mum adored Seungmin. That was hardly news. She adored him because he arrived on time, complimented her cooking, remembered details from conversations they had months ago and always insisted on helping clear the table. Your dad liked him because Seungmin could discuss football with convincing enthusiasm and had once spent nearly forty minutes helping him fix a temperamental television.
Even your relatives who had only met Seungmin briefly tended to approve of him. He was polite without seeming rehearsed, funny without demanding attention and attentive in a way that made people feel remembered. Your sister had apparently taken all of these qualities as an invitation. At first, you didn’t think much of it.
She asked him about work. Normal. She asked about the other members. Also normal. She asked whether he enjoyed travelling, what food he liked and whether he preferred going out or staying at home. A little interview-like, perhaps, but not particularly suspicious.
Then she moved from the chair opposite him to the empty one beside him when your mother asked her to fetch another plate. You looked at the abandoned chair. Then at her. She smiled innocently and crossed one leg over the other.
Seungmin glanced towards you. You were sitting on his other side, close enough that your knees touched beneath the table. He nudged your foot. You nudged him back.
His mouth twitched. Your sister leaned towards him. “So,” she said, “what did you think when you first met her?” You nearly inhaled your drink.
Seungmin turned towards you slowly. “Oh, no,” you said. His eyes brightened. “Oh, yes.”
“Don’t.” “I thought she was very strange.” Your mother laughed from the other end of the table. You stared at him. “That isn’t what you said before.”
“You told me not to embarrass you in front of your family.” “And this is you behaving?” “This is me being generous.” Your sister laughed, resting her hand against Seungmin’s arm.
It was light. Brief enough that she could claim it meant nothing. Still, you saw it. Seungmin looked down at her fingers. Your sister removed them a moment later, smiling as though the contact had been accidental.
“What did you actually think?” she asked. Seungmin looked back at you. The teasing softened around the edges. “I thought she was pretty.”
The answer was simple enough to make warmth spread through your chest. Then his smile returned. “Until she spoke.” You kicked his shin beneath the table.
He flinched dramatically. “See?” he told your family. “Violence.” “You deserved that.” “I complimented you.”
“You immediately ruined it.” “I said you were pretty.” “You said I was strange.” “You are strange.”
Your sister tilted her head. “I suppose you must usually date girls who are quite different from her.” The sentence slipped into the conversation so smoothly that it took you a second to understand it. Seungmin frowned slightly. “Different how?”
Your sister shrugged. “You know. More… elegant.” Your father suddenly became very interested in cutting his food. Your mother looked up.
You glanced down at yourself. You were wearing a jumper and trousers. Nothing particularly inelegant, unless your sister was counting the tiny mark on your sleeve from where Seungmin had flicked sauce at you in the kitchen. Seungmin followed your gaze. Then he looked at your sister.
“No,” he said. “I like this one.” You pressed your lips together. “This one?” you repeated. He patted your knee beneath the table.
“My favourite.” “I’m so flattered.” “You should be.” Your sister laughed, but there was something strained about it.
“I only meant that you seem very put together.” “I’m not,” Seungmin said cheerfully. “She found me looking for my phone this morning while I was talking to someone on it.” He looked towards your mother. “You raised a very critical daughter.” Your mum smiled. “She gets it from me.”
“Good to know.” The conversation moved on, but your sister did not return to her original chair. Every few minutes, she found another reason to address Seungmin directly. Did he like the food?
Had he visited the restaurant she mentioned? Did he think her hair looked better dark or light? That one made you turn. She lifted a section of her hair between her fingers.
“I’ve been thinking of changing it,” she explained. “What do you think?” Seungmin blinked. “I don’t know.” “You must have a preference.”
“For your hair?” She laughed as though he had made a joke. “Generally.” He looked at you. You had stopped pretending not to listen.
A hint of mischief appeared in his expression. “I like hers.” You narrowed your eyes. “You said I’d look good bald.” “You would.”
“That doesn’t count.” “It shows versatility.” Your sister’s hand fell from her hair. “You’re lucky,” she told you.
The words sounded pleasant. The way she looked at Seungmin did not. You raised an eyebrow. “I know.” “I mean, you’ve never really cared about things like that.”
“Things like what?” “Your appearance.” Silence settled over the table. It wasn’t complete silence. Your father’s fork scraped faintly against his plate, and the clock in the hallway continued ticking.
But the conversation stopped. Your sister smiled as though she had offered you a compliment. “You’ve always been confident enough not to bother,” she added. You knew this routine.
It had existed long before Seungmin. Your sister would say something cruel with a pleasant expression, and if you reacted, she would insist you had misunderstood. That she admired your confidence. That she wished she could leave the house without making an effort. That you were lucky not to care what people thought. Normally, you could ignore it. Today, the comment felt particularly childish.
You opened your mouth, but Seungmin spoke first. “She spent forty minutes choosing that jumper.” You turned towards him in disbelief. Your sister laughed.
Seungmin continued, “Then she asked me which trousers looked better and ignored my answer.” You nudged his side with your elbow. He caught your hand before you could pull it away and linked your fingers beneath the table. The gesture was concealed from everyone else.
His thumb brushed once over your knuckles. You understood what he was doing. He hadn’t ignored your sister’s comment. He had simply refused to let it settle over you.
“She looks lovely,” your mother said firmly. “She does,” Seungmin agreed. Your sister’s smile tightened. “I never said she didn’t.”
“No one said you did,” you replied. Her gaze met yours. For a moment, something sharp passed between you. Then Seungmin squeezed your hand and leaned close enough that his shoulder pressed against yours.
“You have something on your face,” he whispered. You immediately touched your cheek. “Where?” “The other side.” You touched the other cheek.
“No, lower.” “Seungmin.” “A little lower.” You glared at him. “There’s nothing there, is there?”
He smiled. “You’re so easy.” You tried to pull your hand from his. He tightened his grip.
“Don’t be sulky.” “I hate you.” Your sister watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. You barely noticed.
౨ৎ
After lunch, your mother attempted to stop Seungmin from helping with the dishes. Seungmin ignored her. He rolled his sleeves to his elbows, collected the empty plates and followed you into the kitchen. Your sister followed him.
Naturally. “You don’t have to do that,” she told him, taking a plate from his hands. “It’s fine.” “You’re a guest.”
“So is she.” Seungmin nodded towards you. You were leaning against the counter eating a piece of cake. Your sister looked at you.
“She’s family.” “She isn’t helping.” “I’m supervising,” you said. “You’re eating the dessert we haven’t served yet.”
“I’m checking it for poison.” Seungmin set the plates beside the sink. “And?” You took another bite.
“Still collecting evidence.” He reached towards your plate. You moved it out of reach. “Get your own.”
“I bought it.” “I paid for it.” “With our money.” “We don’t have shared finances.”
Your sister laughed again. “You two are funny.” You glanced at her. The compliment sounded genuine enough, but her eyes remained fixed on Seungmin.
He turned on the tap. Your sister stepped beside him. “I’ll wash,” she offered. “I can do it.”
“You dry, then.” You watched her pick up a sponge. Your mother called your name from the living room, asking whether you could help her find something. You pushed yourself away from the counter.
“Don’t eat my cake,” you warned Seungmin. “I would never.” “You absolutely would.” He placed one hand over his heart.
“Your lack of trust is upsetting.” You pointed the fork at him. “I’ll know.” “Go away.” You reluctantly carried the plate with you.
As you left the kitchen, you glanced back. Your sister had moved slightly closer to Seungmin. He was focused on rinsing a plate. You nearly stayed.
Then you caught yourself. It was your sister. Seungmin was your boyfriend. Nothing was going to happen because the two of them spent ninety seconds alone beside a sink.
You found your mother’s glasses on top of her head, endured several minutes of her insisting she had already checked there and returned to the kitchen. Your sister was speaking. “…must get tiring.” Seungmin passed her another plate. “What does?”
“Dating someone so different from you.” You stopped just outside the doorway. Seungmin didn’t appear to notice you. He frowned. “You’ve said that a few times.”
“I don’t mean it badly.” “What do you mean?” Your sister dried the plate slowly. “You’re very disciplined. Ambitious. You take care of yourself.”
He waited. “And she isn’t?” “She’s just more relaxed.” Seungmin looked down at the soapy water.
You knew that expression. He was choosing his words. Your sister mistook his silence for agreement. “I’ve always been more like you,” she continued. “Even when we were younger. People used to say I was the more responsible one.”
“Did they?” “And the more confident one.” Seungmin made a small sound that could have meant anything. Your sister smiled.
“It’s funny, really. Most people usually notice me first.” He glanced at her. “Okay.” You pressed your lips together.
She appeared thrown by the response. “I don’t mean to sound arrogant.” “Then don’t.” The answer was delivered so lightly that for a second, you wondered whether you had heard him correctly.
Your sister laughed uncertainly. “I’m only being honest.” Seungmin rinsed another plate. “About people noticing you?”
“Yes.” “Congratulations.” You had to cover your mouth. Your sister’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You must have noticed that we’re quite different.” “I’ve noticed.” “I’m probably more like your usual type.” Seungmin finally turned off the tap.
He looked at her properly. “What’s my usual type?” Your sister leaned one hip against the counter. “Confident. Sophisticated.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” “I’m guessing.” “You’ve guessed wrong.” She smiled as though he were teasing her.
“Have I?” “Yes.” Something about his tone should have ended the conversation. It didn’t.
Your sister lowered her voice. “She’s always been the sweeter one, I suppose. Men tend to like that.” Seungmin stared at her. Then his gaze moved past her shoulder and found you standing in the doorway.
His expression changed immediately. The irritation disappeared behind a slow, knowing smile. “How long have you been there?” he asked. Your sister turned sharply.
You lifted your plate. “Long enough to know you’ve been having a very interesting discussion about your type.” Seungmin dried his hands. “Apparently, I have one.”
“Do you?” “I’m learning a lot today.” Your sister straightened. “We were only talking.” “I heard.”
“There’s no need to make it strange.” You stepped into the kitchen and placed your half-finished cake on the counter. “I didn’t.” “No, but you’re doing that thing where you act territorial.”
Seungmin’s eyebrows rose. You laughed. “Territorial?” “You don’t need to hover every time another woman speaks to your boyfriend.” “I was helping Mum.”
“And then you came straight back.” “Because this is where my cake is.” Seungmin immediately reached for your plate. You slapped his hand away.
“See?” He looked wounded. “You care more about that cake than you care about me.” “The cake has never stolen my crisps.”
“It would if it could.” Your sister sighed. “You’re both impossible.” “Thank you,” Seungmin said.
You picked up your fork again. Your sister gave you a long look before placing the tea towel on the counter. “I’m going to see if Mum needs anything.” “She doesn’t,” you said. “Her glasses were on her head.”
Your sister ignored you and left. You waited until her footsteps had faded down the hall. Then you turned towards Seungmin. He was already looking at you.
A smile pulled at your mouth. “Your usual type?” He groaned and leaned back against the sink. “Please don’t.”
“Confident.” “Stop.” “Sophisticated.” “I’m warning you.”
“So much like her.” Seungmin reached for you. You dodged around the kitchen island, laughing when he followed. “I’m only being honest,” you said, mimicking your sister’s voice.
“You’re enjoying this far too much.” “Apparently she’s the woman of your dreams.” “My dreams have better conversational skills.” You gasped. “That was mean.”
“It was accurate.” He moved to one side of the island. You moved in the opposite direction. “I thought you liked confident women.”
“I like you.” “That wasn’t the question.” “It’s my answer.” “You’re only saying that because I caught you.”
“Caught me doing dishes?” “Seductively.” “I was wearing rubber gloves.” “Exactly. Very provocative.”
Seungmin stopped. You stopped too, watching him suspiciously from across the island. His expression softened. “Did that bother you?”
The question was quiet enough to dissolve some of your amusement. You considered it. “Not really.” “Not really?”
“I don’t think you’re secretly going to run away with my sister.” “That’s reassuring.” “I’d give you at least a week before you begged me to take you back.” “A week?”
“Maybe four days.” Seungmin looked offended. “I wouldn’t make it through the first evening.” You smiled. He continued to watch you.
“But?” he prompted. You looked down at your cake. “She does that sometimes.” “Does what?”
“Compares us.” You scraped your fork lightly through the icing. “She always has. She thinks she’s being subtle.” “She isn’t.” “I know.” “She also thinks I’m an idiot.”
You laughed. “Why?” “Because I’ve said I like you at least twelve times today, and she’s decided that means I’m interested in her.” “Maybe you’re sending mixed signals.” “I asked her to move because she was standing on my foot.”
“Very flirtatious.” “She apologised and touched my arm.” “Scandalous.” “She’s touched my arm six times.”
“You counted?” “I started counting when she asked whether I thought she looked better with dark hair.” You laughed again, and Seungmin smiled. Then he walked around the island.
This time, you let him reach you. His hands settled on your waist, drawing you between his knees as he leaned back against the counter. “For the record,” he said, “I don’t think you’re lucky.” “No?”
“No. I think I’m incredibly brave.” You flicked his shoulder. He caught your wrist and kissed your palm. “And lucky,” he added.
“That was nearly sweet.” “Don’t tell anyone.” You rolled your eyes, but your arms slipped around his shoulders. He tilted his head.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” “I’m fine.” “Your sister’s being strange.” “She thinks she can steal you.”
“Can she?” You pretended to consider it. Seungmin pinched your side. You squealed and tried to twist away, but he trapped you against him.
“Answer carefully,” he warned. “I don’t know. She is very sophisticated.” Another pinch. “And confident!”
He attacked your other side. You dissolved into helpless laughter, nearly dropping your fork as you attempted to escape. “Seungmin!” “Wrong answer.”
“She’s your type!” “Take it back.” “Never!” He caught both your wrists in one hand and used the other to tickle your waist.
You kicked uselessly at his legs. “You’re horrible!” “Take it back.” “Fine!” you gasped. “She isn’t your type.”
“And?” “And you don’t want her.” “And?” You stared at him, breathless.
His hair had fallen over his forehead during the struggle, and his smile was bright and boyish and entirely too pleased. “And you’re obsessed with me.” “There we go.” He released your wrists.
You immediately smacked his chest. Seungmin laughed and caught you against him again, pressing a noisy kiss to your cheek before you could complain. “You’re very annoying,” you told him. “You were laughing.”
“Against my will.” He kissed your other cheek. “Still counts.” Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
You both separated just before your mother entered the kitchen. She looked at Seungmin’s messy hair, your flushed face and the abandoned washing-up. Neither of you spoke. Your mother sighed.
“The dishes, Seungmin.” “I was doing them.” “He attacked me,” you said. “You provoked me.”
Your mother pointed at the sink. “Both of you.” “Yes, Mum,” you said. “Yes, Mum,” Seungmin echoed.
You turned to glare at him. He smiled innocently. Your mother left the room shaking her head. Seungmin bumped his hip against yours as he turned the tap back on.
“Pass me the sponge.” “You pass me the sponge.” “It’s closer to you.” “You’re closer to the sink.”
He looked towards the doorway, then lowered his voice. “Do you think your sister would do it for me?” You stared at him. He managed to hold a serious expression for approximately two seconds.
Then you shoved the sponge directly into his chest.
౨ৎ
When you finally prepared to leave, your mother packed enough food for several days into a bag and made Seungmin promise to visit again soon. Your sister stood in the hallway while you put on your coat. “You’re leaving already?” she asked. “We’ve been here for five hours,” you said.
“It doesn’t feel that long.” Seungmin bent to tie his shoelace. Your sister’s gaze lingered on him. “You should come over more often.”
“We will,” you replied. “I meant Seungmin.” He looked up. Your sister smiled. “You don’t need to wait for her. You’re practically part of the family now.”
There it was. Not quite enough to confront. More than enough to notice. Seungmin straightened.
“I think she’d be upset if I visited without her.” “I wouldn’t,” you said. “I’d enjoy the peace.” He placed one hand on top of your head and pushed down lightly. Your sister laughed.
“You’re very patient with her.” Seungmin looked at you. “No,” he said. “She’s patient with me.” For once, there was no joke attached.
His hand slid from the top of your head to the back of your neck, thumb brushing softly beneath your hair. Your sister’s smile faded for half a second. Then it returned. “Well,” she said, opening the door, “it was lovely seeing you.”
“You too,” Seungmin replied politely. She hugged you first. It was brief. Then she turned towards Seungmin.
You expected her to offer a wave. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him. Seungmin froze. His hands hovered uncertainly beside her shoulders.
Your eyes widened. Over your sister’s head, his gaze found yours. His expression was so openly alarmed that a laugh burst out of you. Your sister released him.
“What’s funny?” “Nothing.” Seungmin stepped immediately towards you. You were still laughing as he took the bag of food from your hand and placed his other arm securely around your shoulders.
Your sister glanced between you. “Text me when you’re home.” “I will.” She looked at Seungmin. “You have my number, don’t you?”
“No,” he said. “Oh.” She paused. “I thought you did.” “Why would he?” you asked. “In case of an emergency.”
Seungmin nodded. “I’ll call emergency services.” You choked on another laugh. Your sister’s mouth tightened. “I only meant if something happened with you.”
“He has Mum’s number.” “And her Dad’s,” Seungmin added. “And Chan’s,” you said. “And Minho’s.”
“He doesn’t need your number.” Your sister folded her arms. “You make everything sound strange.” “You asked my boyfriend whether he had your number.”
“For emergencies.” “Right.” Seungmin gently steered you through the doorway before either of you could continue. “Thank you for lunch,” he called politely.
Your mother called goodbye from somewhere inside the house. Your sister remained at the door while the two of you walked down the path. You could feel her watching. Seungmin’s arm stayed around you until you reached the pavement.
Then he leaned close. “Don’t look now.” You immediately looked back. Your sister was still standing in the doorway.
She lifted her hand when she saw you turn. You waved. Seungmin sighed. “I specifically said not to.”
“I don’t take instructions well.” “I know.” The door finally closed. You walked several more steps in silence.
Then Seungmin said, “Your sister wants me.” You stopped. He stopped beside you. The solemn expression on his face lasted less than a second before you both started laughing.
“Your confidence is disgusting,” you told him.
౨ৎ
Your sister arrived at your flat on Saturday afternoon wearing heeled boots, a fitted coat and enough perfume to announce her presence before you had even opened the door. You looked at her. Then at the small handbag hanging from her shoulder. Then back at her.
“You said you were coming to borrow my straighteners.” “I am.” “Are you planning to straighten your hair here?” “No.”
“Then why do you look like you’re going somewhere?” She frowned. “I’m meeting someone later.” “You didn’t mention that.” “I didn’t realise I needed to submit an itinerary.”
“You don’t.” “Then why are you interrogating me?” “I asked one question.” “You asked three.”
You stepped aside to let her enter. She walked past you, removing her coat as she went. The outfit beneath it was somehow even more carefully chosen. You watched her smooth the fabric over her waist before checking her reflection in the hallway mirror.
Interesting. Very interesting. “You could have texted,” you said, closing the door. “I would’ve brought the straighteners to Mum’s tomorrow.” “I was nearby.”
She wasn’t. Your sister lived nearly forty minutes in the opposite direction. You decided not to point that out. From the living room, Seungmin called, “Who is it?”
Your sister’s posture changed almost imperceptibly. Her shoulders pulled back. Her expression softened. You stared at her.
She ignored you. “Your favourite person,” you called. There was a pause. Then Seungmin replied, “Felix?”
You gasped. Your sister laughed. You marched into the living room, already preparing several punishments. Seungmin was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table.
A pale blue fabric headband held his hair away from his face, and there was a thin layer of clay mask drying across his cheeks because you had told him his skin looked tired. He had complained for eleven minutes. Then he had asked whether there was enough left for his forehead. Your left hand rested carefully on top of an old magazine while Seungmin held your right between both of his.
Three of your fingernails were painted. One was half-painted. The fifth had somehow acquired a streak of polish across your skin. Seungmin looked up as you entered.
The smile on his face widened. “There’s my second-favourite person.” You stopped in front of him. “Second?”
“Felix bakes for me.” “I cook for you.” “You once burned instant noodles.” “The packet was confusing.”
“You forgot the water.” “It didn’t say when to add it.” You placed one foot against his thigh and pushed lightly. Seungmin caught your ankle.
“No kicking near the nail polish.” “You deserve worse.” “You asked me to do this.” “And you’re doing a terrible job.”
He looked down at your nails. “They’re beautiful.” “There’s polish on my knuckle.” Your sister appeared behind you.
Seungmin glanced towards her. His expression flickered with surprise before settling into a pleasant smile. “Oh. Hi.” “Hi.”
Your sister looked him over. Her gaze paused at the headband. Then the face mask. Then your hand resting in his.
Her smile faltered, only slightly. “I didn’t know you were here.” You turned your head towards her. She knew.
You had mentioned it the previous evening when she asked what you were doing this weekend. Seungmin did not appear to remember that. “I live here sometimes,” he said. “You don’t,” you replied.
Your sister moved further into the room. “You look comfortable,” she said. Seungmin touched the edge of the headband. “This was forced on me.”
“You asked whether the bow should go in the middle,” you said. Your sister laughed, lowering herself onto the sofa behind him. “It suits you.” Seungmin looked up at her.
“The face mask?” “The headband.” He touched it again. “Thanks.”
Her smile brightened. You watched her tuck one leg elegantly over the other. Seungmin returned his attention to your hand. “Stop moving.”
“I’m not moving.” “You’re moving now.” “Because you told me not to.” He tightened his fingers around yours.
“If you smudge this one, I’m starting again.” “You’ve already smudged it.” “That was intentional.” “Was the polish on my skin intentional too?”
“Yes.” “What was the artistic vision?” “Annoying you.” You tried to pull your hand away.
Seungmin held on. “Stay still.” “You’re enjoying the authority.” “I rarely have any in this relationship.”
“Because you can’t be trusted.” Your sister leaned forwards. “You let him paint your nails?” You looked at her.
“He volunteered.” “I was coerced,” Seungmin said. “You said you could do it better than me.” “I can.”
You lifted your hand. He immediately lowered it again before the wet polish could run. “That remains to be seen.” Your sister tilted her head.
“I’d never ask my boyfriend to do something like that.” You glanced at Seungmin. He glanced at you. There it was again.
That tiny shared pause when both of you noticed something and decided, without speaking, whether it was worth reacting to. You smiled. “Good thing he isn’t your boyfriend, then.” Your sister’s expression tightened.
Only for a second. Then she laughed. “I only mean I’d feel bad making him do something so feminine.” Seungmin inspected your thumbnail.
“You think painting nails is feminine?” “Usually.” “Then I’m doing a very poor job of it.” You snorted.
He blew gently across your nail. Your sister watched his lips purse. “It’s sweet,” she said. “I just wouldn’t have expected it from you.” “What did you expect?” Seungmin asked.
“I don’t know.” She did know. You could tell by the way she leaned towards him. “Something more masculine, I suppose.”
Seungmin looked down at himself. He was wearing grey jogging bottoms, an old sweatshirt and your fluffy skincare headband. “I’m devastated.” “You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.” She smiled as though he were deliberately teasing her. “You seem like someone who’d usually want a very feminine girlfriend.” Seungmin’s brush paused.
You looked at your sister. She was looking at him. Not you. He lifted his eyes slowly.
“I do.” Your sister’s smile widened. Then Seungmin returned his attention to your hand. “That’s why I’m dating her.”
You pressed your lips together. Your sister glanced at you. You smiled pleasantly. Seungmin dipped the brush into the polish.
“She isn’t exactly what most people would call feminine,” your sister said. You raised your eyebrows. Seungmin’s hand stopped again. Your sister gestured towards you.
You were wearing one of Seungmin’s old shirts, a pair of shorts and fluffy socks. Your hair was twisted into a loose knot that had begun collapsing an hour ago. There was a faint smudge of clay mask beside your jaw where you had attempted to kiss Seungmin before it dried. You looked extremely comfortable. That had apparently become a flaw.
“I’m not?” you asked. “I didn’t mean it badly.” “Of course not.” “You’ve never cared about being girly.”
“I’m getting my nails painted.” “By your boyfriend.” “Yes.” “So?”
“So that feels relevant.” Your sister rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. You’re not someone who gets dressed up around the house or worries about always looking attractive.” You looked down at yourself.
Then at Seungmin. His gaze had settled on your face. You recognised the slight narrowing of his eyes. Not anger.
Not yet. Attention. Your sister continued, “I just think it’s brave.” “Brave?” you repeated.
“To be that comfortable so early in a relationship.” You and Seungmin had been together for nearly two years. Apparently that remained early enough to maintain a constant state of glamour. “How does she normally dress at home?” Seungmin asked.
Your sister seemed pleased to have his attention again. “Like this.” “Right.” “She’s always been a little careless.”
“With clothes?” “With everything.” You laughed quietly. Your sister looked at you.
“What?” “Nothing.” Seungmin placed the nail brush carefully inside the bottle. Then he lifted your hand and examined his work.
“Perfect.” “It’s uneven.” “So are your fingers.” “My fingers aren’t uneven.”
“One’s shorter.” “They’re supposed to be different lengths.” “Convenient excuse.” He brought your hand towards his mouth.
You frowned. “What are you doing?” “Checking whether it’s dry.” “With your lips?”
“Yes.” “That makes no sense.” Seungmin pressed a delicate kiss to the side of your index finger, avoiding the wet nail. Then he kissed your knuckle.
Then your wrist. A smile pulled at your mouth despite yourself. “Dry,” he announced. “You didn’t touch the polish.”
“I’m an expert.” “You’re an idiot.” He kissed your wrist again. Your sister shifted on the sofa.
“You two are very…” She paused. “Affectionate.” “That sounded judgemental,” you said. “It wasn’t.” “It sounded a little judgemental,” Seungmin agreed.
“I only mean you don’t seem like the clingy type.” She was speaking to him again. Seungmin leaned back against your legs. “I’m not.”
You looked down at him. He looked up at you. “You’re currently using me as a chair.” “You’re comfortable.”
Seungmin smiled lazily, reaching behind himself until his hand found your knee. You threaded your fingers through his hair, careful not to disturb the headband. He immediately tilted his head into your touch. Your sister watched him do it.
Something in her expression hardened. “You always liked being fussed over,” she said to you. You looked at her. “What?”
“When we were younger. You always needed everyone’s attention.” The comment was casual. Almost playful. You knew better.
“I don’t remember that.” “You used to follow Mum around constantly.” “I was six.” “You cried whenever she left the room.”
“I was still six.” “You’ve never liked being alone.” Seungmin’s thumb stroked once over your knee. You shrugged.
“Good thing I don’t have to be.” Your sister’s eyes flicked towards his hand. “That’s what I mean. You need a lot from people.” There was a quietness beneath the words.
An implication she wanted Seungmin to catch. You were needy. Difficult. Exhausting.
The kind of girlfriend who demanded face masks and painted nails and constant affection. Your sister, naturally, would never require so much effort. Seungmin looked up at you. “Do you?”
“Do I what?” “Need a lot from me?” You pretended to consider it. “Well, you could make more tea.”
“I made the last one.” “You drank half of it.” “It became ours when you let me taste it.” “That’s not how sharing works.”
Your sister exhaled through her nose. “You make everything into a joke.” “You make everything very serious,” you replied. “I’m trying to have a conversation.”
“With my boyfriend?” “With both of you.” “You’ve mostly been looking at him.” The room went still.
Your sister blinked. Seungmin’s eyebrows lifted. You hadn’t intended to say it quite so plainly. You weren’t upset.
Not yet. You were mostly curious to see what she would do when someone acknowledged the obvious. She recovered quickly. “I’m looking at whoever’s speaking.”
“He hasn’t been speaking.” “He literally just was.” You smiled. “All right.”
Your sister folded her arms. “You’re being strange again.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You implied something.”
“What did I imply?” “You know exactly what.” Seungmin’s hand slid around the back of your knee. His fingertips squeezed gently.
You looked down at him. He gave you a small, private smile. There was no concern in it. He knew you weren’t jealous.
Mostly, he appeared entertained. “You came for straighteners,” you reminded your sister. “I know.” “They’re in the bedroom.”
“Can you get them?” “You know where they are.” She hesitated. Her gaze moved towards the hallway, then back to Seungmin.
“I haven’t been in your bedroom since you moved things around.” “You’ll survive.” “I don’t want to go through your things.” “You’ve never had an issue before.”
Her mouth tightened. You smiled sweetly. “I’ll show you.” You gently extracted your hand from Seungmin’s grasp, holding your fingers carefully apart.
He immediately caught your wrist. “Where are you going?” “To get the straighteners.” “You’ll ruin your nails.”
“I’m walking, not digging a tunnel.” “You’re very clumsy.” “You painted them five minutes ago. They’re dry.” Seungmin tightened his grip.
“Wait.” “What?” He reached for the bottle of top coat on the table. “You need this.”
“You didn’t mention top coat before.” “I forgot.” “You just don’t want me to leave.” “That’s ridiculous.”
“You’re holding my wrist.” “To protect my work.” “Say you’ll miss me.” “You’ll be gone for thirty seconds.”
“Then it shouldn’t be difficult.” Seungmin narrowed his eyes. Your sister watched the exchange. You waited.
He looked away first. “I’ll miss you,” he muttered. You grinned. “What was that?”
“You heard me.” “I don’t think I did.” “I’m not repeating it.” “Then I suppose I’ll have to stay.”
Seungmin looked back at you suspiciously. You lowered yourself onto the floor in front of him. His expression brightened. Then you reached for the top coat.
He held it out of reach. “You said you were staying.” “To do my own nails.” “No.”
“Give it to me.” “You’ll ruin them.” “They’re already ruined.” Seungmin gasped.
You grabbed for the bottle. He leaned away. You lunged across him, careful to keep your painted hand lifted. Seungmin caught you around the waist with his free arm.
“Behave.” “Give it.” “No.” “Seungmin.”
You tried to reach behind him. He shifted again, pulling you further into his lap. Your sister cleared her throat. You both looked towards her.
She was still sitting on the sofa. Watching. You had briefly forgotten she was there. “Sorry,” you said, although you weren’t particularly sorry.
Seungmin rested his chin on your shoulder. He still had one arm wrapped firmly around your waist. Your sister’s gaze dropped to it. “Could you get the straighteners?” she asked.
“You know where they are,” you repeated. “I already told you I don’t.” Seungmin lifted his head. “I can get them.”
Your sister’s face brightened. You turned towards him. He was already beginning to stand, carefully guiding you off his lap. Your sister rose too.
Seungmin paused. He looked at her. Then at you. You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.
There was no reason for both of them to go. Your sister apparently believed your bedroom contained an unusually complicated straightener-storage system that required Seungmin’s personal guidance. “I know where they are,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”
“You can stay here.” Her smile faltered. “I don’t mind.” “I do.”
The answer was so immediate that you made a small choking sound. Your sister’s patience finally snapped. “Can someone please get them?” You and Seungmin both looked at her.
She smiled tightly. “The straighteners.” “Right,” you said. Seungmin pointed at you.
“Don’t touch anything.” “It’s my flat.” “My nail polish.” He disappeared down the hallway.
Your sister waited until he was out of earshot. Then she looked at you. “You don’t have to perform every time I’m here.” You stared at her.
“Perform?” “The constant touching. The little jokes.” “You think that’s for you?” “I think you’re trying very hard to prove something.”
You looked towards the hallway. Seungmin was rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, apparently having forgotten that you kept the straighteners inside your wardrobe. You turned back to her. “I’m sitting in my own living room wearing his shirt while he paints my nails.”
“Exactly.” “What am I proving?” “That you’re comfortable with him.” “I am comfortable with him.”
“You don’t need to make it so obvious.” A laugh escaped you. Your sister’s expression darkened. “What?”
“I genuinely don’t understand what you’re accusing me of.” “You’re acting territorial.” “I haven’t stopped you speaking to him.” “You don’t have to. You just keep interrupting.”
“This is my flat.” “So?” “He’s my boyfriend.” “I know that.”
“Do you?” Her eyes narrowed. You smiled. Still amused.
Mostly. But something sharper had begun pressing beneath your ribs. Your sister had always competed with you. Clothes. Friends. Attention. Compliments.
Anything you possessed became evidence that she deserved something better. You had simply never expected her to become this obvious. “You’re imagining things,” she said. “Am I?”
“Yes.” “Then why did you come dressed like that to borrow straighteners?” Her face changed. Only for an instant.
Then she scoffed. “I told you I’m going out.” “Where?” “Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” “You clearly do.” “You’ve travelled forty minutes to borrow something you could buy for twenty pounds.” “I was nearby.”
“No, you weren’t.” She folded her arms. “Seungmin doesn’t seem to mind me being here.” There it was.
You looked at her. She looked pleased with herself. “Why would he mind?” “He’s been friendly.”
“He’s usually friendly.” “Not with everyone.” You nearly smiled. Your sister had known Seungmin for one afternoon.
Apparently she had already developed an extensive understanding of his social habits. “He complimented me last time,” she continued. “When?” “He said my dress was nice.”
“Mum told him to.” “That doesn’t mean he didn’t think it.” “No, I’m sure he has very strong feelings about the dress.” “You don’t have to be jealous.”
You stared at her. Then you laughed. You couldn’t help it. The idea was so completely detached from reality that amusement overwhelmed everything else.
Your sister’s face hardened. “I’m serious.” “So am I.” “Then why are you laughing?”
“Because you think Seungmin complimenting your dress means I should be worried.” “I didn’t say you should be worried.” “You said I was jealous.” “You’re acting like it.”
“Trust me.” You leaned back against the sofa. “I’m not.” Your sister opened her mouth. Seungmin returned before she could answer. He was holding the straighteners in one hand
He handed the straighteners to your sister. She accepted them. “Thank you.” “No problem.”
Her fingers lingered against his for a moment. Seungmin looked down at their hands. Then politely extracted his own. “I should probably go,” your sister said.
You looked at the clock. She had been there for less than twenty minutes. “Your plans?” you asked. “Yes.”
She picked up her coat. Seungmin returned to the floor beside you, already reaching for your hand. Your sister watched him pull you down beside him. Your sister opened the front door.
“I’ll text you,” she said to you. “Okay.” She looked towards Seungmin. “It was nice seeing you.”
“You too.” “You look good, by the way.” Seungmin glanced down at his sweatshirt. “Thanks.”
“The headband especially.” His hand rose to the blue bow. “Right.” She laughed softly.
Then she left. You waited until the door closed. Silence settled over the flat. Seungmin stared at it.
You stared at him. He turned slowly. “What?” You broke first.
Laughter burst out of you so suddenly that you nearly knocked over the nail polish. Seungmin caught the bottle. “Careful!” “The headband especially,” you repeated.
“Stop.” “You look good, by the way.” “I said stop.” You twisted in his arms until you were facing him.
Seungmin was kneeling over you, one hand planted beside your shoulder and the other wrapped securely around your waist. You looked up at him. “I like your headband.” “Thank you. I already have a beautiful girlfriend.”
You nodded. “Very natural.” “You’re ridiculous.” “And you’re obsessed with me.”
“There it is.” “There what is?” “You’ve been waiting to say that all afternoon.” “I haven’t.”
“You have.” “No.” “Yes.” You tried to push him away with your forearm.
Seungmin remained exactly where he was. “Admit it,” he said. “Admit what?” “That you’re jealous.”
“I’m not.” “Just a little?” “No.” “Not even when she touched my hand?”
“I thought about breaking her fingers.” Seungmin’s eyes widened. You hooked one leg around his hips and attempted to roll him onto his back. He anticipated it, shifting his weight before you could gain any leverage.
“You’re cheating,” you complained. “How?” “You’re stronger.” “That isn’t cheating.”
“It is when I’m losing.” He laughed. You used the distraction to push at his shoulder again. Seungmin caught both your wrists.
Your breath hitched, more from surprise than anything else. He pinned them lightly above your head, careful not to let your nails touch the carpet. His hair had begun slipping free from the headband. The clay mask had cracked faintly near the corners of his smile.
He looked completely ridiculous. And unfairly lovely. “Still think I enjoyed it?” he asked. You pretended to consider your answer.
His eyes narrowed. “Choose carefully.” You bit back a smile. “She is very feminine.”
Seungmin lowered his face closer to yours. “Wrong direction.” “And confident.” His grip tightened slightly around your wrists.
You laughed. “And sophisticated.” “Do you want to keep your newly painted nails?” “That sounds like a threat.”
“It is.” “You worked so hard on them.” “I can start again.” “You wouldn’t.”
“I have nowhere to be.” You squirmed beneath him. He shifted, trapping you more securely without putting his weight on you. “You’re impossible,” you said.
“You started this.” “She’s your type.” Seungmin stared at you. Then he released one of your wrists.
You immediately tried to escape. His free hand found your side. You squealed. “No!”
“Take it back.” “You can’t keep doing this!” “I can until you learn.” His fingers dug gently into your waist.
You dissolved into laughter, twisting helplessly beneath him. “The mask!” you gasped. “You’ll crack the mask!” “I don’t care.” “You were worried about it two minutes ago!”
“You’ve pushed me too far.” You kicked at the rug. Seungmin caught your leg beneath his knee. “You’re evil!”
“And?” “Controlling!” “And?” “Obsessed with me!”
His fingers stopped. “There we go.” You glared up at him, breathless. “That isn’t fair.”
“It’s completely fair.” “I was supposed to say you don’t want her.” “I know I don’t want her.” “You’re supposed to reassure me.”
“Are you worried?” “No.” “Then why do you need reassurance?” “Because I enjoy compliments.”
Seungmin smiled. The teasing faded gently from his expression. He released your other wrist and settled his hand beside your head instead. “You’re very pretty.”
“That was basic.” “You’re especially pretty when you’re wearing my clothes.” “Better.” “You’re funny.”
“I know.” “And irritating.” “That wasn’t a compliment.” “It’s one of my favourite things about you.”
You looked up at him. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek. “You’re my favourite person to come home to,” he continued. “My favourite person to annoy. My favourite person to do absolutely nothing with.” Your smile softened.
Seungmin’s did too. “And,” he added, “I’m so obsessed with you that I let you put this stupid thing on my head.” You touched the bow. “You love the headband.”
“I tolerate it.” “You’re avoiding the important part.” “What important part?” “The part where you admit I’m obsessed with you.”
You laughed. “You just admitted it yourself.” “I want to hear you say it.” “You’re obsessed with me.”
“And?” You stared at him. He waited expectantly. “And you don’t want my sister.”
“Obviously.” “And?” A slow grin spread across his face. You realised what he wanted.
“No.” “Say it.” “I’m not saying it.” “You know you want to.”
“I don’t.” Seungmin’s fingers hovered threateningly near your waist. You recoiled. “Don’t.”
“Then say it.” “You’re abusing your power.” “I’m waiting.” You glared at him.
He looked delighted. “And I’m obsessed with you too,” you muttered. “What was that?” “You heard me.”
“The face mask is restricting my hearing.” “That isn’t how masks work.” “Speak clearly.” You tried not to smile.
“I’m obsessed with you too.” “There we go.” He bent and kissed you. It began soft.
A pleased little press of his lips against yours. Then you reached for the back of his neck and accidentally brushed one wet nail against his cheek. Seungmin pulled away. You froze.
A bright streak of polish now cut through the dried clay mask. For one second, neither of you moved. Then you burst out laughing. Seungmin stared at you.
“You ruined it.” “I’m sorry!” “You did that on purpose.” “I didn’t!”
“You attacked me.” “You were on top of me!” “Because you accused me of wanting your sister.” Seungmin touched his cheek.
His fingers came away with polish on them. His mouth dropped open. You laughed even harder. “You look beautiful.”
“You’re sleeping on the sofa.” “It’s my flat.” “Then I’m sleeping in your bed alone.” “You wouldn’t last ten minutes.”
“I’d sleep perfectly.” You grinned. Seungmin tried to maintain his glare. He failed.
A laugh escaped him. Then another. He lowered his head until his forehead rested against your shoulder, both of you shaking with laughter on the living-room floor. You wrapped your arms around him.
“Your mask really is ruined.” “I know.” “And the polish is definitely smudged.” “I know.”
౨ৎ
Your sister invited herself shopping with you three days later. Technically, she asked whether you had bought your mum’s birthday present yet. When you told her that you and Seungmin were going into town on Sunday to find something, she replied that she had been planning to go that day too. You had stared at the message for several seconds. Seungmin, lying beside you with his head on your stomach, had tilted his phone away from his face and asked, “Why are you making that expression?”
“My sister wants to come shopping with us.” He had gone silent. You lowered your phone to look at him. “That was a very long pause.” “I was trying to think of something polite.”
“And?” “I couldn’t.” You laughed and ran your fingers through his hair. “We are shopping for her mum too.” “Unfortunately.”
“She’s my mum.” “That’s why I said unfortunately. I like your mum.” “You’re horrible.” Seungmin had turned his head and pressed a kiss to your stomach through your shirt. “Tell her she can come.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.” “I’m thrilled. Maybe she can tell me more about what kind of woman I usually prefer.” You had flicked his forehead. He had bitten your finger.
The matter was settled.
౨ৎ
Your sister arrived twenty minutes late. You and Seungmin had already been standing outside the shopping centre long enough for him to complain about the cold four times, steal one of your gloves and attempt to warm his other hand by shoving it beneath the back of your jumper. You had slapped him away. He had waited thirty seconds before trying again.
“Your hand is freezing,” you complained, twisting out of his reach. “That’s why I need your body heat.” “You have pockets.” “They’re not as warm as you.”
“They don’t want you touching them either.” Seungmin smiled and caught the belt loop of your jeans when you tried to step away. “Come back.” “No.” “You’re abandoning me.”
“I’m moving half a metre.” “That’s still too far.” You rolled your eyes, but you let him pull you backwards until your shoulder rested against his chest. He wrapped both arms around your waist and tucked his chin over your shoulder, immediately pleased with himself. “You’re very clingy today,” you said.
“It’s cold.” “You were clingy yesterday too.” “I was tired.” “You fell asleep on top of me. I couldn’t breathe.”
“And yet you let me stay.” His laugh warmed the side of your neck. Your sister found you like that. She slowed as she approached, taking in Seungmin’s arms around your middle and the way your hands rested over his. Then she smiled.
“Sorry,” she said, although she did not sound particularly sorry. “The train was delayed.” “You said you were driving,” you replied. She paused. Seungmin’s face disappeared briefly against your shoulder. You felt the silent shake of his laughter.
“I changed my mind,” your sister said. “Clearly.” She looked at Seungmin. “Have you been waiting long?” “Long enough for her to attack me.”
“I moved your freezing hand away,” you said. Seungmin tightened his arms around your waist. “Exactly.” Your sister laughed, her gaze lingering on him a little too long. “You poor thing.” Your sister looked at you with a small, knowing smile. “You’ve always been like that.”
“Like what?” “Rough.” Seungmin’s eyebrows rose. You looked down at your outfit as though you might find evidence of roughness on your coat. “I pushed his hand away.”
“I’m only joking.” “Right.” “She’s very frightening,” Seungmin said solemnly. “I live in constant fear.” Then he kissed your cheek and released you, taking your hand instead. “Can we go inside before I lose feeling in my fingers?”
“You stole my glove.” “It wasn’t enough.” Your sister walked beside him as you entered the shopping centre. You ended up on his other side.
It was not immediately strange. The pavement narrowed near the doors, people moved around you, and your sister had always been skilled at placing herself exactly where she wanted to be without appearing deliberate. But once you were inside, she remained there. She asked Seungmin what he thought you should buy. She asked whether he enjoyed shopping. She asked which shops he liked, whether he cared about clothes and whether he usually chose his own outfits. He answered politely.
Mostly. When she asked whether he had a favourite designer, he said, “Whoever makes comfortable trousers.” When she asked what colours he liked on women, he said, “Normal ones.” Your sister frowned. “I was asking a normal question.”
“I know,” you said. “His answer was stupid.” Seungmin swung your joined hands between you. Your sister glanced down. “I think you’d suit darker colours,” she told him.
“I wear dark colours.” “I know. They make you look more mature.” You looked across him. “What does he look like now?” She ignored you. “You have a very classic face.”
Seungmin turned towards you. “Do I?” “No.” He looked offended. “You didn’t even think about it.” “I look at your face every day.”
“And you’ve never thought it was classic?” “I’ve thought it was annoying.” “That isn’t a facial structure.” “It should be.”
Your sister sighed softly. “You never take compliments seriously.” “She rarely gives them,” Seungmin said. “I complimented you this morning.” “You said my hair looked less strange than usual.”
“That was generous.” “You also said I looked tired.” “You did.” “You make me feel very cherished.”
You stopped in the middle of the walkway and placed both hands around his face. “You are beautiful.” Seungmin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re mocking me.” “Never.” “You’re smiling.”
“Because you’re beautiful.” He stared at you for another second before his mouth betrayed him. A reluctant smile appeared. “There,” you said, squeezing his cheeks. “Pretty.”
Seungmin caught both your wrists and pulled your hands away. “Don’t touch my face in public.” “You love it.” Your sister had gone quiet. You released Seungmin’s face and started walking again. He slipped his hand into yours as though the interruption had never happened.
The first shop was useless. The second was worse. Your mum had said she wanted something for the house, which sounded simple until you were faced with fifteen aisles of objects she might already own. Your sister suggested a decorative vase.
You reminded her that your mum had six. Seungmin picked up a tiny ceramic dog wearing a crown. You told him to put it down. “She’d love him,” he said.
“She’d ask why we bought her rubbish.” “He’s cute.” “He’s ugly.” “He can hear you.”
Your sister smiled at Seungmin. “I think he’s cute.” You looked at her. She was not looking at the ceramic dog. Seungmin, apparently unaware or pretending to be, placed the ornament carefully in your hands. “Hold him.”
“No.” “He likes you.” “You like him.” “He reminds me of you.”
You stared at the dog. The dog stared back with badly painted eyes. “You’re sleeping alone tonight.” Seungmin smiled. “You say that every week.”
“One day I’ll mean it.” “No, you won’t.” Your sister picked up a sleek glass vase and held it towards Seungmin. “What about this?” He glanced at it. “It’s nice.”
“She already has something similar,” you said. Your sister’s smile tightened. “Not exactly like this.” “It’s almost identical.” “It’s more modern.”
“Mum doesn’t care about modern.” “She might.” Your sister looked at Seungmin. “What do you think?” He looked between you both.
Then at the vase. Then at the ceramic dog still in your hands. “I think we should buy the dog.” You laughed.
Your sister did not. “You’re both impossible,” she said, returning the vase to the shelf. “That keeps coming up,” Seungmin replied. You carried the dog for another two aisles before secretly placing it on a display of cushions.
Seungmin noticed immediately. “Where is he?” “Who?” “The dog.”
“I don’t know.” “You abandoned him.” “He wasn’t ours.” “He could have been.”
“Not everything you like has to come home with us.” “You came home with me.” Your sister laughed. You turned towards Seungmin slowly. “Was that meant to be sweet?”
“Yes.” “It sounded like you found me beside a road.” “I rescued you.” “From what?”
“Yourself.” You shoved him lightly towards a stack of towels. He caught your elbow and pulled you with him, making you stumble against his chest. His free arm wrapped around your waist before you could fall. You tried not to smile.
You failed. Your sister walked ahead.
౨ৎ
After nearly an hour, you found a set of handmade serving bowls that your mum would genuinely like. Your sister thought they were plain. Seungmin thought one of them looked like a hat. You thought both of them needed to stop talking.
You were waiting at the till when your sister announced that she wanted coffee. “There’s a place downstairs,” she said. “I’ll go.” “I’ll come,” you replied. “I need the toilet anyway.” Her expression flickered.
Only slightly. Then she smiled. “You can stay with the bags. Seungmin and I can get them.” Seungmin looked up from the receipt in his hand. You looked at her.
She looked at him. There was a small silence. Then Seungmin said, “She knows my order.” Your sister recovered quickly. “You can tell me.”
“I’ll forget something.” “It’s coffee.” “He’s very demanding,” you said. Seungmin nodded.
Your sister laughed, although her eyes stayed on him. “I think I can manage.” You could have refused. Part of you wanted to, not because you thought anything would happen, but because your sister’s intentions had become so transparent that allowing her to proceed felt almost embarrassing. Then curiosity won.
You handed the shopping bag to Seungmin. “Fine. Get me something sweet.” “What?” “Surprise me.” “That always ends badly.”
“Only because you make poor choices.” Seungmin stared at you. You smiled. He sighed. “Fine.”
Your sister looked pleased. Far too pleased. You kissed Seungmin’s cheek before stepping away. “Don’t let her buy me anything with coconut.”
౨ৎ
Seungmin watched you disappear into the crowd. He knew exactly what you were doing. You had kissed him in front of your sister on purpose. Not because you were worried.
Because you were a menace. A message appeared on his phone before he and your sister had reached the escalator. Don’t fall in love while I’m gone x He smiled despite himself.
Your sister noticed. “What?” “Nothing.” “Was that her?”
“Yes.” “What did she say?” Seungmin put his phone away. “Nothing important.” Your sister stepped onto the escalator beside him.
For several seconds, she was silent. Then she said, “She checks on you a lot.” Seungmin looked at her. “Does she?” “She’s always texting you.”
“We text each other.” “I know. I just mean she likes knowing where you are.” He considered the comment. “She sent me a joke.”
“What joke?” “One you wouldn’t find funny.” Your sister’s mouth tightened. “You don’t know that.” “I know her sense of humour.”
“And mine?” “Not really.” The escalator carried them down another floor. Your sister rested one hand on the rail. “You and her are very different.”
Seungmin looked ahead. “You’ve mentioned that.” “I don’t mean it as an insult.” “You keep saying that too.” She laughed softly. “You remember.”
“I have a good memory.” “You do seem observant.” “Sometimes.” “That’s why I’m surprised.”
He turned his head. “By what?” She looked briefly uncertain, as if she had expected him to understand without making her say it aloud. “Nothing.”
Seungmin faced forwards again. The coffee shop was busy. A line curled away from the counter, giving your sister more time than she probably needed. She moved closer to him as they joined it. “I’ve always wondered how she ended up with someone like you.”
Seungmin’s expression did not change. “Someone like me?” “Successful. Disciplined. Mature.” “You think she isn’t those things?”
“I didn’t say that.” “You implied it.” Your sister sighed. “You’re very defensive of her.” “She’s my girlfriend.”
“I know.” “Then why are you surprised?” “I’m not surprised. I just think you misunderstand me.” Seungmin shoved one hand into his coat pocket. “Then explain.”
Your sister glanced towards the counter. The line had barely moved. “She’s always been the sweet one,” she said. “The one people feel protective over. I’ve always been more independent.” “Okay.” “She needs more reassurance.”
“Does she?” “You’ve seen how she is.” “I have.” “And that doesn’t get tiring?”
Seungmin looked at her properly. His tone stayed light, but his eyes sharpened. “No.” Your sister held his gaze. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” “I’m not.”
“She can be a lot.” “So can I.” “You’re different.” “You don’t know me.”
The words landed more firmly than anything he had said before. Your sister blinked. Seungmin looked back towards the counter. The line moved forward.
For a few seconds, she said nothing. Then she tried again. “She doesn’t tell people this, but she used to get overlooked a lot when we were younger.” Seungmin’s jaw tightened.
“Overlooked by who?” “People.” Your sister exhaled, clearly frustrated by his refusal to fill in the gaps for her. “Boys usually noticed me first.”
Seungmin waited. She smiled faintly. “She never minded. At least, she pretended not to.” He looked at her. “And?”
“And nothing. I’m only saying it’s probably nice for her to be the one someone chose for once.” Seungmin stared at her for a long moment. Your sister interpreted the silence as an opening. “You’re kind,” she continued. “You probably don’t even realise how much that means to her.”
“I noticed her.” The sentence was quiet. Immediate. Your sister’s smile faltered.
“I didn’t say you didn’t.” “You said people didn’t.” “I said they usually noticed me first.” “I didn’t.”
Something sharp passed across her face. Then she laughed. “You hadn’t met me.” Seungmin looked at her.
The confidence in her smile returned. It was not difficult to understand what she meant. If he had seen her first, things might have been different. If he knew her better, he might recognise what he had missed.
If you had not reached him before she did, perhaps he would have made the correct choice. Seungmin almost laughed. Instead, he said, “I’ve met you now.” Your sister’s smile remained fixed.
The line moved again. She stepped closer. “I think we have more in common than you realise.” “Do we?”
“We’re both ambitious.” “So is she.” “We care about how we present ourselves.” “She does too.”
“She doesn’t care what anyone thinks.” “That’s one of the things I like about her.” Your sister’s eyes narrowed. “You turn everything into a compliment about her.” “Yes.”
The answer was so simple that it left nowhere for the conversation to go. Your sister looked away. Seungmin’s phone buzzed again. He checked it.
Is she seducing you yet? A second message appeared. Blink twice if you need rescue Then:
Actually don’t. I can’t see you He laughed under his breath. Your sister glanced towards the phone. “She’s checking again?”
“She’s entertaining herself.” “She doesn’t trust me.” Seungmin looked up. “Should she?” Your sister went still.
He raised his eyebrows slightly. For the first time, she seemed uncertain whether he was joking. Then he smiled. Not warmly.
Not cruelly either. Just enough to make the question impossible to challenge. Your sister looked towards the menu. “What did she want?”
“Something sweet.” “That isn’t very specific.” “She likes trying new things.” “I know.”
“Do you?” Your sister frowned. “She’s my sister.” Seungmin slipped his phone into his pocket. “Then choose.” She looked at the display board.
After a moment, she suggested a coconut latte. Seungmin stared at her. “What?” “She hates coconut.”
Your sister hesitated. “Does she?” “She told you five minutes ago.” “I forgot.” “I didn’t.”
He ordered your favourite instead.
౨ৎ
You returned to find them sitting at a small table near the window. Your sister was speaking. Seungmin was looking at his phone. That alone told you almost everything you needed to know.
He was never rude enough to ignore someone without a reason. When he spotted you, his entire expression changed. His shoulders relaxed. His mouth curved into a smile. He put his phone down and lifted one hand towards you. “There you are.”
You slid into the seat beside him. Seungmin immediately hooked his fingers through the belt loop at the back of your jeans and tugged you closer. “I was gone for fifteen minutes.” “It was difficult.”
“You seemed fine.” Your sister looked between you. You picked up the drink in front of your seat and inspected it. “What did you get me?” “Try it.”
“What is it?” “I’m not telling you.” “Why?” “You said to surprise you.”
“I don’t trust you.” Seungmin pushed the cup closer. “Drink.” You took a cautious sip. It was sweet, creamy and familiar.
Your favourite. You looked at him. He smiled smugly. “You didn’t choose something new.”
“I chose something you’d like.” “That isn’t a surprise.” “You were surprised.” “I was surprised you made a good decision.”
Seungmin leaned towards you. “Say thank you.” “No.” “Say it.” “You’re very demanding.”
“I carried the bowls.” “They’re in one bag.” “A heavy bag.” “They’re ceramic, not concrete.”
Your sister interrupted. “He remembered your order.” You looked at her. There was something brittle in her voice. Seungmin rested his chin briefly on your shoulder and stole a sip of your drink.
You pushed his face away. “Of course he did,” you said. “He orders it more than I do.” “For you,” he corrected. “You steal half.”
“It tastes better when it’s yours.” “That’s because you’re a thief.” He smiled against your cheek. Your sister looked away.
You could practically feel the conversation you had interrupted sitting between them. You waited until Seungmin sat back. Then you asked, “Did you have a nice chat?” Your sister reached for her coffee.
Seungmin looked at you. His eyes were bright with the effort of not laughing. “Very informative.” “Oh?”
“I learned that I’m successful, disciplined and mature.” You nodded solemnly. “One out of three isn’t bad.” Seungmin kicked your foot beneath the table. You kicked him back.
Your sister sighed. “I was complimenting him.” “I know.” “She thinks I’m mature,” Seungmin said. “She doesn’t live with you.”
“I don’t live with you.” Under the table, Seungmin’s knee pressed against yours. You tapped it once with your own. He tapped back.
Your sister watched the movement. “I was only saying that you’re lucky,” she said. You looked at her. “Again?” “You are.”
“I know.” “She thinks you’re lucky someone finally noticed you,” Seungmin added. The words were delivered with deceptive casualness. Your sister’s head snapped towards him.
Your hand stilled around the cup. Seungmin lifted his drink. You looked at your sister. She looked suddenly furious.
“I didn’t say it like that.” “How did you say it?” “I said people usually noticed me first when we were younger.” You raised your eyebrows.
Your sister leaned back. “It was relevant to the conversation.” “What conversation?” “We were talking about relationships.” “You were talking about mine?”
“She asked whether dating you was tiring,” Seungmin said. You stared at him. He took a calm sip. Your sister’s face reddened. “That isn’t what I asked.”
“It was very close.” “You’re twisting my words.” “I remember them quite clearly.” You looked between them.
The ridiculousness of it arrived before the hurt could. Your sister had finally managed to get Seungmin alone, and she had apparently used the opportunity to explain why being with you must be exhausting. A laugh slipped out. Your sister’s mouth tightened. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because you had fifteen minutes.” “What?” “You finally got him alone and that was your strategy?” Seungmin choked on his drink.
Your sister stared at you. You turned towards him. “Are you all right?” He held up one hand and coughed into the other. “You’re horrible,” he managed.
“You were thinking it too.” “I was trying to be polite.” Your sister placed her cup on the table more firmly than necessary. “Nothing happened.” You looked at her. “I know.”
“Then stop acting like you caught me doing something.” “I didn’t catch you. He told me.” Your sister stood. The legs of her chair scraped against the floor.
“I’m going to look at another shop.” You glanced at the untouched coffee. “We just sat down.” “I remembered something I need.” She grabbed her handbag.
Seungmin watched her. Your sister looked at him, waiting for something. An offer to come with her, perhaps. An apology.
A private look that confirmed all the things she had decided existed between them. Seungmin lifted his hand. For one hopeful second, she smiled. Then he pointed towards her cup. “Are you taking that?”
Her smile disappeared. “No.” “Can I have it?” You elbowed him.
“What?” he asked. “She isn’t drinking it.” Your sister walked away without answering. You watched her disappear into the crowd. Then you turned slowly towards Seungmin.
He was already reaching for her abandoned coffee. You slapped his hand. “No.” “She said she didn’t want it.”
“You don’t know what’s in it.” “Coffee.” “She might have poisoned it.” “Why would she poison her own drink?”
“She sensed rejection.” Seungmin laughed. You folded your arms. “What did she actually say?” He gave up on the coffee and leaned back in his chair.
“Exactly what I told you.” “She asked whether I was tiring?” “She implied that you need constant reassurance, said you’re a lot and suggested I probably chose you because I’m kind.” Your amusement faded a little.
Seungmin noticed immediately. His foot slid beside yours under the table. “She also told me men usually noticed her first,” he added. You looked at the crowd beyond the window. “She loves saying that.”
“I asked which men.” That made you smile. Seungmin’s knee pressed more firmly against yours. “She couldn’t name them.”
“You interrogated her?” “I asked good questions.” “You never ask good questions.” “That’s unfair.”
You looked back at him. He was watching you closely. Not pushing. Just waiting.
“What else?” you asked. Seungmin hesitated. “She implied I might have chosen differently if I’d met her first.” A strange little ache settled beneath your ribs. Not because you believed it.
The idea of Seungmin choosing your sister felt almost comical. But because she believed your entire relationship could be reduced to timing. That you had simply arrived first and seized something that should have belonged to her. You looked down at your cup. “And what did you say?”
“That I’ve met her now.” Your mouth twitched. “That’s all?” “I thought it was enough.”
“It is.” “She didn’t like it.” “I’m devastated for her.” “I also told her I noticed you.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the cup. Seungmin’s expression softened. “What?” “Nothing.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I noticed you.” You fought a smile. You covered his mouth with your hand. Seungmin kissed your palm.
You pulled it away immediately. “That’s disgusting.” “You liked that too.” “You’re so pleased with yourself.”
“I handled a difficult social situation and bought you the correct drink.” “You want a medal?” “A kiss would be appropriate.” “You’re asking for payment?”
“I did hard labour.” “You stood in a coffee queue.” “With your sister.” You considered that.
Seungmin lifted his eyebrows. You leaned over and kissed his cheek. He turned his head at the last second, catching the corner of your mouth instead. You pulled back.
“That was cheating.” “You’re slow.” “You tricked me.” “You still kissed me.”
“Barely.” “You can try again.” “I’m not rewarding bad behaviour.” Seungmin rested one elbow on the table. “Then I’ll have to live with the memory.”
“You’re dramatic.” “I suffered for fifteen minutes.” “You were texting me.” “That was my lifeline.”
You laughed and nudged his foot beneath the table. Seungmin caught your ankle between his. “You know she’s going to tell herself you only rejected her because you knew I was coming back.” Seungmin’s expression became thoughtful. “Do you want me to say it more directly?”
You looked towards the direction your sister had disappeared. Part of you wanted him to. Part of you knew she would turn even that into evidence of something else. “She hasn’t actually admitted she wants you,” you said.
“She invited herself on our date.” “We’re buying Mum bowls.” “A highly romantic date.” Seungmin reached for your hand across the table.
His thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles. “If she says something properly,” he said, “I’ll answer properly.” “You have answered.” “I mean without being polite.”
“That sounds frightening.” Seungmin squeezed your hand. “Tell her that when she tries again.” You looked at him. “When?”
He smiled. “You think she’s stopping?” You glanced once more towards the crowd. “No.”
“Neither do I.” There was a pause. Then Seungmin brightened. “Can we go back for the dog?” “No.”
“He could be part of your mum’s present.” “She would hate him.” “She’d learn to love him.” “You only knew him for ten minutes.”
“That was enough.” Seungmin smiled and lifted your hand to his mouth. This time, he kissed your knuckles slowly. You let him.
Your sister returned ten minutes later carrying nothing. Neither of you mentioned it. Seungmin did, however, remain close to you for the rest of the afternoon. His hand at your waist when people passed too close. His fingers laced through yours on the escalator. His chin briefly resting on your shoulder while you examined candles. His mouth near your ear when he whispered that one of them smelled like “an expensive wardrobe”.
Your sister tried to walk beside him. Seungmin kept drifting back towards you. She asked his opinion. He asked yours.
She suggested shops. He followed wherever you went. By the time you left the shopping centre, your sister had stopped speaking unless someone addressed her directly. The three of you stood near the station while she checked the time.
“My train’s in five minutes,” she said. Your sister adjusted her handbag and looked at Seungmin. “It was nice spending time with you.” “You too.” “We should do it again.”
You looked at him. He looked at you. Your sister noticed. “Without making it into a whole family thing,” she added.
You raised your eyebrows. Seungmin slipped his arm around your shoulders. “I think she comes with me.” Your sister laughed. “You’re allowed separate friends.” “I have friends.”
“She means her,” you said. “I know.” Your sister’s cheeks coloured. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“What did you mean?” Seungmin asked. She looked at him. He waited. His expression was pleasant.
Curious. Entirely unwilling to rescue her. Your sister’s train arrived with a rush of noise behind her. She glanced towards the platform.
“I have to go.” “You should hurry,” you said. She hugged you briefly. When she turned towards Seungmin, he lifted the shopping bag between them.
Your sister stopped. He smiled politely. “Bye.” For a moment, she looked as though she might push around the bag and hug him anyway.
Then she stepped back. “Bye.” You watched her hurry towards the train. As soon as she was out of earshot, Seungmin lowered the bag.
“You used Mum’s bowls as a shield,” you said. “I panicked.” “You’re very brave.” “She hugged me last time.”
“Terrifying.” “I didn’t know what else to do.” “You could have hugged her.” Seungmin looked horrified. “Why would I do that?”
“She’s confident and sophisticated.” “Stop.” “More your type.” He pointed at you. “We discussed this.”
“She only needs an opportunity.” “You’re becoming annoying.” “Becoming?” “More annoying.”
You smiled. Seungmin stared at you for a second. Then he hooked one arm around your waist and lifted you just enough that your shoes left the ground. You yelped.
“Put me down!” “Take it back.” “We’re in public!” “I don’t care.”
You grabbed his shoulders, laughing as he carried you several steps away from the platform. Seungmin lowered you carefully to the ground. His smile softened. Seungmin took your hand again, swinging it once between you before pulling you towards the station exit.
“Come on,” he said. “We have to go back.” “For what?” “The dog.” “We are not buying the dog.”
“He’s waiting for us.” “He’s ceramic.” “He’ll think we abandoned him.” “You said I was the abandoned animal.”
“I can rescue both of you.” “You already complain that I take up too much space.” “He’s small.” “I hate you.”
Seungmin kissed the side of your head. He smiled and kept walking. You followed, because the station exit was in the same direction as the shop. Not because you had agreed to buy the dog.
Definitely not. When your mum opened her birthday present a week later, she found a beautiful set of handmade serving bowls. And, tucked between them, a tiny ceramic dog wearing a crown. She stared at it.
You stared at Seungmin. Seungmin looked unbearably pleased.
౨ৎ
By the time you finished getting ready, Seungmin had changed his shirt twice, complained about both options and somehow blamed you for the fact that neither looked right. “You said the black one was nice,” he reminded you from the bedroom doorway. “It was nice.” “And then you told me to wear the blue one.”
“Because the blue one is nicer.” “So the black one was ugly.” “That isn’t what I said.” “It’s what you implied.”
You turned away from the mirror and looked at him. He stood with both shirts hanging from one hand, his hair still slightly damp from the shower and an expression of genuine betrayal on his face. “You’re having a crisis over two nearly identical shirts.” “They aren’t nearly identical.” “One is black and one is very dark blue.”
“Exactly.” You stared at him. Seungmin stared back. Then his gaze drifted slowly down your body.
The offence disappeared from his expression. You had chosen an outfit that made you feel good. You suspected you would regret that decision later, but Seungmin’s reaction made it worth it. He looked at you for long enough that you lifted an eyebrow. “What?” “Nothing.”
“You’re staring.” “I’m looking.” “At what?” “My girlfriend.”
You tried not to smile. “Have you not seen me before?” “Not in that.” “You watched me put it on.” “I was distracted.”
“By what?” “The shirt crisis.” You laughed and turned back towards the mirror. Seungmin abandoned both shirts on the bed and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “You look pretty,” he murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Only pretty?” His eyes narrowed at your reflection. “Don’t become demanding.” “You stared at me for thirty seconds. I expected something better.” “You look very pretty.”
“That’s the same thing with an extra word.” “You look so pretty that I’m reconsidering letting you leave the flat.” You smiled. “Better.” “I knew you were fishing.”
“I enjoy compliments.” “I know.” Seungmin kissed the side of your neck, then another spot slightly lower. You tilted your head instinctively before remembering you had spent far too long getting ready. “Don’t ruin my makeup.”
“I’m nowhere near your makeup.” “You’ll work your way up.” “That sounds like encouragement.” You caught his wrists and pulled his arms away. Seungmin resisted just enough to make it difficult, then released you with an exaggerated sigh.
“You don’t love me anymore.” “I’m trying to get us to the party.” “Chan said eight.” “It’s quarter past.”
“Exactly. We’re early.” You looked at him through the mirror. “For what?” “A party.” “That started fifteen minutes ago.”
“Social events have a grace period.” “You invented that because you’re never ready on time.” “I was ready.” “You aren’t wearing a shirt.”
Seungmin looked down at his bare chest, then at the two shirts abandoned on the bed. Your phone buzzed on the dressing table. You picked it up. Your sister had messaged.
Are you there yet? A second message followed before you could reply. Is Seungmin going straight from yours? You turned the screen towards him.
Seungmin read both messages. His face remained blank for one beat, then he placed his chin back on your shoulder. “She misses me.” “She saw you last week.” “A long separation.”
“She didn’t ask whether I was going straight from mine.” “She knows you’ll be there.” “She also knows you’ll be there.” “That must be why she asked to come.”
You laughed and nudged him backwards with your hip. “Put the blue shirt on.” “The black one makes my shoulders look better.” “Then wear the black one.” “You said the blue was nicer.”
“Seungmin.” He smiled and kissed your cheek before finally retrieving the blue shirt. You replied to your sister while he dressed. We’re leaving soon. Bring the drinks you promised Chan.
Her response came almost immediately. What’s Seungmin wearing? You looked up. He was buttoning the blue shirt.
You considered sending her a photograph of the black one lying empty on the bed. Instead, you typed: Clothes x Seungmin glanced over. “What did you say?”
“Nothing important.” “You’re smiling.” “I’m entertaining myself.” “Is she seducing me remotely now?”
“Apparently she needs to prepare.” “For what?” “To be more your type.” Seungmin finished the final button and walked towards you. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“It’s funny.” “Until she touches my arm fifteen times.” “Maybe she thinks that’s where your romantic feelings are stored.” “That would explain why I keep trying to get away.”
You laughed, and Seungmin’s smile softened. He reached out to fix the chain of your necklace where it had twisted, his fingers careful against the back of your neck. “Tell me if it stops being funny,” he said. The words were quiet enough to change the air between you. You turned.
Seungmin let his hands settle at your waist. “I will.” “Promise?” “You already made me promise.”
“I’m making you do it again.” “Very controlling.” “Very caring.” “Debatable.”
He squeezed your waist. “Promise.” You rested both hands against his chest. “I promise.” Satisfied, Seungmin kissed your forehead. Then he leant back and examined his shirt in the mirror. “Do my shoulders look strange?”
You pushed him towards the door.
౨ৎ
The party remained civilised for approximately forty minutes. Then Changbin brought out the shot glasses. Chan saw them from across the room and immediately shook his head. “Take it easy” “You bought the alcohol,” Changbin reminded him.
Jisung appeared beside the kitchen counter as though summoned by the word drinking. “Shots are normal.” “You said that last time and threw up in my shoes.” “That was unrelated.” “It was directly related.”
Felix slid into the space beside Jisung and began examining the bottles. You followed closely behind him, your own drink already mostly gone. Seungmin caught your wrist before you could reach for anything. “You’re not doing shots.” You looked at his hand around your wrist, then at him. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve already had three drinks.” “So have you.” “I can still walk in a straight line.” “I can walk in a straight line.”
Seungmin released you and pointed towards the hallway. You stared at him. He lifted his eyebrows. “You want me to demonstrate?”
“Yes.” You placed your empty glass on the counter and turned towards the hallway with as much dignity as you could manage. Felix and Jisung watched in complete silence. You took three perfectly respectable steps.
Then your hip struck the edge of the sofa. You stopped. Seungmin smiled. “The sofa moved.”
“It’s been there all night.” “It knew I was trying to prove something.” Jisung nodded seriously. “Furniture can sense weakness.” Minho, sitting nearby with his ankle resting over one knee, looked at him. “That explains why you keep walking into doors.”
Jisung placed a hand over his chest. “Why are you attacking me?” “Because you make it easy.” Jisung abandoned the counter and dropped onto the sofa beside him. Within seconds, his legs were stretched across Minho’s lap. Minho glanced down but made no effort to move them.
You pointed towards them. “He can’t walk straight either.” “He’s sitting,” Seungmin said. “He was walking badly earlier.” Changbin began pouring.
Hyunjin took the bottle from Changbin before he could overfill the glasses. “At least make them even. You’re pouring like you’ve never seen liquid before.” “I’m being generous.” “You’re trying to kill Jisung.” Jisung lifted his head from Minho’s shoulder. “Yes please.”
Minho pressed one hand against his forehead and pushed him back down. “You accept nothing.” You managed to claim a glass before Seungmin could stop you. Felix took one. Jisung reached for another, but Minho lifted it out of reach.
Jisung stared at him. “Give it.” “No.” “You aren’t my father.” “Thank fuck for that.”
“You can’t control me.” Minho looked at the legs still resting across his lap. “Stand up, then.” Jisung considered it. “No.”
“Thought so.” Felix passed Jisung his own glass beneath the edge of the table. Minho saw. He allowed it.
You caught his eye. Minho shrugged and took another drink. “Traitor,” Seungmin told him. “I’m off duty.”
“You were never on duty,” Chan said. “Exactly.” Changbin raised his glass. “To Chan finally letting us have fun.” “This is my party.”
“Then act like it.” Chan swore at him, but lifted his drink anyway. Everyone crowded closer. Your friend remained beside your sister near the end of the counter, amused but still slightly removed from the intimacy of the group. You caught her eye and held up your glass.
She lifted hers back. Your sister barely noticed. She was watching Seungmin. He stood behind you with one hand resting against your hip, his thumb moving absently beneath the hem of your top.
You leaned back into him. “To being hot,” Hyunjin said. Jeongin nodded. “Finally, something relevant.” Chan looked around the group. “Can we toast to something normal?”
“No,” everyone replied. The shot burned on the way down. Felix coughed. You squeezed your eyes shut and grabbed the first solid thing you found.
It was Changbin’s arm. “Fuck.” Changbin laughed. “You agreed to it.” “That tasted like paint stripper.”
“You’ve never tasted paint stripper.” “Maybe I have.” Seungmin pulled you backwards against his chest. “And this is why you weren’t doing shots.” You turned in his arms. “I did one.”
“You nearly died.” “I recovered.” “You’re still holding Changbin.You could have held me.” You looked down to find your hand still wrapped around Changbin’s bicep and slowly released him. “Come back when you’ve got biceps, bud.”
Seungmin stared at you for a beat before catching you around the waist and pulling you firmly against his chest. “You seemed perfectly happy with mine earlier.” You placed a hand against his arm as though inspecting it. “They’re all right.” His grip tightened. “All right?” You smiled. “Maybe a little better than that.”
౨ৎ
Someone suggested a drinking game. Nobody later remembered who. You all ended up sitting in a loose circle around the living room with bottles, half-empty glasses and bowls of food scattered between you. Your friend sat beside your sister on the sofa. You were on the floor between Felix and Seungmin, with your back against Seungmin’s legs. His hand rested loosely at the base of your throat, occasionally brushing your hair aside.
Jisung had begun the game beside Minho. By the third round, he was mostly sitting on him. “Never have I ever,” Jeongin began, smiling in a way that immediately made Chan suspicious, “lied to get out of plans with someone in this room.” Nearly everyone drank.
Chan stared at the group. “Are you serious?” “You make too many plans,” Seungmin said. “I ask whether you want dinner.” “That’s still a plan.”
You lifted your glass. Seungmin looked down at you. “When did you lie to me?” You took a long sip. His fingers tightened gently at the back of your neck.
“When?” You smiled into your drink. “Next question.” “No. We’re staying here.” Felix laughed. “She said she was ill once because she wanted to watch a film with us.”
Seungmin stared at you. “You exposed me,” you told Felix. “I forgot it was a secret.” “You chose them over me?” Seungmin asked.
“You were working.” “You still lied.” “You would’ve sulked.” “I am sulking now.”
You twisted around to look at him. “Do you need a kiss?” Seungmin considered the offer. “Yes.” You kissed him quickly.
He kept one hand against your jaw and prevented you from moving away. “That was inadequate.” Everyone groaned. You laughed against his mouth before kissing him again, slower this time.
When you finally pulled away, Changbin threw a crisp at Seungmin’s head. “Some of us are single.” “You don’t have to watch,” Seungmin said. “You’re in the middle of the room.”
“Look somewhere else.” Hyunjin placed one hand against Changbin’s cheek and turned his face away. “There. Problem solved.” Changbin bit his palm. Hyunjin screamed.
The game continued. “Never have I ever had a crush on someone in this room,” Felix said. Silence fell. Then Jeongin drank.
Hyunjin drank. Changbin drank. Jisung lifted his glass, looked around and drank twice. Minho looked at him. “Twice?”
Jisung rested his chin on Minho’s shoulder. “I contain multitudes.” Minho took Jisung’s glass and drank from it. The room erupted. Jisung stared at him, eyes widening. “Was that your answer?”
“It was your drink.” “You have your own.” “I wanted yours.” “That is not an answer.”
Minho smiled into the rim of the glass. You turned towards Felix. He was already looking at you. Both of you burst out laughing.
“Don’t,” Minho warned. You covered your mouth with both hands. Seungmin’s chest shook behind you. Your sister remained completely still.
You could feel her watching. Felix nudged your knee. “You didn’t drink.” “I’m dating someone in the room.” “That doesn’t mean you never had a crush.”
Seungmin’s fingers slid beneath your chin and turned your face towards him. “You had better drink.” You stared at him. “Why?” “Because you had a crush on me.”
“That was never confirmed.” “You asked Chan for my number.” The group laughed. Your sister’s glass stopped halfway to her mouth.
Seungmin’s eyes flicked towards her, then back to you. Your smile softened despite the alcohol. Felix made an emotional noise. Minho pointed at him. “Don’t fucking start.”
Felix’s eyes had already begun shining. “I’m fine.” “You’re about to cry.” “I just think they’re cute.”
Seungmin felt you sniff. “No.” “I’m not doing anything.” “You’re crying.”
“Felix started it.” Felix wiped beneath one eye. “I’m happy.” “That makes it worse,” Seungmin said. You twisted and threw your arms around him.
He caught you automatically. “I love you.” Seungmin sighed, but his arms tightened around your waist. “I love you too.”
౨ৎ
The music became louder after that. So did everyone. Chan lost control of the playlist when you, Felix and Jisung began shouting over every song until he played something you liked. By then, the coffee table had disappeared beneath bottles, crushed cans and bowls of snacks nobody remembered opening. Somebody had spilt something sticky beside the sofa. Changbin had taken his shirt off for reasons nobody understood, and Hyunjin kept threatening to throw it out of the nearest window. You, Felix and Jisung dragged one another into the middle of the room.
At first, you actually danced. Felix knew what he was doing even while drunk. Jisung knew what he was doing until something distracted him, which happened every ten seconds. You possessed confidence far beyond your ability and therefore believed you looked incredible. Changbin encouraged that delusion by cheering whenever you moved. Hyunjin attempted to correct your posture once.
You told him to fuck off. He looked deeply wounded. “I’m trying to save you.” “I don’t need saving.” “You’re dancing like your limbs have separate plans.”
“They’re expressing themselves.” Felix laughed and caught your waist before you could stumble into the coffee table. Jisung pressed against your back, shouting the lyrics directly beside your ear while the three of you moved with very little coordination and enormous enthusiasm. From the sofa, Seungmin watched you. His blue shirt had come unbuttoned slightly at the throat, his hair had fallen across his forehead and his cheeks were warm from the alcohol. One hand rested around his glass while his eyes remained fixed on you.
Your sister sat only a few feet away. She attempted to speak to him twice. He answered politely, but barely looked in her direction. When you caught his gaze, you smiled and crooked one finger towards him.
Seungmin shook his head. You did it again. He lifted his drink as though that explained why he could not move. You pouted.
That worked. Seungmin put the glass down and crossed the room. Felix released your waist with a grin. Jisung remained attached to you until Minho appeared behind him, hooked an arm around his middle and pulled him backwards. Jisung laughed and twisted in his hold. “Jealous?”
Minho murmured something into his ear. Whatever it was made Jisung’s face turn bright red. Felix screamed. You screamed because Felix did.
Seungmin caught your face between both hands. “Why are you shouting?” You pointed vaguely towards Minho and Jisung. “Something happened.” “Nothing happened,” Minho said without looking at you. Jisung buried his face against his shoulder.
You grinned. “Something definitely happened.” Minho gave you a warning look. You immediately turned back to Seungmin and began adjusting his collar as though that had always been your intention. “Coward,” Seungmin murmured.
“You’re supposed to protect me.” “From the consequences of your own behaviour?” “You’re my boyfriend.” “That isn’t what that means.”
His hands slid to your waist as the song changed. You pulled him closer, and although he continued pretending not to dance, his body fell easily into the rhythm of yours. “There,” you said. “You’re dancing.” “I’m standing near you.” “You’re moving.”
“You keep dragging me around.” “You love it.” Seungmin lowered his mouth beside your ear. “I love you.” The softness of it caught beneath your ribs.
You turned and kissed him. He kissed you back without hesitation, one hand spreading across the small of your back while the party surged around you. Someone wolf-whistled. Someone else shouted at them to shut the fuck up. You suspected one of them had been Changbin. When you pulled away, Seungmin followed far enough to steal another brief kiss.
“You’re clingy,” you murmured. “You called me over.” “And you came.” “You pouted.”
“That’s all it takes?” “Unfortunately.” You smiled and kissed the edge of his jaw. His eyes closed.
“Again.” “You’re demanding.” You kissed his jaw again, and Seungmin’s grip tightened around your waist. Across the room, your sister emptied the rest of her glass.
You barely noticed. Seungmin’s attention had already wandered from dancing to pressing lazy kisses against whatever part of you happened to be closest—your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. When his lips brushed beneath your ear, you laughed and pushed lightly at his chest. “You’ve completely stopped dancing.” “I never started.”
“You came over.” “You summoned me.” “I moved one finger.” “Very controlling.”
His hand settled lower against your back, holding you close when somebody squeezed past. You reached up and fixed his collar again. “You look messy.” “You made me messy.” “That sounds suggestive.”
“It was meant to.” His smile turned slow and pleased. Before he could say anything worse, Felix collided gently with your side and caught your hand. “I need her.” Seungmin kept one arm around you. “You’ve had her for three songs.”
“The next one’s important.” “They’ve all been important,” you said. Seungmin looked at Felix. “You sound like her.” “That’s why she loves me.”
Felix pulled. Seungmin held on. You found yourself stretched between them. “Don’t make me choose.” Felix smiled. “You’ll choose me.”
Seungmin’s eyebrows lifted. “Choose carefully.” You pretended to consider it before twisting out of Seungmin’s arm, kissing him quickly and letting Felix drag you away. “Coward,” Seungmin called after you. “You still got a kiss!”
“Barely.” You laughed as Felix pulled you back into the crowd. The next hour dissolved into heat, noise and flashes of movement. Hyunjin danced as though someone might be filming him. Changbin attempted to copy him with enough force to make the floor shake.
Nearby, Minho took the glass out of Jisung’s hand and drank from it himself. Jisung watched him. “You said I couldn’t have that.” “You can’t.” “But you can?”
“Yes.” “That’s hot.” Minho looked away, but not before you saw him smile. Someone produced two microphones.
The karaoke began badly and deteriorated almost immediately. You, Felix and Jisung chose a song all three of you knew, which would have helped if any of you had agreed on when to start. Jisung came in too early. You missed half the first line. Felix attempted to hold the performance together and ended up laughing so hard that he could no longer sing. Changbin provided backing vocals without a microphone. Hyunjin acted out the lyrics from the sofa.
Chan kept trying to lower the volume and being shouted at whenever the music became even slightly quieter. By the second song, you had abandoned any pretence of performing well. You and Felix shared one microphone while Jisung used the other for increasingly dramatic ad-libs that had nothing to do with the actual song. Halfway through the chorus, you passed close enough to the sofa for Seungmin to hook his fingers around your wrist. He pulled.
You landed sideways across his lap, and the microphone struck his shoulder. “Shit. Sorry.” Seungmin took it from you before you could hit him again. “Ouch.” “I’m performing.”
“You’re screaming into expensive equipment.” He placed the microphone safely on the table. Felix shouted your name. You tried to stand, but Seungmin held your waist.
“I have responsibilities,” you told him. “You have absolutely no responsibilities.” “Felix needs me.” Felix and Jisung had abandoned the song and were arguing with Chan about whether the lyrics on the screen were wrong.
Seungmin looked towards them. “They seem busy.” “Then I need to help.” “You need to stay here for thirty seconds.” “Why?”
“I missed you.” Your expression softened before you could stop it. Seungmin smiled, knowing he had won. “You’re manipulative.”
You settled more comfortably across his thighs, one arm circling his shoulders. Seungmin rested his face against your chest and closed his eyes while your fingers moved through his hair. Across from you, your sister’s gaze remained fixed on his hand resting against your thigh. Your friend was speaking to her. Your sister nodded without listening.
By one in the morning, the party had split between the living room, the kitchen and the balcony. The music remained loud enough to vibrate through the floor. People drifted between conversations with drinks they had not poured and jackets that did not belong to them. Someone had opened a window, but the room was still hot with too many bodies and the sharp mixture of alcohol, perfume and whatever Changbin had sprayed after insisting he smelled fine. Your friend remained mostly with your sister. She laughed whenever the group became loud enough to include everyone, but she never tried to force herself into the easy physical closeness surrounding the boys.
You checked on her whenever you remembered. Each time, she assured you she was fine. Your sister always said the same. The fourth time you approached, your friend caught your wrist. “You are incredibly drunk.”
You looked down at yourself. “I’m standing.” “Barely.” Your friend laughed. Your sister did not. “She’s been throwing herself around for hours. She always gets like this when she drinks.”
There was something dismissive beneath the words. You recognised it even through the alcohol. Your friend did too. “She looks like she’s having fun,” she replied.
“I’m having an incredible time,” you announced. “I can tell.” Your sister glanced across the room towards Seungmin. “He must be exhausted.” You followed her gaze.
Seungmin was beside Chan, listening to Changbin explain something with far too much hand movement. He caught you looking almost immediately and lifted one eyebrow in silent question. You smiled. He smiled back. “Does he look exhausted?” you asked.
“He’s spent the whole night following you around.” “He likes me.” “I’m aware.” Before the conversation could sharpen, Felix appeared behind you and looped an arm around your shoulders. “There you are.”
“I’ve been here.” “You disappeared.” “I was checking on them.” Felix glanced towards your friend and sister. “Everything good?”
Your friend nodded. “We’re fine.” Your sister smiled at him. “We were talking.” “Great. I’m stealing her.” “You always steal her,” your sister said.
Felix laughed as though she had made a joke. “Everyone does.” He pulled you towards the kitchen. You looked back once. Your friend gave you a small, reassuring smile.
Your sister was already watching Seungmin again. In the kitchen, Jisung was sitting on the counter while Minho stood between his knees, holding a glass out of reach. “That’s mine,” Jisung complained. “It was yours.”
“I’m not finished.” “You said the room was spinning.” “It stopped.” “When?”
“When I closed one eye.” Felix immediately took Jisung’s side. “Give it back.” Minho looked at him. “You’re a terrible influence.” “You’re drinking too,” you pointed out.
“I can handle it.” “So can I.” Minho gave up and handed the drink to you instead. Jisung gasped. “That’s mine.”
“You’re too drunk.” “So are you.” “I’m handling it better.” Felix took the glass from you and drank before either of you could protest.
Minho laughed. It was becoming obvious that he was far drunker than he appeared. His movements were still controlled and his words remained clear, but his eyes had softened and he was smiling much too often. You stepped into the space beside him and wrapped both arms around his waist. Minho looked down. “What’s this?”
“I’m appreciating you.” “You’re crushing my shirt.” You rested your cheek against his chest. “You smell nice.” “None of you are getting another drink.”
“You ruined it,” you complained. “He ruins everything,” Jisung agreed. Minho caught Jisung’s chin and tilted his face upwards. “You can barely keep both eyes open.” “I only need one.”
“For what?” “To look at you.” Minho stared at him. You buried your face against Minho’s shoulder to hide your laughter.
Jisung looked unbearably pleased with himself. Minho’s ears turned pink. “You’re a fucking menace.” “You love me.” Seungmin entered the kitchen before anyone could comment.
He looked at Minho’s arm around you and Jisung hanging over his shoulders Then he looked at Minho. “You’ve collected them.” “I didn’t.” Seungmin approached and slid both hands onto your hips. “You keep disappearing.”
“You were talking.” “I can talk while holding you.” “That sounds inconvenient.” “I’m talented.”
Minho nodded towards you. “Take her before she asks for another shot.” You turned in Seungmin’s arms. “He’s trying to get rid of me.” “You’re attached to his shirt.” “I like him.”
“You like everyone tonight.” “I like everyone every night.” Seungmin’s expression softened. The next drinking game began in the kitchen because nobody could be bothered to move.
It was meant to be truth or drink. Within minutes, it became an excuse to ask invasive questions and shout whenever somebody refused to answer. Changbin joined first, followed by Hyunjin and Jeongin. Chan arrived last, realised what was happening and attempted to leave. You caught his wrist. “No.”
“I’m hosting.” “You’re hiding.” “I need to check the living room.” Jeongin looked towards the doorway. “It’s still there.”
Chan appealed silently to Minho for help. Minho poured him a drink. “Traitor.” “You chose to host.”
Everyone crowded around the counter and floor. You ended up sitting between Minho’s legs with your back against his chest because the chairs had disappeared beneath coats and bags. Seungmin sat in front of you, one hand wrapped loosely around your ankle. Jisung remained tucked against Minho’s side, his head on his shoulder and one leg draped over yours. Changbin pointed at you first. “Truth or drink?” “Truth.”
“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done because you were jealous?” Seungmin looked interested. You looked at Changbin. “I’m not jealous.” The entire room laughed.
“That wasn’t the question,” Hyunjin said. You raised your glass. “Then I’m drinking.” Seungmin’s hand tightened around your ankle. “Answer.” “You don’t get to interfere.”
“I’m probably involved.” “You don’t know that.” “I definitely know that.” You drank instead.
Everyone shouted. “Coward,” Changbin said. “That’s the point of the game.” “The point is to expose yourself.”
“That sounds like a different game,” Jeongin said. You chucked at that The questions became worse from there. Felix refused to reveal who had received a flirtatious message he sent to the wrong person.
Changbin demanded to know whether anybody had ever hooked up somewhere they could have been caught. Half the room drank. Chan stared at everyone with a raised eyebrow. “In my home?” “Not necessarily,” Jeongin said.
“That did not reassure me.” Jisung claimed he had never done anything humiliating because he was horny. The entire group drank on his behalf. “Fuck all of you.”
Minho leant close enough to murmur something beside his ear. Jisung’s face turned red again. You twisted around. “What did he say?” “Nothing.”
Minho looked unbearably pleased. Your sister stood at the edge of the kitchen beside your friend. She watched Seungmin’s hand move slowly over your ankle. Then she watched Minho’s arm settle across your middle when you leant back against him. Perhaps she expected Seungmin to object.
Instead, he reached forward, caught your chin and tilted your face towards his. “My turn,” he said. You kissed him. The kiss was brief, but intimate enough to inspire several dramatic complaints.
When you pulled away, Seungmin’s thumb brushed once beneath your lip. Your sister looked away. The game ended when Chan realised the music in the living room was loud enough to make the glasses vibrate. Everyone returned to dancing.
By then, nobody pretended it was organised. You, Felix and Jisung shouted lyrics you barely knew with your arms around one another. Sometimes you danced. Sometimes you merely jumped during the chorus and trusted somebody to catch you. Changbin joined whenever the song was good. Hyunjin joined whenever he considered the song worthy.
Jeongin joined only to make everyone else look worse. At one point, Minho caught your hand as you passed and spun you beneath his arm. You nearly completed the movement gracefully. Then you lost your balance.
Minho caught you against his chest. Jisung caught you from the other side. The three of you laughed, tangled together. Seungmin appeared behind you and closed both hands around your waist. “You’re stealing my girlfriend,” he told Minho.
Minho shrugged. “She came willingly.” “He spun me.” “You asked,” Minho reminded you. Seungmin looked down at you. “You ask everyone for things.”
“And they give them to me.” “That’s because you’re spoilt.” “By you.” “Mostly.”
He kissed your forehead. You leant into him, suddenly overwhelmed by the warmth of the room and how much you loved everyone in it. Across the room, your friend smiled at the sight. Your sister finished another drink.
By the time you needed the bathroom, you were far beyond pleasantly drunk. You were still awake, still talking and technically capable of walking, but the room tilted whenever you turned too quickly. Seungmin noticed you heading towards the hallway and followed. You looked over your shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“With you.” “I can piss alone.” “I’m making sure you reach the bathroom.” “That’s insulting.”
Seungmin caught your waist before you walked into the wall. “Exactly.” You allowed him to guide you down the hallway, although you complained the entire way. At the bathroom door, you planted both hands against his chest. “You can’t come in.” “I wasn’t planning to.”
“You looked like you were.” “I was opening the door.” Seungmin smiled and kissed your forehead. “I’ll be here.” “Why?”
“Because you’ll forget where the living room is.” “It’s one hallway.” “And yet.” You narrowed your eyes and disappeared into the bathroom.
When you came back out, your sister was standing in front of him. One hand rested against the wall beside his shoulder. Seungmin was leaning away. “You could come upstairs with me,” she said.
He blinked at her. “Why?” You stopped in the doorway. Even through the alcohol, laughter rose immediately in your chest. Your sister looked at him as though he were deliberately being stupid. “You know why.”
“I genuinely don’t.” She moved closer, forcing Seungmin’s back against the wall. “We could have sex.” For one long second, Seungmin simply stared at her.
Then his gaze found yours over her shoulder. You covered your mouth. The expression on his face made it impossible not to laugh. His eyes widened slightly, one corner of his mouth twitching as though he could not decide whether to be horrified or offended. Your sister followed his gaze and found you standing there.
Her face hardened. “Oh, please. Don’t act like it’s ridiculous.” That made you laugh harder. “I’m sorry. His face.” “You’re not helping,” Seungmin said.
“You asked why.” “It was a reasonable question.” “She invited you upstairs.” “She could’ve needed something.”
“At one in the morning?” “I didn’t know what she meant.” “You did,” your sister snapped. Seungmin looked back at her. “Apparently not.”
She folded her arms. “You haven’t even considered it.” “No.” “Why?” He stared at her.
Then he gave one short, humourless laugh. “Because I don’t want to.” “You don’t know that.” “I do.” “You’ve never given me a chance.”
“I’m not required to.” Your laughter faded. Your sister stepped closer and reached for his chest. Seungmin caught her wrist before she could touch him.
“Stop.” The word was calm. Firm. He moved her hand away and released it.
Humiliation sharpened your sister’s expression as she turned towards you. “You think this is funny because you assume he’d never choose me.” “I don’t assume it.” “You should stop speaking for him.” “I’m standing right here,” Seungmin said.
She ignored him. “You’ve always done this. You get something and act smug because you know somebody else deserves it more.” The alcohol inside you turned suddenly heavy. You steadied yourself against the bathroom door. “Somebody else?” “You know what I mean.”
“No. Say it properly.” Her eyes travelled over you. Your clothes had shifted from dancing. Your lipstick was smudged. Your hair was a mess and your balance remained questionable. You had never felt happier.
“Look at you,” she said. “You’re completely wasted. He’s spent all night following you around while you throw yourself over every man in the room.” Seungmin’s expression hardened. You laughed softly. “Is that what this is about?” “I’m saying he could do better.”
“With you?” “Yes.” The certainty would have been impressive if it were not so pathetic. Your smile disappeared.
Your sister noticed and pushed harder. “I’m prettier. I know how to behave. I don’t need eight men constantly touching me and telling me how special I am.” “Nobody is taking care of me.” “You can barely stand.”
“I’m drunk at a party.” “You’ve been climbing into their laps and letting them put their hands all over you. It’s embarrassing.” Seungmin stepped away from the wall and moved to your side. His hand settled securely at the back of your waist.
Your sister watched it. “She hasn’t embarrassed me once,” he said. “She’s been all over Minho. Felix practically had his hands under her clothes earlier.” “So?”
Your sister blinked. Seungmin’s thumb moved slowly against your side. “She loves them,” he said. “They love her. I know exactly where I stand.” “You should have more self-respect.”
His eyebrows rose. “You asked me to cheat on her beside a bathroom.” “You’ve spent the whole night trying to fuck my boyfriend,” you said, “and somehow I’m the slut?” Your sister glared at you. Seungmin continued before she could answer. “Don’t talk to either of us about self-respect.”
“You only say that because she’s standing here.” “I rejected you when she wasn’t.” “You knew she’d find out.” “I knew because I was going to tell her.”
“Why?” “Because she’s my girlfriend.” Your sister shook her head. “You don’t have to keep settling because she got to you first.” Seungmin went still.
There it was. The belief beneath every comparison and every attempt. You had simply reached him first. Had she met him earlier, dressed better, tried harder or pushed for long enough, he would eventually recognise that he had chosen the wrong sister.
Seungmin’s arm tightened around you. “I noticed her,” he said. Your sister scoffed. “You hadn’t met me.” “I’ve met you now.”
The hallway became very quiet. Music still thudded beyond it. Someone laughed in the living room. Your friend called your sister’s name once, distant and uncertain. Seungmin looked directly at her. “And I still choose her.”
Your sister’s face changed. For a moment, she appeared almost sober. Then the anger returned. “She isn’t better than me.”
“This isn’t about who’s better.” “It always is.” “No,” you said quietly. “It’s always been that way to you.” She looked at you.
You could feel Seungmin watching your face. At first, it had been funny. Her unnecessary outfits. Her fake excuses. The way she interpreted Seungmin’s basic manners as secret attraction. Even now, the idea that he might accept remained ridiculous.
But the joke had always required you to ignore the part where your sister could not want something without explaining why you deserved it less. “You can want him,” you said. “I don’t care. It’s humiliating for you, but it doesn’t threaten me.” Her mouth twisted. “What pisses me off is that you can’t admit you want him without telling him I’m ugly, exhausting, childish or not good enough. You don’t flirt with him. You campaign against me.”
“I’ve never called you ugly.” “You keep telling everyone you’re prettier.” “I am.” Seungmin made a disbelieving sound.
You glanced at him. “What?” “Nothing. I’m trying very hard to remain polite.” Your sister folded her arms. “See? You’ve turned him against me.”
“I didn’t have to. You did that by ignoring him every time he said no.” The words landed. Your sister looked at Seungmin. His expression did not soften.
“I thought you were being loyal,” she said. “I was being clear.” “You were trying not to hurt her.” “I was trying not to humiliate you.”
Her cheeks flushed. Seungmin’s voice lowered. “You’ve made that impossible.” Your friend appeared at the far end of the hallway. She looked between the three of you, taking in your sister’s expression and Seungmin’s arm around your waist. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” your sister said immediately. You laughed tiredly. “She asked Seungmin to have sex with her.” Your friend’s eyes widened. “You didn’t have to say it like that,” your sister snapped.
“How should I say it?” “She’s drunk,” your friend said carefully. “So am I.” “I know.”
Your friend approached and touched your sister’s arm. “Come and sit down.” Your sister pulled away. “Everyone’s acting like I’ve done something terrible.” “You propositioned my boyfriend after he repeatedly told you he wasn’t interested.” “You don’t own him.”
“No,” you said. “I don’t.” That stopped her. You rested more heavily against Seungmin’s side but kept your eyes on her. “He’s a person. He said no. That should have mattered even if I didn’t exist.”
Your friend looked at your sister. “She’s right.” Betrayal flashed across your sister’s face. “You’re supposed to be here with me.” “I’m here because she invited me.” The answer was gentle but firm.
Your sister looked between you. Then she laughed bitterly. “Fine. Everyone thinks I’m pathetic.” Nobody answered. That seemed to hurt more than any denial would have.
Your friend held out her hand. “Come on.” After a moment, your sister accepted it. She allowed herself to be led back towards the living room without looking at either of you again. You remained in the hallway.
Seungmin rubbed one hand slowly over your back. You watched them disappear. Then you looked at him. “You really asked why.” His mouth dropped open.
The laughter returned before you could stop it. Seungmin stared at you. “You’re impossible.” “Your face was so confused.” “She was vague.”
“She had you against a wall.” “She said upstairs.” “At one in the morning.” “That could mean anything.”
“Name one other thing.” Seungmin opened his mouth. Nothing came out. You waited.
His expression grew increasingly offended. “Exactly.” He caught your waist in both hands and pulled you closer. “You’re very annoying.” “You love me.”
“I’m reconsidering.” “No, you aren’t.” “No,” he admitted. Your smile softened.
The alcohol made it difficult to hold on to one emotion for long. Amusement blurred into exhaustion, which blurred into the ache your sister’s words had left behind. Seungmin noticed. He always did. “Hey.”
You looked at him. His expression had gentled, eyes warm despite the alcohol. “Are you okay?” “I’m extremely drunk.” “I know.”
“She’s a bitch.” “She is.” “I can’t believe she said I throw myself over everyone.” “You do,” Seungmin said, completely unbothered. “Luckily, everyone seems very happy to catch you.”
“With all of you.” “I know.” His hand settled more firmly at your waist. “I’ve never complained.” “And you don’t care?” Seungmin looked genuinely confused. “Why would I?”
You shrugged. “Because she said—” “I don’t care what she said.” The answer came quickly enough to interrupt you. Seungmin lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles.
“I know you,” he said. “I know them. I know what all of this is.” His free hand gestured towards the living room, where Felix was shouting the chorus to another song while Minho told somebody to turn the music down without making any effort to do it himself. “You’re my girlfriend,” Seungmin continued. “That doesn’t mean you stop belonging with them too.” Something warm tightened in your chest.
“That was disgustingly sweet.” You kissed him. His hand slid to the back of your neck, keeping you close as the kiss deepened. Nothing frantic. Nothing performed for anybody else. Just familiar affection in a dim hallway while the party continued metres away.
When you pulled back, Seungmin followed for one more kiss. Then another. “You’re doing too many,” you murmured. “I’ve lost count.”
“You always say that.” You laughed and rested your forehead against his. “There she is,” he murmured. Footsteps sounded behind you.
Felix appeared first, followed by Jisung and Minho. Felix’s expression changed when he saw your face. “Are you okay?” You nodded. Jisung looked unusually serious. “Your friend said something happened.”
“My sister asked Seungmin to sleep with her.” Jisung stared at Seungmin. Then at you. Then back at Seungmin.
“Why?” You burst out laughing. Seungmin pointed at him. “See? Reasonable question.” “That isn’t what I meant,” Jisung said quickly. “Why would she think you’d say yes?”
“That sounded better after clarification.” Minho stepped closer and touched the side of your face. “Are you actually all right?” You leant into his palm. “Mostly.” “Mostly isn’t yes.”
“She was being a bitch.” “I gathered.” From the living room, Changbin shouted, “If you lot are done fondling each other, we’re doing another round.” Chan shouted back that nobody was doing another fucking shot.
Jeongin appeared in the hallway holding four. The party carried on around you.
౨ৎ
‘Your sister is a bitch’
Seungmin x f!reader (implied poly skz)
Synopsis: When your sister tries to steal Seungmin, he makes one thing painfully clear: he only has eyes for you.
A/n: omgg this took so long to edit ive been putting this off for ages but i finally did it! I also couldn’t help but sprinkle in some poly skz x reader lmaooa
Wc: 20.1k
The first warning came when your sister texted you three times that morning to ask exactly when you and Seungmin would be arriving. The second came when she opened the front door wearing a dress you distinctly remembered her describing as far too nice for family things.
You looked at her. She looked at you.
Neither of you said anything for a moment. Then Seungmin appeared behind you, one hand holding a neatly wrapped cake box and the other resting comfortably against the small of your back. “Hi,” he said brightly. Your sister’s entire expression changed.
“Seungmin.” She smiled as though she had been expecting him personally. “Finally.” You glanced over your shoulder at him. He glanced down at you. His eyebrows lifted slightly.
Finally? You bit the inside of your cheek. Your sister stepped aside to let you both in, although she somehow managed to position herself so Seungmin had to pass close to her. He murmured a polite thank you and guided you ahead of him with a gentle hand at your waist. You had been dating long enough that the gesture barely registered anymore. Seungmin was always touching you in small, absent-minded ways—his fingers brushing yours as you walked, his palm settling on your knee beneath tables, his hand finding the back of your coat when you crossed a road.
It was rarely dramatic. It was simply constant. Your sister noticed. Her gaze dropped to his hand before moving back to his face.
“You look different in person,” she told him. Seungmin paused while removing his shoes. “Do I?” “Better.”
You turned away before either of them could see your smile. Seungmin placed his shoes neatly beside yours, then leaned closer to whisper, “Am I supposed to say she does too?” “No.” “Good.”
You elbowed him lightly. He caught your arm and squeezed it against his side, looking pleased with himself. Your sister was still watching. “You brought something?” she asked, nodding towards the box in his hand.
“Cake,” Seungmin said. “Your mum said she liked the one from that bakery near our flat.” “That was thoughtful.” “She sent him a photograph of it with the address circled,” you said. Seungmin looked offended.
“She provided helpful guidance.” “She threatened to disown me if we arrived without it.” “Still thoughtful.” “You didn’t even pay for it.”
“I carried it.” “You made me carry it on the train.” “For part of the journey.” “You said your arm hurt.”
“It did.” “Because you spent the entire morning playing games.” Seungmin smiled at your sister. “She has no sympathy for my suffering.” “None,” you confirmed.
Your sister laughed a little too enthusiastically. Not because the conversation had been particularly funny, but because Seungmin was smiling while he said it. You noticed. You also noticed the way she tucked her hair behind her ear before asking, “Do you want me to take that for you?”
She reached for the cake. Seungmin shifted it away automatically. “No, it’s all right. I’ve been entrusted with it.” “He’ll cry if anything happens to it,” you said.
“I’ll tell your mum it was your fault.” “You see what I live with?” Seungmin bumped his shoulder against yours. “You love it.” You opened your mouth to disagree.
He looked down at you expectantly, the beginnings of a grin already pulling at his lips. You hated how well he knew you. “Whatever,” you said. “There it is.”
He bent and pressed a quick kiss to your temple before following the sound of your mother calling from the kitchen. Your sister remained by the door with you. She watched him leave. Then she looked at you.
“You never said he was that handsome.” You blinked. “You’ve seen photographs.” “Photographs are different.” “I suppose.”
“He’s taller than I thought.” You stared at her. She stared back, seemingly unaware that there was anything strange about the intensity of her assessment. “Do you need his measurements?” you asked. “I can check the label in his coat.”
She rolled her eyes. “I was only saying.” “Right.” “You don’t have to be weird about it.”
“I’m not being weird.” “You’re doing that face.” “What face?” “The face you do when you think you’re funny.”
“I am funny.” “Seungmin clearly thinks so.” There was something strange beneath the words. Something slightly too pointed. Before you could decide whether you had imagined it, she smiled and linked her arm through yours.
“Come on. Mum’s been panicking over lunch for an hour.” She pulled you towards the kitchen as though nothing had happened. You let her. At that point, it was easier.
౨ৎ
Your mum adored Seungmin. That was hardly news. She adored him because he arrived on time, complimented her cooking, remembered details from conversations they had months ago and always insisted on helping clear the table. Your dad liked him because Seungmin could discuss football with convincing enthusiasm and had once spent nearly forty minutes helping him fix a temperamental television.
Even your relatives who had only met Seungmin briefly tended to approve of him. He was polite without seeming rehearsed, funny without demanding attention and attentive in a way that made people feel remembered. Your sister had apparently taken all of these qualities as an invitation. At first, you didn’t think much of it.
She asked him about work. Normal. She asked about the other members. Also normal. She asked whether he enjoyed travelling, what food he liked and whether he preferred going out or staying at home. A little interview-like, perhaps, but not particularly suspicious.
Then she moved from the chair opposite him to the empty one beside him when your mother asked her to fetch another plate. You looked at the abandoned chair. Then at her. She smiled innocently and crossed one leg over the other.
Seungmin glanced towards you. You were sitting on his other side, close enough that your knees touched beneath the table. He nudged your foot. You nudged him back.
His mouth twitched. Your sister leaned towards him. “So,” she said, “what did you think when you first met her?” You nearly inhaled your drink.
Seungmin turned towards you slowly. “Oh, no,” you said. His eyes brightened. “Oh, yes.”
“Don’t.” “I thought she was very strange.” Your mother laughed from the other end of the table. You stared at him. “That isn’t what you said before.”
“You told me not to embarrass you in front of your family.” “And this is you behaving?” “This is me being generous.” Your sister laughed, resting her hand against Seungmin’s arm.
It was light. Brief enough that she could claim it meant nothing. Still, you saw it. Seungmin looked down at her fingers. Your sister removed them a moment later, smiling as though the contact had been accidental.
“What did you actually think?” she asked. Seungmin looked back at you. The teasing softened around the edges. “I thought she was pretty.”
The answer was simple enough to make warmth spread through your chest. Then his smile returned. “Until she spoke.” You kicked his shin beneath the table.
He flinched dramatically. “See?” he told your family. “Violence.” “You deserved that.” “I complimented you.”
“You immediately ruined it.” “I said you were pretty.” “You said I was strange.” “You are strange.”
Your sister tilted her head. “I suppose you must usually date girls who are quite different from her.” The sentence slipped into the conversation so smoothly that it took you a second to understand it. Seungmin frowned slightly. “Different how?”
Your sister shrugged. “You know. More… elegant.” Your father suddenly became very interested in cutting his food. Your mother looked up.
You glanced down at yourself. You were wearing a jumper and trousers. Nothing particularly inelegant, unless your sister was counting the tiny mark on your sleeve from where Seungmin had flicked sauce at you in the kitchen. Seungmin followed your gaze. Then he looked at your sister.
“No,” he said. “I like this one.” You pressed your lips together. “This one?” you repeated. He patted your knee beneath the table.
“My favourite.” “I’m so flattered.” “You should be.” Your sister laughed, but there was something strained about it.
“I only meant that you seem very put together.” “I’m not,” Seungmin said cheerfully. “She found me looking for my phone this morning while I was talking to someone on it.” He looked towards your mother. “You raised a very critical daughter.” Your mum smiled. “She gets it from me.”
“Good to know.” The conversation moved on, but your sister did not return to her original chair. Every few minutes, she found another reason to address Seungmin directly. Did he like the food?
Had he visited the restaurant she mentioned? Did he think her hair looked better dark or light? That one made you turn. She lifted a section of her hair between her fingers.
“I’ve been thinking of changing it,” she explained. “What do you think?” Seungmin blinked. “I don’t know.” “You must have a preference.”
“For your hair?” She laughed as though he had made a joke. “Generally.” He looked at you. You had stopped pretending not to listen.
A hint of mischief appeared in his expression. “I like hers.” You narrowed your eyes. “You said I’d look good bald.” “You would.”
“That doesn’t count.” “It shows versatility.” Your sister’s hand fell from her hair. “You’re lucky,” she told you.
The words sounded pleasant. The way she looked at Seungmin did not. You raised an eyebrow. “I know.” “I mean, you’ve never really cared about things like that.”
“Things like what?” “Your appearance.” Silence settled over the table. It wasn’t complete silence. Your father’s fork scraped faintly against his plate, and the clock in the hallway continued ticking.
But the conversation stopped. Your sister smiled as though she had offered you a compliment. “You’ve always been confident enough not to bother,” she added. You knew this routine.
It had existed long before Seungmin. Your sister would say something cruel with a pleasant expression, and if you reacted, she would insist you had misunderstood. That she admired your confidence. That she wished she could leave the house without making an effort. That you were lucky not to care what people thought. Normally, you could ignore it. Today, the comment felt particularly childish.
You opened your mouth, but Seungmin spoke first. “She spent forty minutes choosing that jumper.” You turned towards him in disbelief. Your sister laughed.
Seungmin continued, “Then she asked me which trousers looked better and ignored my answer.” You nudged his side with your elbow. He caught your hand before you could pull it away and linked your fingers beneath the table. The gesture was concealed from everyone else.
His thumb brushed once over your knuckles. You understood what he was doing. He hadn’t ignored your sister’s comment. He had simply refused to let it settle over you.
“She looks lovely,” your mother said firmly. “She does,” Seungmin agreed. Your sister’s smile tightened. “I never said she didn’t.”
“No one said you did,” you replied. Her gaze met yours. For a moment, something sharp passed between you. Then Seungmin squeezed your hand and leaned close enough that his shoulder pressed against yours.
“You have something on your face,” he whispered. You immediately touched your cheek. “Where?” “The other side.” You touched the other cheek.
“No, lower.” “Seungmin.” “A little lower.” You glared at him. “There’s nothing there, is there?”
He smiled. “You’re so easy.” You tried to pull your hand from his. He tightened his grip.
“Don’t be sulky.” “I hate you.” Your sister watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. You barely noticed.
౨ৎ
After lunch, your mother attempted to stop Seungmin from helping with the dishes. Seungmin ignored her. He rolled his sleeves to his elbows, collected the empty plates and followed you into the kitchen. Your sister followed him.
Naturally. “You don’t have to do that,” she told him, taking a plate from his hands. “It’s fine.” “You’re a guest.”
“So is she.” Seungmin nodded towards you. You were leaning against the counter eating a piece of cake. Your sister looked at you.
“She’s family.” “She isn’t helping.” “I’m supervising,” you said. “You’re eating the dessert we haven’t served yet.”
“I’m checking it for poison.” Seungmin set the plates beside the sink. “And?” You took another bite.
“Still collecting evidence.” He reached towards your plate. You moved it out of reach. “Get your own.”
“I bought it.” “I paid for it.” “With our money.” “We don’t have shared finances.”
Your sister laughed again. “You two are funny.” You glanced at her. The compliment sounded genuine enough, but her eyes remained fixed on Seungmin.
He turned on the tap. Your sister stepped beside him. “I’ll wash,” she offered. “I can do it.”
“You dry, then.” You watched her pick up a sponge. Your mother called your name from the living room, asking whether you could help her find something. You pushed yourself away from the counter.
“Don’t eat my cake,” you warned Seungmin. “I would never.” “You absolutely would.” He placed one hand over his heart.
“Your lack of trust is upsetting.” You pointed the fork at him. “I’ll know.” “Go away.” You reluctantly carried the plate with you.
As you left the kitchen, you glanced back. Your sister had moved slightly closer to Seungmin. He was focused on rinsing a plate. You nearly stayed.
Then you caught yourself. It was your sister. Seungmin was your boyfriend. Nothing was going to happen because the two of them spent ninety seconds alone beside a sink.
You found your mother’s glasses on top of her head, endured several minutes of her insisting she had already checked there and returned to the kitchen. Your sister was speaking. “…must get tiring.” Seungmin passed her another plate. “What does?”
“Dating someone so different from you.” You stopped just outside the doorway. Seungmin didn’t appear to notice you. He frowned. “You’ve said that a few times.”
“I don’t mean it badly.” “What do you mean?” Your sister dried the plate slowly. “You’re very disciplined. Ambitious. You take care of yourself.”
He waited. “And she isn’t?” “She’s just more relaxed.” Seungmin looked down at the soapy water.
You knew that expression. He was choosing his words. Your sister mistook his silence for agreement. “I’ve always been more like you,” she continued. “Even when we were younger. People used to say I was the more responsible one.”
“Did they?” “And the more confident one.” Seungmin made a small sound that could have meant anything. Your sister smiled.
“It’s funny, really. Most people usually notice me first.” He glanced at her. “Okay.” You pressed your lips together.
She appeared thrown by the response. “I don’t mean to sound arrogant.” “Then don’t.” The answer was delivered so lightly that for a second, you wondered whether you had heard him correctly.
Your sister laughed uncertainly. “I’m only being honest.” Seungmin rinsed another plate. “About people noticing you?”
“Yes.” “Congratulations.” You had to cover your mouth. Your sister’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You must have noticed that we’re quite different.” “I’ve noticed.” “I’m probably more like your usual type.” Seungmin finally turned off the tap.
He looked at her properly. “What’s my usual type?” Your sister leaned one hip against the counter. “Confident. Sophisticated.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” “I’m guessing.” “You’ve guessed wrong.” She smiled as though he were teasing her.
“Have I?” “Yes.” Something about his tone should have ended the conversation. It didn’t.
Your sister lowered her voice. “She’s always been the sweeter one, I suppose. Men tend to like that.” Seungmin stared at her. Then his gaze moved past her shoulder and found you standing in the doorway.
His expression changed immediately. The irritation disappeared behind a slow, knowing smile. “How long have you been there?” he asked. Your sister turned sharply.
You lifted your plate. “Long enough to know you’ve been having a very interesting discussion about your type.” Seungmin dried his hands. “Apparently, I have one.”
“Do you?” “I’m learning a lot today.” Your sister straightened. “We were only talking.” “I heard.”
“There’s no need to make it strange.” You stepped into the kitchen and placed your half-finished cake on the counter. “I didn’t.” “No, but you’re doing that thing where you act territorial.”
Seungmin’s eyebrows rose. You laughed. “Territorial?” “You don’t need to hover every time another woman speaks to your boyfriend.” “I was helping Mum.”
“And then you came straight back.” “Because this is where my cake is.” Seungmin immediately reached for your plate. You slapped his hand away.
“See?” He looked wounded. “You care more about that cake than you care about me.” “The cake has never stolen my crisps.”
“It would if it could.” Your sister sighed. “You’re both impossible.” “Thank you,” Seungmin said.
You picked up your fork again. Your sister gave you a long look before placing the tea towel on the counter. “I’m going to see if Mum needs anything.” “She doesn’t,” you said. “Her glasses were on her head.”
Your sister ignored you and left. You waited until her footsteps had faded down the hall. Then you turned towards Seungmin. He was already looking at you.
A smile pulled at your mouth. “Your usual type?” He groaned and leaned back against the sink. “Please don’t.”
“Confident.” “Stop.” “Sophisticated.” “I’m warning you.”
“So much like her.” Seungmin reached for you. You dodged around the kitchen island, laughing when he followed. “I’m only being honest,” you said, mimicking your sister’s voice.
“You’re enjoying this far too much.” “Apparently she’s the woman of your dreams.” “My dreams have better conversational skills.” You gasped. “That was mean.”
“It was accurate.” He moved to one side of the island. You moved in the opposite direction. “I thought you liked confident women.”
“I like you.” “That wasn’t the question.” “It’s my answer.” “You’re only saying that because I caught you.”
“Caught me doing dishes?” “Seductively.” “I was wearing rubber gloves.” “Exactly. Very provocative.”
Seungmin stopped. You stopped too, watching him suspiciously from across the island. His expression softened. “Did that bother you?”
The question was quiet enough to dissolve some of your amusement. You considered it. “Not really.” “Not really?”
“I don’t think you’re secretly going to run away with my sister.” “That’s reassuring.” “I’d give you at least a week before you begged me to take you back.” “A week?”
“Maybe four days.” Seungmin looked offended. “I wouldn’t make it through the first evening.” You smiled. He continued to watch you.
“But?” he prompted. You looked down at your cake. “She does that sometimes.” “Does what?”
“Compares us.” You scraped your fork lightly through the icing. “She always has. She thinks she’s being subtle.” “She isn’t.” “I know.” “She also thinks I’m an idiot.”
You laughed. “Why?” “Because I’ve said I like you at least twelve times today, and she’s decided that means I’m interested in her.” “Maybe you’re sending mixed signals.” “I asked her to move because she was standing on my foot.”
“Very flirtatious.” “She apologised and touched my arm.” “Scandalous.” “She’s touched my arm six times.”
“You counted?” “I started counting when she asked whether I thought she looked better with dark hair.” You laughed again, and Seungmin smiled. Then he walked around the island.
This time, you let him reach you. His hands settled on your waist, drawing you between his knees as he leaned back against the counter. “For the record,” he said, “I don’t think you’re lucky.” “No?”
“No. I think I’m incredibly brave.” You flicked his shoulder. He caught your wrist and kissed your palm. “And lucky,” he added.
“That was nearly sweet.” “Don’t tell anyone.” You rolled your eyes, but your arms slipped around his shoulders. He tilted his head.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” “I’m fine.” “Your sister’s being strange.” “She thinks she can steal you.”
“Can she?” You pretended to consider it. Seungmin pinched your side. You squealed and tried to twist away, but he trapped you against him.
“Answer carefully,” he warned. “I don’t know. She is very sophisticated.” Another pinch. “And confident!”
He attacked your other side. You dissolved into helpless laughter, nearly dropping your fork as you attempted to escape. “Seungmin!” “Wrong answer.”
“She’s your type!” “Take it back.” “Never!” He caught both your wrists in one hand and used the other to tickle your waist.
You kicked uselessly at his legs. “You’re horrible!” “Take it back.” “Fine!” you gasped. “She isn’t your type.”
“And?” “And you don’t want her.” “And?” You stared at him, breathless.
His hair had fallen over his forehead during the struggle, and his smile was bright and boyish and entirely too pleased. “And you’re obsessed with me.” “There we go.” He released your wrists.
You immediately smacked his chest. Seungmin laughed and caught you against him again, pressing a noisy kiss to your cheek before you could complain. “You’re very annoying,” you told him. “You were laughing.”
“Against my will.” He kissed your other cheek. “Still counts.” Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
You both separated just before your mother entered the kitchen. She looked at Seungmin’s messy hair, your flushed face and the abandoned washing-up. Neither of you spoke. Your mother sighed.
“The dishes, Seungmin.” “I was doing them.” “He attacked me,” you said. “You provoked me.”
Your mother pointed at the sink. “Both of you.” “Yes, Mum,” you said. “Yes, Mum,” Seungmin echoed.
You turned to glare at him. He smiled innocently. Your mother left the room shaking her head. Seungmin bumped his hip against yours as he turned the tap back on.
“Pass me the sponge.” “You pass me the sponge.” “It’s closer to you.” “You’re closer to the sink.”
He looked towards the doorway, then lowered his voice. “Do you think your sister would do it for me?” You stared at him. He managed to hold a serious expression for approximately two seconds.
Then you shoved the sponge directly into his chest.
౨ৎ
When you finally prepared to leave, your mother packed enough food for several days into a bag and made Seungmin promise to visit again soon. Your sister stood in the hallway while you put on your coat. “You’re leaving already?” she asked. “We’ve been here for five hours,” you said.
“It doesn’t feel that long.” Seungmin bent to tie his shoelace. Your sister’s gaze lingered on him. “You should come over more often.”
“We will,” you replied. “I meant Seungmin.” He looked up. Your sister smiled. “You don’t need to wait for her. You’re practically part of the family now.”
There it was. Not quite enough to confront. More than enough to notice. Seungmin straightened.
“I think she’d be upset if I visited without her.” “I wouldn’t,” you said. “I’d enjoy the peace.” He placed one hand on top of your head and pushed down lightly. Your sister laughed.
“You’re very patient with her.” Seungmin looked at you. “No,” he said. “She’s patient with me.” For once, there was no joke attached.
His hand slid from the top of your head to the back of your neck, thumb brushing softly beneath your hair. Your sister’s smile faded for half a second. Then it returned. “Well,” she said, opening the door, “it was lovely seeing you.”
“You too,” Seungmin replied politely. She hugged you first. It was brief. Then she turned towards Seungmin.
You expected her to offer a wave. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him. Seungmin froze. His hands hovered uncertainly beside her shoulders.
Your eyes widened. Over your sister’s head, his gaze found yours. His expression was so openly alarmed that a laugh burst out of you. Your sister released him.
“What’s funny?” “Nothing.” Seungmin stepped immediately towards you. You were still laughing as he took the bag of food from your hand and placed his other arm securely around your shoulders.
Your sister glanced between you. “Text me when you’re home.” “I will.” She looked at Seungmin. “You have my number, don’t you?”
“No,” he said. “Oh.” She paused. “I thought you did.” “Why would he?” you asked. “In case of an emergency.”
Seungmin nodded. “I’ll call emergency services.” You choked on another laugh. Your sister’s mouth tightened. “I only meant if something happened with you.”
“He has Mum’s number.” “And her Dad’s,” Seungmin added. “And Chan’s,” you said. “And Minho’s.”
“He doesn’t need your number.” Your sister folded her arms. “You make everything sound strange.” “You asked my boyfriend whether he had your number.”
“For emergencies.” “Right.” Seungmin gently steered you through the doorway before either of you could continue. “Thank you for lunch,” he called politely.
Your mother called goodbye from somewhere inside the house. Your sister remained at the door while the two of you walked down the path. You could feel her watching. Seungmin’s arm stayed around you until you reached the pavement.
Then he leaned close. “Don’t look now.” You immediately looked back. Your sister was still standing in the doorway.
She lifted her hand when she saw you turn. You waved. Seungmin sighed. “I specifically said not to.”
“I don’t take instructions well.” “I know.” The door finally closed. You walked several more steps in silence.
Then Seungmin said, “Your sister wants me.” You stopped. He stopped beside you. The solemn expression on his face lasted less than a second before you both started laughing.
“Your confidence is disgusting,” you told him.
౨ৎ
Your sister arrived at your flat on Saturday afternoon wearing heeled boots, a fitted coat and enough perfume to announce her presence before you had even opened the door. You looked at her. Then at the small handbag hanging from her shoulder. Then back at her.
“You said you were coming to borrow my straighteners.” “I am.” “Are you planning to straighten your hair here?” “No.”
“Then why do you look like you’re going somewhere?” She frowned. “I’m meeting someone later.” “You didn’t mention that.” “I didn’t realise I needed to submit an itinerary.”
“You don’t.” “Then why are you interrogating me?” “I asked one question.” “You asked three.”
You stepped aside to let her enter. She walked past you, removing her coat as she went. The outfit beneath it was somehow even more carefully chosen. You watched her smooth the fabric over her waist before checking her reflection in the hallway mirror.
Interesting. Very interesting. “You could have texted,” you said, closing the door. “I would’ve brought the straighteners to Mum’s tomorrow.” “I was nearby.”
She wasn’t. Your sister lived nearly forty minutes in the opposite direction. You decided not to point that out. From the living room, Seungmin called, “Who is it?”
Your sister’s posture changed almost imperceptibly. Her shoulders pulled back. Her expression softened. You stared at her.
She ignored you. “Your favourite person,” you called. There was a pause. Then Seungmin replied, “Felix?”
You gasped. Your sister laughed. You marched into the living room, already preparing several punishments. Seungmin was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table.
A pale blue fabric headband held his hair away from his face, and there was a thin layer of clay mask drying across his cheeks because you had told him his skin looked tired. He had complained for eleven minutes. Then he had asked whether there was enough left for his forehead. Your left hand rested carefully on top of an old magazine while Seungmin held your right between both of his.
Three of your fingernails were painted. One was half-painted. The fifth had somehow acquired a streak of polish across your skin. Seungmin looked up as you entered.
The smile on his face widened. “There’s my second-favourite person.” You stopped in front of him. “Second?”
“Felix bakes for me.” “I cook for you.” “You once burned instant noodles.” “The packet was confusing.”
“You forgot the water.” “It didn’t say when to add it.” You placed one foot against his thigh and pushed lightly. Seungmin caught your ankle.
“No kicking near the nail polish.” “You deserve worse.” “You asked me to do this.” “And you’re doing a terrible job.”
He looked down at your nails. “They’re beautiful.” “There’s polish on my knuckle.” Your sister appeared behind you.
Seungmin glanced towards her. His expression flickered with surprise before settling into a pleasant smile. “Oh. Hi.” “Hi.”
Your sister looked him over. Her gaze paused at the headband. Then the face mask. Then your hand resting in his.
Her smile faltered, only slightly. “I didn’t know you were here.” You turned your head towards her. She knew.
You had mentioned it the previous evening when she asked what you were doing this weekend. Seungmin did not appear to remember that. “I live here sometimes,” he said. “You don’t,” you replied.
Your sister moved further into the room. “You look comfortable,” she said. Seungmin touched the edge of the headband. “This was forced on me.”
“You asked whether the bow should go in the middle,” you said. Your sister laughed, lowering herself onto the sofa behind him. “It suits you.” Seungmin looked up at her.
“The face mask?” “The headband.” He touched it again. “Thanks.”
Her smile brightened. You watched her tuck one leg elegantly over the other. Seungmin returned his attention to your hand. “Stop moving.”
“I’m not moving.” “You’re moving now.” “Because you told me not to.” He tightened his fingers around yours.
“If you smudge this one, I’m starting again.” “You’ve already smudged it.” “That was intentional.” “Was the polish on my skin intentional too?”
“Yes.” “What was the artistic vision?” “Annoying you.” You tried to pull your hand away.
Seungmin held on. “Stay still.” “You’re enjoying the authority.” “I rarely have any in this relationship.”
“Because you can’t be trusted.” Your sister leaned forwards. “You let him paint your nails?” You looked at her.
“He volunteered.” “I was coerced,” Seungmin said. “You said you could do it better than me.” “I can.”
You lifted your hand. He immediately lowered it again before the wet polish could run. “That remains to be seen.” Your sister tilted her head.
“I’d never ask my boyfriend to do something like that.” You glanced at Seungmin. He glanced at you. There it was again.
That tiny shared pause when both of you noticed something and decided, without speaking, whether it was worth reacting to. You smiled. “Good thing he isn’t your boyfriend, then.” Your sister’s expression tightened.
Only for a second. Then she laughed. “I only mean I’d feel bad making him do something so feminine.” Seungmin inspected your thumbnail.
“You think painting nails is feminine?” “Usually.” “Then I’m doing a very poor job of it.” You snorted.
He blew gently across your nail. Your sister watched his lips purse. “It’s sweet,” she said. “I just wouldn’t have expected it from you.” “What did you expect?” Seungmin asked.
“I don’t know.” She did know. You could tell by the way she leaned towards him. “Something more masculine, I suppose.”
Seungmin looked down at himself. He was wearing grey jogging bottoms, an old sweatshirt and your fluffy skincare headband. “I’m devastated.” “You know what I mean.”
“I really don’t.” She smiled as though he were deliberately teasing her. “You seem like someone who’d usually want a very feminine girlfriend.” Seungmin’s brush paused.
You looked at your sister. She was looking at him. Not you. He lifted his eyes slowly.
“I do.” Your sister’s smile widened. Then Seungmin returned his attention to your hand. “That’s why I’m dating her.”
You pressed your lips together. Your sister glanced at you. You smiled pleasantly. Seungmin dipped the brush into the polish.
“She isn’t exactly what most people would call feminine,” your sister said. You raised your eyebrows. Seungmin’s hand stopped again. Your sister gestured towards you.
You were wearing one of Seungmin’s old shirts, a pair of shorts and fluffy socks. Your hair was twisted into a loose knot that had begun collapsing an hour ago. There was a faint smudge of clay mask beside your jaw where you had attempted to kiss Seungmin before it dried. You looked extremely comfortable. That had apparently become a flaw.
“I’m not?” you asked. “I didn’t mean it badly.” “Of course not.” “You’ve never cared about being girly.”
“I’m getting my nails painted.” “By your boyfriend.” “Yes.” “So?”
“So that feels relevant.” Your sister rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. You’re not someone who gets dressed up around the house or worries about always looking attractive.” You looked down at yourself.
Then at Seungmin. His gaze had settled on your face. You recognised the slight narrowing of his eyes. Not anger.
Not yet. Attention. Your sister continued, “I just think it’s brave.” “Brave?” you repeated.
“To be that comfortable so early in a relationship.” You and Seungmin had been together for nearly two years. Apparently that remained early enough to maintain a constant state of glamour. “How does she normally dress at home?” Seungmin asked.
Your sister seemed pleased to have his attention again. “Like this.” “Right.” “She’s always been a little careless.”
“With clothes?” “With everything.” You laughed quietly. Your sister looked at you.
“What?” “Nothing.” Seungmin placed the nail brush carefully inside the bottle. Then he lifted your hand and examined his work.
“Perfect.” “It’s uneven.” “So are your fingers.” “My fingers aren’t uneven.”
“One’s shorter.” “They’re supposed to be different lengths.” “Convenient excuse.” He brought your hand towards his mouth.
You frowned. “What are you doing?” “Checking whether it’s dry.” “With your lips?”
“Yes.” “That makes no sense.” Seungmin pressed a delicate kiss to the side of your index finger, avoiding the wet nail. Then he kissed your knuckle.
Then your wrist. A smile pulled at your mouth despite yourself. “Dry,” he announced. “You didn’t touch the polish.”
“I’m an expert.” “You’re an idiot.” He kissed your wrist again. Your sister shifted on the sofa.
“You two are very…” She paused. “Affectionate.” “That sounded judgemental,” you said. “It wasn’t.” “It sounded a little judgemental,” Seungmin agreed.
“I only mean you don’t seem like the clingy type.” She was speaking to him again. Seungmin leaned back against your legs. “I’m not.”
You looked down at him. He looked up at you. “You’re currently using me as a chair.” “You’re comfortable.”
Seungmin smiled lazily, reaching behind himself until his hand found your knee. You threaded your fingers through his hair, careful not to disturb the headband. He immediately tilted his head into your touch. Your sister watched him do it.
Something in her expression hardened. “You always liked being fussed over,” she said to you. You looked at her. “What?”
“When we were younger. You always needed everyone’s attention.” The comment was casual. Almost playful. You knew better.
“I don’t remember that.” “You used to follow Mum around constantly.” “I was six.” “You cried whenever she left the room.”
“I was still six.” “You’ve never liked being alone.” Seungmin’s thumb stroked once over your knee. You shrugged.
“Good thing I don’t have to be.” Your sister’s eyes flicked towards his hand. “That’s what I mean. You need a lot from people.” There was a quietness beneath the words.
An implication she wanted Seungmin to catch. You were needy. Difficult. Exhausting.
The kind of girlfriend who demanded face masks and painted nails and constant affection. Your sister, naturally, would never require so much effort. Seungmin looked up at you. “Do you?”
“Do I what?” “Need a lot from me?” You pretended to consider it. “Well, you could make more tea.”
“I made the last one.” “You drank half of it.” “It became ours when you let me taste it.” “That’s not how sharing works.”
Your sister exhaled through her nose. “You make everything into a joke.” “You make everything very serious,” you replied. “I’m trying to have a conversation.”
“With my boyfriend?” “With both of you.” “You’ve mostly been looking at him.” The room went still.
Your sister blinked. Seungmin’s eyebrows lifted. You hadn’t intended to say it quite so plainly. You weren’t upset.
Not yet. You were mostly curious to see what she would do when someone acknowledged the obvious. She recovered quickly. “I’m looking at whoever’s speaking.”
“He hasn’t been speaking.” “He literally just was.” You smiled. “All right.”
Your sister folded her arms. “You’re being strange again.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You implied something.”
“What did I imply?” “You know exactly what.” Seungmin’s hand slid around the back of your knee. His fingertips squeezed gently.
You looked down at him. He gave you a small, private smile. There was no concern in it. He knew you weren’t jealous.
Mostly, he appeared entertained. “You came for straighteners,” you reminded your sister. “I know.” “They’re in the bedroom.”
“Can you get them?” “You know where they are.” She hesitated. Her gaze moved towards the hallway, then back to Seungmin.
“I haven’t been in your bedroom since you moved things around.” “You’ll survive.” “I don’t want to go through your things.” “You’ve never had an issue before.”
Her mouth tightened. You smiled sweetly. “I’ll show you.” You gently extracted your hand from Seungmin’s grasp, holding your fingers carefully apart.
He immediately caught your wrist. “Where are you going?” “To get the straighteners.” “You’ll ruin your nails.”
“I’m walking, not digging a tunnel.” “You’re very clumsy.” “You painted them five minutes ago. They’re dry.” Seungmin tightened his grip.
“Wait.” “What?” He reached for the bottle of top coat on the table. “You need this.”
“You didn’t mention top coat before.” “I forgot.” “You just don’t want me to leave.” “That’s ridiculous.”
“You’re holding my wrist.” “To protect my work.” “Say you’ll miss me.” “You’ll be gone for thirty seconds.”
“Then it shouldn’t be difficult.” Seungmin narrowed his eyes. Your sister watched the exchange. You waited.
He looked away first. “I’ll miss you,” he muttered. You grinned. “What was that?”
“You heard me.” “I don’t think I did.” “I’m not repeating it.” “Then I suppose I’ll have to stay.”
Seungmin looked back at you suspiciously. You lowered yourself onto the floor in front of him. His expression brightened. Then you reached for the top coat.
He held it out of reach. “You said you were staying.” “To do my own nails.” “No.”
“Give it to me.” “You’ll ruin them.” “They’re already ruined.” Seungmin gasped.
You grabbed for the bottle. He leaned away. You lunged across him, careful to keep your painted hand lifted. Seungmin caught you around the waist with his free arm.
“Behave.” “Give it.” “No.” “Seungmin.”
You tried to reach behind him. He shifted again, pulling you further into his lap. Your sister cleared her throat. You both looked towards her.
She was still sitting on the sofa. Watching. You had briefly forgotten she was there. “Sorry,” you said, although you weren’t particularly sorry.
Seungmin rested his chin on your shoulder. He still had one arm wrapped firmly around your waist. Your sister’s gaze dropped to it. “Could you get the straighteners?” she asked.
“You know where they are,” you repeated. “I already told you I don’t.” Seungmin lifted his head. “I can get them.”
Your sister’s face brightened. You turned towards him. He was already beginning to stand, carefully guiding you off his lap. Your sister rose too.
Seungmin paused. He looked at her. Then at you. You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.
There was no reason for both of them to go. Your sister apparently believed your bedroom contained an unusually complicated straightener-storage system that required Seungmin’s personal guidance. “I know where they are,” he said. “I’ll come with you.”
“You can stay here.” Her smile faltered. “I don’t mind.” “I do.”
The answer was so immediate that you made a small choking sound. Your sister’s patience finally snapped. “Can someone please get them?” You and Seungmin both looked at her.
She smiled tightly. “The straighteners.” “Right,” you said. Seungmin pointed at you.
“Don’t touch anything.” “It’s my flat.” “My nail polish.” He disappeared down the hallway.
Your sister waited until he was out of earshot. Then she looked at you. “You don’t have to perform every time I’m here.” You stared at her.
“Perform?” “The constant touching. The little jokes.” “You think that’s for you?” “I think you’re trying very hard to prove something.”
You looked towards the hallway. Seungmin was rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, apparently having forgotten that you kept the straighteners inside your wardrobe. You turned back to her. “I’m sitting in my own living room wearing his shirt while he paints my nails.”
“Exactly.” “What am I proving?” “That you’re comfortable with him.” “I am comfortable with him.”
“You don’t need to make it so obvious.” A laugh escaped you. Your sister’s expression darkened. “What?”
“I genuinely don’t understand what you’re accusing me of.” “You’re acting territorial.” “I haven’t stopped you speaking to him.” “You don’t have to. You just keep interrupting.”
“This is my flat.” “So?” “He’s my boyfriend.” “I know that.”
“Do you?” Her eyes narrowed. You smiled. Still amused.
Mostly. But something sharper had begun pressing beneath your ribs. Your sister had always competed with you. Clothes. Friends. Attention. Compliments.
Anything you possessed became evidence that she deserved something better. You had simply never expected her to become this obvious. “You’re imagining things,” she said. “Am I?”
“Yes.” “Then why did you come dressed like that to borrow straighteners?” Her face changed. Only for an instant.
Then she scoffed. “I told you I’m going out.” “Where?” “Why do you care?”
“I don’t.” “You clearly do.” “You’ve travelled forty minutes to borrow something you could buy for twenty pounds.” “I was nearby.”
“No, you weren’t.” She folded her arms. “Seungmin doesn’t seem to mind me being here.” There it was.
You looked at her. She looked pleased with herself. “Why would he mind?” “He’s been friendly.”
“He’s usually friendly.” “Not with everyone.” You nearly smiled. Your sister had known Seungmin for one afternoon.
Apparently she had already developed an extensive understanding of his social habits. “He complimented me last time,” she continued. “When?” “He said my dress was nice.”
“Mum told him to.” “That doesn’t mean he didn’t think it.” “No, I’m sure he has very strong feelings about the dress.” “You don’t have to be jealous.”
You stared at her. Then you laughed. You couldn’t help it. The idea was so completely detached from reality that amusement overwhelmed everything else.
Your sister’s face hardened. “I’m serious.” “So am I.” “Then why are you laughing?”
“Because you think Seungmin complimenting your dress means I should be worried.” “I didn’t say you should be worried.” “You said I was jealous.” “You’re acting like it.”
“Trust me.” You leaned back against the sofa. “I’m not.” Your sister opened her mouth. Seungmin returned before she could answer. He was holding the straighteners in one hand
He handed the straighteners to your sister. She accepted them. “Thank you.” “No problem.”
Her fingers lingered against his for a moment. Seungmin looked down at their hands. Then politely extracted his own. “I should probably go,” your sister said.
You looked at the clock. She had been there for less than twenty minutes. “Your plans?” you asked. “Yes.”
She picked up her coat. Seungmin returned to the floor beside you, already reaching for your hand. Your sister watched him pull you down beside him. Your sister opened the front door.
“I’ll text you,” she said to you. “Okay.” She looked towards Seungmin. “It was nice seeing you.”
“You too.” “You look good, by the way.” Seungmin glanced down at his sweatshirt. “Thanks.”
“The headband especially.” His hand rose to the blue bow. “Right.” She laughed softly.
Then she left. You waited until the door closed. Silence settled over the flat. Seungmin stared at it.
You stared at him. He turned slowly. “What?” You broke first.
Laughter burst out of you so suddenly that you nearly knocked over the nail polish. Seungmin caught the bottle. “Careful!” “The headband especially,” you repeated.
“Stop.” “You look good, by the way.” “I said stop.” You twisted in his arms until you were facing him.
Seungmin was kneeling over you, one hand planted beside your shoulder and the other wrapped securely around your waist. You looked up at him. “I like your headband.” “Thank you. I already have a beautiful girlfriend.”
You nodded. “Very natural.” “You’re ridiculous.” “And you’re obsessed with me.”
“There it is.” “There what is?” “You’ve been waiting to say that all afternoon.” “I haven’t.”
“You have.” “No.” “Yes.” You tried to push him away with your forearm.
Seungmin remained exactly where he was. “Admit it,” he said. “Admit what?” “That you’re jealous.”
“I’m not.” “Just a little?” “No.” “Not even when she touched my hand?”
“I thought about breaking her fingers.” Seungmin’s eyes widened. You hooked one leg around his hips and attempted to roll him onto his back. He anticipated it, shifting his weight before you could gain any leverage.
“You’re cheating,” you complained. “How?” “You’re stronger.” “That isn’t cheating.”
“It is when I’m losing.” He laughed. You used the distraction to push at his shoulder again. Seungmin caught both your wrists.
Your breath hitched, more from surprise than anything else. He pinned them lightly above your head, careful not to let your nails touch the carpet. His hair had begun slipping free from the headband. The clay mask had cracked faintly near the corners of his smile.
He looked completely ridiculous. And unfairly lovely. “Still think I enjoyed it?” he asked. You pretended to consider your answer.
His eyes narrowed. “Choose carefully.” You bit back a smile. “She is very feminine.”
Seungmin lowered his face closer to yours. “Wrong direction.” “And confident.” His grip tightened slightly around your wrists.
You laughed. “And sophisticated.” “Do you want to keep your newly painted nails?” “That sounds like a threat.”
“It is.” “You worked so hard on them.” “I can start again.” “You wouldn’t.”
“I have nowhere to be.” You squirmed beneath him. He shifted, trapping you more securely without putting his weight on you. “You’re impossible,” you said.
“You started this.” “She’s your type.” Seungmin stared at you. Then he released one of your wrists.
You immediately tried to escape. His free hand found your side. You squealed. “No!”
“Take it back.” “You can’t keep doing this!” “I can until you learn.” His fingers dug gently into your waist.
You dissolved into laughter, twisting helplessly beneath him. “The mask!” you gasped. “You’ll crack the mask!” “I don’t care.” “You were worried about it two minutes ago!”
“You’ve pushed me too far.” You kicked at the rug. Seungmin caught your leg beneath his knee. “You’re evil!”
“And?” “Controlling!” “And?” “Obsessed with me!”
His fingers stopped. “There we go.” You glared up at him, breathless. “That isn’t fair.”
“It’s completely fair.” “I was supposed to say you don’t want her.” “I know I don’t want her.” “You’re supposed to reassure me.”
“Are you worried?” “No.” “Then why do you need reassurance?” “Because I enjoy compliments.”
Seungmin smiled. The teasing faded gently from his expression. He released your other wrist and settled his hand beside your head instead. “You’re very pretty.”
“That was basic.” “You’re especially pretty when you’re wearing my clothes.” “Better.” “You’re funny.”
“I know.” “And irritating.” “That wasn’t a compliment.” “It’s one of my favourite things about you.”
You looked up at him. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek. “You’re my favourite person to come home to,” he continued. “My favourite person to annoy. My favourite person to do absolutely nothing with.” Your smile softened.
Seungmin’s did too. “And,” he added, “I’m so obsessed with you that I let you put this stupid thing on my head.” You touched the bow. “You love the headband.”
“I tolerate it.” “You’re avoiding the important part.” “What important part?” “The part where you admit I’m obsessed with you.”
You laughed. “You just admitted it yourself.” “I want to hear you say it.” “You’re obsessed with me.”
“And?” You stared at him. He waited expectantly. “And you don’t want my sister.”
“Obviously.” “And?” A slow grin spread across his face. You realised what he wanted.
“No.” “Say it.” “I’m not saying it.” “You know you want to.”
“I don’t.” Seungmin’s fingers hovered threateningly near your waist. You recoiled. “Don’t.”
“Then say it.” “You’re abusing your power.” “I’m waiting.” You glared at him.
He looked delighted. “And I’m obsessed with you too,” you muttered. “What was that?” “You heard me.”
“The face mask is restricting my hearing.” “That isn’t how masks work.” “Speak clearly.” You tried not to smile.
“I’m obsessed with you too.” “There we go.” He bent and kissed you. It began soft.
A pleased little press of his lips against yours. Then you reached for the back of his neck and accidentally brushed one wet nail against his cheek. Seungmin pulled away. You froze.
A bright streak of polish now cut through the dried clay mask. For one second, neither of you moved. Then you burst out laughing. Seungmin stared at you.
“You ruined it.” “I’m sorry!” “You did that on purpose.” “I didn’t!”
“You attacked me.” “You were on top of me!” “Because you accused me of wanting your sister.” Seungmin touched his cheek.
His fingers came away with polish on them. His mouth dropped open. You laughed even harder. “You look beautiful.”
“You’re sleeping on the sofa.” “It’s my flat.” “Then I’m sleeping in your bed alone.” “You wouldn’t last ten minutes.”
“I’d sleep perfectly.” You grinned. Seungmin tried to maintain his glare. He failed.
A laugh escaped him. Then another. He lowered his head until his forehead rested against your shoulder, both of you shaking with laughter on the living-room floor. You wrapped your arms around him.
“Your mask really is ruined.” “I know.” “And the polish is definitely smudged.” “I know.”
౨ৎ
Your sister invited herself shopping with you three days later. Technically, she asked whether you had bought your mum’s birthday present yet. When you told her that you and Seungmin were going into town on Sunday to find something, she replied that she had been planning to go that day too. You had stared at the message for several seconds. Seungmin, lying beside you with his head on your stomach, had tilted his phone away from his face and asked, “Why are you making that expression?”
“My sister wants to come shopping with us.” He had gone silent. You lowered your phone to look at him. “That was a very long pause.” “I was trying to think of something polite.”
“And?” “I couldn’t.” You laughed and ran your fingers through his hair. “We are shopping for her mum too.” “Unfortunately.”
“She’s my mum.” “That’s why I said unfortunately. I like your mum.” “You’re horrible.” Seungmin had turned his head and pressed a kiss to your stomach through your shirt. “Tell her she can come.”
“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.” “I’m thrilled. Maybe she can tell me more about what kind of woman I usually prefer.” You had flicked his forehead. He had bitten your finger.
The matter was settled.
౨ৎ
Your sister arrived twenty minutes late. You and Seungmin had already been standing outside the shopping centre long enough for him to complain about the cold four times, steal one of your gloves and attempt to warm his other hand by shoving it beneath the back of your jumper. You had slapped him away. He had waited thirty seconds before trying again.
“Your hand is freezing,” you complained, twisting out of his reach. “That’s why I need your body heat.” “You have pockets.” “They’re not as warm as you.”
“They don’t want you touching them either.” Seungmin smiled and caught the belt loop of your jeans when you tried to step away. “Come back.” “No.” “You’re abandoning me.”
“I’m moving half a metre.” “That’s still too far.” You rolled your eyes, but you let him pull you backwards until your shoulder rested against his chest. He wrapped both arms around your waist and tucked his chin over your shoulder, immediately pleased with himself. “You’re very clingy today,” you said.
“It’s cold.” “You were clingy yesterday too.” “I was tired.” “You fell asleep on top of me. I couldn’t breathe.”
“And yet you let me stay.” His laugh warmed the side of your neck. Your sister found you like that. She slowed as she approached, taking in Seungmin’s arms around your middle and the way your hands rested over his. Then she smiled.
“Sorry,” she said, although she did not sound particularly sorry. “The train was delayed.” “You said you were driving,” you replied. She paused. Seungmin’s face disappeared briefly against your shoulder. You felt the silent shake of his laughter.
“I changed my mind,” your sister said. “Clearly.” She looked at Seungmin. “Have you been waiting long?” “Long enough for her to attack me.”
“I moved your freezing hand away,” you said. Seungmin tightened his arms around your waist. “Exactly.” Your sister laughed, her gaze lingering on him a little too long. “You poor thing.” Your sister looked at you with a small, knowing smile. “You’ve always been like that.”
“Like what?” “Rough.” Seungmin’s eyebrows rose. You looked down at your outfit as though you might find evidence of roughness on your coat. “I pushed his hand away.”
“I’m only joking.” “Right.” “She’s very frightening,” Seungmin said solemnly. “I live in constant fear.” Then he kissed your cheek and released you, taking your hand instead. “Can we go inside before I lose feeling in my fingers?”
“You stole my glove.” “It wasn’t enough.” Your sister walked beside him as you entered the shopping centre. You ended up on his other side.
It was not immediately strange. The pavement narrowed near the doors, people moved around you, and your sister had always been skilled at placing herself exactly where she wanted to be without appearing deliberate. But once you were inside, she remained there. She asked Seungmin what he thought you should buy. She asked whether he enjoyed shopping. She asked which shops he liked, whether he cared about clothes and whether he usually chose his own outfits. He answered politely.
Mostly. When she asked whether he had a favourite designer, he said, “Whoever makes comfortable trousers.” When she asked what colours he liked on women, he said, “Normal ones.” Your sister frowned. “I was asking a normal question.”
“I know,” you said. “His answer was stupid.” Seungmin swung your joined hands between you. Your sister glanced down. “I think you’d suit darker colours,” she told him.
“I wear dark colours.” “I know. They make you look more mature.” You looked across him. “What does he look like now?” She ignored you. “You have a very classic face.”
Seungmin turned towards you. “Do I?” “No.” He looked offended. “You didn’t even think about it.” “I look at your face every day.”
“And you’ve never thought it was classic?” “I’ve thought it was annoying.” “That isn’t a facial structure.” “It should be.”
Your sister sighed softly. “You never take compliments seriously.” “She rarely gives them,” Seungmin said. “I complimented you this morning.” “You said my hair looked less strange than usual.”
“That was generous.” “You also said I looked tired.” “You did.” “You make me feel very cherished.”
You stopped in the middle of the walkway and placed both hands around his face. “You are beautiful.” Seungmin’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re mocking me.” “Never.” “You’re smiling.”
“Because you’re beautiful.” He stared at you for another second before his mouth betrayed him. A reluctant smile appeared. “There,” you said, squeezing his cheeks. “Pretty.”
Seungmin caught both your wrists and pulled your hands away. “Don’t touch my face in public.” “You love it.” Your sister had gone quiet. You released Seungmin’s face and started walking again. He slipped his hand into yours as though the interruption had never happened.
The first shop was useless. The second was worse. Your mum had said she wanted something for the house, which sounded simple until you were faced with fifteen aisles of objects she might already own. Your sister suggested a decorative vase.
You reminded her that your mum had six. Seungmin picked up a tiny ceramic dog wearing a crown. You told him to put it down. “She’d love him,” he said.
“She’d ask why we bought her rubbish.” “He’s cute.” “He’s ugly.” “He can hear you.”
Your sister smiled at Seungmin. “I think he’s cute.” You looked at her. She was not looking at the ceramic dog. Seungmin, apparently unaware or pretending to be, placed the ornament carefully in your hands. “Hold him.”
“No.” “He likes you.” “You like him.” “He reminds me of you.”
You stared at the dog. The dog stared back with badly painted eyes. “You’re sleeping alone tonight.” Seungmin smiled. “You say that every week.”
“One day I’ll mean it.” “No, you won’t.” Your sister picked up a sleek glass vase and held it towards Seungmin. “What about this?” He glanced at it. “It’s nice.”
“She already has something similar,” you said. Your sister’s smile tightened. “Not exactly like this.” “It’s almost identical.” “It’s more modern.”
“Mum doesn’t care about modern.” “She might.” Your sister looked at Seungmin. “What do you think?” He looked between you both.
Then at the vase. Then at the ceramic dog still in your hands. “I think we should buy the dog.” You laughed.
Your sister did not. “You’re both impossible,” she said, returning the vase to the shelf. “That keeps coming up,” Seungmin replied. You carried the dog for another two aisles before secretly placing it on a display of cushions.
Seungmin noticed immediately. “Where is he?” “Who?” “The dog.”
“I don’t know.” “You abandoned him.” “He wasn’t ours.” “He could have been.”
“Not everything you like has to come home with us.” “You came home with me.” Your sister laughed. You turned towards Seungmin slowly. “Was that meant to be sweet?”
“Yes.” “It sounded like you found me beside a road.” “I rescued you.” “From what?”
“Yourself.” You shoved him lightly towards a stack of towels. He caught your elbow and pulled you with him, making you stumble against his chest. His free arm wrapped around your waist before you could fall. You tried not to smile.
You failed. Your sister walked ahead.
౨ৎ
After nearly an hour, you found a set of handmade serving bowls that your mum would genuinely like. Your sister thought they were plain. Seungmin thought one of them looked like a hat. You thought both of them needed to stop talking.
You were waiting at the till when your sister announced that she wanted coffee. “There’s a place downstairs,” she said. “I’ll go.” “I’ll come,” you replied. “I need the toilet anyway.” Her expression flickered.
Only slightly. Then she smiled. “You can stay with the bags. Seungmin and I can get them.” Seungmin looked up from the receipt in his hand. You looked at her.
She looked at him. There was a small silence. Then Seungmin said, “She knows my order.” Your sister recovered quickly. “You can tell me.”
“I’ll forget something.” “It’s coffee.” “He’s very demanding,” you said. Seungmin nodded.
Your sister laughed, although her eyes stayed on him. “I think I can manage.” You could have refused. Part of you wanted to, not because you thought anything would happen, but because your sister’s intentions had become so transparent that allowing her to proceed felt almost embarrassing. Then curiosity won.
You handed the shopping bag to Seungmin. “Fine. Get me something sweet.” “What?” “Surprise me.” “That always ends badly.”
“Only because you make poor choices.” Seungmin stared at you. You smiled. He sighed. “Fine.”
Your sister looked pleased. Far too pleased. You kissed Seungmin’s cheek before stepping away. “Don’t let her buy me anything with coconut.”
౨ৎ
Seungmin watched you disappear into the crowd. He knew exactly what you were doing. You had kissed him in front of your sister on purpose. Not because you were worried.
Because you were a menace. A message appeared on his phone before he and your sister had reached the escalator. Don’t fall in love while I’m gone x He smiled despite himself.
Your sister noticed. “What?” “Nothing.” “Was that her?”
“Yes.” “What did she say?” Seungmin put his phone away. “Nothing important.” Your sister stepped onto the escalator beside him.
For several seconds, she was silent. Then she said, “She checks on you a lot.” Seungmin looked at her. “Does she?” “She’s always texting you.”
“We text each other.” “I know. I just mean she likes knowing where you are.” He considered the comment. “She sent me a joke.”
“What joke?” “One you wouldn’t find funny.” Your sister’s mouth tightened. “You don’t know that.” “I know her sense of humour.”
“And mine?” “Not really.” The escalator carried them down another floor. Your sister rested one hand on the rail. “You and her are very different.”
Seungmin looked ahead. “You’ve mentioned that.” “I don’t mean it as an insult.” “You keep saying that too.” She laughed softly. “You remember.”
“I have a good memory.” “You do seem observant.” “Sometimes.” “That’s why I’m surprised.”
He turned his head. “By what?” She looked briefly uncertain, as if she had expected him to understand without making her say it aloud. “Nothing.”
Seungmin faced forwards again. The coffee shop was busy. A line curled away from the counter, giving your sister more time than she probably needed. She moved closer to him as they joined it. “I’ve always wondered how she ended up with someone like you.”
Seungmin’s expression did not change. “Someone like me?” “Successful. Disciplined. Mature.” “You think she isn’t those things?”
“I didn’t say that.” “You implied it.” Your sister sighed. “You’re very defensive of her.” “She’s my girlfriend.”
“I know.” “Then why are you surprised?” “I’m not surprised. I just think you misunderstand me.” Seungmin shoved one hand into his coat pocket. “Then explain.”
Your sister glanced towards the counter. The line had barely moved. “She’s always been the sweet one,” she said. “The one people feel protective over. I’ve always been more independent.” “Okay.” “She needs more reassurance.”
“Does she?” “You’ve seen how she is.” “I have.” “And that doesn’t get tiring?”
Seungmin looked at her properly. His tone stayed light, but his eyes sharpened. “No.” Your sister held his gaze. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” “I’m not.”
“She can be a lot.” “So can I.” “You’re different.” “You don’t know me.”
The words landed more firmly than anything he had said before. Your sister blinked. Seungmin looked back towards the counter. The line moved forward.
For a few seconds, she said nothing. Then she tried again. “She doesn’t tell people this, but she used to get overlooked a lot when we were younger.” Seungmin’s jaw tightened.
“Overlooked by who?” “People.” Your sister exhaled, clearly frustrated by his refusal to fill in the gaps for her. “Boys usually noticed me first.”
Seungmin waited. She smiled faintly. “She never minded. At least, she pretended not to.” He looked at her. “And?”
“And nothing. I’m only saying it’s probably nice for her to be the one someone chose for once.” Seungmin stared at her for a long moment. Your sister interpreted the silence as an opening. “You’re kind,” she continued. “You probably don’t even realise how much that means to her.”
“I noticed her.” The sentence was quiet. Immediate. Your sister’s smile faltered.
“I didn’t say you didn’t.” “You said people didn’t.” “I said they usually noticed me first.” “I didn’t.”
Something sharp passed across her face. Then she laughed. “You hadn’t met me.” Seungmin looked at her.
The confidence in her smile returned. It was not difficult to understand what she meant. If he had seen her first, things might have been different. If he knew her better, he might recognise what he had missed.
If you had not reached him before she did, perhaps he would have made the correct choice. Seungmin almost laughed. Instead, he said, “I’ve met you now.” Your sister’s smile remained fixed.
The line moved again. She stepped closer. “I think we have more in common than you realise.” “Do we?”
“We’re both ambitious.” “So is she.” “We care about how we present ourselves.” “She does too.”
“She doesn’t care what anyone thinks.” “That’s one of the things I like about her.” Your sister’s eyes narrowed. “You turn everything into a compliment about her.” “Yes.”
The answer was so simple that it left nowhere for the conversation to go. Your sister looked away. Seungmin’s phone buzzed again. He checked it.
Is she seducing you yet? A second message appeared. Blink twice if you need rescue Then:
Actually don’t. I can’t see you He laughed under his breath. Your sister glanced towards the phone. “She’s checking again?”
“She’s entertaining herself.” “She doesn’t trust me.” Seungmin looked up. “Should she?” Your sister went still.
He raised his eyebrows slightly. For the first time, she seemed uncertain whether he was joking. Then he smiled. Not warmly.
Not cruelly either. Just enough to make the question impossible to challenge. Your sister looked towards the menu. “What did she want?”
“Something sweet.” “That isn’t very specific.” “She likes trying new things.” “I know.”
“Do you?” Your sister frowned. “She’s my sister.” Seungmin slipped his phone into his pocket. “Then choose.” She looked at the display board.
After a moment, she suggested a coconut latte. Seungmin stared at her. “What?” “She hates coconut.”
Your sister hesitated. “Does she?” “She told you five minutes ago.” “I forgot.” “I didn’t.”
He ordered your favourite instead.
౨ৎ
You returned to find them sitting at a small table near the window. Your sister was speaking. Seungmin was looking at his phone. That alone told you almost everything you needed to know.
He was never rude enough to ignore someone without a reason. When he spotted you, his entire expression changed. His shoulders relaxed. His mouth curved into a smile. He put his phone down and lifted one hand towards you. “There you are.”
You slid into the seat beside him. Seungmin immediately hooked his fingers through the belt loop at the back of your jeans and tugged you closer. “I was gone for fifteen minutes.” “It was difficult.”
“You seemed fine.” Your sister looked between you. You picked up the drink in front of your seat and inspected it. “What did you get me?” “Try it.”
“What is it?” “I’m not telling you.” “Why?” “You said to surprise you.”
“I don’t trust you.” Seungmin pushed the cup closer. “Drink.” You took a cautious sip. It was sweet, creamy and familiar.
Your favourite. You looked at him. He smiled smugly. “You didn’t choose something new.”
“I chose something you’d like.” “That isn’t a surprise.” “You were surprised.” “I was surprised you made a good decision.”
Seungmin leaned towards you. “Say thank you.” “No.” “Say it.” “You’re very demanding.”
“I carried the bowls.” “They’re in one bag.” “A heavy bag.” “They’re ceramic, not concrete.”
Your sister interrupted. “He remembered your order.” You looked at her. There was something brittle in her voice. Seungmin rested his chin briefly on your shoulder and stole a sip of your drink.
You pushed his face away. “Of course he did,” you said. “He orders it more than I do.” “For you,” he corrected. “You steal half.”
“It tastes better when it’s yours.” “That’s because you’re a thief.” He smiled against your cheek. Your sister looked away.
You could practically feel the conversation you had interrupted sitting between them. You waited until Seungmin sat back. Then you asked, “Did you have a nice chat?” Your sister reached for her coffee.
Seungmin looked at you. His eyes were bright with the effort of not laughing. “Very informative.” “Oh?”
“I learned that I’m successful, disciplined and mature.” You nodded solemnly. “One out of three isn’t bad.” Seungmin kicked your foot beneath the table. You kicked him back.
Your sister sighed. “I was complimenting him.” “I know.” “She thinks I’m mature,” Seungmin said. “She doesn’t live with you.”
“I don’t live with you.” Under the table, Seungmin’s knee pressed against yours. You tapped it once with your own. He tapped back.
Your sister watched the movement. “I was only saying that you’re lucky,” she said. You looked at her. “Again?” “You are.”
“I know.” “She thinks you’re lucky someone finally noticed you,” Seungmin added. The words were delivered with deceptive casualness. Your sister’s head snapped towards him.
Your hand stilled around the cup. Seungmin lifted his drink. You looked at your sister. She looked suddenly furious.
“I didn’t say it like that.” “How did you say it?” “I said people usually noticed me first when we were younger.” You raised your eyebrows.
Your sister leaned back. “It was relevant to the conversation.” “What conversation?” “We were talking about relationships.” “You were talking about mine?”
“She asked whether dating you was tiring,” Seungmin said. You stared at him. He took a calm sip. Your sister’s face reddened. “That isn’t what I asked.”
“It was very close.” “You’re twisting my words.” “I remember them quite clearly.” You looked between them.
The ridiculousness of it arrived before the hurt could. Your sister had finally managed to get Seungmin alone, and she had apparently used the opportunity to explain why being with you must be exhausting. A laugh slipped out. Your sister’s mouth tightened. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because you had fifteen minutes.” “What?” “You finally got him alone and that was your strategy?” Seungmin choked on his drink.
Your sister stared at you. You turned towards him. “Are you all right?” He held up one hand and coughed into the other. “You’re horrible,” he managed.
“You were thinking it too.” “I was trying to be polite.” Your sister placed her cup on the table more firmly than necessary. “Nothing happened.” You looked at her. “I know.”
“Then stop acting like you caught me doing something.” “I didn’t catch you. He told me.” Your sister stood. The legs of her chair scraped against the floor.
“I’m going to look at another shop.” You glanced at the untouched coffee. “We just sat down.” “I remembered something I need.” She grabbed her handbag.
Seungmin watched her. Your sister looked at him, waiting for something. An offer to come with her, perhaps. An apology.
A private look that confirmed all the things she had decided existed between them. Seungmin lifted his hand. For one hopeful second, she smiled. Then he pointed towards her cup. “Are you taking that?”
Her smile disappeared. “No.” “Can I have it?” You elbowed him.
“What?” he asked. “She isn’t drinking it.” Your sister walked away without answering. You watched her disappear into the crowd. Then you turned slowly towards Seungmin.
He was already reaching for her abandoned coffee. You slapped his hand. “No.” “She said she didn’t want it.”
“You don’t know what’s in it.” “Coffee.” “She might have poisoned it.” “Why would she poison her own drink?”
“She sensed rejection.” Seungmin laughed. You folded your arms. “What did she actually say?” He gave up on the coffee and leaned back in his chair.
“Exactly what I told you.” “She asked whether I was tiring?” “She implied that you need constant reassurance, said you’re a lot and suggested I probably chose you because I’m kind.” Your amusement faded a little.
Seungmin noticed immediately. His foot slid beside yours under the table. “She also told me men usually noticed her first,” he added. You looked at the crowd beyond the window. “She loves saying that.”
“I asked which men.” That made you smile. Seungmin’s knee pressed more firmly against yours. “She couldn’t name them.”
“You interrogated her?” “I asked good questions.” “You never ask good questions.” “That’s unfair.”
You looked back at him. He was watching you closely. Not pushing. Just waiting.
“What else?” you asked. Seungmin hesitated. “She implied I might have chosen differently if I’d met her first.” A strange little ache settled beneath your ribs. Not because you believed it.
The idea of Seungmin choosing your sister felt almost comical. But because she believed your entire relationship could be reduced to timing. That you had simply arrived first and seized something that should have belonged to her. You looked down at your cup. “And what did you say?”
“That I’ve met her now.” Your mouth twitched. “That’s all?” “I thought it was enough.”
“It is.” “She didn’t like it.” “I’m devastated for her.” “I also told her I noticed you.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the cup. Seungmin’s expression softened. “What?” “Nothing.”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I noticed you.” You fought a smile. You covered his mouth with your hand. Seungmin kissed your palm.
You pulled it away immediately. “That’s disgusting.” “You liked that too.” “You’re so pleased with yourself.”
“I handled a difficult social situation and bought you the correct drink.” “You want a medal?” “A kiss would be appropriate.” “You’re asking for payment?”
“I did hard labour.” “You stood in a coffee queue.” “With your sister.” You considered that.
Seungmin lifted his eyebrows. You leaned over and kissed his cheek. He turned his head at the last second, catching the corner of your mouth instead. You pulled back.
“That was cheating.” “You’re slow.” “You tricked me.” “You still kissed me.”
“Barely.” “You can try again.” “I’m not rewarding bad behaviour.” Seungmin rested one elbow on the table. “Then I’ll have to live with the memory.”
“You’re dramatic.” “I suffered for fifteen minutes.” “You were texting me.” “That was my lifeline.”
You laughed and nudged his foot beneath the table. Seungmin caught your ankle between his. “You know she’s going to tell herself you only rejected her because you knew I was coming back.” Seungmin’s expression became thoughtful. “Do you want me to say it more directly?”
You looked towards the direction your sister had disappeared. Part of you wanted him to. Part of you knew she would turn even that into evidence of something else. “She hasn’t actually admitted she wants you,” you said.
“She invited herself on our date.” “We’re buying Mum bowls.” “A highly romantic date.” Seungmin reached for your hand across the table.
His thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles. “If she says something properly,” he said, “I’ll answer properly.” “You have answered.” “I mean without being polite.”
“That sounds frightening.” Seungmin squeezed your hand. “Tell her that when she tries again.” You looked at him. “When?”
He smiled. “You think she’s stopping?” You glanced once more towards the crowd. “No.”
“Neither do I.” There was a pause. Then Seungmin brightened. “Can we go back for the dog?” “No.”
“He could be part of your mum’s present.” “She would hate him.” “She’d learn to love him.” “You only knew him for ten minutes.”
“That was enough.” Seungmin smiled and lifted your hand to his mouth. This time, he kissed your knuckles slowly. You let him.
Your sister returned ten minutes later carrying nothing. Neither of you mentioned it. Seungmin did, however, remain close to you for the rest of the afternoon. His hand at your waist when people passed too close. His fingers laced through yours on the escalator. His chin briefly resting on your shoulder while you examined candles. His mouth near your ear when he whispered that one of them smelled like “an expensive wardrobe”.
Your sister tried to walk beside him. Seungmin kept drifting back towards you. She asked his opinion. He asked yours.
She suggested shops. He followed wherever you went. By the time you left the shopping centre, your sister had stopped speaking unless someone addressed her directly. The three of you stood near the station while she checked the time.
“My train’s in five minutes,” she said. Your sister adjusted her handbag and looked at Seungmin. “It was nice spending time with you.” “You too.” “We should do it again.”
You looked at him. He looked at you. Your sister noticed. “Without making it into a whole family thing,” she added.
You raised your eyebrows. Seungmin slipped his arm around your shoulders. “I think she comes with me.” Your sister laughed. “You’re allowed separate friends.” “I have friends.”
“She means her,” you said. “I know.” Your sister’s cheeks coloured. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“What did you mean?” Seungmin asked. She looked at him. He waited. His expression was pleasant.
Curious. Entirely unwilling to rescue her. Your sister’s train arrived with a rush of noise behind her. She glanced towards the platform.
“I have to go.” “You should hurry,” you said. She hugged you briefly. When she turned towards Seungmin, he lifted the shopping bag between them.
Your sister stopped. He smiled politely. “Bye.” For a moment, she looked as though she might push around the bag and hug him anyway.
Then she stepped back. “Bye.” You watched her hurry towards the train. As soon as she was out of earshot, Seungmin lowered the bag.
“You used Mum’s bowls as a shield,” you said. “I panicked.” “You’re very brave.” “She hugged me last time.”
“Terrifying.” “I didn’t know what else to do.” “You could have hugged her.” Seungmin looked horrified. “Why would I do that?”
“She’s confident and sophisticated.” “Stop.” “More your type.” He pointed at you. “We discussed this.”
“She only needs an opportunity.” “You’re becoming annoying.” “Becoming?” “More annoying.”
You smiled. Seungmin stared at you for a second. Then he hooked one arm around your waist and lifted you just enough that your shoes left the ground. You yelped.
“Put me down!” “Take it back.” “We’re in public!” “I don’t care.”
You grabbed his shoulders, laughing as he carried you several steps away from the platform. Seungmin lowered you carefully to the ground. His smile softened. Seungmin took your hand again, swinging it once between you before pulling you towards the station exit.
“Come on,” he said. “We have to go back.” “For what?” “The dog.” “We are not buying the dog.”
“He’s waiting for us.” “He’s ceramic.” “He’ll think we abandoned him.” “You said I was the abandoned animal.”
“I can rescue both of you.” “You already complain that I take up too much space.” “He’s small.” “I hate you.”
Seungmin kissed the side of your head. He smiled and kept walking. You followed, because the station exit was in the same direction as the shop. Not because you had agreed to buy the dog.
Definitely not. When your mum opened her birthday present a week later, she found a beautiful set of handmade serving bowls. And, tucked between them, a tiny ceramic dog wearing a crown. She stared at it.
You stared at Seungmin. Seungmin looked unbearably pleased.
౨ৎ
By the time you finished getting ready, Seungmin had changed his shirt twice, complained about both options and somehow blamed you for the fact that neither looked right. “You said the black one was nice,” he reminded you from the bedroom doorway. “It was nice.” “And then you told me to wear the blue one.”
“Because the blue one is nicer.” “So the black one was ugly.” “That isn’t what I said.” “It’s what you implied.”
You turned away from the mirror and looked at him. He stood with both shirts hanging from one hand, his hair still slightly damp from the shower and an expression of genuine betrayal on his face. “You’re having a crisis over two nearly identical shirts.” “They aren’t nearly identical.” “One is black and one is very dark blue.”
“Exactly.” You stared at him. Seungmin stared back. Then his gaze drifted slowly down your body.
The offence disappeared from his expression. You had chosen an outfit that made you feel good. You suspected you would regret that decision later, but Seungmin’s reaction made it worth it. He looked at you for long enough that you lifted an eyebrow. “What?” “Nothing.”
“You’re staring.” “I’m looking.” “At what?” “My girlfriend.”
You tried not to smile. “Have you not seen me before?” “Not in that.” “You watched me put it on.” “I was distracted.”
“By what?” “The shirt crisis.” You laughed and turned back towards the mirror. Seungmin abandoned both shirts on the bed and crossed the room, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “You look pretty,” he murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Only pretty?” His eyes narrowed at your reflection. “Don’t become demanding.” “You stared at me for thirty seconds. I expected something better.” “You look very pretty.”
“That’s the same thing with an extra word.” “You look so pretty that I’m reconsidering letting you leave the flat.” You smiled. “Better.” “I knew you were fishing.”
“I enjoy compliments.” “I know.” Seungmin kissed the side of your neck, then another spot slightly lower. You tilted your head instinctively before remembering you had spent far too long getting ready. “Don’t ruin my makeup.”
“I’m nowhere near your makeup.” “You’ll work your way up.” “That sounds like encouragement.” You caught his wrists and pulled his arms away. Seungmin resisted just enough to make it difficult, then released you with an exaggerated sigh.
“You don’t love me anymore.” “I’m trying to get us to the party.” “Chan said eight.” “It’s quarter past.”
“Exactly. We’re early.” You looked at him through the mirror. “For what?” “A party.” “That started fifteen minutes ago.”
“Social events have a grace period.” “You invented that because you’re never ready on time.” “I was ready.” “You aren’t wearing a shirt.”
Seungmin looked down at his bare chest, then at the two shirts abandoned on the bed. Your phone buzzed on the dressing table. You picked it up. Your sister had messaged.
Are you there yet? A second message followed before you could reply. Is Seungmin going straight from yours? You turned the screen towards him.
Seungmin read both messages. His face remained blank for one beat, then he placed his chin back on your shoulder. “She misses me.” “She saw you last week.” “A long separation.”
“She didn’t ask whether I was going straight from mine.” “She knows you’ll be there.” “She also knows you’ll be there.” “That must be why she asked to come.”
You laughed and nudged him backwards with your hip. “Put the blue shirt on.” “The black one makes my shoulders look better.” “Then wear the black one.” “You said the blue was nicer.”
“Seungmin.” He smiled and kissed your cheek before finally retrieving the blue shirt. You replied to your sister while he dressed. We’re leaving soon. Bring the drinks you promised Chan.
Her response came almost immediately. What’s Seungmin wearing? You looked up. He was buttoning the blue shirt.
You considered sending her a photograph of the black one lying empty on the bed. Instead, you typed: Clothes x Seungmin glanced over. “What did you say?”
“Nothing important.” “You’re smiling.” “I’m entertaining myself.” “Is she seducing me remotely now?”
“Apparently she needs to prepare.” “For what?” “To be more your type.” Seungmin finished the final button and walked towards you. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
“It’s funny.” “Until she touches my arm fifteen times.” “Maybe she thinks that’s where your romantic feelings are stored.” “That would explain why I keep trying to get away.”
You laughed, and Seungmin’s smile softened. He reached out to fix the chain of your necklace where it had twisted, his fingers careful against the back of your neck. “Tell me if it stops being funny,” he said. The words were quiet enough to change the air between you. You turned.
Seungmin let his hands settle at your waist. “I will.” “Promise?” “You already made me promise.”
“I’m making you do it again.” “Very controlling.” “Very caring.” “Debatable.”
He squeezed your waist. “Promise.” You rested both hands against his chest. “I promise.” Satisfied, Seungmin kissed your forehead. Then he leant back and examined his shirt in the mirror. “Do my shoulders look strange?”
You pushed him towards the door.
౨ৎ
The party remained civilised for approximately forty minutes. Then Changbin brought out the shot glasses. Chan saw them from across the room and immediately shook his head. “Take it easy” “You bought the alcohol,” Changbin reminded him.
Jisung appeared beside the kitchen counter as though summoned by the word drinking. “Shots are normal.” “You said that last time and threw up in my shoes.” “That was unrelated.” “It was directly related.”
Felix slid into the space beside Jisung and began examining the bottles. You followed closely behind him, your own drink already mostly gone. Seungmin caught your wrist before you could reach for anything. “You’re not doing shots.” You looked at his hand around your wrist, then at him. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve already had three drinks.” “So have you.” “I can still walk in a straight line.” “I can walk in a straight line.”
Seungmin released you and pointed towards the hallway. You stared at him. He lifted his eyebrows. “You want me to demonstrate?”
“Yes.” You placed your empty glass on the counter and turned towards the hallway with as much dignity as you could manage. Felix and Jisung watched in complete silence. You took three perfectly respectable steps.
Then your hip struck the edge of the sofa. You stopped. Seungmin smiled. “The sofa moved.”
“It’s been there all night.” “It knew I was trying to prove something.” Jisung nodded seriously. “Furniture can sense weakness.” Minho, sitting nearby with his ankle resting over one knee, looked at him. “That explains why you keep walking into doors.”
Jisung placed a hand over his chest. “Why are you attacking me?” “Because you make it easy.” Jisung abandoned the counter and dropped onto the sofa beside him. Within seconds, his legs were stretched across Minho’s lap. Minho glanced down but made no effort to move them.
You pointed towards them. “He can’t walk straight either.” “He’s sitting,” Seungmin said. “He was walking badly earlier.” Changbin began pouring.
Hyunjin took the bottle from Changbin before he could overfill the glasses. “At least make them even. You’re pouring like you’ve never seen liquid before.” “I’m being generous.” “You’re trying to kill Jisung.” Jisung lifted his head from Minho’s shoulder. “Yes please.”
Minho pressed one hand against his forehead and pushed him back down. “You accept nothing.” You managed to claim a glass before Seungmin could stop you. Felix took one. Jisung reached for another, but Minho lifted it out of reach.
Jisung stared at him. “Give it.” “No.” “You aren’t my father.” “Thank fuck for that.”
“You can’t control me.” Minho looked at the legs still resting across his lap. “Stand up, then.” Jisung considered it. “No.”
“Thought so.” Felix passed Jisung his own glass beneath the edge of the table. Minho saw. He allowed it.
You caught his eye. Minho shrugged and took another drink. “Traitor,” Seungmin told him. “I’m off duty.”
“You were never on duty,” Chan said. “Exactly.” Changbin raised his glass. “To Chan finally letting us have fun.” “This is my party.”
“Then act like it.” Chan swore at him, but lifted his drink anyway. Everyone crowded closer. Your friend remained beside your sister near the end of the counter, amused but still slightly removed from the intimacy of the group. You caught her eye and held up your glass.
She lifted hers back. Your sister barely noticed. She was watching Seungmin. He stood behind you with one hand resting against your hip, his thumb moving absently beneath the hem of your top.
You leaned back into him. “To being hot,” Hyunjin said. Jeongin nodded. “Finally, something relevant.” Chan looked around the group. “Can we toast to something normal?”
“No,” everyone replied. The shot burned on the way down. Felix coughed. You squeezed your eyes shut and grabbed the first solid thing you found.
It was Changbin’s arm. “Fuck.” Changbin laughed. “You agreed to it.” “That tasted like paint stripper.”
“You’ve never tasted paint stripper.” “Maybe I have.” Seungmin pulled you backwards against his chest. “And this is why you weren’t doing shots.” You turned in his arms. “I did one.”
“You nearly died.” “I recovered.” “You’re still holding Changbin.You could have held me.” You looked down to find your hand still wrapped around Changbin’s bicep and slowly released him. “Come back when you’ve got biceps, bud.”
Seungmin stared at you for a beat before catching you around the waist and pulling you firmly against his chest. “You seemed perfectly happy with mine earlier.” You placed a hand against his arm as though inspecting it. “They’re all right.” His grip tightened. “All right?” You smiled. “Maybe a little better than that.”
౨ৎ
Someone suggested a drinking game. Nobody later remembered who. You all ended up sitting in a loose circle around the living room with bottles, half-empty glasses and bowls of food scattered between you. Your friend sat beside your sister on the sofa. You were on the floor between Felix and Seungmin, with your back against Seungmin’s legs. His hand rested loosely at the base of your throat, occasionally brushing your hair aside.
Jisung had begun the game beside Minho. By the third round, he was mostly sitting on him. “Never have I ever,” Jeongin began, smiling in a way that immediately made Chan suspicious, “lied to get out of plans with someone in this room.” Nearly everyone drank.
Chan stared at the group. “Are you serious?” “You make too many plans,” Seungmin said. “I ask whether you want dinner.” “That’s still a plan.”
You lifted your glass. Seungmin looked down at you. “When did you lie to me?” You took a long sip. His fingers tightened gently at the back of your neck.
“When?” You smiled into your drink. “Next question.” “No. We’re staying here.” Felix laughed. “She said she was ill once because she wanted to watch a film with us.”
Seungmin stared at you. “You exposed me,” you told Felix. “I forgot it was a secret.” “You chose them over me?” Seungmin asked.
“You were working.” “You still lied.” “You would’ve sulked.” “I am sulking now.”
You twisted around to look at him. “Do you need a kiss?” Seungmin considered the offer. “Yes.” You kissed him quickly.
He kept one hand against your jaw and prevented you from moving away. “That was inadequate.” Everyone groaned. You laughed against his mouth before kissing him again, slower this time.
When you finally pulled away, Changbin threw a crisp at Seungmin’s head. “Some of us are single.” “You don’t have to watch,” Seungmin said. “You’re in the middle of the room.”
“Look somewhere else.” Hyunjin placed one hand against Changbin’s cheek and turned his face away. “There. Problem solved.” Changbin bit his palm. Hyunjin screamed.
The game continued. “Never have I ever had a crush on someone in this room,” Felix said. Silence fell. Then Jeongin drank.
Hyunjin drank. Changbin drank. Jisung lifted his glass, looked around and drank twice. Minho looked at him. “Twice?”
Jisung rested his chin on Minho’s shoulder. “I contain multitudes.” Minho took Jisung’s glass and drank from it. The room erupted. Jisung stared at him, eyes widening. “Was that your answer?”
“It was your drink.” “You have your own.” “I wanted yours.” “That is not an answer.”
Minho smiled into the rim of the glass. You turned towards Felix. He was already looking at you. Both of you burst out laughing.
“Don’t,” Minho warned. You covered your mouth with both hands. Seungmin’s chest shook behind you. Your sister remained completely still.
You could feel her watching. Felix nudged your knee. “You didn’t drink.” “I’m dating someone in the room.” “That doesn’t mean you never had a crush.”
Seungmin’s fingers slid beneath your chin and turned your face towards him. “You had better drink.” You stared at him. “Why?” “Because you had a crush on me.”
“That was never confirmed.” “You asked Chan for my number.” The group laughed. Your sister’s glass stopped halfway to her mouth.
Seungmin’s eyes flicked towards her, then back to you. Your smile softened despite the alcohol. Felix made an emotional noise. Minho pointed at him. “Don’t fucking start.”
Felix’s eyes had already begun shining. “I’m fine.” “You’re about to cry.” “I just think they’re cute.”
Seungmin felt you sniff. “No.” “I’m not doing anything.” “You’re crying.”
“Felix started it.” Felix wiped beneath one eye. “I’m happy.” “That makes it worse,” Seungmin said. You twisted and threw your arms around him.
He caught you automatically. “I love you.” Seungmin sighed, but his arms tightened around your waist. “I love you too.”
౨ৎ
The music became louder after that. So did everyone. Chan lost control of the playlist when you, Felix and Jisung began shouting over every song until he played something you liked. By then, the coffee table had disappeared beneath bottles, crushed cans and bowls of snacks nobody remembered opening. Somebody had spilt something sticky beside the sofa. Changbin had taken his shirt off for reasons nobody understood, and Hyunjin kept threatening to throw it out of the nearest window. You, Felix and Jisung dragged one another into the middle of the room.
At first, you actually danced. Felix knew what he was doing even while drunk. Jisung knew what he was doing until something distracted him, which happened every ten seconds. You possessed confidence far beyond your ability and therefore believed you looked incredible. Changbin encouraged that delusion by cheering whenever you moved. Hyunjin attempted to correct your posture once.
You told him to fuck off. He looked deeply wounded. “I’m trying to save you.” “I don’t need saving.” “You’re dancing like your limbs have separate plans.”
“They’re expressing themselves.” Felix laughed and caught your waist before you could stumble into the coffee table. Jisung pressed against your back, shouting the lyrics directly beside your ear while the three of you moved with very little coordination and enormous enthusiasm. From the sofa, Seungmin watched you. His blue shirt had come unbuttoned slightly at the throat, his hair had fallen across his forehead and his cheeks were warm from the alcohol. One hand rested around his glass while his eyes remained fixed on you.
Your sister sat only a few feet away. She attempted to speak to him twice. He answered politely, but barely looked in her direction. When you caught his gaze, you smiled and crooked one finger towards him.
Seungmin shook his head. You did it again. He lifted his drink as though that explained why he could not move. You pouted.
That worked. Seungmin put the glass down and crossed the room. Felix released your waist with a grin. Jisung remained attached to you until Minho appeared behind him, hooked an arm around his middle and pulled him backwards. Jisung laughed and twisted in his hold. “Jealous?”
Minho murmured something into his ear. Whatever it was made Jisung’s face turn bright red. Felix screamed. You screamed because Felix did.
Seungmin caught your face between both hands. “Why are you shouting?” You pointed vaguely towards Minho and Jisung. “Something happened.” “Nothing happened,” Minho said without looking at you. Jisung buried his face against his shoulder.
You grinned. “Something definitely happened.” Minho gave you a warning look. You immediately turned back to Seungmin and began adjusting his collar as though that had always been your intention. “Coward,” Seungmin murmured.
“You’re supposed to protect me.” “From the consequences of your own behaviour?” “You’re my boyfriend.” “That isn’t what that means.”
His hands slid to your waist as the song changed. You pulled him closer, and although he continued pretending not to dance, his body fell easily into the rhythm of yours. “There,” you said. “You’re dancing.” “I’m standing near you.” “You’re moving.”
“You keep dragging me around.” “You love it.” Seungmin lowered his mouth beside your ear. “I love you.” The softness of it caught beneath your ribs.
You turned and kissed him. He kissed you back without hesitation, one hand spreading across the small of your back while the party surged around you. Someone wolf-whistled. Someone else shouted at them to shut the fuck up. You suspected one of them had been Changbin. When you pulled away, Seungmin followed far enough to steal another brief kiss.
“You’re clingy,” you murmured. “You called me over.” “And you came.” “You pouted.”
“That’s all it takes?” “Unfortunately.” You smiled and kissed the edge of his jaw. His eyes closed.
“Again.” “You’re demanding.” You kissed his jaw again, and Seungmin’s grip tightened around your waist. Across the room, your sister emptied the rest of her glass.
You barely noticed. Seungmin’s attention had already wandered from dancing to pressing lazy kisses against whatever part of you happened to be closest—your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. When his lips brushed beneath your ear, you laughed and pushed lightly at his chest. “You’ve completely stopped dancing.” “I never started.”
“You came over.” “You summoned me.” “I moved one finger.” “Very controlling.”
His hand settled lower against your back, holding you close when somebody squeezed past. You reached up and fixed his collar again. “You look messy.” “You made me messy.” “That sounds suggestive.”
“It was meant to.” His smile turned slow and pleased. Before he could say anything worse, Felix collided gently with your side and caught your hand. “I need her.” Seungmin kept one arm around you. “You’ve had her for three songs.”
“The next one’s important.” “They’ve all been important,” you said. Seungmin looked at Felix. “You sound like her.” “That’s why she loves me.”
Felix pulled. Seungmin held on. You found yourself stretched between them. “Don’t make me choose.” Felix smiled. “You’ll choose me.”
Seungmin’s eyebrows lifted. “Choose carefully.” You pretended to consider it before twisting out of Seungmin’s arm, kissing him quickly and letting Felix drag you away. “Coward,” Seungmin called after you. “You still got a kiss!”
“Barely.” You laughed as Felix pulled you back into the crowd. The next hour dissolved into heat, noise and flashes of movement. Hyunjin danced as though someone might be filming him. Changbin attempted to copy him with enough force to make the floor shake.
Nearby, Minho took the glass out of Jisung’s hand and drank from it himself. Jisung watched him. “You said I couldn’t have that.” “You can’t.” “But you can?”
“Yes.” “That’s hot.” Minho looked away, but not before you saw him smile. Someone produced two microphones.
The karaoke began badly and deteriorated almost immediately. You, Felix and Jisung chose a song all three of you knew, which would have helped if any of you had agreed on when to start. Jisung came in too early. You missed half the first line. Felix attempted to hold the performance together and ended up laughing so hard that he could no longer sing. Changbin provided backing vocals without a microphone. Hyunjin acted out the lyrics from the sofa.
Chan kept trying to lower the volume and being shouted at whenever the music became even slightly quieter. By the second song, you had abandoned any pretence of performing well. You and Felix shared one microphone while Jisung used the other for increasingly dramatic ad-libs that had nothing to do with the actual song. Halfway through the chorus, you passed close enough to the sofa for Seungmin to hook his fingers around your wrist. He pulled.
You landed sideways across his lap, and the microphone struck his shoulder. “Shit. Sorry.” Seungmin took it from you before you could hit him again. “Ouch.” “I’m performing.”
“You’re screaming into expensive equipment.” He placed the microphone safely on the table. Felix shouted your name. You tried to stand, but Seungmin held your waist.
“I have responsibilities,” you told him. “You have absolutely no responsibilities.” “Felix needs me.” Felix and Jisung had abandoned the song and were arguing with Chan about whether the lyrics on the screen were wrong.
Seungmin looked towards them. “They seem busy.” “Then I need to help.” “You need to stay here for thirty seconds.” “Why?”
“I missed you.” Your expression softened before you could stop it. Seungmin smiled, knowing he had won. “You’re manipulative.”
You settled more comfortably across his thighs, one arm circling his shoulders. Seungmin rested his face against your chest and closed his eyes while your fingers moved through his hair. Across from you, your sister’s gaze remained fixed on his hand resting against your thigh. Your friend was speaking to her. Your sister nodded without listening.
By one in the morning, the party had split between the living room, the kitchen and the balcony. The music remained loud enough to vibrate through the floor. People drifted between conversations with drinks they had not poured and jackets that did not belong to them. Someone had opened a window, but the room was still hot with too many bodies and the sharp mixture of alcohol, perfume and whatever Changbin had sprayed after insisting he smelled fine. Your friend remained mostly with your sister. She laughed whenever the group became loud enough to include everyone, but she never tried to force herself into the easy physical closeness surrounding the boys.
You checked on her whenever you remembered. Each time, she assured you she was fine. Your sister always said the same. The fourth time you approached, your friend caught your wrist. “You are incredibly drunk.”
You looked down at yourself. “I’m standing.” “Barely.” Your friend laughed. Your sister did not. “She’s been throwing herself around for hours. She always gets like this when she drinks.”
There was something dismissive beneath the words. You recognised it even through the alcohol. Your friend did too. “She looks like she’s having fun,” she replied.
“I’m having an incredible time,” you announced. “I can tell.” Your sister glanced across the room towards Seungmin. “He must be exhausted.” You followed her gaze.
Seungmin was beside Chan, listening to Changbin explain something with far too much hand movement. He caught you looking almost immediately and lifted one eyebrow in silent question. You smiled. He smiled back. “Does he look exhausted?” you asked.
“He’s spent the whole night following you around.” “He likes me.” “I’m aware.” Before the conversation could sharpen, Felix appeared behind you and looped an arm around your shoulders. “There you are.”
“I’ve been here.” “You disappeared.” “I was checking on them.” Felix glanced towards your friend and sister. “Everything good?”
Your friend nodded. “We’re fine.” Your sister smiled at him. “We were talking.” “Great. I’m stealing her.” “You always steal her,” your sister said.
Felix laughed as though she had made a joke. “Everyone does.” He pulled you towards the kitchen. You looked back once. Your friend gave you a small, reassuring smile.
Your sister was already watching Seungmin again. In the kitchen, Jisung was sitting on the counter while Minho stood between his knees, holding a glass out of reach. “That’s mine,” Jisung complained. “It was yours.”
“I’m not finished.” “You said the room was spinning.” “It stopped.” “When?”
“When I closed one eye.” Felix immediately took Jisung’s side. “Give it back.” Minho looked at him. “You’re a terrible influence.” “You’re drinking too,” you pointed out.
“I can handle it.” “So can I.” Minho gave up and handed the drink to you instead. Jisung gasped. “That’s mine.”
“You’re too drunk.” “So are you.” “I’m handling it better.” Felix took the glass from you and drank before either of you could protest.
Minho laughed. It was becoming obvious that he was far drunker than he appeared. His movements were still controlled and his words remained clear, but his eyes had softened and he was smiling much too often. You stepped into the space beside him and wrapped both arms around his waist. Minho looked down. “What’s this?”
“I’m appreciating you.” “You’re crushing my shirt.” You rested your cheek against his chest. “You smell nice.” “None of you are getting another drink.”
“You ruined it,” you complained. “He ruins everything,” Jisung agreed. Minho caught Jisung’s chin and tilted his face upwards. “You can barely keep both eyes open.” “I only need one.”
“For what?” “To look at you.” Minho stared at him. You buried your face against Minho’s shoulder to hide your laughter.
Jisung looked unbearably pleased with himself. Minho’s ears turned pink. “You’re a fucking menace.” “You love me.” Seungmin entered the kitchen before anyone could comment.
He looked at Minho’s arm around you and Jisung hanging over his shoulders Then he looked at Minho. “You’ve collected them.” “I didn’t.” Seungmin approached and slid both hands onto your hips. “You keep disappearing.”
“You were talking.” “I can talk while holding you.” “That sounds inconvenient.” “I’m talented.”
Minho nodded towards you. “Take her before she asks for another shot.” You turned in Seungmin’s arms. “He’s trying to get rid of me.” “You’re attached to his shirt.” “I like him.”
“You like everyone tonight.” “I like everyone every night.” Seungmin’s expression softened. The next drinking game began in the kitchen because nobody could be bothered to move.
It was meant to be truth or drink. Within minutes, it became an excuse to ask invasive questions and shout whenever somebody refused to answer. Changbin joined first, followed by Hyunjin and Jeongin. Chan arrived last, realised what was happening and attempted to leave. You caught his wrist. “No.”
“I’m hosting.” “You’re hiding.” “I need to check the living room.” Jeongin looked towards the doorway. “It’s still there.”
Chan appealed silently to Minho for help. Minho poured him a drink. “Traitor.” “You chose to host.”
Everyone crowded around the counter and floor. You ended up sitting between Minho’s legs with your back against his chest because the chairs had disappeared beneath coats and bags. Seungmin sat in front of you, one hand wrapped loosely around your ankle. Jisung remained tucked against Minho’s side, his head on his shoulder and one leg draped over yours. Changbin pointed at you first. “Truth or drink?” “Truth.”
“What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve done because you were jealous?” Seungmin looked interested. You looked at Changbin. “I’m not jealous.” The entire room laughed.
“That wasn’t the question,” Hyunjin said. You raised your glass. “Then I’m drinking.” Seungmin’s hand tightened around your ankle. “Answer.” “You don’t get to interfere.”
“I’m probably involved.” “You don’t know that.” “I definitely know that.” You drank instead.
Everyone shouted. “Coward,” Changbin said. “That’s the point of the game.” “The point is to expose yourself.”
“That sounds like a different game,” Jeongin said. You chucked at that The questions became worse from there. Felix refused to reveal who had received a flirtatious message he sent to the wrong person.
Changbin demanded to know whether anybody had ever hooked up somewhere they could have been caught. Half the room drank. Chan stared at everyone with a raised eyebrow. “In my home?” “Not necessarily,” Jeongin said.
“That did not reassure me.” Jisung claimed he had never done anything humiliating because he was horny. The entire group drank on his behalf. “Fuck all of you.”
Minho leant close enough to murmur something beside his ear. Jisung’s face turned red again. You twisted around. “What did he say?” “Nothing.”
Minho looked unbearably pleased. Your sister stood at the edge of the kitchen beside your friend. She watched Seungmin’s hand move slowly over your ankle. Then she watched Minho’s arm settle across your middle when you leant back against him. Perhaps she expected Seungmin to object.
Instead, he reached forward, caught your chin and tilted your face towards his. “My turn,” he said. You kissed him. The kiss was brief, but intimate enough to inspire several dramatic complaints.
When you pulled away, Seungmin’s thumb brushed once beneath your lip. Your sister looked away. The game ended when Chan realised the music in the living room was loud enough to make the glasses vibrate. Everyone returned to dancing.
By then, nobody pretended it was organised. You, Felix and Jisung shouted lyrics you barely knew with your arms around one another. Sometimes you danced. Sometimes you merely jumped during the chorus and trusted somebody to catch you. Changbin joined whenever the song was good. Hyunjin joined whenever he considered the song worthy.
Jeongin joined only to make everyone else look worse. At one point, Minho caught your hand as you passed and spun you beneath his arm. You nearly completed the movement gracefully. Then you lost your balance.
Minho caught you against his chest. Jisung caught you from the other side. The three of you laughed, tangled together. Seungmin appeared behind you and closed both hands around your waist. “You’re stealing my girlfriend,” he told Minho.
Minho shrugged. “She came willingly.” “He spun me.” “You asked,” Minho reminded you. Seungmin looked down at you. “You ask everyone for things.”
“And they give them to me.” “That’s because you’re spoilt.” “By you.” “Mostly.”
He kissed your forehead. You leant into him, suddenly overwhelmed by the warmth of the room and how much you loved everyone in it. Across the room, your friend smiled at the sight. Your sister finished another drink.
By the time you needed the bathroom, you were far beyond pleasantly drunk. You were still awake, still talking and technically capable of walking, but the room tilted whenever you turned too quickly. Seungmin noticed you heading towards the hallway and followed. You looked over your shoulder. “Where are you going?”
“With you.” “I can piss alone.” “I’m making sure you reach the bathroom.” “That’s insulting.”
Seungmin caught your waist before you walked into the wall. “Exactly.” You allowed him to guide you down the hallway, although you complained the entire way. At the bathroom door, you planted both hands against his chest. “You can’t come in.” “I wasn’t planning to.”
“You looked like you were.” “I was opening the door.” Seungmin smiled and kissed your forehead. “I’ll be here.” “Why?”
“Because you’ll forget where the living room is.” “It’s one hallway.” “And yet.” You narrowed your eyes and disappeared into the bathroom.
When you came back out, your sister was standing in front of him. One hand rested against the wall beside his shoulder. Seungmin was leaning away. “You could come upstairs with me,” she said.
He blinked at her. “Why?” You stopped in the doorway. Even through the alcohol, laughter rose immediately in your chest. Your sister looked at him as though he were deliberately being stupid. “You know why.”
“I genuinely don’t.” She moved closer, forcing Seungmin’s back against the wall. “We could have sex.” For one long second, Seungmin simply stared at her.
Then his gaze found yours over her shoulder. You covered your mouth. The expression on his face made it impossible not to laugh. His eyes widened slightly, one corner of his mouth twitching as though he could not decide whether to be horrified or offended. Your sister followed his gaze and found you standing there.
Her face hardened. “Oh, please. Don’t act like it’s ridiculous.” That made you laugh harder. “I’m sorry. His face.” “You’re not helping,” Seungmin said.
“You asked why.” “It was a reasonable question.” “She invited you upstairs.” “She could’ve needed something.”
“At one in the morning?” “I didn’t know what she meant.” “You did,” your sister snapped. Seungmin looked back at her. “Apparently not.”
She folded her arms. “You haven’t even considered it.” “No.” “Why?” He stared at her.
Then he gave one short, humourless laugh. “Because I don’t want to.” “You don’t know that.” “I do.” “You’ve never given me a chance.”
“I’m not required to.” Your laughter faded. Your sister stepped closer and reached for his chest. Seungmin caught her wrist before she could touch him.
“Stop.” The word was calm. Firm. He moved her hand away and released it.
Humiliation sharpened your sister’s expression as she turned towards you. “You think this is funny because you assume he’d never choose me.” “I don’t assume it.” “You should stop speaking for him.” “I’m standing right here,” Seungmin said.
She ignored him. “You’ve always done this. You get something and act smug because you know somebody else deserves it more.” The alcohol inside you turned suddenly heavy. You steadied yourself against the bathroom door. “Somebody else?” “You know what I mean.”
“No. Say it properly.” Her eyes travelled over you. Your clothes had shifted from dancing. Your lipstick was smudged. Your hair was a mess and your balance remained questionable. You had never felt happier.
“Look at you,” she said. “You’re completely wasted. He’s spent all night following you around while you throw yourself over every man in the room.” Seungmin’s expression hardened. You laughed softly. “Is that what this is about?” “I’m saying he could do better.”
“With you?” “Yes.” The certainty would have been impressive if it were not so pathetic. Your smile disappeared.
Your sister noticed and pushed harder. “I’m prettier. I know how to behave. I don’t need eight men constantly touching me and telling me how special I am.” “Nobody is taking care of me.” “You can barely stand.”
“I’m drunk at a party.” “You’ve been climbing into their laps and letting them put their hands all over you. It’s embarrassing.” Seungmin stepped away from the wall and moved to your side. His hand settled securely at the back of your waist.
Your sister watched it. “She hasn’t embarrassed me once,” he said. “She’s been all over Minho. Felix practically had his hands under her clothes earlier.” “So?”
Your sister blinked. Seungmin’s thumb moved slowly against your side. “She loves them,” he said. “They love her. I know exactly where I stand.” “You should have more self-respect.”
His eyebrows rose. “You asked me to cheat on her beside a bathroom.” “You’ve spent the whole night trying to fuck my boyfriend,” you said, “and somehow I’m the slut?” Your sister glared at you. Seungmin continued before she could answer. “Don’t talk to either of us about self-respect.”
“You only say that because she’s standing here.” “I rejected you when she wasn’t.” “You knew she’d find out.” “I knew because I was going to tell her.”
“Why?” “Because she’s my girlfriend.” Your sister shook her head. “You don’t have to keep settling because she got to you first.” Seungmin went still.
There it was. The belief beneath every comparison and every attempt. You had simply reached him first. Had she met him earlier, dressed better, tried harder or pushed for long enough, he would eventually recognise that he had chosen the wrong sister.
Seungmin’s arm tightened around you. “I noticed her,” he said. Your sister scoffed. “You hadn’t met me.” “I’ve met you now.”
The hallway became very quiet. Music still thudded beyond it. Someone laughed in the living room. Your friend called your sister’s name once, distant and uncertain. Seungmin looked directly at her. “And I still choose her.”
Your sister’s face changed. For a moment, she appeared almost sober. Then the anger returned. “She isn’t better than me.”
“This isn’t about who’s better.” “It always is.” “No,” you said quietly. “It’s always been that way to you.” She looked at you.
You could feel Seungmin watching your face. At first, it had been funny. Her unnecessary outfits. Her fake excuses. The way she interpreted Seungmin’s basic manners as secret attraction. Even now, the idea that he might accept remained ridiculous.
But the joke had always required you to ignore the part where your sister could not want something without explaining why you deserved it less. “You can want him,” you said. “I don’t care. It’s humiliating for you, but it doesn’t threaten me.” Her mouth twisted. “What pisses me off is that you can’t admit you want him without telling him I’m ugly, exhausting, childish or not good enough. You don’t flirt with him. You campaign against me.”
“I’ve never called you ugly.” “You keep telling everyone you’re prettier.” “I am.” Seungmin made a disbelieving sound.
You glanced at him. “What?” “Nothing. I’m trying very hard to remain polite.” Your sister folded her arms. “See? You’ve turned him against me.”
“I didn’t have to. You did that by ignoring him every time he said no.” The words landed. Your sister looked at Seungmin. His expression did not soften.
“I thought you were being loyal,” she said. “I was being clear.” “You were trying not to hurt her.” “I was trying not to humiliate you.”
Her cheeks flushed. Seungmin’s voice lowered. “You’ve made that impossible.” Your friend appeared at the far end of the hallway. She looked between the three of you, taking in your sister’s expression and Seungmin’s arm around your waist. “What happened?”
“Nothing,” your sister said immediately. You laughed tiredly. “She asked Seungmin to have sex with her.” Your friend’s eyes widened. “You didn’t have to say it like that,” your sister snapped.
“How should I say it?” “She’s drunk,” your friend said carefully. “So am I.” “I know.”
Your friend approached and touched your sister’s arm. “Come and sit down.” Your sister pulled away. “Everyone’s acting like I’ve done something terrible.” “You propositioned my boyfriend after he repeatedly told you he wasn’t interested.” “You don’t own him.”
“No,” you said. “I don’t.” That stopped her. You rested more heavily against Seungmin’s side but kept your eyes on her. “He’s a person. He said no. That should have mattered even if I didn’t exist.”
Your friend looked at your sister. “She’s right.” Betrayal flashed across your sister’s face. “You’re supposed to be here with me.” “I’m here because she invited me.” The answer was gentle but firm.
Your sister looked between you. Then she laughed bitterly. “Fine. Everyone thinks I’m pathetic.” Nobody answered. That seemed to hurt more than any denial would have.
Your friend held out her hand. “Come on.” After a moment, your sister accepted it. She allowed herself to be led back towards the living room without looking at either of you again. You remained in the hallway.
Seungmin rubbed one hand slowly over your back. You watched them disappear. Then you looked at him. “You really asked why.” His mouth dropped open.
The laughter returned before you could stop it. Seungmin stared at you. “You’re impossible.” “Your face was so confused.” “She was vague.”
“She had you against a wall.” “She said upstairs.” “At one in the morning.” “That could mean anything.”
“Name one other thing.” Seungmin opened his mouth. Nothing came out. You waited.
His expression grew increasingly offended. “Exactly.” He caught your waist in both hands and pulled you closer. “You’re very annoying.” “You love me.”
“I’m reconsidering.” “No, you aren’t.” “No,” he admitted. Your smile softened.
The alcohol made it difficult to hold on to one emotion for long. Amusement blurred into exhaustion, which blurred into the ache your sister’s words had left behind. Seungmin noticed. He always did. “Hey.”
You looked at him. His expression had gentled, eyes warm despite the alcohol. “Are you okay?” “I’m extremely drunk.” “I know.”
“She’s a bitch.” “She is.” “I can’t believe she said I throw myself over everyone.” “You do,” Seungmin said, completely unbothered. “Luckily, everyone seems very happy to catch you.”
“With all of you.” “I know.” His hand settled more firmly at your waist. “I’ve never complained.” “And you don’t care?” Seungmin looked genuinely confused. “Why would I?”
You shrugged. “Because she said—” “I don’t care what she said.” The answer came quickly enough to interrupt you. Seungmin lifted your hand and kissed your knuckles.
“I know you,” he said. “I know them. I know what all of this is.” His free hand gestured towards the living room, where Felix was shouting the chorus to another song while Minho told somebody to turn the music down without making any effort to do it himself. “You’re my girlfriend,” Seungmin continued. “That doesn’t mean you stop belonging with them too.” Something warm tightened in your chest.
“That was disgustingly sweet.” You kissed him. His hand slid to the back of your neck, keeping you close as the kiss deepened. Nothing frantic. Nothing performed for anybody else. Just familiar affection in a dim hallway while the party continued metres away.
When you pulled back, Seungmin followed for one more kiss. Then another. “You’re doing too many,” you murmured. “I’ve lost count.”
“You always say that.” You laughed and rested your forehead against his. “There she is,” he murmured. Footsteps sounded behind you.
Felix appeared first, followed by Jisung and Minho. Felix’s expression changed when he saw your face. “Are you okay?” You nodded. Jisung looked unusually serious. “Your friend said something happened.”
“My sister asked Seungmin to sleep with her.” Jisung stared at Seungmin. Then at you. Then back at Seungmin.
“Why?” You burst out laughing. Seungmin pointed at him. “See? Reasonable question.” “That isn’t what I meant,” Jisung said quickly. “Why would she think you’d say yes?”
“That sounded better after clarification.” Minho stepped closer and touched the side of your face. “Are you actually all right?” You leant into his palm. “Mostly.” “Mostly isn’t yes.”
“She was being a bitch.” “I gathered.” From the living room, Changbin shouted, “If you lot are done fondling each other, we’re doing another round.” Chan shouted back that nobody was doing another fucking shot.
Jeongin appeared in the hallway holding four. The party carried on around you.
౨ৎ
"𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐊𝐄, 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓"
felix (stray kids) x fem!reader — oneshot
GENRE: idol!au, secret relationship, comedy, soft chaos, fluff, accidental reveal, established relationship
WARNINGS: light cursing, second hand embarrasment, mentions of rumors, Felix being half-asleep and unfiltered, panic, light teasing, only a few members know about the relationship.
SYNOPSIS: You and Felix have been dating quietly for months; quietly meaning: only Chan, Lee Know, and Han know, and even they found out by accident. The fans don’t know. The company doesn’t know. Basically no one knows. Until Felix goes live at 2:47AM, wrapped in a yellow blanket, barely awake, answering questions with the honesty of someone who forgot he’s famous.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: hello world! I’ve been wanting to write a Felix reveal fic that isn’t dramatic or angsty (cs I have lowk been traumatizing yall.. heh); just chaotic, soft, and very “Felix accidentally exposing himself because he’s sleepy.” This is meant to feel warm, funny, and a little embarrassing in the best way. Hope you enjoy the mess!
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Characters are based on public personas only. Nothing here reflects real-life relationships or behavior. Please do not repost, translate, or copy my work to other platforms. Reblogs are appreciated but not needed ofc!.
MASTERLIST
It’s almost 3AM when you wake up to the faint glow of a screen.
Felix isn’t in bed.
Again.
You roll over, squinting toward the living room. Sure enough, he’s curled up on the couch in his yellow blanket, hair sticking up in every direction, phone propped against a pillow.
He’s live.
Of course he is.
You drag yourself out of bed and shuffle closer, staying just out of frame. He’s blinking slowly at the comments, eyes half‑closed, voice soft and raspy.
“Hi… I couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs, rubbing his cheek against the blanket like a cat. “So I thought I’d hang out for a bit.”
He looks so tired it’s a miracle he’s upright.
The chat is already spamming:
“LIXIE GO TO BED” “YOU LOOK SO SLEEPY” “WHY ARE YOU LIVE AT 3AM”
Felix smiles lazily. “I’m okay… just wanted company.”
You shake your head. He always gets clingy when he’s tired. Clingy and honest in the most dangerous way.
You pad into the kitchen to get water. When you return, he’s answering questions with the attention span of a goldfish.
“What did I do today…?” he repeats, staring at the ceiling. “Uh… woke up… practiced… came home… cuddled…”
You freeze.
He doesn’t notice.
“Then I took a nap with my-” He stops. Blinks. Corrects himself. “—on the couch. I took a with the couch.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose.
The chat, however, is feral.
"CHAT HE SAID MY IM CRINE, HE'S NOT BEATING THE ALLEGATIONS”
“YOUR WHATTTT??"
"HELLOOO??"
“LIXIE WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY”
Felix squints at the comments, confused. “Why’s everyone yelling…?”
You take a few sips of the water and then hand it to him. He takes it without looking, murmuring, “Thanks, baby,” like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
Into the mic.
Directly into the mic.
The chat detonates.
“BABY??????”
“WHO IS HE TALKING TO”
“WHO IS IN HIS HOUSE AT 3AM”
Felix still doesn’t get it.
He just sips the water and smiles sleepily.
You whisper, “Felix. End the live.”
“Hm? Why?” he whispers back, still into the mic.
You slap a hand over your mouth.
The chat is losing its mind.
Felix finally glances at the screen again… and freezes.
His eyes widen.
“…oh.”
He scrolls. Scrolls more. Scrolls faster.
His face goes pale.
“Oh no,” he whispers. “Oh no no no no-”
He ends the live so fast he nearly drops his phone.
Then he turns to you with the most horrified expression you’ve ever seen.
“Did I-”
“Yes.”
“And they heard-”
“Mhm”
“And I said-”
“Yeah.”
He sinks into the couch, burying his face in his hands.
“I ruined everything,” he groans. “The company’s gonna kill me. Chan’s gonna kill me. STAY’s gonna-”
“Felix.”
He peeks through his fingers.
“It’s okay.”
“No it’s not,” he whines. “I exposed us because I'm barely awake. That’s so embarrassing.”
You sit beside him, pulling the blanket over both of you.
“You didn’t expose anything,” you say gently. “You were just… honest. And tired. And cute.”
He groans louder. “Don’t call me cute right now, I’m panicking.”
You cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you.
“Felix. Breathe.”
He does.
Slowly.
His shoulders drop.
“…you’re not mad?” he asks quietly.
“Of course not.”
He leans into you, forehead pressed to your shoulder.
“I love you,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “Even if I’m stupid.”
"Yeah you are," you say, kissing the top of his head.
He huffs a tiny laugh.
“Can we go back to bed?” he whispers.
“Only if you promise not to go live again tonight.”
“No promises,” he says, already falling asleep on your chest.
You sigh.
You’re doomed.
But honestly?
You wouldn’t trade it for anything.
The Bet (AU)
Pairing: student!yang jeongin x student!reader
Summary: all you ever were to Jeongin was a bet, right?
Warnings: angst, heartbreak, panic attacks, anxiety, swearing, bullying basically
Word count: 19.7k. [holy shit, I know]
a/n: so I wrote this about a month ago and never posted it because I couldn’t find the right time but I’m off to Disney for a week so this is a nice filler post!
That first “I love you” had knocked the air right out of your lungs.
It wasn’t because you hadn’t wanted to hear it—God, you had—but because it was Yang Jeongin saying it. Jeongin, with his stupidly pretty smile and effortless charm, who could walk through the halls and have heads turning without even trying. Jeongin, who somehow looked just as good in a wrinkled hoodie at eight in the morning as he did dressed up for a date. Jeongin, who had chosen you.
You still remembered the exact moment he’d said it.
You’d been sat on the swings in the park near your flat, the chains creaking softly as the two of you swayed back and forth under the orange glow of the streetlights. It had been late, later than either of you should’ve been out on a school night, and your fingers were tucked inside the sleeve of his hoodie because you’d forgotten your coat again. Jeongin had laughed at you for that, of course, before shrugging off the hoodie and forcing it over your head despite your weak protests that he’d be cold.
He’d just looked at you then—really looked at you, with that quiet softness he only ever seemed to have around you—and smiled.
“I love you, you know.”
You’d genuinely thought you’d misheard him.
Your swing had slowed to a stop as your eyes widened. “What?”
Jeongin’s ears had gone pink, but he’d still held your gaze, still smiled that tiny, nervous smile that made your chest ache. “I said I love you.”
And because apparently your brain had decided to abandon you in your moment of need, all you’d managed was a stunned, breathless, “Why?”
The second the word left your mouth, you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.
But Jeongin hadn’t laughed. Hadn’t looked offended. If anything, his expression had softened even more, eyes going warm as he stepped off his swing and crouched in front of yours, slotting himself between your knees so he could take your hands in his.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he’d asked gently, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re kind. You’re funny when you forget to be shy. You remember tiny things I tell you that even I forget. You always make sure I’ve eaten when I’m busy, and you pretend not to care but you worry about everyone all the time.” He’d squeezed your hands when your eyes started stinging. “And you look at me like I’m someone worth loving. So yeah. I love you.”
You’d cried. Not cute, movie-style crying either. Actual tears, face burning, trying to hide in the sleeves of his hoodie while Jeongin laughed softly and wiped under your eyes with his thumbs. He’d kissed your cheeks and the tip of your nose and told you that you were ridiculous in the fondest voice imaginable, and then he’d pulled you into his lap on the swing like it was the most natural thing in the world.
That had been a month ago now, and somehow, even after six months together, it still didn’t feel real.
You still caught yourself staring at him across the cafeteria while he sat with his friends, sunlight catching in his hair as he laughed at something one of them said, and thought, he’s my boyfriend. You still felt a jolt of disbelief every time he reached for your hand under the desk in class or kissed your temple in the corridor without caring who saw. You still expected someone to tap you on the shoulder and tell you there’d been some kind of mistake.
Because you were still just… you.
Still awkward. Still quiet. Still the girl who overthought every text before sending it and hated raising her hand in class and had to rehearse what to say before ordering coffee. You weren’t one of the pretty, effortless girls who usually orbited boys like Jeongin. You didn’t know how to flirt properly, and half the time you were convinced you only got by on sheer luck and Jeongin’s apparently terrible taste in women. Yet every day, he chose you anyway.
Sometimes it showed up in big ways—like him turning up at your flat with your favourite snacks after you’d had a bad exam, or dragging you out to watch the sunset because he said you’d been cooped up too long. But mostly, it was in the small things. The way he always walked on the outside of the pavement without even thinking about it. The way he’d wordlessly tug your hand into the pocket of his coat when it was cold. The way he never let go first when you hugged him. The way he’d learned exactly how to calm you down when your anxiety got too loud—guiding you somewhere quiet, rubbing circles into your wrist, talking softly until your breathing evened out again.
And maybe that was why it still felt so unreal. Because Jeongin didn’t treat you like some charity case or a secret or a phase. He treated you like someone precious. Like someone worth being gentle with.
You were thinking about all of this as you stood at your locker after lunch, trying and failing to remember which textbook you actually needed for your next class.
Your fingers hovered uselessly over a pile of notebooks as voices and footsteps echoed through the corridor around you. You could feel yourself getting flustered already, brain fogging over from the noise, and you were just about to give up and take all of them when a familiar hand slid around your waist.
You startled so badly you nearly smacked your head on the locker door.
A laugh sounded by your ear. “Easy.”
You twisted around to find Jeongin grinning at you, his tie already loose despite the fact there were still two lessons left in the day. His hair was a mess from where he’d clearly been running his hands through it, and there was a tiny smear of pen ink on the side of his hand.
You stared at him for a second too long and you saw the moment his grin softened into something fond. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
You blinked. “Like what?”
“Like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
Heat crept into your cheeks. “I was just thinking.”
“Dangerous.” He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before glancing into your locker. “Why do you have every book you own in here?”
“I can’t remember what I need.”
Jeongin hummed, utterly unbothered, and reached past you to scan your timetable pinned to the inside of the door. “English, right?”
“I think so.”
He pulled out the correct textbook immediately and handed it to you with a look that was half amused, half affectionate. “Good thing you’re cute.”
Your face burned hotter. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” He said it with complete confidence, like it was the most obvious fact in the world.
And the worst part was, he was right.
You took the book from him, muttering a weak thanks, and Jeongin just smiled wider before resting his chin on the top of your head. People brushed past in the corridor, some of them glancing your way, and the old self-consciousness tried to creep in at the edges of your mind.
Jeongin must have noticed the way you stiffened, because his hand at your waist squeezed gently.
“You okay?”
You nodded automatically, but he tipped his head, clearly unconvinced.
“You sure?”
There it was again—that quiet softness, that careful attention he always paid to the things you tried to hide.
You looked down at the textbook in your hands. “I just… still don’t get it sometimes.”
“Get what?”
You hesitated, then forced yourself to meet his eyes. “Why you like me.”
Jeongin’s expression changed instantly. Not annoyed, not exasperated—just tender in a way that made your throat tighten.
He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “You still doing that?”
“Doing what?”
“Acting like it’s weird that I’m obsessed with you.”
Despite yourself, you huffed a tiny laugh. “Obsessed is a strong word.”
“It’s an accurate word.” He said it so seriously that you snorted, and his mouth twitched. “I like you because you’re you. I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s true.”
You looked away, embarrassed by how much those simple words affected you.
Jeongin nudged your chin back toward him with two fingers. “Hey.”
“What?”
“I mean it.” His voice dropped, soft enough that the corridor noise seemed to blur around the edges. “I know you don’t see yourself the way I do. But that doesn’t make me wrong.”
Your eyes stung unexpectedly, and Jeongin noticed immediately, just like he always does. His face went alarmed for half a second.
“Oh no, don’t cry at school, I’ll fight someone.”
A watery laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Who are you going to fight? Me?”
“If necessary.”
“That’s not very boyfriend of you.”
“Actually, it’s extremely boyfriend of me. I’m defending my girlfriend from her own terrible opinions.”
You laughed properly then, shaking your head, and Jeongin visibly relaxed at the sound. He smiled too, small and warm, before leaning down to press his forehead to yours.
“I love you,” he murmured, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “Even when you’re being annoying about it.”
Your breath caught. It still did that every time. Even after a month of hearing it, even after saying it back enough times that the words should’ve settled comfortably by now, they still landed in your chest like something fragile and precious.
You curled your fingers into the front of his blazer. “I love you too.”
Jeongin’s smile turned so bright it made your heart ache. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He kissed you then—quick and sweet because you were in the middle of school and because if he kissed you any longer you were pretty sure you’d actually combust on the spot. When he pulled back, he stayed close enough that his nose brushed yours.
“Good,” he said softly. “Because you’re stuck with me.”
And maybe, six months in, you still didn’t fully understand how someone like Jeongin had fallen in love with someone like you. Maybe part of you still waited for the dream to break. But as he took your hand and laced your fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world, leading you down the corridor toward class with that easy warmth only he seemed to have, you thought that maybe understanding it didn’t matter as much as you’d always assumed.
Jeongin loved you. For some miraculous, incomprehensible reason, he did. And maybe—just maybe—you were starting to believe that was enough.
You’d never been to one of Jeongin’s parties before. In six months of dating him, you had always found an excuse. Too much homework. A headache. Your social battery already dead from school. A family thing. Anything to avoid stepping into a house full of loud music, drunk strangers, and the kind of attention that made your skin feel too tight.
Jeongin had never pushed. He’d pout sometimes, tugging at your hand and telling you he wanted to show you off properly, but the second you looked even a little overwhelmed, he’d kiss your forehead and let it go.
So no—parties were not your thing.
But tonight felt different.
Maybe it was because your parents were out of town and you were lonely. Maybe it was because you were tired of feeling like the timid little shadow trailing behind your own life. Maybe it was because Jeongin had been so busy the last couple of weeks—football training, study sessions, his friends constantly dragging him around—that you’d barely had any proper time alone with him. Maybe it was because some ugly, insecure part of you hated that there was this whole side of his life you’d never seen, a side full of people who knew him in loud rooms and flashing lights while you only ever seemed to get the quiet leftovers.
Or maybe you’d just wanted to prove to yourself that you could do one scary thing for once.
Whatever the reason, you found yourself standing in front of your mirror at eight-thirty on a Friday night, staring at a version of yourself you barely recognised.
You’d changed outfits four times. The discarded clothes were in a heap on your bed, and your room looked like a small disaster zone, but eventually you’d settled on a black top with a neckline lower than anything you usually wore and a skirt that made your legs look longer than they actually were. You’d even put makeup on—nothing dramatic, just enough concealer and mascara and lip gloss that your reflection looked softer, prettier, a little less like the nervous girl who always hid in oversized hoodies. You’d spent ten minutes just looking at yourself afterwards, trying to decide if it was ridiculous. In the end, you’d grabbed your coat before you could change your mind.
The whole drive there, your stomach twisted itself into tighter and tighter knots. You almost asked the taxi to turn around twice. By the time you were standing outside the house, music thudding so loudly you could feel the bass through the pavement, your palms were damp and your heart was beating way too fast. Coloured lights flashed behind the downstairs windows. People spilled in and out of the front door, laughing too loudly, drinks in hand, cigarette smoke curling into the cold night air.
You stood on the pavement for a full minute, frozen before you thought of Jeongin’s face when he saw you. You imagined him grinning, surprised and pleased, maybe pulling you into his arms and telling you how pretty you looked. Maybe kissing your cheek in front of everyone. Maybe introducing you properly, proud and warm and gentle in the way he always was with you.
That image alone was enough to get your feet moving.
You stepped inside; the house was chaos.
Bodies packed shoulder to shoulder in the living room, music blaring from speakers so loud it rattled in your chest, the air warm with alcohol and perfume and something sweetly sickly you couldn’t identify. Someone bumped your shoulder before you’d even fully closed the door behind you. You muttered an apology they definitely didn’t hear and pressed yourself closer to the wall, eyes darting over unfamiliar faces.
Your breathing had already started to go funny. It was too loud, too crowded. Too hot.
You reached for your phone instinctively, thumb hovering over Jeongin’s contact. Maybe you should text him. Tell him you were here and ask him to come find you before you lost your nerve entirely. You spotted a group of boys in the kitchen archway—faces you recognised from school, from the football pitch, from the cafeteria table Jeongin sat at when he wasn’t with you and realised you didn’t need to text him after all.
His friends were just there, and with them, leaning against the kitchen counter with a red plastic cup in one hand, was Jeongin.
Your heart gave a stupid, traitorous leap.
He looked unfairly good, of course he did. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, ginger hair falling messily over his forehead, the top few buttons of his shirt undone like he’d tugged at them in the heat of the house. He was listening to one of the boys talk, mouth curved in a distracted half-smile.
And hanging off his arm was a girl.
She was unfairly pretty. Tiny waist, glossy hair, perfect makeup. She was tucked against his side like she belonged there, fingers looped around his bicep as she laughed at something one of the boys said. Jeongin wasn’t touching her back, but he also wasn’t pulling away.
You stopped dead.
For one disorienting second, your brain tried to explain it away. Maybe she was drunk and clingy. Maybe she was someone’s little sister. Maybe you’d just walked in at a weird moment and Jeongin would shrug her off the second he noticed you. So you stayed where you were, hidden half behind the hallway wall, waiting for him to look up.
He didn’t.
One of his friends—Hyunwoo, you thought vaguely—snorted into his drink and said, far too loudly over the music, “I’m still saying you should’ve ended it after the first month. Six months is insane commitment for a stupid bet.”
Your body went cold. The world around you didn’t stop, exactly. The music still pounded. People still shouted and laughed and moved around you. But it all seemed to lurch sideways, sound muffling at the edges as if you’d suddenly been dropped underwater.
A bet.
Someone else laughed. “Nah, you don’t get it. He got attached to the role. Method acting and all that.”
There was more laughter as your eyes locked on Jeongin. He wasn’t laughing. If anything, he looked annoyed—brows drawn together, jaw tightening slightly as he took a sip from his cup. But he didn’t interrupt either. Didn’t tell them to shut up. Didn’t say they were wrong.
The girl on his arm giggled and nudged him with her shoulder. “Wait, seriously? You actually did that? That’s evil.”
Heat rushed to your face so fast it made you dizzy.
Hyunwoo grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “It was his idea? No—whose was it first?”
“Wasn’t mine,” another boy said. “I just said there was no way he could pull the shy girl.”
Shy girl.
Your stomach twisted so violently you thought you might actually throw up but they were still talking, still laughing at your expense.
Someone—maybe Minjae, maybe one of the others, you couldn’t even tell anymore because your ears were ringing—said it plainly, casually, like it was the funniest thing in the world. “Bet was just to see if he could get her into bed, wasn’t it?”
The whole room tilted. You looked at Jeongin again.
Please, you thought wildly. Please say something. Please laugh and say it’s bullshit. Please look disgusted. Please do anything.
Jeongin scrubbed a hand over his face, clearly uncomfortable now. “Can you not—”
But it was too late because you didn’t hear the rest. You didn’t hear whether he was going to deny it or shut them down or tell them to stop talking about you like that. All you heard was the confirmation already carved into your chest, cruel and immediate.
A bet.
A six-month joke.
A challenge.
How stupid had you been? How painfully, humiliatingly stupid?
Of course a guy like Yang Jeongin had never actually fallen for a girl like you. Of course there had to be a catch.
You thought of every time he’d looked at you softly, every whispered I love you, every kiss pressed to your forehead, every careful touch when your anxiety got bad, every tiny moment you’d tucked away like proof that someone like him could really want someone like you.
And suddenly, all of it felt rotten. Fake and manufactured. Something performed so well you’d been idiot enough to mistake it for love.
Your eyes burned.
Not here. Not here. Not here.
You took a shaky step backwards, then another, pulse roaring in your ears. Your hands were trembling so badly you almost dropped your phone trying to pull it from your pocket. You couldn’t breathe properly. The walls felt too close, the room too hot, your clothes suddenly wrong on your body, the makeup on your skin suffocating.
You shouldn’t have come. God, you shouldn’t have come.
You turned blindly, shoulder-checking someone hard enough that they swore at you, but you barely registered it. You just kept moving, head down, vision blurring, one hand clamped over your mouth to stop the horrible little sob trying to crawl out of you.
You were halfway down the hallway when you heard it - your name, Jeongin’s voice, sharp with confusion at first, then louder.
“Y/N?”
You flinched like you’d been hit.
Maybe he’d seen you. Maybe one of his friends had noticed. Maybe he was coming after you because he didn’t want you causing a scene. Maybe he was worried you’d tell someone and ruin the joke and ruin whatever image he had to protect.
You didn’t wait to find out.
You shoved through the front door so hard it slammed against the wall, the cold night air hitting your face like a slap. The sound of the party dulled behind you, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped. Your chest was too tight, your breaths coming in short, painful gasps that never seemed to reach your lungs.
“Y/N—wait!”
His footsteps pounded behind you on the front path as you stumbled down the drive, nearly twisting your ankle in shoes you were suddenly regretting, tears spilling properly now. Your phone screen swam in front of your eyes as you tried to unlock it, fingers slipping, thumb missing the numbers twice before you gave up entirely.
“Y/N, stop—”
A hand caught your wrist. You spun on instinct, ripping yourself free so violently it shocked even you.
“Don’t touch me.”
The words came out cracked and wet and barely recognisable as your own.
Jeongin froze.
He’d followed you out without a jacket, chest rising and falling hard, hair a mess from where he’d clearly run his hands through it. Up close, he looked panicked—actually panicked, eyes darting over your face as if trying to understand what the hell was happening.
And then his expression changed.
He looked at your makeup, your clothes, the tears running down your cheeks, and something awful like realisation hit him.
“Oh my god,” he breathed. “You heard that.”
You laughed, and the sound was horrible - wet and choked off at the origin.
“I heard enough.”
“Y/N, no, listen to me—”
“No.” You backed away from him, hugging your arms around yourself so tightly it hurt. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you care.”
His face went white. “I do care.”
The sheer nerve of it made your vision blur again. “You were laughing about me.”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were standing there while your friends talked about me like I was some kind of challenge.” Your voice shook harder with every word, humiliation and hurt and fury all clawing up your throat at once. “A bet, Jeongin? Seriously?”
He took a step toward you, then stopped when you recoiled. His face crumpled in a way you couldn’t bear to look at.
“It started as a bet,” he said, and every single part of you shattered at once. “But it’s not like that now—”
You made a small, broken sound.
Not like that now.
As if that somehow made it better. As if you were supposed to be grateful that somewhere along the way, after lying to your face for six whole months, he’d apparently decided you were worth keeping around.
Jeongin realised what he’d said the second it landed. “No, no, that’s not what I meant—”
“Six months,” you whispered.
Your voice was so quiet he had to lean in slightly to hear you.
“Six months,” you repeated, staring at him through tears. “You told me you loved me.”
“I do.”
“Stop.” Your whole face twisted. “Please stop saying that.”
He looked like you’d slapped him.
You pressed the heel of your hand to your mouth, trying to hold yourself together and failing miserably. “Was everyone laughing at me this whole time? Is that what this is? Some joke I’m the only one not in on?”
“No.” His answer came immediately, fiercely. “No, never. I swear to you, no one’s been laughing at you.”
“I just saw them laughing, Jeongin.” Your voice cracked again. “They all knew, and I didn’t. You let me stand there and believe you actually wanted me, and all your friends knew the truth.”
Jeongin’s eyes were shining now too, whether with panic or guilt or something else entirely, you didn’t know. “I was going to tell you.”
“When?” you shot back. “After you’d slept with me? After you got bored? After graduation?”
He flinched and that, more than anything, made your stomach turn because flinching meant guilt. Flinching meant there was truth buried somewhere in all the things you were saying, and you couldn’t bear to dig through it, couldn’t bear to hear exactly how stupid you’d been.
A car pulled up at the curb behind you—a taxi someone else must have ordered—and you latched onto it like a lifeline. You stepped around Jeongin before he could react.
“Y/N, wait, please—”
You yanked the back door open, eyes avoiding his. “Just leave me alone.”
He caught the top of the door before you could slam it, not hard enough to stop you if you really wanted to close it, but enough to make you look at him one last time.
He looked wrecked. Not annoyed or caught out or defensive like you’d expected.
Wrecked.
His voice broke when he said your name. “Please let me explain.”
For one horrible second, your chest ached with the urge to let him. To hear him out. To let him tell you there was some context you were missing, some version of this that didn’t make you feel like your skin had been peeled off in public.
But then you remembered the kitchen. The laughter. The girl on his arm. The words shy girl said like a punchline. The way he’d admitted it—it started as a bet—without you even having to drag it out of him.
And whatever tiny piece of your heart was still trying to defend him finally gave up.
You shoved his hand off the door. “Go back to your party.”
Then you climbed into the taxi and slammed it shut.
Jeongin was still standing on the pavement when the car pulled away. You didn’t look back for long—just long enough to see him take a step after the car, one hand half-lifted like he didn’t know what to do with himself, his face pale under the streetlights. Then you turned away, curled in on yourself in the backseat, and cried so hard you could barely breathe.
The makeup you’d spent forty minutes doing was probably ruined, black mascara and wet foundation and smeared lip gloss all over your face. Your nice top felt too tight, your skirt too short, your skin wrong, your whole body burning with shame. You scrubbed at your cheeks with the sleeve of your coat and stared out of the window as the streetlights blurred past.
You’d really believed him, and that was the part that hurt most.
Not the humiliation of the bet, not even the image of that girl wrapped around his arm, but the fact that he’d made you feel safe enough to believe him. Safe enough to let him close. Safe enough to hand over all the soft, terrified parts of yourself you usually kept hidden because you were so scared of exactly this.
And he’d taken them anyway.
By the time you got home, your phone was vibrating nonstop in your lap.
Jeongin was blowing up your phone with texts and calls.
You didn’t read a single message.
You let yourself into your house with shaking hands, kicked off your shoes somewhere quietly near the door, and made it all the way to the bathroom before the first sob tore out of you loud enough to echo off the tiles.
The girl staring back at you in the mirror looked like a stranger. Mascara streaked under red-rimmed eyes. Foundation patchy where tears had carved through it. Hair falling out of place. Lip gloss gone. Pretty in the saddest, most pathetic way possible—as if dressing up had just made the whole thing crueller somehow. Like you’d wrapped your hope up in eyeliner and a skirt and walked it straight into a room full of people waiting to laugh.
Your phone was still buzzing crazily, this time on the sink where you’d left it when you’d reached the bathroom. With shaking fingers, you grabbed it.
Jeongin💕: please answer me
Jeongin💕: i’m coming to your house
Jeongin💕: please don’t lock me out. please just let me explain
Another message came through before you could even process that one.
Jeongin💕: i know i don’t deserve it but please
Your throat tightened. You turned the phone face down on the sink and gripped the edges hard enough for your knuckles to ache. You couldn’t do this tonight. You couldn’t hear his voice and listen to him say all the right things in that soft, careful tone and risk being weak enough to believe him again.
So when the buzzing started once more, you switched your phone off entirely. Then you slid down the bathroom wall, pressed your forehead to your knees, and sat there in your ruined makeup and party clothes while the silence closed in around you.
Six months.
Six months of first kisses and late-night phone calls and borrowed hoodies and whispered I love yous. Six months of thinking maybe, just maybe, someone like Jeongin could look at someone like you and mean it.
And now all you could think was that maybe the cruelest part wasn’t the bet.
Maybe the cruelest part was that for a little while, he’d made you believe you were enough.
You didn’t sleep, but it wasn’t from lack of trying.
You changed out of your party clothes with trembling hands, scrubbed your makeup off so hard your skin felt raw, crawled into bed and curled beneath your duvet with every light in your room switched off—but sleep never came. Every time you closed your eyes, you were back in that kitchen doorway.
The shy girl.
Just to see if he could get her into bed.
It started as a bet.
The words played over and over until they felt carved into the inside of your skull.
At some point, there had been knocking at your front door - soft at first, then louder, then desperate enough that you had to bite down on the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying again.
“Y/N,” His voice drifted in through your open bedroom window from down below, voice hoarse and strained. “Please. I know you’re in there.”
You’d sat frozen on your bed, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the wall while he knocked.
“Please just let me explain.”
You were silent, part of you wishing he’d disappear whilst another part of you longed to open the door and throw yourself into his arms, longed to forget this whole night.
There was another knock.
“Y/N, please.”
You hadn’t moved. Hadn’t answered his calls, hadn’t replied to his messages, hadn’t gone to the door even when you heard him slide down against it on the other side and stay there long enough that the flat fell quiet around him.
Eventually, sometime after two in the morning, the knocking stopped.
You didn’t know when he finally left.
By the time your alarm went off, your eyes felt full of sand.
For one blissful, stupid second, you forgot. But then you saw your phone on the bedside table—still switched off, still face down—and it all came crashing back so hard it made you feel sick.
Your stomach turned and you lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and wondering if you could just stay in bed forever but knowing couldn’t.
School didn’t stop just because your boyfriend was never really yours to begin with.
So you dragged yourself up, showered in water that was too hot, and got dressed with the kind of numb, mechanical movements usually reserved for brushing your teeth. You picked the baggiest hoodie you owned, even though the weather was warming up, and a pair of jeans that hid as much of you as possible. You didn’t bother with makeup this time. There was no point trying to look pretty when you felt like a hollowed-out version of yourself.
You turned your phone back on only because you needed to check the time, and it lit up like a warning sign, messages flooding in so fast the screen almost froze.
Jeongin💕: please answer me
Jeongin💕: i’m outside your house
Jeongin 💕: please just tell me you’re okay
Jeongin 💕: i know you hate me right now but please let me explain
Jeongin 💕: i’m not leaving until i know you’re safe
Then, nearly an hour later:
Jeongin💕: your neighbour told me to go home
Despite everything, a horrible little laugh almost escaped you. You’d need to remember to apologise to your neighbour (but also to thank them).
The messages kept going.
Jeongin💕: i’m sorry
Jeongin💕: i’m so fucking sorry
Jeongin💕: please don’t ignore me at school. please.
That one made your chest tighten, the thought of seeing him in school nearly unbearable.
You locked your phone and shoved it into your bag without replying.
The walk into school felt like walking to your own execution.
Every step closer to the building made your pulse jump harder. Your eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, your stomach too unsettled for breakfast, and you could feel the fragile kind of composure you’d pieced together that morning threatening to crack with every passing second.
Maybe he wouldn’t be there yet, you told yourself. Maybe he’d be late. Maybe he’d be sick with guilt and stay home.
You knew better than to hope for that kind of mercy.
The second you stepped through the front gates, you saw him. Jeongin was standing halfway up the path to the main building like he’d been waiting there for hours, eyes scanning every face that came through the gates. The moment they landed on you, his entire body jolted.
He looked awful. Not in the dramatic, still-pretty way boys in films did after heartbreak. He looked genuinely wrecked. His hair was messy like he’d been dragging his hands through it all morning, his school tie hung loose and crooked, and there were dark shadows under his eyes that definitely hadn’t been there yesterday. He was pale, too, the kind of pale that made his freckles stand out sharply across his nose.
For a second, you stopped breathing before you dropped your gaze and kept walking.
“Y/N—”
His voice cracked around your name, the sound making you flinch. But you didn’t slow down.
Jeongin hurried after you, shoes slapping against the pavement. “Y/N, please, just let me talk to you.”
You tightened your grip on your bag strap and kept moving.
“Please.”
People were starting to look, but what else could you expect? Yang Jeongin chasing after the quiet girl in the oversized hoodie was always going to draw attention, and humiliation crawled hotly under your skin as whispers started to ripple around you. You could feel eyes on the back of your neck, hear the shift in tone from normal morning chatter to something curious, something hungry.
“Y/N.” He caught up enough to step in front of you.
You stopped so abruptly your shoulder nearly collided with his chest.
Up close, he looked even worse. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was something frantic in the way he was breathing, like he’d been holding himself together by threads ever since last night.
“Move,” you said quietly.
Jeongin’s face crumpled a little at the sound of your voice—flat, exhausted, nothing like the way you usually spoke to him.
“Please just give me five minutes.”
“No.”
“Y/N—”
“Move.”
He didn’t, but not because he was trying to intimidate you. If anything, he looked terrified of you. He stayed where he was, hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach for you and knew he couldn’t.
“I know how bad this looks—”
You laughed once, sharp and humourless. “Looks?”
His mouth snapped shut and you stepped around him. This time he didn’t try to block you, but he followed, close enough that you could hear every uneven breath.
“I came to your house,” he said quickly, as if you might not know. “I stayed for hours. I texted, I called, I—”
“I know.”
The words came out cold enough to make him go quiet. You kept your eyes fixed straight ahead as you climbed the stairs to the main building.
“I know you came,” you said. “I ignored you on purpose.”
The silence that followed was so abrupt it almost rang. When you finally glanced at him, Jeongin looked like you’d physically winded him.
“Oh.”
It was such a small sound, barely a word at all, but something inside your chest twisted painfully. You forced yourself to crush it before it could become pity.
“Yeah,” you said. “So take the hint.”
You turned and walked into the corridor. Jeongin stood there for half a second, stunned, before hurrying after you again.
The corridor was filling up fast now—lockers slamming, voices echoing, people drifting into classrooms—but the second Jeongin called your name again, it felt like the whole space tilted toward you.
“Please don’t do this.”
You spun around so quickly he nearly walked into you.
“Don’t do what?” you asked, keeping your voice low only because you were one second away from shattering and couldn’t bear the idea of everyone hearing it. “Ignore the fact that my boyfriend started dating me because of a bet?”
His face went white. A couple of nearby students glanced over.
Jeongin’s eyes darted around the corridor, panic flaring. “Can we not do this here?”
“Why?” You swallowed hard. “Worried people will hear?”
“No, I’m worried you’re upset and everyone’s staring.”
You almost laughed again. The nerve of him.
“They stared last night too, didn’t they?” you said. “Didn’t stop your friends.”
Jeongin’s whole expression twisted. “They’re not my friends right now.”
“Well, that’s convenient.”
“Y/N—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“You need to hear it,” he said, voice breaking with desperation. “Please. I know I fucked up, I know I should’ve told you, I know I should’ve shut it down the second they started talking, but please don’t look at me like this.”
Your throat tightened. “Like what?”
“Like I’m a stranger.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Maybe because that was exactly what this felt like. Like every version of Jeongin you thought you knew had peeled away overnight, leaving behind someone unrecognisable.
You looked at him properly then, taking in the red-rimmed eyes, the way his hands were trembling, the raw panic on his face. Six months ago, that expression would’ve destroyed you. Even a week ago, you would’ve reached for him without thinking. Now all it did was make you tired.
“You should’ve thought about that before you lied to me for half a year.”
Jeongin recoiled slightly.
“I didn’t lie about everything,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t catch it.
You stared at him.
He swallowed hard. “What I feel for you—that’s real.”
Something ugly and wounded twisted in your chest.
“You don’t get to say that to me anymore.”
His eyes filled so fast it startled you.
He blinked hard, jaw clenching, and for a second he looked like he was physically trying to stop himself from falling apart in the middle of the corridor. “Then tell me what I do get to say, because I can’t just let you walk around thinking I never cared about you. I can’t let that be the last thing you believe about us.”
Us.
The word made your stomach lurch.
“There is no us.”
You saw the moment he broke. The composure Jeongin had been clinging to cracked clean down the middle. You saw it happen in real time—the way his shoulders dropped, the way the colour drained even further from his face, the way his mouth parted around a breath that sounded too shaky to be steady.
“Don’t say that.”
His voice was barely above a whisper, and you hated that it still hurt to hear him sound like that. You hated that some stupid part of you still wanted to comfort him even now, even after all of this, even when you were the one who’d spent the night crying on your bathroom floor because of him. So you did the only thing you could think of.
You hardened yourself against the desire to comfort him.
“I mean it.”
Jeongin shook his head immediately, frantic. “No, you don’t. You’re angry, and you should be, but please don’t say things you don’t mean.”
The disbelief of it almost knocked the breath out of you.
“Don’t tell me what I mean.”
“I’m not—I just—” He dragged a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “Please, Y/N, please. Scream at me, hit me, tell me you hate me, I don’t care. Just don’t shut me out.”
Your eyes stung, and he noticed the tears well up in your eyes instantly, stepping forward on instinct.
You stepped back just as fast, Jeongin freezing. The look on his face then was awful. Not dramatic. Not theatrical. Just raw, open hurt, like that one tiny movement had sliced him open from throat to stomach.
You couldn’t do this. Not here. Not with people watching and whispering and pretending not to stare. Not with Jeongin looking at you like you were the one holding the knife.
Your next class bell rang, shrill and sharp through the corridor, the sound breaking the moment in half.
You clutched your bag tighter and forced your voice to stay steady. “If you care about me at all, you’ll leave me alone.”
Jeongin stared at you before he gave the smallest, weakest shake of his head.
“I can’t.”
The honesty of it almost made you falter.
Almost.
“Well,” you said, stepping around him again, “you’re going to have to learn.”
This time, when you walked away, he didn’t follow. You could feel his eyes on your back the whole way down the corridor, heavy and devastated and impossible to ignore, but he stayed where he was.
You made it into your classroom with thirty seconds to spare and sat down in your usual seat by the window, hands trembling so badly you nearly dropped your pen.
Your friend Mia—your only friend, who sat beside you in English and usually spent the first five minutes of class gossiping under her breath—took one look at your face and frowned.
“Jesus,” she whispered. “What happened to you?”
You shook your head, keeping your eyes fixed on the contents of your bag whilst you tried to pull yourself together.
Mia’s expression softened immediately. “Hey, no, seriously. Are you okay?”
No.
Not even remotely.
But the word lodged in your throat and refused to come out, because if you started talking about it, you knew you’d start crying, and if you started crying in the middle of English class you were pretty sure you’d actually die on the spot.
So you just muttered, “I’m fine.”
Mia looked like she didn’t believe you for a second, but before she could press further, your teacher walked in and the room fell quiet. You stared at the board and heard absolutely none of the lesson. Every few minutes, your phone buzzed in your blazer pocket but you ignored it.
At break, you stayed in your seat until the room emptied, pretending to search for something in your bag just so you wouldn’t have to risk walking into the corridor while Jeongin was out there.
At lunch, you ate half a cereal bar in a bathroom cubicle because the thought of the cafeteria made your chest seize up.
By last period, exhaustion had sunk into your bones so heavily that even lifting your head felt like effort.
And still, Jeongin kept trying.
You saw him between classes, hovering at the end of corridors like he was scared to get too close and even more scared to let you out of his sight. He texted. He called once during lunch, then again ten minutes later, then stopped—presumably realising you weren’t ever going to pick up. He looked at you across classrooms, across the courtyard, across the canteen when you finally forced yourself to walk through it for a bottle of water, and every time your eyes accidentally met, the expression on his face made something twist sickly inside you.
Panic. Guilt.
And something that looked too much like heartbreak.
By the final bell, you felt wrung dry.
You just wanted to go home, lock your bedroom door, and sleep for twelve hours. You should’ve known Jeongin wouldn’t make it that easy.
The second you stepped out of your last lesson, he was there, waiting right outside the classroom door like he’d been counting down the minutes. His eyes found yours instantly.
“Please,” he said before you could even turn away. “Just let me walk you home.”
You stared at him. He looked like he hadn’t eaten all day. Like he’d spent every second since this morning spiralling deeper and deeper into whatever guilt-ridden hell he’d built for himself. His tie was gone entirely now, shirt untucked at one side, and there was a crease pressed into his cheek like he’d been sitting with his face in his hands.
For a moment, neither of you moved before you snapped yourself out of it, tightening your hold on your bag and saying the one thing that made his face fall completely.
“No.”
You walked away before he could say anything else.
You made it halfway down the front steps before you heard him behind you.
“Y/N—wait.”
Of course he’d followed.
Your grip tightened around your bag strap so hard your knuckles ached, but you didn’t turn around. The school day had wrung every last scrap of energy out of you. Your head was pounding, your chest still tight from the strain of holding yourself together for eight straight hours, and the only thing keeping you upright was the thought of getting home, shutting your bedroom door, and not seeing another human being until Monday.
“Y/N, please.”
His footsteps quickened until they were right behind you, but you kept walking, speed picking up marginally.
Students spilled around you in clusters, loud and careless and free in the way everyone seemed to be at the end of the day. They streamed out through the gates in laughing groups, bags slung over shoulders, phones in hand, already planning where they were going next. The pavement outside the school was crowded, and every brush of a stranger’s shoulder against yours made your skin jump.
“Can you just stop for one second?” Jeongin asked, breathless.
Your answer came instantly, flat and sharp. “No.”
He was quiet for a beat, then tried again. “You haven’t eaten.”
You almost stumbled - not because the words were particularly shocking, but because it was such a Jeongin thing to notice. Such a Jeongin thing to say. Soft and observant and infuriatingly familiar.
You hated that your chest still reacted to it.
“I’m fine.”
“You had half a cereal bar in the bathroom at lunch.”
That made you stop.
You turned so fast he nearly walked into you. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t step back.
“You were watching me in the bathroom now too?” you asked, voice low and dangerous.
Jeongin’s face dropped. “What? No—God, no. Mia told Hyunjin you disappeared all lunch and then I saw you come back with that stupid cereal bar wrapper and—” He dragged a hand over his face, frustrated with himself. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point, Jeongin?”
He looked at you like the answer should’ve been obvious. “You.”
The word hit like a slap. It didn’t hurt because it was cruel, but because it sounded so earnest that it made your throat tighten with anger.
You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Right.”
“I mean it.”
“Stop saying things like that.”
His expression crumpled. “Why?”
Because you didn’t get to sound like you cared when you were the reason she’d cried until three in the morning. Because every soft word out of his mouth felt like someone twisting a knife in a wound and apologising while they did it. Because if he kept sounding like Jeongin—your Jeongin, the one who tucked your hands into his coat pockets and kissed your temple and remembered what snacks you liked after bad exams—you might start forgetting that he wasn’t yours at all.
“Because I don’t believe you anymore,” you snapped.
That shut him up.
For half a second, all the noise around you blurred. Cars passed on the road. Someone shouted from across the street. A group of younger students ran past, nearly clipping your shoulder, but you barely registered any of it. All you could see was Jeongin standing there in front of you with that wrecked look on his face, tie gone, shirt untucked, eyes ringed red like he hadn’t slept either.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know you don’t.”
“Then why are you still doing this?”
“Because I can’t just leave you like this.”
Something ugly and exhausted surged up inside you.
“Like what?” you demanded. “Like I’m upset? Like I’m angry? Like I finally found out my boyfriend was using me and now I’m inconveniently having a hard time with it?”
Jeongin winced so hard it almost looked painful. “I wasn’t using you.”
“Oh my god.” You laughed again, louder this time, the sound wobbling on the edge of something hysterical. “Do you hear yourself?”
“I know how it sounds—”
“No, you don’t.” You stepped closer before you could stop yourself, voice dropping into something sharp enough to cut. “You don’t get it, Jeongin. You don’t get to stand here looking heartbroken and tell me I’ve got the wrong idea when I literally heard your friends talking about your bet to sleep with me.”
His face drained of colour.
“Please lower your voice,” he said, glancing around.
The last thread of your restraint snapped.
“Why?” you said, louder. “Scared people might hear?”
A few heads turned but for once in your life you didn’t care.
Jeongin went pale. “Y/N—”
“No, actually, let’s do this properly, since you seem so desperate to talk.” Your heart was already starting to race, too fast and too hard, but you couldn’t stop. The words had built up all day, hot and poisonous and impossible to swallow down any longer. “What exactly were you waiting for, huh? Were you just seeing how long you could keep me around before you got bored? Did your friends get a good laugh every time I held your hand in public? Every time I kissed you? Every time I told you I loved you?”
“Stop,” Jeongin whispered.
“Or were they waiting for updates?” you shot back, tears stinging now because of course they were. “Did you tell them when I stayed over? Did they know every time I let myself trust you a little more? Was that funny too?”
“Y/N, stop, please.”
“Was I just some pathetic little project to you?” Your voice cracked, and now people were definitely staring, slowing on the pavement, whispering to each other. “The shy girl you thought you’d fix up enough to fuck?”
“Don’t.” Jeongin’s voice broke on the word. He looked horrified now, properly horrified, like each sentence out of your mouth was hitting him in the chest. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not? Isn’t that what this was?”
“No!” It came out so sharply that a couple walking past actually turned. Jeongin immediately lowered his voice again, breathing hard. “No, it wasn’t. Not anymore. Not for a long time.”
You stared at him, chest heaving. There it was again.
Not anymore.
As if that somehow made the beginning disappear. As if there was any version of this where you weren’t still the idiot who’d spent six months falling in love with someone who had first looked at her and seen a challenge.
Your vision blurred. You looked away from him, blinking hard, but the pressure in your chest was getting worse now—too tight, too hot, your lungs refusing to fill properly. The pavement suddenly felt unsteady beneath your feet. The noise of the street swelled until it all blurred together: engines, voices, footsteps, laughter, a car horn somewhere in the distance. Too much. Too loud.
“Y/N?”
Jeongin’s voice changed instantly. The anger drained right out of it, leaving only alarm.
You took a step back. “I’m fine.”
You weren’t.
You knew that in the same detached way you knew your own name. Your hands had started shaking. Not subtly—violently enough that you had to curl them into fists to hide it. Your breaths were coming too fast, too shallow, and there was a horrible buzzing in your ears like static.
Jeongin noticed all of it, just as he had these past six months.
“Hey,” he said, softer now, taking one cautious step toward you. “Hey, look at me.”
“No.”
“Y/N, you need to breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
The lie barely made it out. Your voice sounded strange to your own ears—too high, too thin.
Jeongin’s eyes flicked over your face, panic rising. “No, you’re not. Come here, let’s just get you out of the crowd—”
He reached for your wrist, but you shoved him away before he could touch you.
“Don’t touch me!”
It wasn’t enough to actually hurt him, but it made him stumble back a step, shock flashing across his face.
A few people outright stopped walking now. You hated them for looking. Hated Jeongin for being here. Hated yourself for falling apart in public like this, for not even being able to keep your own body under control for five fucking minutes.
Your lungs seized.
A sharp, humiliating sound tore out of your throat as you tried to inhale and couldn’t get enough air. Suddenly everything was spinning—too bright, too loud, your heartbeat hammering in your ears so violently it drowned out everything else.
“Okay.” Jeongin lifted both hands slowly, palms open like he was approaching a frightened animal. His own face had gone white. “Okay, I won’t touch you. I promise. I’m not touching you.”
You backed away again, arms wrapping around yourself so tightly it hurt.
“Go away.”
He looked devastated. “I can’t.”
“I said go away!”
Your voice came out broken, cracking in the middle, and then your body betrayed you completely.
Your knees gave. It wasn’t enough to send you sprawling onto the pavement, but enough that you staggered hard and had to grab blindly for the nearest wall. Your bag slid off your shoulder and hit the ground with a dull thud, papers crumpling inside.
Jeongin moved on instinct. He caught your elbow before you could hit the pavement properly but you jerked out of his grip so violently you nearly lost your balance again.
“Don’t!”
He let go at once, hands lifting back into the air.
“Sorry, sorry—shit, I’m sorry.” His voice was shaking now too. “I’m not going to touch you, okay? I’m not. Just—please stay still for a second.”
You pressed your back against the brick wall outside the school gates and squeezed your eyes shut, but that only made it worse. The darkness behind your eyelids tilted sickeningly. Your chest was on fire. Every breath snagged halfway in and came back out in a sharp, ugly gasp. You could hear yourself making these awful little choking noises and it only made the panic worse.
“Look at me.” Jeongin was in front of you again, crouching slightly so he was in your line of sight without crowding you. “Y/N, look at me.”
You shook your head, tears spilling hot and useless down your cheeks.
“I hate you,” you gasped.
The words clearly hit him, but he swallowed them down.
“I know,” he said, voice cracking. “You can hate me. Just—please look at me for one second.”
You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to give him anything. Not your eyes, not your trust, not the chance to slide back into the role he’d gotten so good at playing—the gentle boyfriend who knew exactly how to calm you down when your anxiety got too loud. But your vision was tunnelling. The pavement had narrowed into a smear of grey beneath your feet. You were dimly aware of people slowing as they passed, of someone whispering is she okay? and another voice saying should we get a teacher?
Jeongin heard it too.
He looked over his shoulder and snapped, “Can you all stop staring?”
The sharpness in his voice cut through the murmurs immediately, people scattering but still throwing worried looks over their shoulder.
When he turned back to you, his face was stricken. “Can you sit down for me? Not with me—just sit. Please.”
You slid down the wall before you could answer, legs folding under you because they’d stopped feeling reliable. The second you hit the ground, Jeongin dropped down too, kneeling a careful distance away.
“Okay,” he said, breathing hard like he was trying not to panic with you. “Okay. That’s good. That’s okay.”
You were crying properly now, shoulders shaking, fingers digging into your sleeves. Your breaths were still coming in short, painful bursts, your chest locking up tighter every time you tried to drag in air.
“Stop—” you choked out, though you weren’t even sure what you were asking him to stop. Talking? Looking at you? Caring? Existing?
Jeongin scrubbed a hand over his face, helpless. “I know. I know, I’m sorry. Just listen to me, okay? You don’t have to say anything back. Just listen.”
He glanced down at his own hands like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for you.
“In for four,” he said softly, voice trembling. “Hold for four. Out for four. You know this. Come on.”
You let out a broken laugh-sob. Of course he’d remember. Of course he’d use the exact same voice he always did when you got overwhelmed—the one that was low and steady and careful, like if he was gentle enough he could smooth all the sharp edges off the world.
It made you want to scream.
“I don’t want your help,” you whispered.
The pain on his face was immediate.
“I know.” His eyes were bright now, his own breathing uneven. “I know you don’t. I’m sorry. I’m still going to help if I can.”
Something inside you twisted so violently it hurt. You shoved yourself to your feet too fast, wobbling instantly. Jeongin lurched forward, hand half-outstretched, but stopped before he touched you.
“Don’t,” you snapped, pressing yourself harder against the wall as if distance could somehow save you. “Don’t act like you still get to do this.”
His hand dropped. For a second he just looked at you, kneeling on the pavement in front of you with his tie stuffed in one pocket and his shirt wrinkled and his eyes red, like some pathetic aftermath of the boy you’d fallen in love with. Then he nodded once, small and broken.
“Okay.”
Your breathing was still awful. Better than thirty seconds ago, maybe, but only in the sense that you no longer felt seconds away from passing out. Your hands were numb, your face soaked with tears, and there was a crowd-shaped awareness hovering at the edge of everything that made humiliation burn hotly through your chest.
You couldn’t stay here.
You bent to grab your bag with shaking hands.
Jeongin stood immediately. “Let me carry that.”
You shot him a look so full of exhausted fury that he actually stopped mid-step.
“No.”
“Right.” His throat bobbed. “Right. Sorry.”
You slung the bag over your shoulder, nearly fumbling it, then turned toward home with your head down and your entire body trembling.
Jeongin fell into step behind you. Not beside you or close enough to touch. Just… there.
You made it ten steps before whirling around again. “Why are you still following me?”
He stopped dead.
“Because I’m not leaving you alone after that.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I know.” His voice was wrecked. “I know I don’t get to decide anything right now. But you can barely stand up and I can’t just watch you walk off on your own like this.”
“You don’t get to care now.”
His face twisted. “I never stopped caring.”
You let out a shaky breath that felt halfway to a sob. “You don’t understand, do you?”
“What?”
“You caring is the problem.” Your voice cracked, and you hated how weak it sounded. “If you were just an asshole, if you’d only been pretending this whole time, maybe this would hurt less. But you keep looking at me like you mean it, and I don’t know what to do with that.”
Jeongin went completely still. The crowd noise around you seemed to fade for a second, replaced by the awful ragged sound of your breathing and the silence between you.
You saw his eyes fill. It wasn’t dramatic or in a way meant to manipulate. It was just sudden, helpless, like the words had slipped past whatever thin control he’d been clinging to all day and hit somewhere deep.
“Y/N…”
“Don’t.” You stepped back again, swallowing hard. “Just don’t.”
He wiped quickly at one eye with the heel of his hand, jaw clenching. “I’m still walking behind you.”
You stared at him.
“I won’t touch you,” he said hoarsely. “I won’t talk if you don’t want me to. But I’m not letting you go home alone when you can barely breathe.”
You wanted to argue. Wanted to scream at him until your throat gave out, wanted to tell him to fuck off and mean it, wanted to stop caring that the person hurting right in front of you was also the person who had hurt you in the first place.
But you were so tired. So painfully, bone-deep tired.
So instead, you just turned around and kept walking, and Jeongin followed, always a few steps behind. Close enough that you could hear his footsteps, far enough that he never brushed against you once.
The whole walk home, you fought every desire to look back.
By the time you reached your house, your legs felt like they were made of wet paper.
The panic attack had left you hollowed out, shaky in that awful aftershock kind of way where every sound still felt too sharp and every breath still had to be thought through. Your face was sticky with dried tears, your chest ached from how hard it had seized up, and your bag strap kept slipping down your shoulder because your hands wouldn’t stop trembling long enough to fix it properly.
Through it all, Jeongin was still behind you. Far enough back that he wasn’t crowding you, yet close enough that you could hear his footsteps every time the street went quiet.
You hated how aware of him you were. Hated that even without looking, you knew exactly where he was. Knew the rhythm of his walk. Knew when he slowed because you did, when he stopped because you had to press a hand to the wall for a second and get your breathing back under control.
You just wanted to get inside. To lock your front door, go upstairs and collapse in the privacy of your own bed.
But as you turned onto your street, you saw someone sitting on your neighbour’s low brick wall, one long leg stretched out, the other bent, a half-finished can of energy drink balanced in one hand.
Chan looked up at the sound of your footsteps, and immediately stood.
You’d known Chris Chan—just Chan, because he’d laughed the first time you called him Christopher—for nearly a year now. He lived in the house next door, studied at the local university, and possessed the kind of stupidly unfair face that made people turn twice on the street. Tall, broad-shouldered, soft dark curls that always looked slightly messy no matter what he did with them, and warm dark eyes that somehow managed to look kind even when he was exhausted.
The first time you’d met him, you’d nearly dropped your shopping on the street because he’d said hello and startled you so badly. He’d ended up carrying your bags for you while making gentle conversation so easy you hadn’t realised until halfway through that you were actually answering. Since then, he’d become one of those strange, quiet fixtures in your life—someone you’d run into on your way to school, someone who’d fix the boiler when your landlord took too long to help your parents, someone who’d sit with you on the front steps when you’d had a bad day and talk absolute nonsense until your shoulders unclenched.
Chan knew about your anxiety in the vague way neighbours who paid attention sometimes did. He knew what you looked like when you were trying not to panic. And the second his eyes landed properly on your face, every trace of casual ease vanished.
“Hey,” he said, voice instantly gentler. “What happened?”
That was all it took. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the softness of them. The concern. The way he said it like he was already bracing for the answer. Your throat closed as Chan’s gaze flicked from your tear-stained face to the way you were clutching your bag strap, to the boy a few steps behind you.
His expression changed, just enough that something in him seemed to sharpen.
“Right,” he said quietly.
Jeongin stopped at the bottom of the path, chest rising and falling too fast, school bag hanging limply from one shoulder. He looked exhausted, wrung out, eyes still rimmed red from whatever emotional hell the day had put him through.
Chan took one look at him and understood far more than you wanted him to.
“You live here?” Jeongin asked, glancing between the two of you.
Chan ignored the question entirely. Instead, he stepped down from the wall and came to stand beside you—not touching, just close enough that his presence felt solid. Safe.
“You okay to get inside?” he asked you, low enough that the question didn’t feel public.
You nodded, even though you weren’t entirely sure it was true. Chan looked unconvinced, but he accepted it for now. Then he turned his head and fixed Jeongin with a look that was calm enough to be more intimidating than if he’d shouted.
“I’ll take it from here.”
Jeongin stiffened. “She doesn’t want to be alone.”
“I didn’t say I was leaving her alone.”
“I’m serious,” Jeongin said, taking a step forward. “She had a panic attack on the way here. She nearly collapsed and—”
“I know,” Chan cut in, still infuriatingly calm. “And right now, she’s standing next to me looking like she’s one sentence away from having another one, so I’m going to need you to stop talking.”
The silence that followed was instant. You blinked, and Jeongin looked like he was trying his best to keep his cool.
Chan wasn’t cruel about it. His tone never rose. But there was something in the way he stood—steady, certain, already halfway into protective mode—that made it obvious he wasn’t about to budge.
Jeongin’s jaw tightened. “I’m not leaving her when she’s like this.”
“You are,” Chan said. “Because she doesn’t want you here.”
You saw the words hit Jeongin right in the chest. His eyes flicked to you immediately, desperate, raw, as if hoping you’d contradict Chan, or at least soften it somehow.
You couldn’t. You were too tired to even feel guilty about that. Instead, you just looked away, missing the way Jeongin’s face fell.
For a second, nobody said anything. The street hummed quietly around you—distant traffic, a dog barking somewhere, a door slamming down the road. Chan stayed still beside you, arms folded loosely across his chest. Jeongin stood at the edge of the path looking like he was physically fighting the urge to ignore him and come after you anyway.
“Y/N,” he said finally, voice rough. “Please.”
You squeezed your eyes shut, but Chan answered for you.
“She’s done for tonight.”
Jeongin dragged a hand through his hair, visibly unraveling. “I just need to know she’s okay.”
“I’ll make sure she gets inside,” Chan said. “You have my word.”
Jeongin laughed once, bitter and exhausted. “No offence, mate, but your word doesn’t really mean much to me right now.”
Chan’s expression didn’t change. “That sounds like a you problem.”
If the situation had been even slightly less awful, you might have laughed, but Jeongin didn’t. He just looked back at you, face open in that horrible way that made your chest ache despite yourself.
“Please don’t do this,” he said.
Your eyes burned at his words, the pleading tone.
“I’m not doing anything,” you whispered. “I just want you to leave.”
The words came out thin and scraped raw, but they were enough.
Jeongin went still, the fight seeming to leave him all at once, shoulders dropping like someone had cut the strings holding him upright. He looked at you for another long second—at your red eyes, your trembling hands, the way you still couldn’t quite stand straight after crying and panicking your way home—and something in his expression cracked.
“Okay,” he said hoarsely.
It didn’t sound okay at all.
He swallowed, hard, then looked at Chan. “If she gets worse, call someone. Or me. I don’t care if she hates me right now, just don’t leave her alone if it gets bad.”
Chan gave a short nod. “I know what I’m doing.”
Jeongin hesitated, and you could see how much it cost him to turn around. How every instinct in him was screaming not to leave you like this, not with your face blotchy from crying and your breathing still uneven and another man standing where he thought he should be. But after one last look at you—one you couldn’t bring yourself to return—he stepped backwards down the path.
Then he left.
You watched him go despite yourself. Watched the slow, reluctant set of his shoulders. The way he kept glancing back until the corner of the street swallowed him whole.
The second he was out of sight, all the tension holding your body upright seemed to dissolve at once, your knees buckling under you.
“Whoa—hey.”
Chan caught your bag before it slipped off your shoulder again and guided you—not touching, just steering with his voice and presence—towards the low wall outside the building.
“Sit down for me.”
You sat instantly - mostly because your legs no longer felt like they belonged to you. Chan crouched in front of you, elbows resting loosely on his knees, eyes searching your face with careful concern.
“Do you need water?”
You shook your head.
“Tea?”
Another head shake.
“Want me to call someone?”
You thought of Mia. Of your mum. Of literally anyone asking what had happened and forcing you to say it out loud.
“No.”
“Okay.” Chan nodded easily, accepting that too. “Then we’re doing this the boring way.”
You blinked at him.
He tilted the energy drink can in his hand. “You sit there and look tragic, and I sit here and ask annoying questions until you either answer me or tell me to piss off.”
A weak, surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it, and Chan’s mouth twitched.
“There she is.”
And that—stupidly, embarrassingly—was the thing that finally broke you.
Your face crumpled, the first sob coming out so abruptly that it startled even you, and then Chan was swearing softly under his breath and setting the drink aside, shifting from his crouch to sit on the wall beside you.
He didn’t sit too close, didn’t crowd you. Just close enough that you could feel the warmth of another person there if you wanted to.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he said quietly.
You covered your face with both hands as it all came spilling out in pieces after that. Not neatly. Not in a straight line. Half of it was choked out between breaths and the other half muffled behind your palms, but Chan listened anyway.
About the party.
About seeing Jeongin with a girl hanging off his arm.
About overhearing his friends laughing about the bet to sleep with the shy girl.
About Jeongin admitting it had started as a bet and how the words had split something open inside you.
About him turning up at your flat and you ignoring him. About him waiting for you at school, following you all day, chasing you after class, trying to help when you had a panic attack and you shoving him away because you couldn’t stand the idea of him touching you.
Chan didn’t interrupt much. He only asked questions when he needed to—small, practical ones that kept you going when your thoughts started spiralling.
“What exactly did you hear him say?”
“Did he deny it?”
“Did he ever actually sleep with anyone else while you were together?”
That last one made you look at him, horrified.
“No.”
“Okay. Good.”
“That’s not good, Chan.”
“No,” he said mildly, “but it’s less bad than it could’ve been.”
You stared at him through wet lashes, and he held up both hands. “I’m not saying he’s innocent. I’m saying there’s a difference between a teenage boy making the worst decision of his life and a teenage boy deliberately setting out to humiliate you for six months straight.”
You laughed bitterly. “Feels pretty humiliating either way.”
“Yeah.” Chan’s voice softened. “I know.”
Silence settled between you for a moment as you sniffed and wiped under your eyes with the sleeve of your hoodie. “You think I’m stupid.”
“What?” Chan frowned. “No.”
“I should’ve known.” The words came out before you could stop them. “I mean… Jeongin. Look at him. Look at me. It was obviously too good to be true.”
Chan went very still before he turned to face you fully, one arm draped along the back of the step behind you.
“Don’t do that.”
You looked away.
“I mean it.” His voice sharpened—not harsh, but firm enough to make you listen. “Do not take his stupidity and turn it into evidence that there’s something wrong with you.”
Your throat tightened.
“You didn’t do anything wrong here,” Chan said. “You believed someone you cared about when he told you he cared about you. That’s not stupidity. That’s trust.”
You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood, and Chan sighed softly as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, I’m not about to defend the bet. It’s disgusting. If he was twenty-five, I’d tell you to set his car on fire.”
Despite everything, you let out a watery snort.
“But,” Chan continued, “I also don’t think this is as simple as you’re making it.”
You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I watched that boy’s face while he stood out here.” Chan tipped his head in the direction Jeongin had disappeared. “And unless he deserves an Oscar, he’s not acting.”
Your stomach twisted as you stared down at your hands, thinking about Chan’s words and Jeongin’s pale face.
Chan noticed and sighed. “I know. That’s probably the last thing you want to hear.”
“I don’t care if he feels guilty.”
“I know you don’t.” He paused. “But guilt isn’t the only thing I saw.”
You hated how your chest reacted to that. Hated the tiny, traitorous flicker of hope trying to force its way into a situation where it had no business existing.
Chan seemed to read the conflict on your face, because his tone gentled again.
“I’m not saying forgive him,” he said. “And I’m definitely not saying what he did is okay. It isn’t. It’s cruel and immature and I’d like five minutes alone with him in a locked room, just on principle.”
That got the tiniest smile out of you.
“But,” he said again, “I do think you should hear him out.”
Your head snapped up. “What?”
Chan held your gaze steadily. “Hear him out.”
“Why?”
“Because right now, your brain is doing what anxious brains do best.” He tapped two fingers lightly against his temple. “It’s taking the worst possible version of every missing piece and filling it in as fact.”
You opened your mouth to protest, but he kept going.
“You heard enough to know he fucked up. That part’s real. But you didn’t hear all of it. You don’t know what he was about to say when you walked away. You don’t know how long it stopped being a game to him. You don’t know why he never told you. And unless you hear it from him, you’re going to sit in your room for the next week inventing a hundred different explanations, and every single one of them will hurt.”
You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “He lied to me, though.”
“Yeah.” Chan nodded. “He did.”
“So why should I listen?”
“Because listening isn’t the same as forgiving.” His voice was calm, patient, matter-of-fact in the way it always was when he was trying to guide you out of your own head. “Hearing him out doesn’t mean taking him back. It doesn’t mean letting him off the hook. It just means you get the full truth before you decide what to do with it.”
Your eyes burned again.
Chan leaned back slightly, giving you room to breathe. “And if after that you still want nothing to do with him, fine. Block his number, tell him to go to hell, date someone with better decision-making skills.”
“Like who?”
He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know. A nice cousin of an engineering student with excellent hair and a heroic willingness to carry your shopping?”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
“There you are,” Chan murmured again, smiling a little.
The laugh died quickly, but the knot in your chest loosened just enough to let you breathe around it. You stared out at the street for a long moment, arms wrapped around yourself.
“I don’t know if I can do it.”
Chan was quiet for a second before answering. “You don’t have to do it tonight.”
You looked at him and he shrugged one shoulder. “Make him wait until tomorrow. Or the day after. Let him sweat a little, build character.” Then his expression softened. “But don’t make a forever decision based on the worst ten minutes of your life.”
His words settled somewhere deep. They didn’t fix anything—not even close—but they cracked open just enough space in the panic and humiliation for something else to exist alongside it.
Uncertainty. Questions. The horrible possibility that Chan might be right.
You scrubbed at your face again, exhausted. “I hate that this is your advice.”
“I know.” He bumped his shoulder lightly against yours. “I was annoyed too. I really wanted to tell you to egg his house.”
You snorted as he teased you again. “Still can, if that helps.”
“It doesn’t.”
“Shame. I’d be very good at it.”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, and Chan’s expression softened with relief—like seeing even that tiny reaction told him you were starting to come back to yourself.
After a moment, he stood and held out a hand. “Come on.”
You looked at it, and he wiggled his fingers. “I’m not letting you sit outside crying yourself into hypothermia. I’m making tea, and you’re telling me whether Jeongin’s always been this much of an idiot or if it’s a recent development.”
You hesitated only a second before taking his hand. Chan hauled you gently to your feet, steadied you when you swayed, then picked up your bag from where it had slumped against the wall.
As he led you towards his house, he glanced sideways at you.
“For the record,” he said, fishing his keys from his pocket, “if you do decide to hear him out, I’m sitting just next door with a cricket bat.”
You huffed a laugh. “You don’t even own a cricket bat.”
“No, but I can acquire one. I’m resourceful.”
And for the first time since the party, the ache in your chest eased just enough for you to believe that maybe—maybe—you wouldn’t drown in it after all.
The weekend passed in fragments.
You spent most of Saturday in Chan’s house because he’d apparently decided you were a flight risk and kept finding increasingly ridiculous reasons to stop you retreating into your bedroom for forty-eight hours straight. He made tea, ordered takeaway, put on terrible reality television and offered running commentary so sarcastic it dragged a laugh out of you more than once, even when you were trying very hard not to give him the satisfaction.
But no matter what was on the screen or what Chan was talking about, your mind kept circling back to Jeongin and the party.
To the look on his face when you’d told him there was no us.
To the way he’d followed you home at a distance because he knew you didn’t want him near you but couldn’t bring himself to leave anyway.
To the way he’d looked when you shoved him off during your panic attack—hurt, yes, but never angry. Just terrified for you.
And the more you thought about it, the less it fit. That was the problem.
If Jeongin had just been cruel, this would’ve been simpler. If he’d laughed with his friends, if he’d rolled his eyes when you cried, if he’d acted annoyed by your anxiety or embarrassed by how quiet you were or impatient with how long it took you to come out of your shell, maybe you could’ve built a clean, sharp version of him in your head and hated him properly.
But he hadn’t.
He’d held you through panic attacks. He’d kissed the tears off your face after bad exams and stayed on the phone with you until two in the morning when your thoughts got too loud and your chest wouldn’t settle. He’d remembered tiny things no one else noticed—how you hated fizzy drinks unless they’d gone flat, how crowds made you itch under your skin, how you needed five extra minutes after waking up before you could handle conversation. He’d learned exactly where to rub circles into your wrist to calm you down and exactly how to speak to you when your breathing started going funny.
He’d never made you feel like too much. Not once.
And no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t force those things into the shape of a bet.
Saturday night, lying awake in your own bed with the streetlight cutting a pale stripe across your ceiling, you found yourself thinking about the first time he’d told you he loved you.
It wasn’t at the swings in the park under the soft orange streetlights with the hoodie sleeves and the warmth of his hands in yours. It was earlier than that. The first real time.
You’d had a panic attack at his house five months into dating.
It had been stupid, really. One of those ridiculous little things that wouldn’t have affected anyone else—too many people in the kitchen, his friends turning up unexpectedly while you were already exhausted, someone dropping a glass in the next room and the sound slicing straight through you. You’d tried to hold it together because you were in his house, because you didn’t want to be dramatic, because you were still so scared back then of letting him see the uglier parts of you.
You’d made it as far as his bedroom before your lungs gave out, and Jeongin had found you on the floor between his bed and the wall, shaking so hard your teeth hurt, hands clamped over your mouth as if you could physically hold the panic inside yourself if you tried hard enough.
He hadn’t looked annoyed or embarrassed, but he hadn’t looked surprised either. He’d just dropped to his knees in front of you and said your name in that low, steady voice of his. Again and again and again until you looked at him.
After that, he’d sat on the floor with you for nearly an hour.
He’d talked you through every breath. Let you squeeze his hand hard enough to leave marks. Moved slowly enough that nothing felt like pressure, and when the panic had finally ebbed enough for you to stop crying, he’d helped you onto his bed and tucked you under the duvet like you were something fragile. You’d fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion with your face pressed into his shoulder.
When you woke up, it was dark outside. Your head ached, your eyes felt swollen, and for one awful second you had no idea where you were.
Then you realised Jeongin was still there.
He was propped up against the headboard with one arm around you, his phone abandoned on the duvet beside him, his free hand absently combing through your hair in slow, repetitive strokes. He’d clearly been there the whole time.
The second he noticed you were awake, his hand paused.
“Hey,” he’d said quietly. “How’re you feeling?”
Mortification had hit you all at once. You’d pushed yourself upright too fast, face burning, and immediately started apologising. For ruining the evening. For falling asleep on him. For being weird and dramatic and too much and—
Jeongin had cut you off by taking your face in both hands - actually taking your face in both hands and looking at you like you’d said something genuinely absurd.
“None of that,” he’d said.
You’d stared at him, teary and exhausted and still too wrung out to hide how badly you wanted to believe him.
“Y/N,” he’d said again, softer this time. “You don’t have to apologise for panicking.”
“I ruined your night.”
“You didn’t ruin anything.”
“Your friends were here—”
“I don’t care.” His thumbs had brushed under your eyes, wiping away tears you hadn’t even realised had started again. “I care about you.”
Your throat had tightened, but Jeongin’s gaze had gone impossibly gentle. “Do you know how strong you are?”
You’d laughed weakly because the idea was ridiculous. You’d literally just spent an hour on his floor sobbing because you were overstimulated and overwhelmed. But he’d just shaken his head, leaning in until his forehead rested against yours.
“I mean it. You fight your own brain every day and you still keep going. That’s strength.” His voice had dropped quieter, rougher somehow. “And I love you for it. I love all of you. Even the parts you’re still trying to hide from me.”
You hadn’t known what to say, but you’d cried again—less dramatically this time, just silent tears sliding down your face because no one had ever looked at the worst, messiest part of you and called it something worth loving.
Jeongin had kissed your cheeks until you laughed through it before he’d pulled you back against his chest and held you there until you fell asleep again.
That memory stayed with you all Sunday, and you’d tried to pick it apart.
You’d tried to tell yourself he could’ve been acting. That maybe Jeongin was just good at saying the right thing, good at wearing sincerity like a second skin. But every time you pictured his face that night—half-asleep, worried, so careful with you it hurt—you hit the same wall.
No one could fake that for months, not like that and not that consistently. Not when they thought no one was watching.
By Sunday evening, you were still angry, still hurt and humiliated in a way that made your stomach twist if you thought too hard about the party.But underneath all of it now was something else: a quiet, stubborn need to know the truth.
Not the version of the truth that you’d overheard in a kitchen full of drunk boys trying to impress each other; the real truth.
What the bet had been. How it had started. Why he’d done it. Why he’d stayed. Why he’d never told you. Why he’d looked at you on Friday night like the idea of losing you was killing him.
Chan didn’t say I told you so when you admitted that on Sunday night. He just handed you a mug of tea and said, “Good. Hate him with all the facts, at least.”
So Monday morning, you went to school with your stomach in knots and one thought looping over and over in your head:
I’m going to hear him out.
It didn’t make it easier. If anything, it made the walk through the gates worse.
Your hands were sweating around the straps of your bag, your pulse too loud in your ears, every step towards the main building heavy with the knowledge that at some point in the next few minutes, you were going to have to walk up to Jeongin and ask for the conversation you’d spent all weekend dreading.
You spotted him before he saw you. He was standing near the benches outside the science block with three of his friends, school bag hanging from one shoulder, tie half-done like he’d fixed it in a rush. Even from a distance, he looked tired. There were shadows under his eyes again, and he kept rubbing a hand over the back of his neck like he hadn’t quite figured out what to do with his body when he was anxious.
Your chest tightened, and the tightened further when you saw the girl. It was the same one from the party. She was leaning against the bench beside him, glossy hair perfect, one hand wrapped around a coffee cup like she was starring in some kind of campus advert. She wasn’t clinging to his arm this time, but she was standing close enough that your stomach still dropped anyway.
You almost turned around. You got as far as shifting your weight backwards, fingers tightening around your bag strap, panic prickling under your skin, but then you remembered Chan’s face when he’d said don’t make a forever decision based on the worst ten minutes of your life.
You took a deep, steadying breath, and then took another.
You started walking towards them, and the closer you got, the shakier your hands became. Your pulse was so loud you were half convinced everyone around you could hear it. One of Jeongin’s friends noticed you first—Minjae, maybe—and went visibly stiff, his expression flickering from surprise to something a lot like guilt.
Then the others followed his gaze and Jeongin turned to see what had caught their attention.
The effect was instant.
His whole body jolted like someone had grabbed him by the spine. The half-empty bottle of water in his hand slipped a little in his grip, and for one disorienting second he just stared at you. You couldn’t read the look on his face. There was shock there, definitely. Hope so sudden it was almost painful to witness. Fear too, sharp and immediate, like he was scared that if he moved too fast you’d vanish.
No one spoke, and the silence stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable, but then the girl looked you up and down with a lazy sort of disdain and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Oh. The charity case is back.”
Everything went still, and you stopped walking, face flushing in embarrassment.
One of the boys muttered, “Jisoo—”
But Jeongin was faster.
“Shut the fuck up.”
The words cracked through the courtyard so sharply that even you flinched.
Jisoo blinked, clearly not expecting that reaction. “Excuse me?”
Jeongin took a step away from the bench and looked at her with a kind of cold fury you’d never seen on his face before.
“I said shut up.” His voice was low now, but somehow that made it worse. “You don’t get to talk about her like that. Ever.”
Jisoo stared at him. “I was joking.”
“No, you were being a bitch.” He didn’t even hesitate. “And if you ever speak about her like that again, I don’t care whose friend you are, I’m done being polite.”
The entire group had gone silent, and you could see the guilt on his friends’ faces now, plain as day. Minjae looked like he wanted the ground to open up beneath him. Another one—Hyunwoo, maybe—wouldn’t meet your eyes at all.
Jisoo gave a disbelieving laugh. “Seriously? You’re taking her side after the stunt she pulled at the party?”
Jeongin’s expression turned glacial.
“She didn’t pull a stunt,” he said. “She found out something she should’ve heard from me months ago because you all can’t keep your mouths shut for five fucking minutes.”
No one had a response to that, but you barely had one, either. Jeongin’s eyes were on you now, all the anger from a second ago draining away into something much softer. More uncertain. He looked almost scared to speak.
“Can we talk?” he asked quietly.
Your throat felt like it was trying to close in on itself, but was what you’d come here for.
You nodded, and the relief that hit his face was so intense it was almost hard to look at.
“Yeah,” he said quickly, like he didn’t trust the moment not to disappear if he moved too slowly. “Yeah, okay. Of course.”
He turned to his friends, jaw tight again. “I’ll be back.”
None of them tried to stop him.
Jisoo just rolled her eyes and looked away. Minjae muttered a weak, “Jeongin—” but whatever he’d been about to say died when Jeongin shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass.
Then Jeongin was stepping toward you, slower this time, as if he was trying very hard not to crowd you. He stopped a few feet away.
“Is the music room okay?” he asked quietly. “No one uses it before second period.”
You swallowed and nodded again, words still trapped in your throat.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t try to touch you. He just fell into step beside you—careful to leave space between your shoulders—and led you across the courtyard.
The walk to the music block was silent. It wasn’t tense exactly, just fragile. You could feel the weight of a hundred questions pressing against the inside of your ribs now that this was actually happening. You’d imagined this conversation all weekend—angry versions, devastated versions, versions where you screamed and versions where he cried and versions where you walked away after two minutes because hearing him explain made it worse somehow.
Now that the moment was here, all you felt was raw.
Jeongin unlocked the practice room with the spare key he borrowed sometimes for guitar club and pushed the door open for you. You stepped inside first, Jeongin stepping in behind you.
The room smelled faintly of dust and old wood polish. There was a piano shoved into one corner, a stack of music stands against the wall, and a row of chairs under the window. It was quiet in a way that made the rest of the school feel very far away.
Jeongin closed the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone. He didn’t come any closer, though. Just stood with his back to the door for a second, staring at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were really here. Then he exhaled shakily and said, very softly—
“Ask me anything.”
The words hung in the room between you.
Ask me anything.
For a second, all you could do was stare at him. He looked awful up close. Not just tired—exhausted. There were shadows under his eyes, his tie was crooked, and his hair looked like he’d been dragging his hands through it all morning. He was standing too stiffly too, like every muscle in his body was braced for impact, shoulders tense under his blazer, fingers curling and uncurling at his sides.
You hated that you noticed. Hated that some part of you still catalogued every sign of his distress automatically, the same way you always had
Your hands were shaking again, though not as badly as they had on Friday. More a fine, restless tremor in your fingers than anything else. You tucked them into the sleeves of your hoodie and looked away from him, trying to gather your thoughts into something coherent.
There were too many questions, too many places to start, so you went for the one that had been lodged under your ribs since the party.
“Tell me about the bet.”
Jeongin flinched. Just a sharp little jerk of his shoulders, like the words had hit somewhere tender. He dropped his gaze to the floor and nodded once.
The room felt very quiet. Jeongin dragged a hand over the back of his neck, then exhaled through his nose like he was forcing himself to walk into something painful.
“It was at the start of the year,” he said. “Before we started talking properly. Before… all of this.”
You said nothing, so he swallowed, continuing.
“We were in the locker room after practice. Hyunwoo and Minjae were being idiots, talking about girls they thought were fit, and someone brought up you.”
Your face burned instantly, and Jeongin noticed and shut his eyes for half a second, hating himself.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I know. I’m sorry.”
You crossed your arms tighter over your chest. “Keep going.”
“They were joking about how you never talked to anyone. About how you looked terrified every time someone even said your name.” His mouth tightened. “One of them said there was no way anyone could get you to go out with them because you’d run a mile first.”
Your stomach twisted, ashamed of your own anxiety and how easy it made you into a punchline.
“I should’ve told them to shut up.” His voice was flat with self-disgust. “That should’ve been the end of it. But they kept going, and then Minjae made it into this whole thing about who could get your number, who could make you blush, all this stupid, pathetic teenage bullshit.”
He laughed once under his breath, and there was nothing funny in it.
“Then Hyunwoo said there was no chance I’d be able to pull you because you were ‘too shy to fall for someone like me.’” His jaw clenched. “And instead of acting like a normal human being, I got cocky.”
You stared at him. Jeongin met your eyes for exactly one second before looking away again.
“I said I could get you to date me if I wanted to.”
The words landed like a punch no matter how much you’d already known. Your throat tightened, and he saw it happen. He looked sick at his own words.
“It wasn’t supposed to become…” He gestured helplessly between you. “This. It was supposed to be stupid and short and over in a week, maybe two. I thought I’d flirt with you a bit, prove a point, and then find some excuse for why it didn’t work.”
Your laugh came out brittle. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“No.” His answer was immediate. “No, nothing about this is supposed to make you feel better. I’m just telling you the truth.”
You looked away before he could see how much that hurt.
“Did they actually bet money?” you asked.
Jeongin’s mouth twisted. “Yeah.”
“How much?” He hesitated, but you needed to know. “How much, Jeongin?”
“Fifty quid.”
The room went still. You let out a short, disbelieving laugh and turned away from him completely, pressing a hand to your mouth.
Fifty pounds. Six months of your life reduced to the price of a takeaway and a decent bottle of vodka.
Jeongin’s voice cracked behind you. “I know.”
“Did you win?”
You turned back around when he didn’t answer, and you saw that his face had gone white.
“Did. You. Win?”
“No.”
You stared, momentarily confused. “No?”
He shook his head quickly. “I never took anything from them. It didn’t get that far.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Your voice sharpened. “Did you win?”
Jeongin looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him.
“They considered it a win when you agreed to go out with me,” he said quietly. “So technically, yeah.”
Your stomach lurched. “Did they ever give you the money?”
“No.”
“How do I know that?”
“You don’t.” He didn’t even try to defend himself. “You don’t know any of this for sure. You only have my word, and I know that’s worth basically nothing right now. But I swear to you, I never took it.”
You swallowed hard. “When did it stop being a bet?”
That one made him look up properly. The answer was there on his face before he even said it—something raw and immediate and almost pained in its honesty.
“Embarrassingly fast.”
Your eyebrows pulled together despite yourself.
Jeongin let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know exactly. There wasn’t one dramatic moment where everything changed. It was just…” He scrubbed both hands over his face. “You weren’t what I expected.”
“Meaning?”
He gave a humourless huff. “Meaning I was an idiot.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I know.” He looked at you, really looked at you, and something in his expression softened despite how wrecked he still seemed. “You were so nervous around me at first, but you still tried. You still showed up. You still answered me, even when I could tell every conversation was costing you something.”
Your throat tightened, and Jeongin took a step forward before catching himself and stopping.
“The first time I realised something was wrong with me was that day it rained after school and you gave me your umbrella.”
You blinked. “What?”
His mouth twitched faintly, sadly. “You remember? We’d only been talking for like two weeks. I’d forgotten my coat and it started pissing it down, and you stood there in the doorway of the science block looking like you were going to faint from talking to me, and you still shoved your umbrella into my hands because I had football training and ‘you didn’t want me getting ill.’”
You remembered. God, you remembered. You’d spent twenty minutes after that replaying the interaction in your head and dying of embarrassment because you’d practically thrown the umbrella at him and bolted.
Jeongin’s voice softened. “You ran to the bus stop in the rain after that. Got soaked because you were too awkward to stand under the same umbrella as me.”
Heat crawled into your face at his words.
“I asked Minjae that night what the fuck I was doing,” he admitted. “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
Your heart stumbled, traitorous and stupid, but you hardened your expression immediately. You still needed an answer.
“That still doesn’t tell me when it stopped.”
Jeongin nodded, accepting the correction.
“It stopped before I even asked you out properly,” he said. “I know that sounds convenient. I know it does. But it’s true.”
You stared at him, and he held your gaze this time, forcing himself not to look away.
“I asked you out because I wanted to,” he said. “Not because of them. By that point I was already trying to figure out how to get out of the bet without telling anyone I’d bottled it.”
You laughed bitterly. “And you couldn’t think of any way to do that except keep lying to me?”
His face crumpled. “I know.”
“No, answer me.”
Jeongin’s shoulders slumped. “I was scared.”
You almost snapped at him for the audacity, but something in his expression stopped you.
“Scared of what?” you asked.
“Everything.” He dragged a hand through his hair again, frustrated with himself. “Scared that if I told you, you’d hate me before I even got the chance to explain myself. Scared that if I ended things suddenly, you’d think it was because you’d done something wrong. Scared my friends would tell you first. Scared they’d say it in the worst possible way. Scared that if I came clean after we’d already been together for a while, it would hurt even more.”
A hollow laugh escaped you. “Well, good news. It did.”
“I know.” His eyes filled immediately. “I know, and I’m sorry.”
You looked away before the tears in his eyes could do anything dangerous to your resolve.
“What exactly was the bet?” you asked, forcing your voice steady. “Because at the party they made it sound like it was about sleeping with me.”
Jeongin’s expression changed instantly, a flash of genuine anger cut through the guilt.
“It wasn’t.” The words came out hard and immediate. “I swear to you, it wasn’t.”
You folded your arms tighter. “Then why did they say that?”
“Because they’re disgusting.” His jaw clenched. “The actual bet was just that I could get you to go out with me. That was it. It was still awful and manipulative and cruel, but it wasn’t about sex.”
You searched his face. He took a breath, then kept going before you could decide whether to believe him.
“They started making gross jokes later. After we were already together. Because they’re boys and they think they’re funny and I should’ve shut it down the first time it happened.” Shame flooded his features. “That’s on me. Every single part of that is on me. I let them keep treating the whole thing like a joke because I was too much of a coward to tell the truth.”
You thought of Friday night. Of the kitchen. Of the shy girl and get her into bed and the way the floor had seemed to vanish under your feet.
Your chest ached. “So they all knew.”
Jeongin closed his eyes for a second. “Yeah.”
“How many people?”
“Just the boys from the team who were there when it started. And Jisoo because she was dating Minjae for like two weeks and he tells everyone everything.”
You stared at him. “Minjae dated her?”
“Unfortunately.”
The word almost made you laugh. Instead, you asked the next question that had been burning through you since Friday.
“Why was she hanging off you at the party?”
Jeongin looked startled. “Jisoo?”
“Yes, Jisoo.”
He blinked, then swore softly under his breath like he’d only just realised how it must’ve looked.
“She was drunk,” he said quickly. “And annoying. That’s it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is, I swear.” He shook his head. “She cornered me in the kitchen asking where you were because she wanted to know why I’d ‘ditched’ the party for a girlfriend who never even came to them. I told her to mind her own business, she called me boring, and then she started hanging off my arm because she thought it was funny.”
“You could’ve moved.”
“I know.” He looked furious with himself all over again. “I should’ve. I should’ve shoved her off immediately. I didn’t because I was half listening to Hyunwoo talking and trying not to start an argument in the middle of the kitchen.”
His mouth tightened.
“Then you walked in, and I didn’t even see you until you were already leaving.”
Your eyes burned. “You called after me.”
“Yeah.” His face twisted. “Because I heard Hyunwoo say ‘shy girl’ and realised what they were doing.”
You swallowed hard. “What were you going to say?”
The question came out smaller than you intended, and Jeongin’s whole expression softened into something almost unbearably sad.
“The truth.”
You looked at him, unconvinced, but he continued. “I was going to tell them to shut the fuck up,” he said. “I was going to tell them it hadn’t been a bet in months and that they didn’t get to talk about you like that.” He let out a shaky breath. “And then I was going to come after you and tell you everything, because the second I saw your face I knew there was no fixing it any other way.”
“But you still wouldn’t have told me if I hadn’t heard.”
Jeongin went quiet at that. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
“No.”
The honesty of it was brutal.
“I wouldn’t have told you that night if you hadn’t heard them first.” His eyes dropped to the floor. “And I hate that about myself.”
“Why?” you asked, and the word came out cracked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He looked up slowly. This, maybe more than the bet itself, was the thing that had been eating at you all weekend. Not just that he’d lied in the beginning, but that somewhere in the middle—somewhere between your first date and your first I love you and every late-night call and panic attack and quiet moment in between—he had looked at you, supposedly loved you, and still kept this one horrible truth tucked away where you couldn’t reach it.
Jeongin’s face crumpled under the weight of the question. “Because every day I waited made it harder.”
He laughed once, shakily, but it broke in the middle.
“At first I told myself I’d tell you after the first date. Then after we’d been together a week, because by then I’d know whether there was even anything real there.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Then you kissed me, and I thought I’d tell you after that because there was no way I could keep something like that from you if we were actually doing this.”
His voice was getting rougher now, more uneven.
“But then every time I looked at you, I’d think, not today. Not when you’re smiling at me like that. Not when you’ve just had a bad day. Not when you’re finally starting to trust me. Not when I’ve just spent an hour convincing you I actually like you and you don’t need to panic every time I hold your hand in public.”
Your chest tightened painfully at the memories.
“So I kept putting it off,” he said. “And the longer I put it off, the worse it became, because suddenly it wasn’t just ‘I made a disgusting bet before I knew you.’ It was ‘I made a disgusting bet, then I fell in love with you, and now I’ve let you build an entire relationship on top of a lie.’”
Tears were slipping down his face now, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“I knew if I told you, I’d lose you.” His voice cracked completely. “And I was selfish enough to want a little more time first.”
That one hurt because it was probably the most honest thing he’d said all morning. You pressed your lips together hard to stop them from trembling, before you asked your next pressing question.
“When did you realise you loved me?”
Jeongin looked at you like the answer had lived in his bones for months. “Your panic attack.”
Your breath caught. He took a shaky step closer, then stopped again, leaving the same careful distance between you.
“The one at my house,” he said softly. “When you were on the floor in my room and you were trying so hard not to let me see you like that, and all I could think was that I’d kill anyone who’d ever made you feel like you had to hide from them.”
Your eyes stung, and Jeongin’s own were red-rimmed and glassy.
“You fell asleep on me after,” he went on. “And I sat there with your head on my chest for like two hours because I didn’t want to wake you up. And I remember thinking that if I moved and you left, I was going to miss you even while you were still in the house.”
You had to look away, and Jeongin swallowed hard.
“That was the first time I said it out loud,” he admitted. “Not at the swings. At my house, after you woke up.”
Your head snapped up. “You remember that?”
He gave a watery, disbelieving laugh. “Of course I remember that. You looked at me like I’d told you the sky was green.”
You hadn’t thought he knew you remembered. You’d always treated the moment like some strange, private thing because you hadn’t been sure whether it counted—whether he’d only said it because you were half asleep and crying and he’d wanted to calm you down.
As if he could read every thought on your face, Jeongin shook his head.
“I didn’t say it to make you feel better,” he said quietly. “I said it because it was true, and because I was stupid enough to think maybe if I said it while you were half out of it, I could get away with not explaining why I looked like I wanted to climb inside your ribcage and live there.”
The corner of your mouth twitched before you could stop it, and Jeongin noticed. His own face crumpled a little harder.
“Please don’t do that unless you mean it,” he whispered, voice breaking on the edges. “I’m hanging on by a thread here.”
The tiny almost-smile vanished immediately, silence filling the room. It wasn’t sharp, but it was heavier somehow. More fragile.
You stared down at your sleeves. “There’s one thing I still don’t get.”
“Anything.”
You took a breath. “If you loved me that much… why didn’t you walk away?” Your voice wobbled despite your best efforts. “Why keep going if every day you stayed with me meant lying to me more?”
Jeongin went still, and for a long moment, he said nothing. Then, very quietly, “Because I was weak.”
You looked up. He held your gaze, eyes bright with tears he wasn’t bothering to hide anymore.
“Because every time I thought about ending it or telling you the truth, I’d picture your face when I picked you up from school, or the way you’d fall asleep on my shoulder when you were tired, or how happy you got when I brought you those weird strawberry sweets you like, and I’d think, just one more day.”
His mouth shook around the words. “Then one more day turned into six months.”
You could hear his breathing now—unsteady, almost as uneven as yours had been outside school on Friday.
“I know that makes me selfish,” he said. “I know it makes me a coward. You can call me whatever you want and I’ll agree with you. But none of it was fake. Not one second of it.”
He scrubbed angrily at his face.
“I loved you every day,” he said, voice rough. “Even when you were mad at me for stealing your chips. Even when you got so anxious before presentations you made yourself ill. Even when you’d wake me up at stupid o’clock because your brain wouldn’t shut up and you needed someone to talk to. I loved you when you were laughing, and I loved you when you were crying, and I loved you so much it made me feel sick every time I remembered how this started.”
Your throat closed. You hadn’t meant to cry, but tears were spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them, hot and humiliating and impossible to wipe away fast enough.
Jeongin took one instinctive step forward, but you still stepped back. He stopped dead, and the hurt that flashed across his face was immediate, but he nodded quickly, hands lifting slightly in surrender.
“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “Sorry.”
You covered your mouth with one hand and tried to breathe through the ache in your chest. This was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? The truth. The whole ugly, painful, honest truth laid out in front of you so you could stop guessing.
So why did it feel like someone had taken your heart apart with their bare hands and arranged the pieces on the floor between you?
“I don’t know what to do with this,” you whispered.
Jeongin looked destroyed. “I know.”
“I hate that I still—” Your voice broke off.
Still what?
Still loved him?
Still wanted to believe him?
Still wanted him to be telling the truth badly enough that it scared you?
You couldn’t finish the sentence. Jeongin’s face folded in on itself anyway, as if he knew exactly what you’d almost said and hated himself for making it so hard.
“You don’t have to decide anything now,” he said quickly. “I’m not asking you to. I know I don’t deserve that.”
You laughed weakly through your tears. “Then what are you asking?”
He stared at you, and for the first time since you’d walked into the room, there was no hesitation in his answer at all.
“A chance to prove I’m not lying now.”
The words settled in the silence. Your breathing hitched, and Jeongin took a shaky breath of his own.
“I know I don’t deserve another chance,” he said. “I know that. But if there’s even a tiny part of you that believes what we had was real, then let me prove it. Let me spend however long it takes showing you that I mean every word I’m saying now.”
His eyes dropped to your hands, still hidden in your sleeves.
“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to. I won’t ask you to forgive me before you’re ready. I’ll tell you anything you want to know, answer every horrible question, take whatever you need to throw at me.” His voice cracked again. “Just don’t let this be the end without at least giving me the chance to be honest with you properly.”
You stared at him through blurred vision. This beautiful, stupid boy who had broken your heart with both hands and was now standing in front of you looking like he’d hand you the pieces if you asked.
You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there even was a right thing to say. So in the end, all you managed was the truth.
“I’m still angry.”
Jeongin nodded immediately. “You should be.”
“I still don’t know if I can trust you.”
Another nod, but slower this time. “I know.”
“And I’m not promising anything.”
“Okay.”
You wiped at your face with your sleeve and took a shaky breath.
“But…” Your voice wobbled. “I don’t think I’m ready to let go of six months without trying to understand what was real and what wasn’t.”
Jeongin went completely still. You could actually see the hope hit him—small and frightened and almost too fragile to touch.
“So,” you said, swallowing hard, “you can answer more of my questions when I have them. You can be honest. And after that…” You looked away. “I’ll decide.”
For one awful second, you thought he might cry properly. Instead he just nodded, once, twice, jaw tight like he was physically holding himself together.
“Okay,” he said, voice wrecked. “Okay. Anything.”
The bell rang somewhere outside the music room, but neither of you moved. The sound echoed faintly through the corridor, followed by distant footsteps and muffled classroom chatter, but in the little practice room, everything stayed suspended.
You and Jeongin.
The truth between you.
And whatever came next.
a/n: don’t hate me I gave you warnings okay I love you all mwah xo
a/n2: if you want a part two full of grovelling then I can absolutely do that, just lmk in the comments!
Taglist: @hanniesbubuwife @skrach84 @felixstarz @starrynightviper @mrsleeknowsaurus @2minracha @cchapssaltteok @barbie-girl84 @hannieslovebot @nzzzzzzzzzzzz @mongmongsworld @sparklybunnygirl @lunr-eclipsee @jeonginsfavglazer @hyunjinswifey143 @whights-t @itsraininghyunebuckets
CAT-ASTROPHE ! /ᐠ - ˕ -マ
˚₊‧꒰ა felix trying to win over his new girlfriend's cat ! <3
bf!felix x f!reader: fluff, mild angst, humour (?), reverse comfort, the cats a calico cus i love them (fun fact! over 99% of them are female) │ masterlist ! - ˕ •マ
────── wc: 1,881
a/n: I want felix to dye his hair calico colours so bad pls... (another a/n at the end)
It began the first night he stayed over at your apartment.
You had just poured the bag of microwave popcorn into bowls, and were rounding the corner into the living room just as the opening soundtrack began to rumble through the TV speakers.
"Awwww, is this her??" Felix's voice raises in pitch as he coos towards the far end of your couch.
"Hm?" your eyes follow his gaze to the far arm of your couch. Behind which you spot the tricoloured head of your calico, peering unsurely.
"Oh yeah, that's cookie." you smile. "She doesn't like strangers—"
You'd barely got the words out before they rang true — the moment Felix reaches a hand out in her direction, Cookie scampers away at the speed of light.
His warm smile quickly falls into rejected bewilderment. He whips his head around to you, his now widened eyes expecting you to scold him for whatever he clearly did wrong.
Both his expression and the strength of her reaction has you stifling a laugh before you can stop yourself.
"She's like that with everyone, don't worry." You quickly clarify, resting a reassuring hand on his shoulder as you settle beside him on the couch.
"Everyone?" he repeats sceptically.
Well... maybe not everyone. As wary as Cookie was with new faces, her reaction to them usually wasn't that strong.
"I barely moved and she literally bolted!"
But you don't tell him that.
"I told you, she doesn't like strangers!" you defend, as you shuffle into the couch, into him and his warmth, trying to bring you both back to the cozy movie night planned, rather than the rejection of your cat.
You turn to him. A soft line forms between his brows as he knits them together, one raised doubtfully. His chin is scrunched, jutting his bottom lip out in a pout, and his eyes narrow at you in faux suspicion — he's teasing you. Not hurt. Not genuinely, except maybe for his ego.
Relieved, you swipe a blonde strand of hair from his face, voice quieter now. "She'll warm up to you, promise."
The promise is punctuated by a kiss to his freckled cheek — pressing soft, warm reassurance into the skin, which tightens under your lips as he smiles.
"She just has to get used to you first..."
He may not be fully convinced, but he is whipped and now struggling to keep his pout from cracking into a smile.
He glances over to you with the boyish glint he gets when he's proud of his own smooth talking. "…Guess I'll just have to come over more."
It was a logical plan — cookie doesn't like strangers. Felix wouldn't be a stranger if he was around more often, right?
"It's fine," he thinks. "I'll just win her over."
Except the plan didn't work.
By the third visit, Cookie still wasn't any less avoidant. By the fourth, he'd begun to attempt bribes.
Cookie's paws make a small "click clack" sound on the tile as she trots into the kitchen, seemingly carefree until she rounds the peninsula, and freezes in her tracks.
"There you are…" Felix says in a low, cooing voice, meant to sound non-threatening. "you want a treat, Cookie..?"
He reaches into the bright bag sitting between his crossed legs and pulls out a small brown pebble, which he half-throws, half-rolls in her direction.
She initially flinches, but when it lands about a foot ahead of her, stationary now — interest betrays her wariness, and her little head begins to bob from side to side as she eyes it up from afar.
Felix has to push down the urge for celebration when she cautiously pads towards his offering, her dilated pupils never leaving him for too long, until she crouches down to sniff at it.
"There you go…!" Felix praises as she finally crunches the treat between her sharp teeth. Getting ahead of himself, he pulls another out of the bag, and extends it out to her between clasped fingers.
Bad idea. The moment he moves in her direction she darts behind the peninsula, peeking her head out to look at him before scampering away completely at the next micro movement he makes. Mission failed.
"No no no—"
You walk into the kitchen just in time for Cookie speed past your feet, and hear a disgruntled huff from your kitchen floor. Felix looks up at you with an expression of defeat.
"Oh lix…" you give him a sympathetic smile. "she'll come round, just give her time."
By the fifth visit, you begun to silently worry. Cookie may not be fond of new people, but she usually warmed up a little by now.
But Felix wasn't one to have his morale shaken so easily. If treats didn't work then maybe toys will.
"Pspsps… here kitty kitty kitty…"
You walk into your living room sifting through the mail in your hand, only to look up and see your boyfriend squatting next to a cabinet, neck craned in a way that can't be comfortable just to look underneath. He's holding one of those dangling cat toys, dangling the feathered end in a way that's attempting to be tantalising, and you already know what he's trying... and failing.
"Felix?" you blink.
"I don't think she likes toys." he concludes, deflated. You don't have the heart to correct him.
The more time passes, the more Felix feels like Cookie's weird stepdad she doesn't want around — an intruder, an awkward presence in her space and family of two.
He tried more treats, every type under the sun, but she never ate them when they came from him. He tried catnip, she wasn't impressed. He got her a new bed, new scratching post. Both of which she did actually use, but he received no credit for them.
All the while you introduced him to all your close circles. He'd earned the stamp of approval from usually critical girlfriends, made a good impression on colleagues, been accepted by your family — he had to gently explain to your grandmother that no, his idol schedule would not allow him to come home with you for Christmas, and yet he still couldn't get Cookie to so much as tolerate him!
The final straw came during a games night he suggested you have with his members.
Cookie didn't bolt when Hyunjin suddenly swung his legs off the couch in her direction, she gave Changbin's pant leg an investigative sniff and — most offensively, she allowed Minho to give her ears a brief scratch.
It wasn't much, maybe not exactly friendliness, but it was more than they'd ever earned!
It was after this game night that Felix begrudgingly, finally, accepted defeat.
He lay beside you on the couch, slumped against your side and sulking with a pout you would've thought he'd be capable of producing.
"I never expected to see you so down in the dumps." it doesn't suit him.
"Your daughter hates me." he groans, the sound muffling as he tucks his face away in your hoodie.
"She doesn't hate you, Felix." the rare dramatics has you smiling softly as you try convince him. "She'll come round eventually..."
"Baby," he begins bluntly "we've been together for nearly five months. I won your second cousin over before Cookie's even let me pet her."
"She just needs to get used to you...!" you testify.
He lifts his head to look up at you, eyebrows furrowed in a way that makes it seems like he's actually offended at your outlandish statement.
"I've stayed over 28 times. It's not happening."
You pause. "Have you been counting??"
"Not the point." he deflects "And she didn't need to 'get used to' the guys tonight!"
He huffs, butting his head into your shoulder. His hopelessness is genuine — and painful to watch.
Because as much as this whole situation made for a humorous bit, you know how hard Felix has been trying to prove himself to the people important to you. To prove he's worthy of being in your life — and Cookie's important. He knows that. That was never a bit to him.
"I just want her to like me." he mumbles after a moment.
The words sound like they're trying to be minimising, to assure you the situation isn't as dramatic as he may have made it out to be — but they're honest. Honesty so simple it makes him sound small.
You sigh, bringing your hand up to hold the crown of his head.
"Well…" you begin, voice lower now. "maybe Cookie's just gonna have to suck it up, because you're not going anywhere." you murmur conclusively.
"...At least I hope not."
That makes him smile.
"You're sure you want a boyfriend who doesn't have the Cookie stamp of approval…?" he mumbles sarcastically.
You chuckle "I think we can make it work."
Feeling dispirited still, but strangely loved, his limbs begin to relax, and he lets them sink into you as he actually begins to watch whatever had been playing on the TV.
Slowly, the warmth of your body and the soothing motion of your fingers threading through his hair lull him closer and closer to sleep.
A few hours pass, and Felix is now slumped against your lap rather than your shoulder. Your arm has fallen languidly to your side, and he can hear you snoring softly above him as he's pulled from his own unconsciousness.
Heavy eyes blink open on the now too-bright light of the netflix "are you still watching screen", and he immediately cringes.
Something is tickling his cheek.
He flinches, head snapping to his left while bleary eyes attempt to focus on whatever's hovering above him.
His face freezes in alarm — no, disbelief. Or maybe both.
It's Cookie — looking down at him with a similar expression. Except she seems to mainly be confused at what he's making such a fuss about.
She leans back in, her whiskers tickling his face again as she gives him a curious sniff. Felix resists the urge to wince away from the sensation. If he so much as moves a muscle, he'll surely scare her off.
She continues down his arm, wading her little legs through the river of blanket, before losing interest. Felix's eyes follow her the whole time, until she conclusively plops herself down next to his abdomen, just above his bent knees.
"No way…" Felix mutters in disbelief, not daring to move yet.
Slowly, cautiously, he reaches a hand down to scratch behind her ear with a single finger, half bracing for her to suddenly realise he's the same man she's been avoiding like the plague for the past few months, and dart.
But she doesn't, she stays right there, satisfied in her place.
He keeps scratching, hesitation slowly fading, and like a soft engine roaring to life, she begins to purr.
Felix breathes out a quiet laugh of absurd disbelief. "You're kidding me."
She pays him no mind, only adjusting her head so his hand can get a better angle at her ears.
"Just playing hard to get, huh?" his lips part into a toothy grin, bright and triumphant at last.
Cookie's rich purrs begin to fade as sleep reclaims him, and the only thing on his mind as he drifts off is how excited he is to tell you about this in the morning.
Hey guys! Sorry to the 2 followers who check my account for disappearing for 4-5 months 😓 School was overwhelming me, I wasnt as into skz for a while, and it was hard to bring myself to write when I wasnt satisfied with anything I produced.
I'm not going to promise to start posting regularly, because I don't want to put pressure on myself, or set goals I don't know if I can or want to achieve. But I have been making an effort to be kinder to myself because I've realised that being hard on myself when it comes to pursuing things only paralyses me from doing them. In future I hope to improve my writing skills and interact with my interests through fanfiction, and hopefully adopting this healthier mindset means you'll see more of me :) (and better quality fics 😭)
Even though this fic is no magnum opus, and I'm sure it has flaws and awkward elements, I actually enjoyed writing this one alot more than anything else I've written. I think it's because I tried to prioritise pacing, flow and simple language rather than awkwardly trying to make every line and sentence "profound" or complicated 💔 Not to be dramatic, but genuinely feeling like I've made some progress is lowkey so relieving and euphoric 😭
in conclusion: future pixie's gonna do her best and try not to bite off more than she can chew, and actually enjoy hobbies like you're fucking supposed to 🫶
(this a/n will also be a separate post on my acc)
Divider creds:
pawprints: pixopix
cats: pngblog and junabuggy
simple calico divider: animatedglittergraphics-n-more
my moot is dating who?
pairing: lee know x reader
genre: humour; fluff; suggestive
ss count: 17
warnings: thirst tweets; suggestive
summary: stays keep talking about skz’s secret twitters, completely oblivious to the fact that minho’s girlfriend is part of their circle
previous part | next part
a/n: my moot is finally back 😭 i'm so sorry it took so long but i was really stuck with this one but here we are!! only one part left my loves hope you like it 🩷
the library
likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated 🌟
if you want me to add you to the taglist let me know in the comments ☺️
dividers by my darling @lariesographic 🩷
permanent taglist: @v3n7s @emmiesoverthemoon @kloversung @inniemeenymineymoe @hathoryan6868 @cherrycheolie @sheerfreesia007 @yessirfelix @hanjinology @luvvvivi @fantasy-addict354 @applesrpeak @lavunyan @channiesswift @skinnyjeans-tanktops @wonderlandforthelonley-blog @bellacj1 @karmaminho @hyunjinxxs @xallyouneedislovexx @niki-the-american @skzbyemmy @kpopishgirlie @daisylove3 @bunbunbl0gs @miniseungkimcami @geni-627 @bsk-brn @pvppymin @viisstrayy @ann-gell @mitsuri1221 @lost-in-the-stars03 @channlust @staygenesblog @persassyismysecrettwin @tsunderelino @minastronaut @minhocinema @staytinycassichu @nyaaa-cat @bangchansnipples @pinknymphkisses @wompwompgang @inlovewithstraykids @sturnsxbitvh @enchantedlov3r2 @certainstarfishmiracle @lixxstay
One Day You Gon' Love Me Right
TWO YEARS PART THREE [PART TWO]
Pairings: idol!lee felix x gn!reader
Summary: You find out what really happened when Felix disappeared. Can you forgive him?
Warnings: angst, but happy ending. References to heavy drinking and poor mental health.
Word count: 7.4k.
a/n: never have I ever... written so much dialogue UGH. Anyways, enjoy my darlings, Seungmin is up next!
a/n2: SURPRISE! Early post bcos you guys are the best and I’ve already reached my next follower milestone ily👉🏻👈🏻
The confusion on his face lasted approximately two seconds before it disappeared, replaced by something closer to annoyance.
"What?"
"The letters." You folded your arms. "What letters?"
Now it was his turn to stare.
"You know what letters."
"No, Felix." Your voice rose. "I very clearly do not."
A frown appeared on his face, annoyance building at your denial. "The letters I sent you."
The words hit like a physical blow. Neither of you moved as you tried to process what he was saying. You were sure there was no way he could have sent you letters, because you would definitely have received them.
He continued, unaware of your inner turmoil. “I sent you one every month, Y/N."
You blinked. "What?"
"For a year."
Your stomach dropped. "No."
His expression hardened. "Yes."
"No."
"I did."
The certainty in his voice made your pulse quicken. "No, you didn't."
His jaw clenched. "I did."
"You're lying."
The words escaped before you could stop them, and your stomach dropped at the look on his face. Genuine hurt flashed across his face, but he held eye contact as he answered you, refusing to shy away from your words.
"I'm not lying."
The alley suddenly felt too small. Too narrow. Too quiet. You stared at him as he stared back, and slowly, a horrible realisation began to creep into both your expressions.
Your voice came out quieter this time. "...I never got any letters, Felix."
Felix froze - actually froze – and you saw the colour drain from his face as he stared at you in disbelief. "What?"
You shook your head, repeating yourself. "I never got anything."
The silence that followed was deafening, and for several seconds, neither of you spoke. You couldn’t believe what he was saying. You could understand one missed letter – accidents happen all the time – but more than that? How was that even possible?
Felix’s voice brought you out of your thoughts when he asked, "What do you mean you never got anything?"
The question came out almost breathless, and you shrugged your shoulders helplessly in response, unsure of what more you could tell him.
"I mean exactly what I said."
His eyes searched yours desperately, like he was trying to determine whether you were joking or whether this was some elaborate attempt to hurt him. When he found nothing but confusion staring back, his expression slowly crumbled.
"I sent twelve."
Your heart stopped at the heartbreak in his voice. "What?"
His voice grew distant as he continued, stuck in the past, thinking about it. "Twelve letters. One every month."
You felt sick at his words, hand coming up to cover your mouth.
A year.
A whole year.
A year of letters you'd never seen. A year of words you'd never read. A year of explanations you'd never received.
"I never got a single one of them, Felix."
Felix looked away first, running both hands through his hair. For the first time since Paris, he looked genuinely shaken. Long gone was the guilt, the sadness. It was replaced by sheer disbelief – at the situation, at how different things could have been had you received even one of them. He looked as though the ground beneath him had suddenly disappeared when the next words came out of his mouth.
"I thought you were ignoring me."
The confession was so quiet you almost missed it, and you were taken aback by what he said.
“Ignoring you? Felix… I was too busy missing you.”
His laugh was humourless, broken. His eyes started watering as he continued, "I thought you hated me."
The words landed heavily between you, but he wasn’t finished. It was as if you had reached inside him and uncapped years’ worth of bottled emotions.
"After the first few months, I thought maybe you were angry." His eyes met yours again. "Then after six months... I thought you never wanted to hear from me again."
You couldn't speak, because suddenly pieces of the puzzle were rearranging themselves. Pieces that had never fit before, that you'd spent years trying to understand.
Then anger surged back.
"What kind of idiot sends letters?" you snapped.
Felix blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You had a phone."
"I got a Korean number."
"So?"
His frustration matched yours immediately. "So I couldn't just hand it out!"
You threw your arms into the air. "You couldn't text me?"
"No."
"Email?"
"No."
"Social media?"
His laugh this time was genuinely disbelieving. "Y/N, I was a trainee."
You opened your mouth, but he continued, ranting now.
"I barely had access to my own accounts. I wasn't allowed to share my private number. I was already risking things by sending you so many letters! Letters you didn’t even get."
By the end of it, his voice had risen to bounce off the walls of the dark alley around you. To some, it might have been intimidating, but to you, it was refreshing. Felix had always said more when he was angry.
You were still confused, though, because out of all the things he could have done-
"Letters?"
"What else was I supposed to do?"
The question echoed through the alley, joining the rest of his annoyance. And frustratingly... You didn't actually have an answer. Because when you thought about it, letters did make sense. They were definitely old-fashioned and annoying, but possible. If he genuinely couldn't contact you another way.
You hated the whole situation because it made everything more complicated. And complicated was the last thing you wanted. Your chest felt tight, and your head hurt. Nothing made sense anymore. You had spent years missing him, trying to get over him. Years convinced that he had left without a word. And now, you were learning that those years spent in silence had possibly been a lie.
Finally, you looked at him. "If you were trying so hard to contact me..."
Your voice cracked slightly, but you had to carry on. You had to know.
"Why did you leave?"
The question you'd carried for two years. The question at the centre of everything.
Felix immediately went still, and the tension between you shifted. Changed. It became something heavier, more suffocating. His eyes dropped briefly, then returned to yours. He looked terrified suddenly. But not of your anger, you thought, but rather the answer.
"You still don't know?"
A chill ran down your spine. "Know what?"
Felix stared at you for several seconds, refusing to answer. He looked away, and you could see the fight behind his eyes about whether he should tell you the truth or not.
“Felix… Please. Tell me.”
He sighed, a slow exhale, before he cleared his throat and spoke. "The night before I left."
You frowned. "What about it?"
His expression twisted into a mixture of pain and regret and instantly, your heart was racing.
"I came to your house."
Your heart skipped. "No."
"I came to tell you."
The world tilted. "No."
"I did."
"No, you didn't."
"I did." His voice was firm now, certain. "I packed my bags. I went to your house."
You stared. Every instinct told you he was telling the truth, and you started to pace, unsure of what to do with yourself.
He carried on regardless. "I spoke to your mum."
Everything inside you stopped and you froze in your tracks, staring at the wall opposite you. You couldn’t breathe, and with each new piece of information, it only got worse.
"I told her about Korea. I told her about the opportunity."
The alley seemed to spin slightly.
Your mum.
Your mum knew?
"No."
His eyes filled with something resembling heartbreak. "She knew."
The words shattered something inside your chest. You took a step backwards, trying to process, to understand. Trying to make it make sense.
"What did she say?"
The question came out sharp - dangerously sharp – and Felix hesitated for a moment before breaking your heart all over again.
"She told me to leave."
"No. No, she wouldn’t-"
His gaze remained locked on yours, desperate for you to understand. "She told me that if I stayed..."
His voice cracked.
"...you'd never follow your own dreams."
Your entire body went numb.
No. No. No.
That wasn't possible.
Your mother would never—
Would she?
Suddenly, memories resurfaced. Conversations you’d once considered unimportant filled with comments you'd never thought twice about. The way your mum had pushed you towards opportunities after Felix left. The way she'd insisted you move forward. The way she'd always changed the subject whenever his name came up.
Your stomach lurched, and you grabbed the nearest surface to remain standing.
Felix looked miserable. "I thought she was right."
The words barely registered because fury was already rising. The response was fast. Violent. Uncontrollable. Only this time, it wasn’t directed at Felix. It was directed at the person who had apparently made a decision about your life without ever asking what you wanted.
Your hands clenched into fists, and your voice trembled as you spoke. "You're telling me... that my mother decided what was best for me?"
Felix immediately looked alarmed. "Y/N—"
"And you listened?"
His expression collapsed. "I thought I was doing the right thing."
"The right thing?" Your laugh was sharp, disbelieving. "You left me!"
"I know."
"You let me think you abandoned me."
"I know."
"You let me spend two years believing I wasn't worth an explanation."
The guilt on his face was immediate, devastating in its intensity. Yet somehow, in this moment, it wasn't enough. Because right now, all you could think about was the fact that somebody had stolen your choice, your future, and your relationship. But the thing that hurt the most?
They’d taken your chance to decide for yourself.
Suddenly, for the first time in two years, your anger wasn't pointed entirely at Felix anymore. It was somehow the most terrifying revelation of all.
The moment Felix had finished speaking, you’d turned and walked away. Not because you were done with the conversation, or because you believed him and suddenly forgave him. You walked away because if you stayed in that alley for another thirty seconds, you genuinely thought your head might explode.
Nothing made sense anymore.
Nothing.
For two years, you'd carried a very specific version of events. Felix had left. Felix had disappeared. Felix had chosen his dreams over you and never looked back. Whilst they were painful, they were also simple. Understandable at your strongest. Now, in the space of ten minutes, that entire narrative had been shattered.
Letters. Twelve letters. A visit to your house. A conversation with your mother. A decision supposedly made without your knowledge.
The ground beneath everything you thought you knew was shifting, and you hated it.
You pushed back through the side door and re-entered the club, and music immediately hit you. People were still laughing, still celebrating. They were still living in a reality that made sense. You marched through the crowd with single-minded determination. Behind you, you could hear Felix following, calling your name. You ignored him, though.
Your bag was exactly where you'd left it, and you grabbed it so quickly you nearly knocked over a chair. You immediately pulled out your phone. One call – one answer – was all you needed. Your mother's contact appeared on the screen, and you pressed call without hesitation. Your temper flared when it rang out to voicemail. You ended the call and immediately tried again, and again. When you noticed the time, you realised. It was one o'clock in the morning, and most normal people were asleep. Unfortunately, normality felt completely irrelevant right now. You lowered the phone, your heart hammering. Your thoughts were racing so fast you could barely keep up with them.
"I need to go home."
The words escaped before you'd fully processed them. Felix was standing a few feet away, watching you carefully.
"Y/N—"
"I need answers." Your voice shook, thinking out loud. "I need to know if he's telling the truth."
He flinched slightly at the word he, but you didn't care.
"I'm driving there.”
The decision had already been made. Your childhood home was only a couple of hours away. You could be there before sunrise, wake your mother up and finally get some answers.
You turned towards the exit but paused when you felt gentle fingers close around your wrist. Slowly, you looked down, and then up into Felix’s worried gaze.
He released you, stating with certainty, "I'll drive."
"No."
"I'll drive."
"I can get a car."
"Y/N."
You shook your head. "No."
His expression softened, but the stubbornness remained. Your heart unhelpfully skipped a beat when you noticed how concerned he looked, too.
"Please."
Just one word. That’s all it took to break your resistance. Not an argument or an explanation, just please. If you were honest with yourself, your thoughts were a complete mess right now, and you probably shouldn't be behind the wheel, but you hated that he was right.
Eventually, you exhaled – once, slowly - then nodded.
The drive was strange, but surprisingly not awkward. After everything you'd learned, awkwardness felt far too small a word. The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable. It was heavy, thoughtful. Tense. The sort of silence that existed because both people were trying to process something too large to put into words.
Streetlights passed rhythmically outside the windows, and the motorway stretched endlessly ahead. Occasionally, Felix glanced at you, but most of the time, he didn't. Most of the time, he simply focused on driving. You, on the other hand, stared out of the window, your thoughts spinning endlessly.
Your mother knew.
The sentence repeated over and over. Your mother had known that he was leaving – why he was leaving – and where he was going. Known he'd come to say goodbye. If Felix was telling the truth... The thought made your stomach twist. You couldn't think like that yet. Not until you heard it from her, until she confirmed it herself.
The hours slipped by, and at some point, exhaustion finally began catching up with you. You hadn't slept properly since Paris, and then there had been the concert, followed by the party and the argument with its revelations. Your body was running on fumes, and you desperately tried to fight it at first, but eventually your eyes began drifting shut.
When Felix glanced across a few minutes later, you were asleep. You were curled against the passenger door, one hand loosely wrapped around your phone. Your expression had finally relaxed for the first time all evening, and all the anger, frustration and confusion was finally gone. He knew it was only temporary, but he was glad of the break that sleep provided for your mind.
He swallowed hard before tearing his eyes away, back to the road. Seeing you like that hurt, he thought. He didn’t think that you looked vulnerable, but you definitely looked exhausted, and he knew exactly why.
By the time he pulled up outside your childhood home, it was after three in the morning. The house sat in darkness, every window black, and everyone inside asleep. Felix killed the engine, and silence settled around the car. You didn't even stir, completely at rest in his passenger seat. For several seconds, he simply sat there, watching the house whilst he listened to your soft breathing.
Eventually, he reached into the back seat slowly and retrieved his jacket, afraid of disturbing you. He draped it over you, the oversized material immediately swallowing half your frame. You shifted slightly, and his breath hitched for a second. He smiled sadly to himself when you just snuggled deeper into his jacket.
He settled back into his seat to wait.
When you woke, it took several seconds to remember where you were.
The first thing you noticed was the sunlight - soft golden morning light filtering through the windscreen. The second thing you noticed was the jacket. The third—
Everything.
The letters.
The conversation.
Your mother.
The house.
The revelation hit like a train, and you sat upright immediately. Beside you, Felix was still there, exactly where you'd left him. He was sitting in the driver's seat, awake. His eyes looked tired. The sort of tired that came from not sleeping at all, you realised.
"Did you sleep?"
A small smile appeared. "Not really."
You looked at the dashboard clock.
6:03am.
Your stomach dropped. "You stayed awake?"
He shrugged, as though sitting in a parked car for three hours wasn't remotely unusual. You opened your mouth to say something before closing it again, because suddenly, none of that mattered.
The house and the answers. That was what mattered.
You shoved his jacket into his arms, unbuckled your seatbelt, and climbed out quickly. The cool, sharp morning air hit your face immediately, wiping away any lingering fatigue. Behind you, Felix emerged from the car, but he didn't say anything or try to stop you. You marched straight up the path, past the flower beds and the familiar windows. Past every memory you'd ever made in this house. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you felt the weight of years of unanswered questions sit heavily in your chest.
Finally.
Finally.
You reached the front door, hand raised to knock.
For the first time in two years, you were about to hear the truth from the person who owed it to you most.
The door opened almost immediately. Your mother had always been an early riser, so you weren’t surprised.
What was surprising was how quickly her expression changed.
One second, she was opening the door with sleepy confusion. Next, she was staring at you. You watched her eyes drift past you, towards the driveway, towards Felix. He was standing beside the car with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, looking just as tense as you felt. For a moment, nobody spoke, but you saw the look of anxiety on your mother’s face. In that instant, before a single word had been said, you knew.
She knew exactly why you were here.
A long silence stretched between the three of you before your mother closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, she looked tired. Not sleepy, but the kind of tired that came from carrying something for a very long time.
"Come inside."
You walked past her without speaking, Felix following several seconds later. The familiar scent of your childhood home hit you immediately, and for a brief moment, memories threatened to surface. Christmas mornings, school mornings, family dinners. The countless evenings you'd spent sitting in this kitchen. You shoved all of it away, though, because right now, nostalgia felt like the last thing you needed.
Your mother led you through to the kitchen. It was the same kitchen with the same table and worn wooden chairs, but everything felt different now. You sat automatically, and across from you, Felix hesitated before lowering himself into the seat beside you. Exactly where he used to sit years ago.
The familiarity of it made your chest ache.
The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. Now that you were here, you weren’t sure whether you should let your mother start or say something yourself. You didn’t know whether to mention your argument with Felix or how angry you were.
Your mother stood before you had to decide, disappearing from the room with a simple "I'll be right back."
A cupboard opened somewhere, then another. You heard drawers slide open, followed by something shifting. Beside you, Felix remained completely silent, but you could see the tightness in his jaw, his eyes fixed on the table as he waited. Eventually, your mother returned, and in her hands was a bundle of envelopes.
Your breath caught.
The room suddenly felt smaller as she placed them carefully on the table between you. For a moment, nobody moved. You stared until your vision went blurry. Even from where you sat, you recognised the handwriting. Your heart dropped. There were twelve letters, maybe more, all tied together with a faded ribbon. All unopened. All untouched. The sight made you feel physically sick.
Slowly, your gaze lifted towards your mother. She looked older than she had thirty minutes ago, smaller somehow.
"I kept them."
The words sounded fragile, and you felt your face twist in anger.
"Why?"
Her eyes filled immediately, but it only made you angrier. Why was she upset when you were the one who had suffered for years? When both you and Felix had suffered?
Your voice rose. "Why, Mum?"
"Because I thought I was doing the right thing."
A bitter laugh escaped you. The sound surprised everyone, including yourself.
"The right thing?"
She swallowed. "I knew what would happen."
You folded your arms. "Oh, I'd love to hear this."
Beside you, Felix shifted slightly but remained silent.
Your mother looked at both of you, then down at the letters. "When he came here that night... I saw the way you looked at him."
The room fell silent.
"I knew what you would do."
You arched an eyebrow. "What I would do?"
"You would've followed him."
"No."
"You would've tried." Her voice strengthened. "You would've put your life on hold."
"I wouldn't have."
"Yes, you would have." The certainty in her tone hit like a slap. "You loved him. I knew you'd try long distance."
You looked away, away from her and away from Felix, because part of you hated how accurate that sounded.
Your mother continued. "I knew you'd spend every day waiting for him."
Felix's head dropped slightly, pained by your mother’s words.
"And I knew that every dream you'd ever talked about would become secondary. I didn't want that for you. I wanted you to have your own life."
The kitchen felt suffocating by the time she was finished, and you couldn’t stop the frustrated years from welling up in your eyes.
"Really?"
Her expression faltered. "Y/N—"
"No." You shook your head. "No." The years of hurt suddenly surged forward. Every sleepless night, every unanswered question, every lonely moment. Every piece of yourself you'd spent years rebuilding. "You thought that was what was best? Was it for the best when I spent months wondering why I wasn't enough?"
Your mother's face crumpled, but you had to finish now, you had to say everything that was on your mind whilst you had the chance.
"Was it for the best when I couldn't sleep? Was it for the best when I drank myself unconscious just so I wouldn't think about him?"
The words echoed through the kitchen, and you realised your mistake a second later because Felix had gone completely still. The room seemed to freeze with him. You hadn't meant to say it. Not like that, and not in front of him. But it was too late now because the words were out, and Felix had heard every single one.
Slowly, you turned your head to face him. His face had gone white, and the devastation there was raw, unfiltered.
"What?"
The word barely emerged from him above a whisper. You immediately regretted it because you'd never wanted him to know. Those months had belonged to the version of you that you'd worked so hard to leave behind. The version that couldn't function, couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep.
The version that couldn't understand why she hadn't been enough.
Felix looked like he couldn't breathe, voice cracking as he asked:
"You were drinking?”
You looked away, unable to meet his eyes. The silence answered for you.
"Oh, my God."
The horror in his voice made your stomach twist. Beside you, Felix dragged a hand across his face, looking completely shattered. This was clearly news to him, but it obviously would be. You hadn’t had any contact because of your mother, who was looking equally horrified.
"I didn't know it was that bad."
You laughed sharply. "Of course you didn't."
"Y/N—"
"No."
You stood so abruptly that your chair scraped loudly across the floor, the sound echoing through the kitchen. Your mother stood, too.
"I was trying to protect you!"
The words snapped something inside you, and the tears broke free, rushing down your cheeks. "Protect me? Protect me? You took away my choice! You decided what my future should look like!"
Your mother winced, trying to explain. "I thought—"
"Exactly." Your voice broke. "You thought."
The room fell silent. Your mother looked heartbroken, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care right now. Not when the hurt was still burning so fiercely, and not when two years of your life suddenly looked completely different.
Your gaze dropped to the letters. The bundle was sitting untouched on the table, waiting. You grabbed them, and the ribbon dug into your fingers, somewhat grounding you. Your mother opened her mouth, but you didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t want to hear her explanations, her apologies, or her defence. Not right now. Maybe not ever.
Without another word, you turned and rushed out of your childhood home, the front door slamming behind you. You barely noticed the cold morning air anymore. Your vision was blurred, your hands shaking. The letters felt impossibly heavy in your hands, the weight of years of silence trapped in a simple bundle of paper.
The front door opened behind you, but you didn’t need to look because you already knew who it was. Even after all this time, you still recognised the sound of his footfall on the paving slabs outside your home. For several seconds, neither of you spoke, simply existing side by side in the early morning sunlight. Birds chirped somewhere nearby, and the world carried on as though nothing had happened. As though everything hadn't just changed.
You stared down at the bundle of letters clutched against your chest. Twelve months of words, twelve months of explanations, twelve months of him trying to reach you, stolen from you by the one person in this world who was meant to protect you and your happiness. Beside you, Felix was silent. Neither of you knew what to say exactly, because after everything you'd just learned, there weren't really any words left.
Only the truth.
And the wreckage it had left behind.
The drive back to your hotel was quiet. Not the comfortable sort of quiet that settled naturally between two people who knew each other well, and not even the angry silence that follows an argument. This felt different, loaded. As though neither of you quite knew how to exist in the aftermath of what had happened.
Your mother's confession sat between you, and the letters sat on your lap. Twelve unopened envelopes that somehow felt heavier than anything you'd ever carried. You spent most of the journey staring at them, at Felix's handwriting and the dates carefully written in the corners. Month after month, year after year. Proof that the story you'd spent two years believing wasn't the whole truth. Beside you, Felix kept his eyes fixed on the road. Neither of you attempted a conversation. What was there left to say? Every time you thought about speaking, another memory surfaced. Every time you looked at the letters, another piece of your anger shifted.
By the time the hotel came into view, you felt emotionally exhausted, the sort of exhaustion that settled deep into your bones. Felix pulled into the car park and switched off the engine. You sat there for a few seconds, dredging up the energy to move before slowly reaching for the door handle.
"Thank you."
Your voice sounded small, rough from disuse and the tears you’d shed.
Felix nodded. "Of course."
You swallowed, then pushed the door open and turned to step out. Warm fingers wrapped gently around your hand, and you froze, eyes dropping to where his hand held yours. You didn’t say anything as you met his gaze, heart breaking at what you saw. Felix was, and always would be, beautiful, but right now he looked awful. The sleepless night mixed with the drive and everything you’d both learnt was written all over his face. There was something in his eyes, though. You weren’t sure if it was hope, fear, desperation or a mixture of everything, but you knew what he wanted. He wanted reassurance, a sign that you weren’t about to disappear on him.
Your chest tightened painfully at the sight, because despite everything, despite what the letters might contain, despite what you'd learned, you couldn't do this right now.
"Felix."
His expression softened immediately, and you hated just how much more difficult it made things.
"I need space."
The words hurt coming out. You saw the disappointment immediately in the way his shoulders dropped slightly, but you had to say this.
"I need time." Your voice cracked. "Please."
The silence stretched as his eyes took you in before slowly – very slowly – his fingers loosened, letting you go. You knew that it wasn’t because he wanted to, but because he was respecting what you'd asked, the same way he had for the past month.
His jaw tightened, but eventually he nodded. "Okay."
The word sounded reluctant, painful even, yet sincere. You managed a small nod in return, then turned and walked away.
This time, he didn't follow.
The second you entered your hotel room, the carefully maintained composure you'd been clinging to finally shattered.
You didn't bother turning on the lights, didn't bother unpacking or changing clothes. You kicked off your shoes and crawled straight into bed fully dressed, still clutching the letters. The curtains remained closed, the room remaining dark. And for the first time in years, you allowed yourself to fall apart. Quietly. The way heartbreak always seemed to happen when nobody was watching.
Hours passed, and your phone buzzed repeatedly, but you ignored it. Food arrived outside your door at some point, and you ignored that, too. The world continued turning whilst you remained curled beneath the covers, thinking and remembering. Trying desperately to make sense of everything. Eventually, sometime late that afternoon, your gaze drifted towards the bundle of letters resting on the bedside table.
Suddenly, you couldn't avoid them anymore.
Your heart immediately started racing because part of you wasn't sure you wanted to know. For two years, those letters had been trapped in limbo. They were left unopened, frozen in time with their unread words. The version of Felix who wrote them no longer existed, and neither did the version of you they were intended for. Somehow, they still felt terrifying.
Slowly, you sat up, reached for the ribbon and untied it. The paper felt fragile beneath your fingers, and you noticed that the first envelope was dated only weeks after he'd left. Your hands trembled as you opened it, then you began to read.
Y/N,
I miss you already.
The first line alone was enough to make your eyes burn, but you continued anyway. Letter after letter, month after month, you watched a year of Felix's life unfold through ink and paper. He told you about training, about being lonely, about missing home and missing you.
Always you.
Every letter carried the same thread running through it. There were stories about terrible meals, about exhausting schedules, about sleeping on buses. Stories about moments he'd wished you were there to see. The details changed, but the feelings never did.
You read until your vision blurred, then kept reading, because you couldn't stop. Not anymore. One letter described seeing something that reminded him of you in a shop window. Another described hearing a song he'd immediately wanted to send you. One talked about dreaming he'd come home and found you waiting for him. Your tears landed on the paper, but you barely noticed.
It was one of the final letters that broke your heart completely.
Y/N,
I don't know if you're reading these anymore. Maybe you're angry, or maybe you've moved on. Maybe you never want to hear from me again. I wouldn't blame you, but I still need to write this.
You pressed a hand over your mouth, trying to stop the sob building in your throat. It didn't work.
I love you. I think I always will. And maybe that's selfish, maybe it's unfair, but I can't imagine a future where I don't.
The tears came harder, faster, but you kept reading.
I know people say long distance never works, and I know everyone thinks we're too young. But I don't. I still think we're meant to find our way back to each other.
Your chest ached from the hurt because this wasn't the Felix you'd imagined. This wasn't the selfish boy you'd spent years resenting. This was someone who had been writing into silence, someone who genuinely believed you were ignoring him. Someone who had continued loving you anyway.
And the worst part – the absolute worst part - was what wasn't there in any of his letters. He never once even alluded to the conversation he’d had with your mother. He never hinted at her asking him to leave. There was no attempt to use it against her or to excuse himself by making you blame anyone else. He could have. One sentence would have changed everything, and you would have known the truth years ago. Instead, he'd protected her, respected her, even when it meant letting you hate him. Even when it meant carrying the blame alone.
Your vision blurred completely, and the final letter slipped from your fingers. You were crying harder than you had in years. For the first time, it wasn’t because Felix had left, and it wasn’t even because of your mother or the letters. It was because, for the first time, you realised how alone he'd been and how convinced he'd been that you were choosing silence. Yet he'd kept writing anyway, month after month, letter after letter, holding onto hope long after most people would have given up.
The thought shattered what remained of your heart.
Curled beneath the covers with twelve letters scattered around you, you finally allowed yourself to mourn everything that had been stolen from both of you. Not just the relationship, or the years, but the future you might have had if someone had simply trusted you enough to choose it for yourself.
By the time evening arrived, your eyes ached from crying. The letters were scattered across the bed around you. Some lay folded neatly, whilst others had clearly been reread multiple times. You had spent hours working through them, tracing familiar handwriting with trembling fingers and mourning a version of the past that neither of you had ever been allowed to have.
At some point, your phone began vibrating. You ignored it and then ignored it three more times before you grabbed it, groaning.
It was your best friend, and the second you answered, she immediately said, "You're crying."
You sighed. "Hello to you too."
"You've been crying for hours."
"I hate that you can tell."
"I've known you for a while now. We talk every day. You cry a lot."
And okay, fair.
You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling. For a few moments, neither of you spoke before you quietly told her everything, from the letters to your mother and the conversation to the drive. You explained that Felix had been writing to you for an entire year while believing you wanted nothing to do with him.
Your voice cracked more than once, but your best friend listened, for once not interrupting or joking. She simply listened.
When you finally finished, silence filled the line before-
"Oh, sweetheart."
You closed your eyes, the sympathy almost making you cry again.
"I know."
"No." Her voice softened. "I mean it."
You swallowed hard. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this."
"No."
"It wasn't."
You knew when she paused this time that she wanted to say something that she knew you wouldn’t like to hear. The thing you loved most about your best friend was that she’d go on and say it anyway.
"You need to talk to him."
You groaned immediately. "There it is."
"There it is."
"I knew you were going to say that."
"Because I'm right."
You covered your face with one hand. "He left."
"Yes."
"He listened to my mum."
"Yes."
"He made a terrible decision."
"Yes."
You sat up, huffing in frustration. "Then why am I the one who has to go and talk to him?"
Your best friend didn’t even hesitate. "Because he was twenty."
You frowned in confusion. "So was I?"
"Exactly." The answer caught you off guard, but she continued before you could interrupt. "He was twenty, in love, terrified, halfway across the world and being told by your mother that leaving was the best thing for you."
You stared at the wall. "He should've fought harder."
"He should have."
"He should've told me."
"He should have." You sighed heavily, and when your friend spoke again, her voice was softer. "But people don't always make the right decisions when they're young."
The words settled heavily. You knew she was right, and you hated it.
"You've spent years imagining that he stopped loving you." Your throat tightened at her words. "And now you know he never did." When she was met with silence, she continued gently, "You don't have to forgive him today."
You looked down at the letters, the first one sat open on your lap.
"But I think you owe it to yourself to hear everything."
Two hours later, you found yourself standing outside Felix's hotel room. You had changed clothes, brushed your hair, and washed your face. Not because you cared what you looked like, obviously! Definitely not.
Your best friend would have laughed herself unconscious at that lie.
For several seconds, you simply stared at the door before you took a deep, calming breath and knocked before you could change your mind. A few moments later, the door opened, and there he was.
Felix.
The second he saw you, his eyes widened. "Hi."
Your chest tightened. "Hi."
His expression immediately softened, as though simply seeing you there was enough.
"Do you want to come in?"
You nodded.
The conversation lasted hours. Longer than either of you realised.
At first, it was awkward, and not because there was nothing to say but because there was too much. There was years' worth of mess to sort through. Eventually, though, the walls began falling away one at a time until suddenly it wasn't awkward anymore. It was just honest in the way it used to be. The way it had always been before everything went wrong.
You sat cross-legged on the sofa while Felix occupied the armchair opposite. The letters rested on the coffee table between you - evidence. Proof. History. He looked at them for a long moment, then laughed softly.
"I can't believe she actually kept them."
Your chest tightened. "I can."
The smile faded, and silence followed for a minute before he spoke again.
"I missed you."
The words were simple, uncomplicated, yet still painful. You looked down as he continued. "There wasn't a day I didn't think about you. I looked for you everywhere." A small laugh escaped him. "You'd probably find that creepy."
You smiled despite yourself. "It is a little creepy."
His grin appeared briefly, then disappeared. The honesty in his voice when he spoke again made your throat tighten.
"I always thought I'd see you again. I didn't know how, but I knew I would."
His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. He glanced towards the letters.
"You?"
The question hung between you. You knew what he was asking, and you knew he deserved the truth, no matter how messy or painful that truth would be. You told him about the loneliness, the sleepless nights, and the months spent feeling like you weren't enough. His expression slowly fell apart when you told him about the drinking. The words felt ugly and embarrassing, but you forced them out anyway. You told him how it started and how it became easier to sleep after a few drinks. How eventually it became easier to do everything after a few drinks. How you stopped recognising yourself.
By the end, the room had gone completely silent. Felix looked devastated, as if every word had physically hurt.
"You should've hated me."
The sentence emerged quietly, broken, and you looked up in surprise.
"What?"
His eyes were shining now. "I would've."
Your chest tightened. "Felix—"
"I would've hated me."
The honesty nearly broke your heart, and for a few brief moments, you simply sat watching the man across from you battle with his own inner demons.
"I missed you, too."
The confession seemed to steal the air from the room. His eyes closed briefly, like hearing those words meant more than he could explain. When he looked at you again, he seemed younger somehow, more vulnerable. More like the boy you'd fallen in love with.
Suddenly, you realised something. You weren't angry anymore. You were still hurt and confused, but not angry. At least, not the way you'd been after everything you'd learned.
You looked down at your hands. "I don't know what happens now."
The admission felt terrifying, because it was true. The future suddenly looked completely unfamiliar.
Felix was quiet for a moment before hesitantly saying, "We try again."
You looked up, but his gaze never wavered.
"Please."
The vulnerability in that single word almost undid you. "Felix..."
"Please." His voice wobbled. "I know I messed up."
You smiled weakly. "That's one way of putting it."
A surprised laugh escaped him, and the sound filled the room with familiar warmth.
God.
You'd missed that laugh.
"I know." His smile faded again. "But if there's even the smallest chance... I'll spend the rest of my life proving I deserve it."
Your chest hadn’t felt this full in years, but there was one thing still bothering you. One thing you'd never gotten an answer about.
You tilted your head. "What about that idol?"
Felix blinked. "What idol?"
"The article."
Realisation hit immediately. Then - to your complete surprise - he started giggling. Actually giggling.
You stared, frowning. "What?"
His laughter only worsened. "Y/N."
"What?"
"Oh, my God."
You folded your arms. "What?"
Finally, he managed to compose himself, barely.
"She's a lesbian."
You blinked. Once. Twice.
"...what?"
That immediately set him off again. "She's literally a lesbian."
The sheer relief that flooded through you was so immediate that it was embarrassing – and apparently obvious - because Felix noticed. The grin that spread across his face was impossible to ignore.
"Oh."
"Don't."
"Oh, that's interesting."
"Felix."
"You were jealous."
"I was not."
"You absolutely were."
You threw a cushion at him, and he caught it, still laughing. Suddenly, just for a moment, everything felt normal. Not perfect or fixed, but… normal. The way it used to be before life complicated everything. Looking at him across the room, laughing at his own terrible jokes, you felt something settle inside your chest. You realised that you hadn't just missed your boyfriend. You'd missed your best friend. He was the person who understood you better than anyone and could make you laugh when you least wanted to. The person you'd spent years convincing yourself you didn't need. Maybe that was why this felt different now. Not because everything was magically okay, but because for the first time in years, you weren't imagining a memory. You were sitting across from him, and he was still there.
Eventually, the laughter faded, but the smiles remained. Felix looked nervous, suddenly, almost boyish.
"Can I ask you something?"
You immediately became suspicious. "That's usually dangerous."
He smiled, then took a breath. "Would you go on a date with me?"
The question hung between you. It was simple, hopeful, yet terrifying. You stared at him for a long moment before a soft, genuine smile slowly spread across your face.
"Yeah."
The relief that crossed his face was almost comical. "Yeah?"
You laughed. "Yeah."
For a moment, he looked completely overwhelmed. Then he smiled, too, and somehow, for the first time in a very long time, the future didn't seem quite so frightening. You didn't know what would happen next or whether things would be easy. You didn't know how long it would take to rebuild trust, or whether either of you would get everything right. But as you looked at Felix sitting across from you, smiling like he'd just been handed the entire world, you realised something.
For the first time in years, you wanted to find out.
And whatever the future held, you found yourself hoping it held him, too.
a/n: phew! That became a lot more complex than I was originally planning. The majority of you wanted a happy ending and I tried to deliver! What do you all think? Lmk in the comments! xo
Taglist: @hanniesbubuwife @skrach84 @felixstarz @starrynightviper @mrsleeknowsaurus @2minracha @cchapssaltteok @barbie-girl84 @hannieslovebot @nzzzzzzzzzzzz @mongmongsworld @sparklybunnygirl @lunr-eclipsee @jeonginsfavglazer @stolasisyourparent
Everyone has their vices, right?
I don't need sleep, I need answers. Just one more chapter.
I am grateful to all the writers for my daily entertainment. 🩷
When you look for a fic on Tag Reader and the main character already has a name and social security number...
stray kids — just a little / spotify live version
just do whatever you wanna do
LEE KNOW x Boucheron for NYLON Japan
I CAN'T TAKE IT NO MORE Happy Anniversary HOLLOW June 10th, '25
